AUTHOR NOTES: I'm sorry it has been such slow going with this story. Believe me, I know how incredibly frustrating it can be when an author doesn't update. None of the stories on my favorites list have been updated since 2003! Things may speed up now that I really know where this is going. Thanks for all the encouragement, and I hope this next installment pleases you! This version is rather ugly, and I can't italicize or use good punctuation. There's a much better, easier to read version at the fanlisting (the link is in my author profile).
I've been listening to "The Last Samurai" soundtrack while I've been writing this, for anyone who cares or misses the scoring I use to incorporate way back when. This version is rather ugly, and I can't italicize or use good punctuation. There's a much better, easier to read version at the fanlisting (the link is in my author profile). As always, I have responded to each and every review of the previous chapter in the order they appear on the reviews page.
REVIEW RESPONSES FOR CHAPTER 18:
Star4 – Yeah, I love the two of them. They're so cool, so independent, and a blast to write.
kookey – Come back to life! It's updated! Oh yeah, here's your pitchfork.
ShopGirl1 – I love the character of Gollum, and I loved writing him.
Laniana – Yet another who read it all at once. Well done! I wish I could give you a cookie.
ALW - Hmmm...yet another reader who felt jarred by the fight between Aragorn and Legolas. Maybe this chapter will smooth that out. If not, please give me specific advice and I'll do some edits on Chapter 18. Thanks, though!
Loselen Snowstar – Well, darling, if you've got a problem with the pairing, I can't help but wonder why you read it! But I tend to dislike certain other pairings, and curiosity certainly has gotten the better of me. Believe me, I know Legolas and Éowyn aren't a couple, that she crushes on Aragorn, and that she marries Faramir. I've read these books 3 times. My story is a "what if" sort of pairing. And no, in the books there is no dialogue between Legolas and Éowyn. And they barely seem to notice each other in the movies. In the end, you are entitled to your opinion. I wish I could have changed your mind, but oh well. Thanks for giving it a read anyway, and yes, I'll continue for any who asks.
sum41grl - First of all, yay for Sum 41. Second of all, shame on you for reading fanfic before the books! Tsk tsk. Third of all, forget the second of all and THANKS mate! Particularly, thanks for this acknowledgement: "i absolutely love how you made him seem elf like, instead of a human with immortality as i have seen some stories go." This was a big problem I had with most ( most, not all) fics about Legolas. Elves can seem distant and even unfeeling in the books and the movies, but when writing them one always must keep in mind that Elves experience the most sorrow and the most happiness. It's a truly bipolar existence, and it's terribly fun to write. Thanks! But don't be hating on Faramir. Actually, scratch that. Hate on Movie Faramir. Love to Book Faramir. I had a bit of a crush on the Book Faramir. And I don't know. Are Legolas and Éowyn meant for each other??? Who knows....oooooh....
Jenn - Another missy who liked that "she is mortal" bit. Woot woot! But man...Tolkien would be proud? THANK YOU! I don't know if I completely agree, if only out of humility, but THANK YOUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!! Squeal! I shall continue as you bid.
BurningTyger - Yay for collegiate funk masters such as we! I'm glad you liked that line. I was worried when I wrote it. It's a highly cinematic moment, but I think of my stories like movies and in the mind-movie of "Leaf Storm" it worked alright. Thanks.
Star-of-Chaos - Muchos gracias.
Kelsey - Thanks for the compliments, love. As for Legolas and Aragorn's tiff, remember: often we criticize others for the thing we most deplore in ourselves.
Morze - All in ONE sitting? Hell's bells, I wrote the thing and even I have to pause and get a cup of water or something before my eyes fall out of my head. But thank, thank, thank you for the review and I hope this next chapter pleases you, too.
Wolfgirl2 - I hope this was soon enough for you! Sorry for the wicked delays!
Raisse of Gondor - The tension between Aragorn and Legolas was very difficult for me to write because I love both of these characters. I had to make sure neither of them came across as a complete bad guy. After all, they each have their motives and both are for the best. I'm not sure if I succeeded completely as Aragorn's actions were very jarring for most reviewers. As for being amended? You can't be friends with someone for a full human lifetime and just drop them due to bad behavior, now can you?
Gifted Empress - Unlike any L/E stories, huh? Hmmm. You know, you made me realize that I really haven't actually read many of the other L/E stories here. God that's arrogant. I'm going to get on that right away! Thanks for the encouragement, and yes, I'll work as quickly as I can. Hope it's quick enough.
