Also, I am visiting my dad this weekend. My dad, who unfortunately does not own a computer. :( So I can't update again until I get back Sunday, which means the next update will probably be this Monday or later.
And I know this is starting to sound redundant, but you guys are all so awesome with your reviews. They make me very happy:)
Now onto the next chapter.
The Battle of Mirkwood
They fled from the flames, hurrying as fast as they could along the ground and across the treetops. At first the fire had been right upon them, touching the ends of their feet with every step, but ultimately they were faster.
The fire had consumed their old dwellings, and now they worried that they would be unable to find new ones. And so an unofficial gathering was called, only the second one ever held where all groups were in alliance. Such a meeting had only been held once before when they had decided to move into the forest. But they all saw the necessity of the meeting this time. Their efforts would have to become coordinated in order for all to profit.
Their plans were really quite simple. A few stings here, a few there. An elf or two would go missing, being dragged off quietly into the nests. It would go unnoticed by the others, whose attention rested on driving the fire back and nothing else. What had at first seemed like a disaster was really a wonderful opportunity for fresh meat. And blood.
Legolas was resting. Whether this was because he finally could no longer stand, or because someone had managed to force him to lie down, this tale does not reveal. The point is that after nearly going for four days, fighting harder than he had ever before, in extreme conditions, had worn the elf out. He sleep was not quiet though.
He was lying on a cot in the rest area. Some twenty other elves surrounded him, also resting. None of them were sleeping any better than their prince. The crying of the trees penetrated their very dreams.
For Legolas this crying took the image of a dark field of ashes, in which he was wandering, eternally lost, his feet leaving no prints behind him. In the face of this utter destruction all he could think was that elves can 'walk upon the ash'. The thought echoed in the air around him. As he walked he spotted something lying ahead. He hurried over to it. It was a leaf, a healthy green one at that. Yet as he watched, it burst into flame, withered, browned, and then added its remains to the great field. The leaf was gone forever.
He woke with a start. Four hours and a half had passed since he had first lain down. Now he sat up on the cot and looked around him. Other elves were turning and muttering, lost in their own dreams. He abruptly decided that he had quite enough rest, and went to get a small drink before returning to defend the woods. The image of the leaf haunted his thoughts.
As he left, Tanvir walked in. He appeared as exhausted as Legolas had been, yet reluctant to leave. In fact, that's pretty much how every elf looked entering the space cleared for cots. It was almost a feeling of guilt, even though they all knew that the rest was necessary.
The two friends clasped each other's lower arms in greeting, and for a moment, they had a chance to talk. It turned out that Tanvir wasn't there to rest at all, but rather to find the prince.
"Legolas, I have heard that you've talked to your father again?"
"Two days ago." The elf couldn't look at his friend.
"And? What was his answer?"
"He still does not wish for aid."
Tanvir looked furious. "It doesn't matter what he wishes for now! Without help this entire forest will burn! Please tell me that you are going to send for help anyways, if you have not already done so."
Before Legolas could respond, a murmur ran through the elves standing around them. A white horse was galloping through the forest, and upon his back sat someone who Legolas recognized in an instant. For a moment Legolas smiled. His first one for days. It was very funny watching Gimli try to ride Arod by himself.
Tanvir smiled also, "I guess that answers my question."
Legolas turned around, surprise on his face, "But I have not sent for..." It was no use, Tanvir wasn't listening to him. He was hurrying off to greet the dwarf. After a moment, Legolas recovered from his shock and followed.
The dwarf saw him approach. "Legolas, my lad," he was out of breath from riding through the smoke. He paused for a moment to cough. "I have news," more coughing, "it's important."
"Come on, ride the horse this way, towards the stables. In fact, dismount first. The lower to the ground, the less thick the smoke." Legolas moved forward to hold Arod's reins, and Gimli half dismounted and half fell from the horse.
"Aye, it's better down off his back, but not by much." Arod snorted, and stamped his legs as if to say he had done the best he could.
Tanvir stroked his head and whispered something in his ear. The three of them hurriedly moved towards the stables.
