CHAPTER 2: SANCTUARY

Gimli found his companion still upon the wall, on his knees amongst the rubble. His arms were wrapped tightly about his body and his bow was cast down beside him. "Legolas!" cried the Dwarf. His heart was in his throat as crouched and touched the Elf. "Legolas! Ai, Legolas! Are you wounded?" He tried to rouse him, but Legolas did not respond. He remained kneeling, his head down, black hair spilling over his face, his silver helm on the ground at his feet.

Gimli stood up and cast about for help, but there was none to be had. Those men who were able had fled to the caves or up the broad stairway to the Hornburg. The Dwarf bent and wrenched one of his friend's arms free and forced it around his neck. He reached out and scooped the bow from the ground, stowed his axe and the Elf's blade on his back, and then heaved and lifted Legolas to his feet. His mind was a tangle of despair and confusion, but he knew this place was not safe. Black arrows skittered here and there over the wall and clattered upon the stone; Gimli cast fearful eyes towards the skies, dreading another blast of wizard sorcery or worse.

He helped the Elf down from the heights clumsily. Legolas was struggling to walk but could not; Gimli all but carried his much taller companion across the now abandoned ground behind the Deeping-wall. The Elf had not spoken; his breathing was ragged and harsh in Gimli's ear against the silence of the lull of the battle.

No good, Gimli thought. They could not make it as far as the caves, nor could they gain the stairs. It was too far and there were no one left to assist them. Only the dead or dying were there now, and he did not wish to join them. He looked desperately about the Deep for refuge and his eyes lit upon a series of abandoned guard houses on the far side of the battlements. Most were still intact and they were away from the culvert, shadowed in a corner of the west wall near a small blocked stairwell. Gimli tightened his grip upon Legolas and led him toward the buildings, hoping against hope that no more enemies lurked nearby, praying they could reach them without having to fight.

It was slow going but they were not hindered by foes. The battle seemed to have moved away from the culvert to the Gate where the wall had been breached. There the forces from both sides were gathered. Explosions sounded from far off, but naught stirred amidst the wreckage that littered their path. Gimli reached the guard house that was furthest in and the less exposed and he dragged Legolas within.

Gimli swept the door shut behind them. The small house was confined and dim, but there was a low pallet on the floor. There was also a small water-keg upon a table and a cup which had not been broken. A thick layer of dust lay over everything from the blasts and the chaos that had surrounded it, but it was a haven to him.

Gimli supported his comrade-in-arms as he hung weakly from his neck, on the verge of collapse. The Elf's bow clattered to the floor; the Dwarf pulled and heaved Legolas to the pallet and gently eased him down. There was little light in the room, but there was enough from the cracks in the door and a small window near the roof that he could see the Elf's ashen face in the new moonlight.

Gimli barricaded the door with a few pieces of wood and a sturdy looking storage chest, then propped his axe in a corner nearby within easy reach. He knocked upon the keg and found it half full. He carried water to the stricken Elf and brought the cup to his lips; Legolas stirred and choked but managed to swallow a mouthful. The Elf drew in a deep breath and reached forth to grasp for Gimli's hand and tilt the cup further; he gulped at the proffered water until it was gone. A spasm of pain tore through Legolas and wrenched a groan from him that disturbed the Dwarf. There was no mark upon his friend, no physical wound that Gimli could find. He cast the empty cup aside and sat close, placing a weathered hand upon the Elf' shoulder to provide some small comfort as he considered their plight.

Legolas moaned and licked his lips; his eyes flickered open and his body tensed. He gazed at the Dwarf's face hovering next to him and he relaxed a little.

"Gimli..." he rasped. "Are you hurt?" His strange eyes were shadowy and vague. He looked from the Dwarf to their surroundings with confusion.

Gimli shook his head. "Nay, I am uninjured. We are safe here in this place for now. You took a bolt of that hell-fire born of Orthanc, my friend. I thought I had lost you." He cleared his throat. "A fine predicament. It is fortunate for you there was a stout son of Durin nigh to take you from danger!"

Legolas gave a slight smile and he closed his eyes. "You are fortunate... I was struck down," he murmured. "Two more... and I would have soundly beaten your score, Master Dwarf. But what of Aragorn?"

"He managed to retreat, I believe," said Gimli. "They will marshal their strength within the Citadel and move at dawn, if the Orcs do not manage to break through the inner defenses before then."

The Elf nodded and made to reply, but pain took him again and he convulsed, his head lifting from the pallet. He choked back a cry and clutched at Gimli, clinging to the Dwarf as the spasm shook him. It was an interminable moment ere he loosed his hold and sank back. His body trembled weakly. Gimli let the Elf rest against him, lending him what strength he could.

"Legolas," said Gimli, "what it is that ails you? Where are you hurt?"

Legolas gave a shuddering sigh. He lay still for a moment in the Dwarf's arms and shame coloured his cheeks. "I am sorry, Gimli..." he breathed. "Let me rest. I will be well... You should not have stayed." He pulled away from the Dwarf and sank wearily onto the pallet.

Gimli hesitated, and then he reached out and brushed the dirt from the Elf's face and wiped away the tears of exhaustion that slid from his eyes. Legolas looked at him with chagrin and he whispered, "It feels... like ice, siezing me, numbing me... it takes my breath from me and pierces me through. A trifle of Saruman's black corruption, I should guess." The Elf swallowed and then laughed grimly. "Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, we've been told."

"I know not what to do, Legolas!"The Dwarf frowned and tugged at his beard in frustration. "Foul sorcery and wizard tricks! A sword thrust, broken bones... such injuries I understand, but I cannot ease you when I know not what has been done to you!" He took up the Elf's hands in his rough ones and felt them trembling. He bent his head and anger welled up within him, mingling with his fear. "Cursed coward!" he cried. "Traitor! Holed up in that tower! The White Hand... a coward's hands! I swear I will... I -"

Legolas had ceased to listen. His eyes were closed. The hurt had been too much and the Elf slipped into unconsciousness. Gimli felt for a heartbeat. It was shallow and too quick.

Gimli stared at his companion, filled with helpless rage. This was the final injustice of this wretched quest. The Dwarf's heart threatened to burst at the sight of Legolas laid low, this fair child of the forest struck down by the foul hand of a sneaking traitor casting spells from afar. He would not lose another companion. Legolas was not going to die. He would not allow it. Not in the middle of this foul, filthy battle, there in that cold, dark fortress the Elf hated! not after all they had gone through. It wasn't right. Gimli clenched his teeth in frustration and swallowed the urge to march out and find Saruman, to bury his axe in the wizard's miserable flesh.