Finally posted another chapter on this. Sorry it took so long. I've had other stories dying to be written down currently...too many stories. My writer's block is over, and it's over with a bang.
But it's better then having writer's block, I suppose.
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Chapter 3: Rise and fall
Legolas shook a strand of wet hair from his face and let loose another arrow. There was a shrill cry, and one more Uruk-hai fell. Five more filled its place. The elf growled and fired another shot into them. Around him, the few other archers lined the outside rim of the Hornburg. Below, waves of thousands of Uruk-hai pressed closers, destroying the weak army in front of them. The rain had abated some, though it remained, constantly there to spite the warriors that slipped in the mud. Blood mixed with rain in the stonework below.
"Legolas, we cannot hold the archers positions any longer," Théoden shouted over the din. He stood a few feet away from Legolas, watching the scene below him with horror. Legolas glared at him.
"If you move your archers into that fray, they will die much faster! They must stay here, where they can bring slow and steady death without relinquishing their own lives." Théoden stared at Legolas.
"The archers will fight. I command you to…"
"You have no power over me, King Théoden, though I respect your power, and it seems that your decisions have only made things worse thus far. The archers will remain until needed, a reserve, so to speak."
"A reserve of fifteen men," Théoden muttered, turning back to the battle. He was too weary to balance the two battles. Let the obstinate elf do what he wanted. Legolas nodded in acknowledgement to Théoden before firing three more arrows into the sea of bodies below. He reached back into his quiver for arrows…
…and found it empty. Legolas patted around the rim, felt inside, but there were no more arrows for him. Around him, some archers had met the same predicament. They searched on the ground in vain for any shaft worth firing. Slowly, their fellows joined them, the quivers spent, the arrows gone. Legolas bent low to the ground and sifted through the mud around him. He would find something here to use; he knew he would.
"We have no more arrows," a feeble voice said behind him. Legolas glowered at him.
"Do you not think I know this?" he spat. The boy recoiled. Legolas stood up slowly and gazed at the battle beyond. He looked around at the archers, then at Théoden. Théoden paid them no heed though.
Suddenly, there came a rumbling through the stones. Legolas looked down, and to his horror, he saw a large battering ram against the gate beyond. It struck again, sending timbers flying away.
"The gate will hold," Théoden said calmly. "My men reinforced it will all extra wood we had while we had the chance." He looked to Legolas. "There is another passageway, off to the right, with stairs. You should find yourself in the battle then." Legolas made a sound in the back of his throat.
"Then we shall follow it," he said shortly, turning on his heel. But a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked over into Théoden's creased face. Worry covered the man's eyes in a thick glaze, and his mouth quivered like that of an old man on his last leg.
"Forgive me," Théoden whispered before shoving Legolas away. "Go! You might yet help us in some way make this an ending of valor!" Without looking back, Legolas ran towards the direction of the stairs indicated. He took them two at a time, keeping his footing only because of his elven grace. Men below him scrambled down the wet stars, swords ready, their faces set for death. Fear hung in the air around Legolas, so tight in the hidden tunnel. The humans thought that they walked to the very gates of death itself.
"'Tis not death, 'tis not life, 'tis just freedom, away from strife," Legolas muttered under his breath. In front of him, he could see a large door. Four men already pushed against it. Five, six, seven…Aragorn, this is for you…eleven, twelve, thirteen…May I bring swift death to these creatures for your pain…fourteen, fifteen…I will always love you…
Legolas threw himself against the door with all his might, letting out a great cry. It groaned and shifted, something clicking inside of it. Legolas shoved, calling out to the men. He did not know what words he spoke, other then the fact that he spoke them that they came from his mouth. The door creaked open, inch-by-inch. A cold blast of air hit Legolas and he shivered at it. But his blood ran hot, hot with anger, hot with fear, hot with mortality, for his own death could wait around the corner for him.
"But I will not let Aragorn fall," he said aloud. "Aragorn shall live on, the King of Men." Suddenly, the door gave way, flying open with tremendous force. Legolas heard at least twenty Uruk-hai fall dead at the impact. The full blast of them, though, was yet to come.