Gimli spoke as they walked along, explaining what had been going on outside of Mirkwood while the forest had been burning. As Tanvir went in to stable the horse, Legolas and Gimli remained outside talking. "I'm afraid that my arrival is not as much help as it could have been, but Aragorn even now is riding back to bring aid from Gondor and the Glittering caves. They will come with all possible haste."
Legolas looked down at him, relief in his eyes, "That is indeed good news Master Dwarf. I owe you and Aragorn a large debt of gratitude."
The dwarf snorted, "You can repay it by allowing me a small drink before we tackle the flames."
Legolas grinned, "That is easily done for you my friend. But savor the water while you have it, it is heavily rationed."
Gimli nodded as Tanvir exited from the stables. The three hurried back in the direction they had come, Gimli introducing himself to the prince's friend.
Tanvir had heard Legolas mention his dwarven friend before, and had always wished that someday he might be able to meet this dwarf whom his friend held in so high respect. The two shook hands, locking eyes with each other. What passed between them was unsure, but after that they seemed to have an understanding between them. It was as if they both had known instantly that they had met the heart of a fellow warrior, and so respect for the other one came naturally.
The blades were sharpened, the slaves returned to their chains below, and now all the crew waited for was the word from the captain to begin. The ships had sailed up as far as possible, hidden in the dense smoke. It would only take them around an hour to move into their attack positions. Scouts had gone ahead and reported that most all elves were only focusing on the spreading fires. If they moved and attacked correctly, the battle would really be over before it would have a chance to begin.
Sanul came up onto the deck and looked over his crew. Once more he spoke directly to them, "Many of the elves will resist once they realize what is going on. Do not fret that if you kill them it will cut into the profits. There will be plenty of women and others left over from the fighting to make you rich men for the rest of your lives."
The crew nodded their understanding. Sanul turned to Urgsha, and gave a quick nod with his head. Urgsha moved forward. "Lower the planks!"
They were lowered.
"Move out!"
And so the crew turned and, positively leaping off the ship, ran into the trees, trying their best to move swiftly, but silently, hiding in shadows whenever they could. Urgsha now looked at the remainder of men left behind to guard the other slaves. He issued last orders to them and then followed the rest of the crew. The guards looked around nervously.
One spoke up, "Just our luck eh? We're stuck behind, with these 'ere prisoners, and won't be able to catch no new ones for the profit!"
The other one looked around nervously and hissed, "Stop yer grumbling! Do you want him to here yer?"
"Fool! He's not on the ship. In that 'ole cloak of his he slipped off. I fancy he's going to catch many a pointed ear pretty face before this raid gets done with. That'll be one more than we get."
"Fool yourself! All crew gets cuts in the profit, even if yer don't raid. It's natural law that is. So be glad the 'ole boss is out there peggin' em down. What it means is that we get the money, without havin to move from the ship, and without havin to face the elven blades."
It was true that Sanul was not on the ship. But it was not true that he planned to have to fight directly with the elves. He was headed towards them, as the crew was, only he was much better at hiding in the shadows. Shadows which he planned to strike out from in ambush.
Drano was becoming tired. Aragorn could tell by the way the horse's rhythm had changed. It was subtle, but noticeable. He cursed himself again. His mind kept coming back to one thought, 'if only I had brought some men!' yet the cruel reality was that he had not.
He knew that Drano would have to rest. He pulled the reins, stopping the horse, and dismounted, walking the horse slowly to cool him down. Afterwards he rubbed down the legs and fore chest with the saddlecloth, and readjusted the bits in the mouth. He was in a hurry, but the horse had to be cared for properly, or it would only costs him more delays later on. He knew that he would be riding Brego, who was much faster, back to the forest. Brego would run his heart out when asked to.
Satisfied that the horse had been given sufficient time to steady it's breathing, Aragorn mounted again, and soon horse and rider were flying across the plains on their desperate errand.
