Chapter 6

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The road to Helm's Deep was a long and arduous one, especially for those ill or travelling on foot. Mothers tried to keep track of their children, for whom a trip like this had the flavour of adventure and, that being, behaved adventurously. They were knights and riders, they were wizards and elves, and they fought amongst each other, defending the kingdom from the fell beasts that their imagination hatched.

The first day on the road was a novelty for many that had never been far from Edoras' sight, but the second day was faced with heavy hearts. Two of the soldiers, who had been wounded in the same Orc attack that had claimed Théodred's life, had passed away during the night. Their families were forced to abandon their bodies and resume their path, for there was no time to put the dead to rest.

Moods became so dark and the people grew fearful of their fates in such ways that even the smallest of children soon understood what adults had tried so hard to shield them from.

Death was on their tail, and if they could not reach the fort in time, they would stand no chance at all.

The column of refugees stretched for miles, for many had joined them as they passed through other villages. The King and his guards, on horse, rode ahead, while the heavy wagons came last. In the middle, those without horses, walked.

Legolas walked alongside the villagers, having left Gimli to ride Arod on his own. The dwarf needed to get more comfortable with their steed, something that Gimli defended to be a waste of time, and Legolas needed the time to clear his thoughts. Much had happened of late, and the elf felt adrift, twirling in waters as swift as those in the river that floated beside them. Much had changed since he had left his father's halls to deliver a message to Elrond. Much had he learned… much had he lost.

Letting his feet find their way in the soft grass, Legolas lost himself in the conversations of the strangers that surrounded him. Faint specks of every-days' life that brought back a bit of the existence they had known so far. All that was familiar to these people had been left behind, and all that lay ahead was unknown to them. And still, they discussed the she-goat that would give birth within days and the first steps that one of the village's babies had recently taken.

Hearing them talk, the elf could have been fooled in to believing that they were ignorant of their true situation, or worse, trying to ignore it. But Legolas had learned to known these humans better than that, and he knew how strong their resolve truly was, no matter what defences they used to keep themselves and their children calm. He knew that, when the time came for them to defend their lives and the lives of their loved ones, they would do so, with a blind faith that only humans could summon.

These were strangers. Men, women and children that he had never seen, but that had warmed their way in to his heart. The determination to survive, faced with the worse of adversities and perils, had always been something he had admired in Humans, even before he had ever met Estel. Human race knew how limited their time was, and that knowledge led them in to such urgency, such lust for life as Elves could never fully understand.

Legolas could now realize how easy it was for Elves to comprehend the differences between their kind and Humans as flaws, limitations brought by their mortality. He understood now, how wrong they were.

Through his own flaws, Legolas could now see how strong Humankind was, so much more than his own kin, for he could not find in himself the same strength to overcome his limitations. A shadow of an elf, he felt, now that the need for his skills was more pressing, now that his friends walked to danger, now that these people, so strange and, at the same time, so familiar, needed him the most.

A cold hand ran its claws through his mind, alerting him that something was amiss. The animals around them tried to escape their masters, nervous, having caught the scent of danger in the air.

"Warg attack!" Aragorn's voice shouted from ahead, "We're under attack!"

Panic screams crossed in the air as some stood paralysed in fear and others raced to their horses to join the fight.

Éowyn had already started to organize the frightened women and children. If the men managed to hold off the wargs long enough, they could still escape to the Deep. As much as the Rohan shield maiden longed to join the others in this fight, she knew that with her uncle leading the warriors and her brother away, the responsibility of leading the people to safety fell on her shoulders.

In the midst of the surrounding chaos, Legolas' decision was immediate. He would not let the others to fight alone. With a soft whistle, Arod came galloping towards him, with Gimli trying to stay on top of the fast horse.

"Make room." the elf asked.

The dwarf barely had time to do so, as the elf jumped on top of the horse, seating in front of him.

"I hope you know what you're doing!" Gimli mumbled, his axe already set to taste some orc blood.

'So do I" was the thought racing through Legolas' mind as he strung his bow for the first time in many days, glad that his quiver had been strapped to his horse, and raced to join the battle.

~''~

The Rohirrim were fearsome warriors on horse, the best in all of Middle-Earth. Their weapons of choice, when ridding to attack, were the sharp spears they carried, a deadly weapon on its own, but even more so when allied to the animal's grand speed.

