I'd better start out with a disclaimer, so here goes: I do not own Lord of
the Rings. It's Tolkien's.
And a message to my readers: A blood and gore warning. Nothing R or NC-17, just a decapitation.
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"Tell me what happened, and I will ease your passing," Gimli growled at the orc. The orc just laughed. "He took at little tumble off the cliff! Ha ha!" "You lie!" he shouted. But Gimli knew it was true. The Evenstar glittered from the orc's hand. Gimli felt a deep anger rise in him, that so hideous a creature should hold so fair a jewel, stolen from so great and noble a man. The dwarf snatched the Evenstar from the dead orc. As he held it in his hand, he pondered what to do with it. Eventually, he decided that it was best with its owner. He took one last glance at it, and flung it into the deep, rushing water beneath the cliff.
Gimli sighed heavily. Deep as his grief was, he would have to help the others. He went to go find that blasted elf and.the elf! Legolas! Where was he?
Gimli realized that he hadn't seen Legolas since before Aragorn had fallen. Legolas could defend himself, everyone knew that, but there was something nagging at his mind.Of course he was alright, that elf had been fighting and winning for thousands of years before he himself had been born. But still.if he was set upon by too many orcs.
"LEGOLAS!" Gimli shouted. There was no answer. He shouted again, to no effect. "Theoden, have you seen him?" he asked frantically. "Have you seen the elf?" Theoden shook his head. "Not lately. He was over there when I last saw him." Theoden pointed to where several soldiers were building a large pile of orc cadavers, meant for burning.
"Legolas!" Gimli shouted with increasing panic. "Where are you?" Then he saw it, and he felt his heart drop to his feet.
A hand. A white hand sticking out of the pile of dead orcs. Gimli rushed to the pile. Long fingers, callused fingertips where a bowstring might twang. Vambraces, obviously of elvish make, with intricate designs pounded into the dark leather. Remnants of a black glove. A hand by which countless orcs had fallen, an infinite number of enemies dispatched. Legolas' hand.
With no little effort, Gimli attempted to pull his friend from the pile of putrid remains. He had no idea if his friend was alive or dead, but he was desperate to find out. "Please help me!" he pleaded to the soldiers. Two of them came over, and together, they pulled the elf from the pile.
What they found made Gimli want to vomit.
He had been beheaded. The archer's entire torso was covered in bright red blood, streaming from the severed neck. Maybe it wasn't Legolas, or so Gimli's panicking mind deduced. It couldn't be, Legolas couldn't die, not like this, not this undignified. No, no, never. It would have been quick, an arrow through the heart, or a stab in the chest, not this.
Gimli knelt at the warrior's side. He had to make sure. The clothes were all dyed red, blood red. But the hands. and the weapons. White knives, longbow, quiver full of elvish arrows.
Gimli felt physically sick. His two best friends, both dead. One fell to his death, the other was decapitated. He just stood there, gaping. How could he have let this happen? How?
Theoden walked over and stood next to him, his hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he was all he could find words to say. "But we must go, and soon, before more orcs arrive. We must leave the dead." The king swallowed hard. How was he supposed to explain his next words to a grieving friend?
"His head?" he asked. Gimli looked at him, aghast. "What?" was all he could say. "Have you found his head?" Theoden asked again, gently. Gimli shook his head. "No." Theoden searched gingerly. "He fell here. It would not do well to burn his fair face with the orcs." This got the dwarf's attention. Slowly, Gimli rose from his friend's body. He, too, began to search for the head.
Fifteen minutes' effort produced no results. "We need to move out," said Theoden quietly. "No," said Gimli quietly, determinedly. "I must find it. For him." "I'm sorry, but we must go. Before more orcs attack. We need to go now." "But." "They would not have wanted you to linger. Neither Aragorn nor Legolas would have wanted you dead because of them when there was nothing left to do for them." Gimli knew Theoden was right.
"We will have to dispose of him, Gimli. I'm sorry." Theoden sighed. "We have no time to bury him." Once again, Gimli felt sick. "You mean to." "Yes. Not with the orcs. With our own fallen soldiers." Gimli nodded mutely. He walked off, in a daze. A soldier picked up Legolas' body and dropped it onto the pile of already ablaze bodies of other fallen Rohirrim.
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Gimli stumbled through the gates of Helm's Deep. Eowyn took one look at the expression on his face and gasped. "Which one?" she whispered. Gimli looked at her through grief-stricken eyes. "Both."
Eowyn gaped. "No. Not both. Aragorn. And Legolas. Valar, no!" Gimli nodded. She regained her composure. "How?" "I shouldn't tell, lady." "No, tell me." Gimli sighed. "Aragorn fell from a cliff. His body was not found. Legolas was beheaded by an orcish blade." Eowyn blanched. "Oh, Valar! Both. Both are gone. The ones who were to lead us to victory. Oh gods, why?" "I do not know, milady," said Gimli quietly. "I do not know."
Gimli walked to a spare room and through himself down on the bed. He wept. He wept for Aragorn, the man who was supposed to save them all. He wept for all those who had fallen. But most of all, he wept for Legolas. Gone forever.