But not five hours later, once again Aragorn had to stop, dismount, walk the horse, rub the legs and fore chest and adjust the bridal and bits. This time food and water were also presented to Drano, who took both greedily. After waiting some more, Aragorn jumped up and moved Drano quickly into a gallop. Now another thought entered the king's mind. I should have rode into Mirkwood and borrowed an elven horse! Drano is already tired from galloping here, I should have rested him in the Mirkwood stables! Again he cursed himself in frustration. He urged Drano a little harder, and spoke to him, asking him to run faster.
As if he could really hear him, the horse put on an extra burst of speed.
Legolas was back with the rag. He was beating at the flames mercilessly, waiting for the maid with the water to run over. The bucket chain had moved over to his side now, and the water was a great advantage. Tanvir had moved over to a different area, but Gimli was toiling beside him, digging a dry ditch, and clearing away the underbrush. Since they had returned from the stables to fight the fire, barely two words had been spoken between them. There was simply no time to speak. All efforts had to be put into halting the blazes. The wind had allied itself with the flames, helping them to quickly spread.
Legolas's nails had turned black, and his palms felt raw from beating with rags continuously. His back was sore from bending low to reach fires on the forest floor, and his clothing ripped in several places from climbing burning trees quickly, to put out fires in the branches. Right now he was back on the ground.
There was a load crack and a shower of sparks exploded towards his right. He quickly moved as a burning branch fell onto the spot where he had just extinguished the flames. Trying not to show his frustration, he returned to re-extinguish them again.
Gimli was frantically clearing the underbrush away, and hewing in the earth two lines, outlining a ditch. Perhaps when the other dwarves arrived they could dig it out to help stop the advancement. He was also watching his friend. Legolas had not stopped once to pause and rest, and Gimli could see exhaustion radiating from him. The elf was dirty and sweaty, a state Gimli had never seen him in before. Even his hair was a tad wild, stray strands falling across his face, to be brushed back quickly. A tear or two could be seen, sliding down the face. And the eyes. It was the eyes that caused Gimli's hair to stand on one end. They were full of an intense grief that cut straight through the dwarf's heart. For however much they teased each other, each suffered when the other did.
Legolas, frustrated, finally just reached down, and quickly snatching up the branch, hurled it back into the already flaming areas. His arm was burned, but not badly. His elven speed had done the trick. His ears picked up another crack, and judging it to be off to his right again, decided he wouldn't have to move to avoid the falling branch.
Except it wasn't a branch at all.
Legolas had the dim perception of Gimli yelling at him to look out, and then to see his friend come leaping over to where he stood, and raising his axe, cleave off the head of some man who had been about to cleave off the elf's own.
The head toppled down to lay at the prince's feet. Legolas blinked at it, and then whirled around to Gimli, who was shouting, "A corsair! Dirty, dishonorable filth! They'll be more than one too, mark my words!"
Legolas found his voice, "We have to warn the others! Hurry! Tell everyone to spread the word! A corsair raid!" Seamlessly he unsheathed his knives from his waist belt. He would have to go without his bow for now, it was up in the palace, and there was no time to run for it. Now on the alert, he looked at the woods around him to see if where the others were.
He didn't have long to wait, it seemed suddenly as if the corsairs had popped up from nowhere. All along the line of fire a great battle started to commence. The corsairs, realizing that the element of surprise must be used now or forever lost, started jumping up from behind trees, or jumping down from the branches.
Legolas whipped his knives through the air, bringing them to connect solidly across the neck of the enemy. The blades sliced the bone easily, and the man was decapitated. Legolas didn't even pause. He was bringing one knife up to parry a short sword, and then sliding the second in to cut across the belly of another corsair. Rage was in his eyes, and he fought as deadly as ever. Blood that had spurted from his enemies was now also over his skin and tunic.
Gimli was running along the line of battle, killing any man who stood in his way. He was yelling at the top of his voice, warning the elves. As he ran, he saw spots where the corsairs had broken through, leaving the bodies of dead elves behind. The surprise had been too sudden for them to react.
This filled him with a keen anger and spotting another corsair, he hurled his throwing axe into the back, forcing him to have to jerk it to pull it out. He left the man there, this slaver wouldn't be fighting any more.