He charged into the battle, flipping out the two white knives on his back. He drove one into each of the Uruk-hai's necks beside him and pulled them out. The white blade came out black with their blood, and Legolas shook the blood out of his face. Around him, he heard the men screaming. He leapt over a fallen body and drove both knives into the exposed back of an Uruk-hai. He saw in front of him the main press, surging forward with each hit of the battering ram, fighting to get to the gates first. Legolas charged through them. He kicked out at a wounded Uruk-hai on the ground. It growled at him and grabbed his ankle, twisting hard. Legolas kicked its mutilated face and jumped back. Behind him, another Uruk-hai brought up its sword. Legolas blocked it with both knives behind him. He spun around, using the sword to propel him, and had both knives in the creature's neck.
Suddenly, pain spread through his leg. Legolas looked down, then back to that Uruk-hai. Inside of his boot, he felt the familiar tingling of blood flowing along his skin. He tested his foot on the ground again. It was not broken but bruised for sure. Legolas wished now for the freedom of a sword to hold onto. But still, the word 'Aragorn' resounded through his head, throbbing in the same rhythm as the blood flowing through him. He gritted his teeth. Pain is nothing, he repeated over and over. Aragorn suffers, not I. I live to protect him, my love. Legolas, with a new fury, began his ascent towards the top of the Keep. He fought his way through swarms of Uruk-hai. Blood and mud covered him, splattered over his face. He shook a few strands of his hair from his face, sending water flying around him. The rain had not abated; in fact, it came down even harder then before. The twilight was not as thick as before, to Legolas' eyes. Still, morning was at least an hour away. Even Legolas pined for the sight of that bright sun, peeking around the cliffs of Helm's Deep, shining bright into the Coomb.
But still the rain did not relent.
***
Gimli realized suddenly that from above him the constant whiz of arrows from above him had stopped. He spared a glance above and saw only Théoden watching with horror the scene below him. Gimli cursed when there was no sight of the archers above him. They had done so well, such an asset even with their meager numbers. Every warrior was a gain.
But there came another sound to his ears. Easily slicing an Uruk-hai, Gimli paused momentarily to catch his breath. He involuntarily swung the handle of his axe into the oncoming face of another Uruk-hai. Suddenly, though, he heard a great cry, let out by a fierce and untamed voice. The Uruks around him trembled at the sound. A smile cracked the layers of blood and grime on Gimli's face. With new fury, he whirled around, charging through the armies, his axe felling any it came in contact with. He stumbled, tripping over a dead body. He let out a cry as he saw an Uruk-hai's face snarling down at him.
The creature suddenly paused, its eyes wide, and let out a shrill cry. It fell to the ground dead beside Gimli. Replacing it was a far fairer figure, even when covered in the dirt and blood and water.
"Legolas!" Gimli cried, stumbling to his feet with the help of the elf. Legolas put a hand on his friend's shoulder, a smile breaking across his face. "Oh, you're here." Gimli laughed and embraced the elf. "How's…"
"Alive," Legolas responded as he turned away to deliver another Uruk-hai from its mortal confines. "He's alive and healing. Aragorn should live…" Legolas left his sentence unsaid, but Gimli could not bear to hear it, just as the elf could not bear to say it. Both of them made nervous smiles.
"Then fight alongside me, friend, for Aragorn," Gimli whispered. Legolas clasped Gimli's shoulder.
"I would not desert you now, mellon." With that, both plunged back into the battle with renewed fury. Each had a companion by their side as they whirled and struck, recoiled from blows and ducked around bodies, jumped over the dead and carefully avoided the wounded, when they could. Legolas felt a smile creeping across his face, surrounded even by so much death.
Stand by me always, my friend. Stand by me now. And don't let me fall.
***
"You must let me go!" Aragorn shouted at the healer pushing gently on his shoulders. He struggled to free himself from the woman's grasp, but her hand was firm and she glared down at him.
"My lord, orders from the elf Legolas commanded us to keep you here at all costs. And you must heal, my lord. Fighting would only reopen your wounds," the healer insisted. Aragorn sighed and fell back down on the bed. Pain ran through his body, but the thoughts of his dear Legolas fighting alone were more troublesome to him. It was a deathtrap outside. Aragorn knew that without surveying the battle. Legolas had walked into a trap and would only find himself dead alongside the humans that despised him.