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Well? Tell me what you think.
And a message to my readers: A blood and gore warning. Nothing R or NC-17, just a decapitation.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
"Tell me what happened, and I will ease your passing," Gimli growled at the orc. The orc just laughed. "He took at little tumble off the cliff! Ha ha!" "You lie!" he shouted. But Gimli knew it was true. The Evenstar glittered from the orc's hand. Gimli felt a deep anger rise in him, that so hideous a creature should hold so fair a jewel, stolen from so great and noble a man. The dwarf snatched the Evenstar from the dead orc. As he held it in his hand, he pondered what to do with it. Eventually, he decided that it was best with its owner. He took one last glance at it, and flung it into the deep, rushing water beneath the cliff.
Gimli sighed heavily. Deep as his grief was, he would have to help the others. He went to go find that blasted elf and.the elf! Legolas! Where was he?
Gimli realized that he hadn't seen Legolas since before Aragorn had fallen. Legolas could defend himself, everyone knew that, but there was something nagging at his mind.Of course he was alright, that elf had been fighting and winning for thousands of years before he himself had been born. But still.if he was set upon by too many orcs.
"LEGOLAS!" Gimli shouted. There was no answer. He shouted again, to no effect. "Theoden, have you seen him?" he asked frantically. "Have you seen the elf?" Theoden shook his head. "Not lately. He was over there when I last saw him." Theoden pointed to where several soldiers were building a large pile of orc cadavers, meant for burning.
"Legolas!" Gimli shouted with increasing panic. "Where are you?" Then he saw it, and he felt his heart drop to his feet.
A hand. A white hand sticking out of the pile of dead orcs. Gimli rushed to the pile. Long fingers, callused fingertips where a bowstring might twang. Vambraces, obviously of elvish make, with intricate designs pounded into the dark leather. Remnants of a black glove. A hand by which countless orcs had fallen, an infinite number of enemies dispatched. Legolas' hand.
With no little effort, Gimli attempted to pull his friend from the pile of putrid remains. He had no idea if his friend was alive or dead, but he was desperate to find out. "Please help me!" he pleaded to the soldiers. Two of them came over, and together, they pulled the elf from the pile.
What they found made Gimli want to vomit.
He had been beheaded. The archer's entire torso was covered in bright red blood, streaming from the severed neck. Maybe it wasn't Legolas, or so Gimli's panicking mind deduced. It couldn't be, Legolas couldn't die, not like this, not this undignified. No, no, never. It would have been quick, an arrow through the heart, or a stab in the chest, not this.
Gimli knelt at the warrior's side. He had to make sure. The clothes were all dyed red, blood red. But the hands. and the weapons. White knives, longbow, quiver full of elvish arrows.
Gimli felt physically sick. His two best friends, both dead. One fell to his death, the other was decapitated. He just stood there, gaping. How could he have let this happen? How?
Theoden walked over and stood next to him, his hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he was all he could find words to say. "But we must go, and soon, before more orcs arrive. We must leave the dead." The king swallowed hard. How was he supposed to explain his next words to a grieving friend?
"His head?" he asked. Gimli looked at him, aghast. "What?" was all he could say. "Have you found his head?" Theoden asked again, gently. Gimli shook his head. "No." Theoden searched gingerly. "He fell here. It would not do well to burn his fair face with the orcs." This got the dwarf's attention. Slowly, Gimli rose from his friend's body. He, too, began to search for the head.
Fifteen minutes' effort produced no results. "We need to move out," said Theoden quietly. "No," said Gimli quietly, determinedly. "I must find it. For him." "I'm sorry, but we must go. Before more orcs attack. We need to go now." "But." "They would not have wanted you to linger. Neither Aragorn nor Legolas would have wanted you dead because of them when there was nothing left to do for them." Gimli knew Theoden was right.
"We will have to dispose of him, Gimli. I'm sorry." Theoden sighed. "We have no time to bury him." Once again, Gimli felt sick. "You mean to." "Yes. Not with the orcs. With our own fallen soldiers." Gimli nodded mutely. He walked off, in a daze. A soldier picked up Legolas' body and dropped it onto the pile of already ablaze bodies of other fallen Rohirrim.
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Gimli stumbled through the gates of Helm's Deep. Eowyn took one look at the expression on his face and gasped. "Which one?" she whispered. Gimli looked at her through grief-stricken eyes. "Both."
Eowyn gaped. "No. Not both. Aragorn. And Legolas. Valar, no!" Gimli nodded. She regained her composure. "How?" "I shouldn't tell, lady." "No, tell me." Gimli sighed. "Aragorn fell from a cliff. His body was not found. Legolas was beheaded by an orcish blade." Eowyn blanched. "Oh, Valar! Both. Both are gone. The ones who were to lead us to victory. Oh gods, why?" "I do not know, milady," said Gimli quietly. "I do not know."
Gimli walked to a spare room and through himself down on the bed. He wept. He wept for Aragorn, the man who was supposed to save them all. He wept for all those who had fallen. But most of all, he wept for Legolas. Gone forever.
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Well? Tell me what you think.