From the palace Thranduil heard the clashing of swords even over the roar of the flames. He had been studying maps, and charts of the fire's progress, trying to figure out how best to distribute his people. Now he hurried out into the grounds just as another elf ran up to him.
"My lord..." the elf was taking heaving breaths, "corsairs... attacking...some have broken through..."
To his credit, Thranduil was able to move quickly past his initial shock, "Fight them back! Have the women move to hold the fires. Wake all who are resting! We must fight them off!" Anger flared in his eyes.
The elf nodded his head, "I shall spread the word my lord."
As he turned to bolt off again, Thranduil called out one other thing, "And gather my advisors. I need to know the positions of the enemy!"
"Yes my lord!" Then the elf disappeared into the trees and smoke.
Thranduil returned angrily into the palace. His mind was at a lost of how quickly misfortune had struck, dealing him blow after blow. It didn't seem possible that only last spring they had been celebrating with feasts under the starlight. He had sat at the head of the table, with Legolas beside him. The two had talked and laughed over their wine, joking and being merry with their other friends.
Legolas. Suddenly Tranduil had a desperate urge to see his son again. To talk with him. To reassure himself that the prince was still alive, and that death was being delivered to others, the enemies. His fatherly instincts reached out desperately, wishing to protect his boy from the evil in the world, as he had tried to do so, many, many years ago. This had been when Legolas had first begun to associate with mortals. The king had not wanted to see his son hurt with the grief of death, but Legolas had not wanted to be sheltered. Thranduil had given in, which was why his son was close as a brother to the king of men these days. Still, the fatherly instinct was strong. He decided that as soon as his advisors arrived he would go down to see the healers, to calm himself.
Then his kingly mindset kicked in. Before he could allow himself any sort of luxury of finding his son, he would have to prepare the defenses for his people. His mind turned to this track instantly, searching for a way to counter attack. He was still doing that when the advisors finally arrived. His desire to send for his son and to see the healers had to be pushed aside for the moment.
At last Minas Tirith came into sight. Aragorn had never been more grateful. As he reached the palace Arwen came hurrying out, worry plain to see on her face.
"What has happened? Where is Gimli?" Her voice was stressed.
"Mirkwood has caught fire, Gimli has stayed behind to help in what ways he can. I must summon men to go to Legolas's aid. We have no time to waste. I need you to write to the Glittering caves, and on Gimli's authority, ask for all water possible to be sent to Mirkwood, as well as all the dwarves that they can spare. The elves shall need all the help they can get." As Aragorn had said this, he had also handed Drano off to a handler, and had entered into the palace, Arwen striding along with him.
"I shall do as you say."
"I need to gather the men. We must ride as soon as possible." He sent a messenger boy for one of his guard captains.
Within an hour the courtyard, and surrounding streets were filled with Gondorian soldiers. Aragorn saddled Brego with all possible speed. This time though, Arwen laid a hand upon his arm before he could swing up into the stirrups.
She looked him into the eye, "As long as the evenstar is with you, then know that I am with you."
"I have always known that. We shall put out this fire quickly. You'll see." They embraced, Arwen clinging tightly to his shoulders, and then Aragorn was up on his horse, and riding out past the men. As he came to the head of the column, he turned back and shouted to them, "We ride at full speed, towards the smoke on the horizon. There will be no stopping! Our allies in Mirkwood need our aid and we shall not fail them! Ride out!" Heels kicked against their horses, and, mimicking the great thunder that they had heard during the storm, the horses rode out of the city. Arwen watched this all from the stable door, worry clutching at her heart.
A blade came hurling right at him, Legolas ducked, and in return, flung sideways one of his knives. The corsair at the last minute moved and stupidly, put his hand up to block it, and as a result, lost his hand. By the time he could recover from that shock, Legolas was already upon him, stabbing the remaining blade into the heart, and then jerking down.