"But I must fight alongside Legolas. If he is to die, then I shall die by his side, not le here waiting for my own death to come without a fight! Please," Aragorn implored. The healer shook her head firmly.
"I shall not disobey orders," she replied sternly. "Now, my lord, you must drink this to get better..." She held out a cup to Aragorn, but with his good arm, the man reached up and swatted it away, spilling the contents. It fell to the ground with a clatter, and Aragorn glared at the woman.
"I shall fight. I command you to let me fight," he whispered harshly. "Can you not see that I must? I shall not lie idle while my lover suffers and toils on the field of battle. It pains me so." The healer's grip on him loosened just a bit. "I looked only briefly upon his fair elven face. I know that you might despise elves, but they are no evil sorcerers out to do ill to humans; they are a beautiful race, fair in appearance and in manner. Well, most are," he added with a chuckle. Silently, Aragorn applauded himself, for the healer was almost fully off him now, her eyes full of sadness. "Legolas...I love him more then I have loved any elf, even if he is a bit cold. If your lover fought alone in a losing battle, would you too not wish to stand beside him to the end, even die beside him, so that you can share the uncountable years of death? Do you understand what I say?"
"I did not think of it that way, my lord. I do understand. My lover is fighting. And oh that I would be able to grip a sword and cleave the Uruks merely to be with him one last time. He was so frightened when he left me. And..." Aragorn deftly swung out his hand, striking her on the side of the head. She crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap, her sweet voice silent now. The man grimaced in pain as he tried to shift his weight.
"Ignore it," he commanded himself, edging to the side of the bed. "Ignore the pain. This is for Legolas." He set one foot down on the ground, then the other. Aragorn reached for his sword propped beside the bed. "Andúril," he muttered, "do not fail me now." Using the sword as support, Aragorn lifted himself up. He stood shakily with most of his weight on his good leg. The world around him spun.
Finally, he could see, and Aragorn took his first faltering steps. The door was ten feet away, now nine, seven, five; just a little bit farther. He leaned on the doorframe, panting, and peered down the hall. Legolas, he murmured in his mind, I am sorry that I must do this. I am sorry I must break my vows to you. He unsheathed his sword, the bright blade glowing in the dim light, and made his way slowly to the stairs beyond.
***
The rush of blood from the wound came long before the stab of pain running up her leg. The scream of the Uruk-hai that received the blow of her sword came long before the crumpling pain. The world slowly rotated as she slipped to the ground.
Suddenly, in a wave, the pain washed over her and she hit the stones beneath her. Blood spilled from the leg, mixing with that already flowing through the deep crevices in the stone and filling the ruts and dents worn down by time. A groan escaped wet lips. The world spun again, blurring into a red haze.
"Help," the voice whispered; the voice Éowyn thought came from her throat. All around her warriors fought and fell; their faces upturned to the sky, some smiling as death took their weak souls to the next world and others tortured souls reaching for the heavens with their glassy eyes. All around her, she smelt the smell of death, of blood and sweat and reeking corpses, of rain mixing into festering wounds. She smelled her own body, her own blood. All she lost in the rush of fighting was back, the cries, the shouts, the clash of swords, the sickening crunch of skulls and bones cracking, the pleas from the wounded.
Éowyn tried to lift herself up, tried to escape from the death around her, but her wounded leg would not respond. She let out a cry of pain and fell back to the ground. Slowly, her hand inched for the sword to her left. Weak fingers encased the worn hilt, and she pulled it towards herself.
"I shall fight," she whispered. "I shall not lose myself even now." She tried again to sit up, just enough so that she could get her weight onto the sword. Fire ran along her leg, needles of pain making her groan. But she would not relent.
Éowyn slid the sword along the ground until she could get it straight. She pushed upward...one leg, almost there. She could only see black around her from the excruciating pain, but Éowyn fought on. Now for the next leg. She felt the blood pounding through her and into her head, the drumming of her heart an incessant beat that drove nails into her skull.