Others, more experienced, had mastered the art of archery on horse back, one of the most difficult war skills, for it required not only skill with a bow and arrow, but also a great amount of trust on the horse they rode.

Théoden led the attack, his sword unshielded, a mighty war shout in his lips. Beside him rode the future King of Gondor.

The warg riders were very close now, and many of the Rohan warriors could see, for the first time, the foul beasts. Somewhere between a large wild dog and a small bear, with large teeth, too big to be kept inside it's mouth, and long claws, that pierced the earth and left it rippled, as they passed, the wargs were the biggest of Nature's abominations, an animal bread for a single purpose.

To kill.

The Orcs, struggling to keep themselves on top of the large, untamed beasts, carried no bows, an advantage that the Rohirrim did not waste, letting their arrows fly and take as many enemies as they could before the parties met.

The clash between the two groups of warriors was brutal, riders from both sides falling to the ground and being trampled by horses and wargs alike.

Legolas followed Gimli's directions to aim his arrows and their teamwork managed to strike a good number of Orcs, for even if his accuracy was not as good as before, the elf was still the swiftest archer amongst the fighters.

Now, however, they were too close to use bows and the two companions swung their blades in synchrony, striking any orc that dare to near them.

"How do the others fare?" Legolas asked, one of his knives defending an orc blade while the other cut through the neck of the warg he rode.

Gimli took a moment of quietness to look around.

"They could be worse." he said out of breath, his heavy axe dripping black blood and already swinging to strike the orc rider he could see coming their way.

The axe relieved the orc of his head, but the warg, as much bloodthirsty as his rider, flung itself at the pair.

The air was forced out of Legolas' chest as the heavy beast smashed in to his side, throwing him to the rocky ground. Gimli landed next to him, his chain mail and armour clattering like broken pottery.

The drooling warg was on top of them in a heart beat, foul breath and deadly teeth ready to sink in to Gimli's neck.

Reacting on instinct, both dwarf and elf attacked the animal, Legolas' knife cutting through the thick carcass and piercing its heart, Gimli's axe severing the warg's jaw in two. The warg fell dead instantly.

"Gimli?" Legolas asked, concerned. His hand searched for the dwarf but all he could find was the warg's rough fur.

"Help me move this stinking beast!" Gimli grumbled, out of breath.

Free from the dead weight, Gimli could now see that the Rohan warriors were gaining the upper hand in the fight. Few wargs could still be seen about, and those remaining were either being chased and slaughtered, or running away.

Searching for Aragorn's familiar figure, the dwarf spotted him in pursuit of one of the last warg riders, jumping on to its back as Gimli watched.

The orc ridding it was, however, ready for that move and with a powerful head back swing, hit Aragorn's face and unbalanced the man. Feeling the distraction of his rider and with no one to care for its actions, the warg raced out of control, straight to the cliff's edge.

"Oh! This ain't good!" Gimli whispered. With mounting fear, he realized he stood too far to reach the ranger in time to do anything.

"What happens?" Legolas asked, frustrated.

"Aragorn," he explained, "he is strapped to one of those blasted creatures. It heads for the cliff! We have to stop it!"

Legolas bit his lip. He had no time for questions or doubts.

"Do you see my bow?"

Gimli grabbed the weapon from where it had fallen and pressed it to the elf's hands.

"Hurry!"

"Tell me exactly where they are and in which direction they move." Legolas asked, an arrow notched in his bow, the cord stretched to its maximum.

"North, moving north-west."

Legolas let the first arrow fly, with a prayer to the Valar. In the time of a single blink of an eye, the elf fired a rapid succession of arrows, swiping the direction Gimli had given him in a straight line.

Gimli cursed.

"Rear leg, but it still runs." he shouted, "They move a finger's length to west."

Legolas adjusted his aim and continued to use the same method as before, his shots becoming even faster, a blur of movements for mortal eyes, as he knew Aragorn's time was running out.

He had released his last arrow when he heard Gimli gasp beside him.

"What? What has happen Gimli?"

"He fell…" the dwarf whispered.

Legolas' heart sunk to the ground, shattered.

"It can't be!"