With a grunt of satisfaction Legolas removed the blade, ran, and in one swift motion, picked up the thrown one, and then parried an attack from the side. He reached over to kill the man and was, to his shock, in turn parried. What followed was a desperate match between the exhausted but superior fighter, and the fresh but inexperienced one. Blade clashed against blade. For each attack a defense was given. Legolas tried aiming for the face, and was blocked. He tried to fake the man into thinking that he was going for the belly, and went for the neck instead and was still blocked. In his own turn, he brought his blades down to block what would have been a crippling blow to his side. Across the terrain they battled, each determined to win by killing the other.
Experience finally won out. The corsair forgot to watch his footwork and stumbled backwards upon a root. Falling, he found he had one last chance to strike a blow against the enemy. He whipped his sword around the side, and was rewarded with the feeling of blade cutting flesh. But not for long. A pain exploded under his right ear and then he knew no more. Legolas had sliced his knife upwards under the ear, effectively cutting into the brain. The corsair was dead.
The elf glanced down at his side. It was bleeding, what's more, it was impossible for him now to lift up his left arm without causing himself excruciating agony. Angrily he turned to see if there were some plants he could use to help stop up the wound. Suddenly he noticed that the leaves all around him were burning. During the fight he had steadily pushed the corsair back towards the flames, and now found that the fires were practically right on top of him. If the battle had lasted but two or three minutes more, both corsair and elf would have been completely cut off, in a circle of burning trees.
For the first time in his life, Legolas lost his bearings in a battle. For a second he was back upon the field of ashes, watching the leaf wither and curl into the dark dust. He shook his head and cleared the vision, but the distraction had been enough.
A corsair bursting through the flames had run up behind him, and
seeing the elf without any defenses ready, struck him from behind.
Legolas had a momentary feeling of incredible anger at himself, then
incredible pain from his back, and then the burning woods spun around him
as all went black.
Tanvir had seen it all. Screaming a cry of rage he hurried to his friend, shooting into the eye of the corsair an arrow. The corsair landed dead a few feet away from Legolas, who lay on the ground with blood flowing from him. In the smoke Tanvir could not tell whether or not if he was breathing. Tears flowed down his face, and he feared the worst.
He bent over his friend and placed his hand on the chest. He cursed at himself, his hand was trembling too much to tell if the chest was moving. He picked his friend up, and carried him back to the rest area, which had now been converted into a makeshift healing place. Dying elves lay everywhere, and the stench of blood was overwhelming. Two women came hurrying up and carried the prince away from him. Tanvir followed, to ask if his friend was even still alive, but he could not tell in the smoke which way they had gone. He yelled his frustration, and then, full of a righteous anger, hurled headlong back into the battle. He fired three arrows, which slew instantly whoever was in their paths, and then pulled out his own long sword. He was furious with grief, and now out to exact a bloody vengeance. His eyes were devoid of emotion as he hewed at the corsairs with his deadly strokes, yet each one who fell did not even begin to appeal his wrath.
Gimli swung his axe around and caught the side of a man with it. Yet even as he felled this one, another elf fell in death off to his side. They were losing the battle, being driven back slowly by the fire and corsairs. The women were doing the best they could to slow down the inferno, but the corsairs were carrying them off, to sell like horses into far away foreign markets. Gimli gritted his teeth and fought on. He would suffer no more retreating. He pushed forward.
The women who had taken Legolas away had laid him down on a cot for a moment. Then, being distracted by a new patient coming in, they had left him there, still bleeding, laying still as death, eyes shut and face pale.
Thus it was that Thranduil saw his son as he and his advisors walked through to see the healers.
At first, he had simply glanced at the elf and then continued on. The smoke made everything difficult to see, but all of a sudden a picture of whom it was came clear as day to his mind. He deserted his advisors and ran back to the cot. His fear was confirmed, there lay his son.
He stared at the prince, not moving. He could not move forward to touch the body. As long as he didn't touch the body and feel its stillness then in his mind there existed the chance for life. The fact was that his heart could not accept it if Legolas was dead.