"I am a warrior," she panted. "I will fight and die valiantly, not just another corpse upon the field of battle. Let them see my true wrath." She stood finally, erect, tall, a lone figure amongst the Uruks and humans. She staggered to one side but gritted her teeth. Lift up the sword. Lift up the sword. That's all she had left to do.
Éowyn let out a cry and fell to the side, helpless again. She collapsed against the stones, her arm catching on the edge of a sword and opening another wound. She grabbed at it and felt hot blood running through her fingers. Her vision blurred; her head light and spinning from the loss of blood.
So this is what it comes to, she thought. It comes to me, a helpless body upon the ground to be forgotten among the dead. She looked around at the growing number of non-humans, and her heart sank. What chance was there that the men around her would triumph? They were weak from a night of fighting under the clouds and the rain. And what was left for her? There would be no victory here, for her or any others, no renown in this battle. It was a massacre, no more, too many names to list, important or not.
There was one though.
Lord Aragorn. Éowyn felt tears creeping to her eyes at the thought. She felt...guilt, for deserting him and not protecting him...and sadness for the broken love that he and Legolas would never share again, and for her own love for him, never returned, never there. At least, she reminded herself, I should die knowing that I protected him in some way, even if it was not enough to save his life.
But Éowyn looked up through the haze and saw that above her, the rain had paused, for now, at least. The grey clouds parted, revealing a lighting sky beneath. Little rays of light played across her white face, her tired form. And with each new bit of light came another memory, another thought. She saw herself as a little girl, visions floating in and out of her mind. Her first sword, learning, practicing with Éomer. He was always such a good swordsman. Her tears as she saw her mother dying...her father dying...death, death, so much death. There was Éomer as he protected her, the caring brother. And she sat alone, practiced alone, and lived alone in a world although people surrounded at her all times.
The final rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds in a dazzling show, showering golden light over the battle. Blood turned to gold under the morning light and even the dullest swords glowed brightly. Éowyn let out a small sigh. She lifted herself up, but all her energy was spent. Slowly, she fell back to the ground.
She was barely conscious of two hands coming behind her, strong arms. She looked up through her dimming vision to see a fair face, stained with blood, yet pale, and ice blue eyes. A few wisps of golden hair tickled her face.
"Legolas," she croaked. "Legolas, I protected him. Tell Aragorn...I love him...and to remember me. I did not die in vain upon this field." Legolas shook his head and looked Éowyn over, his eyes falling finally on the mortal wound on her leg.
"You did not die in vain," he said with a smile.
"I kept my word," she continued. Legolas nodded. "I kept my word to Aragorn. Oh...Legolas, I hope that your love...grows...strong..." Her head fell back against the elf's chest and her eyes closed, the last breath escaping her lips a small sigh of relief. In her final moments, she thought she heard the calling of horns, blowing into the wind like they were calling her home before her spirit departed for another world.
Legolas suddenly looked up towards the sky. In the distance, he took could hear the sound of a horn, blown alone on the wind. It was clear like the horns of the Rohirrim. The men around him let out cries and held up their weapons. The Uruks shied from something that Legolas could not see, crouched with the dead form of Éowyn in his arms.
But something he could see appeared before him. He looked up and at the same time, his heart fell and he felt like weeping for joy. Standing upon the highest level of the keep was Aragorn, heaving, panting, but still tall. Legolas saw his pale face and his weak eyes, the bones of his face protruding. Aragorn held his sword aloft; the sunlight shone like gold from it, his eyes alight, and his face glowing with the strength of the kings of old.
"Behold!" he cried out. "The dawn has brought with it your hope, your freedom! For as the sun rises look to the east." On the distance came the triumphant whinny of a horse. The Uruk-hai cried out in fear.
"Mithrandir!" Legolas shouted. "Mithrandir has come!" Aragorn, what are you doing? Legolas screamed inside of his mind. There stood his lover, wounded, only hours from death, yet standing against the armies of Uruk-hai. He felt tears creeping to the edges of his eyes.
And to the east, as the sun rose through the Deeping-coomb, Gandalf the White raised his staff, calling out a charge, and behind him stood an army of thousands of men. He unsheathed his sword and rode towards the besieged walls of Helm's Deep, the men behind him.