Gimli grabbed his wrist and dragged the elf to where he had seen the ranger plunge off the cliff. Nearing the edge, the dwarf searched for his friend.

"I see naught, but…" he started uneasily, "the current's too strong."

The rest he needn't say. Even if Aragorn had survived the fall, he would still be hard pressed to survive the river's angry waters.

It was foolish to think him alive, but foul to accept his death.

Legolas whispered something in his tongue, his eyes shut as his head fell to his chest. The stout dwarf felt his eyes stinging with tears for his fallen friend.

Behind them, the orc that the ranger had been fighting, laid on the ground, a mortal wound in his chest. But still, he laughed.

In anger, Legolas grabbed the fell being by his tattered leather vest, feeling the warm wetness beneath his fingers.

"Tell me what happened!"

The orc seemed little fazed by the menace in the elf's voice.

"The ranger" he said, his voice drowning in his own blood, "took a little tumble, " he coughed, "off the cliff". The laughing brought a stronger coughing fit, blood splattering Legolas' hands.

"But that wasn't what killed him" the orc said, breathlessly, "…the arrow in his neck did it!"

Legolas' face lost all colour.

"You lie!" he snarled, trying to shake the truth out of the dark creature.

But it was of no use. The orc was slack in his hands. Dead.

Legolas dropped the useless carcass and sat next to it, all strength gone from his limbs. He could feel Gimli's strong presence beside him, no words offered. Two friends grieving in silence.

When Théoden came to them, he didn't ask what had happened. The sad news were well written in their faces. His hand clasped the elf's shoulder, the flesh tense beneath his touch.

"Come… the wolves of Isengard will return," he warned them, "Leave the dead."

The elf turned to him. And Théoden King flinched at what he saw in those old eyes. So much pain and confusion… guilt?

"Come." he asked again, his voice saying he understood.

They had lost Aragorn and many good men of Rohan, to the enemy. He would not lose these two as well, to grief and sorrow.

Tears would have to wait to be shed.

~''~

It was a subdued group that rode in to Helm's Deep, their victory tasting bitterly, like no victory at all. With many of the wounded unable to ride on their own, exhausted horses stopped in the main courtyard carrying two soldiers. Others had no rider at all. All, men and steeds alike, bear haunted looks on their eyes, bodies and faces smeared with blood. Theirs, of their friends and of their enemies.

"The King!" someone alerted, "The King returns!"

Éowyn grabbed the edge of her skirt and raced to the main gate, leaving behind the provisions she had been sorting out.

Her heart, heavy with worry since the warriors had been left behind, clenched inside her chest when she saw how many had made it back.

"So few…" she whispered in sad realization, "So few of you have returned."

Her eyes searched for familiar faces amongst the survivors. Her uncle met her gaze, the silent grief in his manner confirming their great lost.

Aragorn, whom she was by now used to see next to Théoden, was nowhere in sight.

Gimli was harder to spot in the middle of the tall Rohirrim, but his fair companion was an easier one to find. Both looked bloodied and bedraggled, and the shield maiden feared the worst when she went to them.

Relief to see that none had sustained any serious wound, however, was washed away when she saw the tear tracks in Gimli's dirty face.

"Lord Aragorn?" she forced herself to ask, "Where is he?"

She already knew the answer.

"He fell." Gimli confirmed in an unsteady voice.

The world stopped its breath and blurred away behind fat tears. Éowyn clasped her hands together with all her fading strength and sat on the cold, stone steps behind her. Aragorn was gone!

The man she had come to respect and admire so. The man that had respected her in return, not only as a Lady of the court, but as a woman and a warrior. The man she found her heart opening to… was gone.

She blinked her tears away. The two warriors were still standing in front of her, lost. And she realized that, as deep as her pain was, it wasn't but a drop of water compared to Aragorn's companions ocean of grief.

"Come," she asked them, cleaning the tears from her face, "I will take you to where you may refresh yourselves and rest for awhile."

The elf had not said a single word since their arrival, head downcast and walking behind them without making a sound. It came as no surprise to either dwarf or woman when they arrived at the fort's kitchen and found that Legolas was no longer behind them.

"Will he be alright?" Éowyn asked in concern.

No. His heart bleeds.

"Aye. The elf will be fine." Gimli said, hoping it wasn't a lie.

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