Now grief made its presence known. Tears flowed from his eyes, he turned and walked away, stumbling towards the palace. He couldn't stand to look upon the body any more. He yelled at his advisors to bring his son away from the area so injured elves could have a place to lie down, but the advisors couldn't hear him over the noise and confusion of battle. To be honest, he couldn't even hear himself. Only his son was in his mind. His tears blinded him. So when Urgsha sprang at him from the gate he reacted too slowly and too late. A blow to his temple left him unconscious, and Urgsha, recognizing whom he had caught was filled with glee.
The king of Mirkwood himself! Who else would wear a crown? This would be a prize that Sanul would accept as rich enough. As soon as the battle had started Urgsha had made his way around as quietly as he could to the palace. He had chosen his path carefully, avoiding everyone, his own crew included. Upon reaching the palace and trying every way he could think of to gain entrance, found to his despair that he could not. For indeed there were some protecting enchantments. He was panicking, wondering how on earth to deliver on his promise to Sanul when this king had practically walked right into his arms, crying, probably for the stupid trees. It had been easy to knock him out.
He dragged the king into the forest, deciding to take the shorter way back.
As they moved forward sounds came to them. Battle sounds, and sounds of the dying. This they perceived as good. More distractions, and now they would know that no elves would be in the trees to see them.
The word from the leaders was given, and one by one they choose a tree and climbed it, scuttling quietly across the branches, leaving silken threads behind to help form new nests. The spiders were moving into position.
The elves were running. They could not do it. Too many corsairs had come, and too many elves had been caught unawares. The corsairs were now selecting carefully the places they landed their blows. Many of these elves would make good slaves.
The fire was waging unchecked and in the time since the battle had started, had more than tripled its original area. Trees were consumed by the flame and ashes seemed to rain from the sky.
Despair was thick in the atmosphere. The advisors could not find their king and so turned to find Legolas. Then they received rumors that the prince had died, and to their horror they suddenly realized that Mirkwood was now without a king. So they had chosen that moment above all to start arguing amongst themselves about who should now claim the throne. This they were still doing when the corsairs found them, and panicking they had scattered, each yelling out different orders to the confused elves. The woods in short, were nothing less than total chaos.
Gimli killed another corsair, and another, and another. Yet he could see that his actions were making little difference. The cry of retreat was on the air. But he was determined that death would take him first before he turned his back. As he swung his axe again for the countless time, he saw Tanvir, whirling like a deadly wind through the corsairs. Tears streaked down his face, and he was yelling. For some unknown reason Gimli felt suddenly very afraid in his heart of hearts. Without knowing exactly how, he knew that something very terrible had happened. Perhaps it was from the connection the two had formed earlier when their gazes had locked. Now Tanvir's gaze only communicated a horrible grief.
He looked around, and didn't see Legolas anywhere. He told himself that this was because the trees were blocking his friend from sight, but another look at Tanvir's face told him that this was not so.
With a cry of rage he hefted his axe and ran into the fray, chopping out legs as he ran by, not caring to see if the corsair had died or not. He simply wanted them to feel pain as keenly as he now felt it. The ranks of corsairs closed in around him, and he lifted his axe, ready to do his last battle with them.
Behind him suddenly he felt the presence of Tanvir who had fought to his side. Now in perfect unison the two warriors attacked together.
Aragorn's steed finally topped the last hill. It seemed to the ranger's eyes that the smoke had grown thicker since he had last see it. As the men and him halted their horses for a moment to gather their bearings, a sound came to his ears.
The noise of swords. The sounds of screaming and yelling were being, very faintly, carried on the wind.
Aragorn felt his heart skip a beat. What was going on? A battle, taking place inside the forest? Something had gone terribly amiss in his absence. He drew his sword, and his men followed suit.
He turned his horse around once more and spoke to them, "It is no longer fire we fight! Although I do not know who our enemy is, we shall go meet him head on! I know you were not expecting battle, but battle is upon us nevertheless. Let us once again demonstrate the honor that there is in men!" He turned and plunged down the hill. His men followed. Their horses thundering as before, they entered into the woods.