In an hour, the Uruks were either dead or had fled to the hills, gone forever from Helm's Deep. Cheers rose from the men as they saw that finally the Keep was theirs.
Legolas, too emotionally weak to do anything else, watched helplessly as Aragorn collapsed on the turrets. He had never joined the fray as the man wanted, only a herald to the defeat of Saruman, not its cause. He felt his own mind slipping past a barrier and into a great, endless abyss. Legolas slumped forward. The Lady Éowyn fell from his arms, and he slipped to the ground beside her, his mind too strained to take any other sights around him. His Aragorn was safe and the battle won. Legolas needed no other knowledge of the world around him.
***
"All the carcasses were piled and burned, the Uruks silently, the men with song and weeping," Legolas informed Aragorn as they walked along the upper battlements of Helm's Deep. Aragorn used Legolas' arm as support as the man hobbled along. His wound was getting better, but it would be a while yet until Aragorn could safely do anything more then this.
"Yet there is still one more burial to be held," Aragorn whispered quietly. Legolas kissed Aragorn's cheek gently and helped him lean on the wall. The elf sprang lightly onto the wall and turned around to look out over the Deeping Coomb, his legs dangling from the side.
"The Lady Éowyn fought bravely. Her death shall be remembered for ages to come." Legolas smiled sadly. "I believe she had her final wish: to die for glory and remembrance. She is not restless in the halls of her kin but pleased." Aragorn took a deep breath. Around him, the sun shone down upon Helm's Deep, as it had for the past two days. He ached all over and around him, the men felt the touch of death, but he could help but have a lighter heart then he had before. Darkness awaited him when he rode from the Coomb, but here, now, he could let a silent state of peace envelop him. Tasks awaited him, uncountable trials before coming to his final destination.
Of course, there was no shortage of darkness here, even after the triumph of Rohan. Aragorn heard many women weeping from where he sat most days in his room by the window. They cried for loved ones, lost, gone, destroyed by the hand of Saruman. And the songs; there was music everywhere, tearful farewells, songs in the elegant tongues of the Rohirrim. Yes, there was much sadness in this forsaken place.
"Come," Legolas announced after a long pause. "Tomorrow we depart from here, and you need your strength to ride. It is time to rest." Legolas swiveled around and took his lover's arm. Aragorn leaned on the strong frame of the elf as Legolas led them back to their chamber within the Keep.
As they neared the center of the fortress, Legolas spied Gimli amongst a crowd of men who prepared horses for the departure early the following morn. He sat upon a bale of hay, pipe in his mouth, hunched over with the look of a man defeated. But Legolas cried out to him, and Gimli looked up with a smile before making his way over to the couple.
"So you finally step out of your prison," Gimli noted. Aragorn gave a weak smile but responded to the summons of Legolas gently tugging on him. The dwarf fell into step on Aragorn's other side.
"But to 'his prison' he must return if Aragorn is ever to recover," Legolas retorted. Aragorn looked to Gimli in a beseeching manner that caused the dwarf to chuckle. He stifled the sound at the sight of the elf near him.
"So, how do you fare?" Gimli sneered. He looked to the elf's moving leg. Legolas felt heat creeping into his cheeks, anger, anger. Don't say anything, he pleaded to Gimli in his mind. But Gimli could not hear that. "Are your wounds doing well?" Aragorn froze, yanking Legolas back with him. A yelp caught in Legolas' throat.
"What is this? Where are you wounded? Why did you not tell me?" Aragorn almost shouted. Legolas sighed and shut his eyes. Deep breaths, he commanded. Take deep breaths. He slowly took hold of Aragorn and guided the man back towards the Keep.
"My wound is neither grievous nor threatening. It was merely a scrape," he hissed between his teeth. But, as if cued, a stab of pain ran along Legolas' leg. He skipped a step upon it. Aragorn's brow furrowed.
"I would have doubted that even without your obvious show of pain. What happened?"
"'Tis merely my ankle," Legolas insisted. He crossed the threshold and led Aragorn and Gimli down a long, dark corridor. His and Aragorn's room rested to the back. Legolas bent forward and shot a glare to Gimli, who paid him no heed as he hummed a quiet tune under his breath.
"But why do we fret over this? I am an elf and can recover from this easily enough. Now, you, my mortal dear, have other problems. Come, there is our room. Gimli, I do believe that we must part here. I am not sure if we shall make it to dinner tonight. If not, then I shall see you again in the morning, my friend." Legolas ushered Aragorn inside and hastily shut the door, leaving Gimli outside. Gimli shrugged his shoulders and made his way back to his own room; pipe in hand.
"Now, Aragorn, lie down," Legolas said, motioning to the bed. "You need to rest after being out for so long. I have to find that medicine." Aragorn crossed to the bed and sat down, thankful to be off his feet, while Legolas searched around for his medicines. The elf returned with two bowls. One consisted of a thick green paste, salve to put on Aragorn's wounds. The other was a bowl of some type of cold broth. It helped to deaden the burn of the salve. Legolas set both down on the table beside the bed and guided Aragorn down. Aragorn closed his heavy eyelids.
"Don't sleep just yet," Legolas said as he undressed the man. "We have something to discuss. I know you might not be in the shape...here, drink this before." Aragorn accepted the bowl and downed the liquid. He fell back down onto the pillows, and Legolas began his work of rubbing in the salve. There was some tingling around Aragorn's worst wounds, but for the most part the pain was gone when the paste touched his skin.
"What is it?" Aragorn asked. Legolas looked grimly down.
"We both know what awaits you," Legolas began. "It is only a matter of time before our journey takes us on the long road to Minas Tirith and the realm of Gondor." Aragorn groaned.
"Then let it take us there," he whispered. "Legolas, we already went over these matters many times before. You know my answers to those questions. Come what may, I say. The Men of Gondor shall find the King as he is, their king..." Legolas smiled.
"Yes, you shall be their king," he comforted Aragorn. "You know that you must rise above the men and guide them through these dark times. Yet, I have considered that our love was just a fleeting..."
"It was not fleeting!" Aragorn said firmly. "Legolas let them see me as I am. I am their king, and you shall be at my side, my lover, my king. I have no fears for that. Once I felt troubled, but know it is much clearer. Legolas...why did you bring this up now?" Legolas shrugged and set down the bowl.
"Rest, Aragorn," the elf whispered, leaning down. He kissed Aragorn on his forehead before rising. "I am taking a walk; I expect to return to find you asleep." He turned away from the man and exited the room without a sound.
***
As the sun set, so came the burial of the Lady Éowyn. Aragorn struggled to his feet to attend it, watching by Legolas' side as they lowered her body into a grave inside the Coomb. It was upon a hill. Banners flew around her, banners of Rohan, and in the center the white horse on a sable background. Yet upon her grave they set a sword and a helmet. It was her sword, the sword of the White Lady, fair Éowyn who fought bravely and met her end upon the wall of the Deep.
Women wept and threw flowers atop the grave. Legolas felt a tear forming on his cheeks, and he could not help but let them fall, remembering Éowyn's determined face as she vowed to die for Aragorn, her eyes glistening with tears, her cheeks wet. And then he saw her, drenched in rain and blood, gasping for breath as he struggled to live on. Legolas felt her collapsing onto his chest and the final breath she let out upon him.
Slowly, the crowds departed. Legolas stepped towards the grave himself. He did not place a flower on her grave, but instead a solitary arrow. Carved into the shaft was a phrase in elvish: Fair was the Lady of White, yet her heart was that of a warrior, who fought and died, and proved herself worthy among the men. Always shall she be in legend, as long as there are mouths to pass the story on.
He returned to Aragorn. It was time for them to depart. There were only two others left at the gravesite, and that was Théoden and Éomer, and they needed time alone to feel their own tears without the fear of being seen by the people around them. Aragorn leaned on Legolas' shoulder, and they made their way down the hill. The sun set behind him, and darkness closed around the couple as they slowly made their way back to their room to sleep for the night before setting out once more on their unending quest.
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Yes, I did kill Éowyn. It was hard, you know. Hardest character death to write, meaning to get through writing, mainly because all the other's happened at the end of a story. This is only at the beginning. Oh well! Always refreshing to kill someone new off. I know that sounds awful. I'll stop.
Many thanks to Eilonwy4 for betaing this chapter!
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