April - Thanks, doll. I hope you like the next ones, too.
Jess Angel - Drama Druid is a sweetheart for recommending me to you. There's nothing quite as exhilarating as one writer supporting another. Thanks for the compliment on the pacing. Pacing is one of the hardest things to accomplish in writing. I'mnot fully satisfied with my pacing yet. My language use is all based on the prose of Tolkien, but a lot of the inspiration for my writing style comes from my second-favorite author, Mary Renault, whose work I cannot recommend enough (you should check out her trilogy on Alexander the Great, "Fire from Heaven", "The Persian Boy" and "Funeral Games," especially if you want to be in the know before the Colin Farrell movie comes out!). Mostly I want to commend you on recognizing this story as a character sketch. To me, the most interesting part of any story (book, play, film, etc.) is the characters, not the plot. I have Tolkien's personages as my outline—I just play with them and put them in fun situations! Writing IS forever!
Ainaweth - I honestly can't say at this point whether or not Gimli will learn about Éowyn. I hope so. We'll see how the story progresses. Thanks for the appreciation of my wanting to give my best writing, and I PROMISE there will never be a wait like that ever, ever again! Plugs make the world go round!
Kitten - That's my job, Kitty, that's my job.
Aenigmatic - Nine months and no babies! As far as regular updating is concerned, I will do my best. My goal was one new chapter a month at the slowest. But my schoolwork has to come first. Damn college! Damn it to hell! Except on the weekends, then YAY COLLEGE!
Frosta - How indeed will Faramir be handled? Will Legolas give Éowyn up? Will Faramir bite the dust? Will Éowyn? Will LEGOLAS? As if I'd tell, silly. There will be around four more chapters before we hit Faramir. But hit him we will, and firmly. Be prepared. Keep in mind that I'm trying to keep this story as close to the books as I can. I'm trying not too make it a traditional AU.
Erewyn - I'm glad that you liked the bit with Gimli. I was rereading some of the previous few chapters and I realized he was falling out of the story. Gimli is so important to Legolas. I just HAD to get him back in there. I plan to have him as a stronger presence in the future. As for Thranduil and Éowyn's meeting, don't lose hope yet. I'm not making any promises, but it isn't impossible. As for Aragorn, I hope no one thinks I'm some sort of raging Aragorn basher—quite the opposite. I Heart Strider! This new chapter should help to regain our esteem in him. Hopefully. Eh.
Nikki1 - I also was a bit miffed at the utter LACK (and I mean LACK) of L/E fics. I mean, what the hell? Leaf Storm is (and I know this for a fact if you look at its publishing date) the first L/E 'romance' on Woah. We're making history here, folks. HISTORY. Mwa ha ha...
Alright, let's get to it.
Chapter XIX - Among the Dead
That morning was more merciful than any before it had been. Dawn came creeping in through the single window of the tiny room like the last sigh of night. Its light was pale and cool, and the blue of night was a breath just beginning to fade into the gauzy pink of day. The breeze that had flowed down from the tips of the Misty Mountains, racing over the plains of Rohan, came now to ruffle the muslin curtain. It smelled of grass and rain. The light fluttered with it, dancing over Legolas' half-lidded eyes, rousing him from what little sleep he had scraped together after the dreadful night before. He had not forgotten what had happened, no—how could he? He blinked awake and looked around the room without moving his head. Dust motes seemed to glitter in the quiet light. Gimli was still asleep, but Aragorn was standing. His back was to Legolas, fitting his tooled leather belt around his waist, adjusting Andúril in its viney Lórien scabbard. Feeling the Elf's eyes, Aragorn turned to meet the tentative gaze.
For a long moment they looked at each other. The wind increased and whistled into the room, but neither felt the chill in the air. Memories seemed to circle around them. Once they had been like kinsmen, knotted by an intense friendship—it had been long ago, and distance and circumstance had kept them apart, but it was a bond that could not be bent nor broken. And though Aragorn could never be much more than mortal, Legolas was able to read his heart more acutely than he had read any Elf's.
It shamed him.
Legolas' gaze fell, but somehow he forced himself to look up again. When he did he marveled—for Aragorn's lips were curved with the faintest, gentlest of smiles. The Man came to his friend's bedside and sat on the edge, his hands dangling between his knees, gazing through the horse-stitched rug at his feet. The smile fell. Legolas propped himself up on his elbows. A piece of hair fell over his face but he did not dare move it.
"I was wrong to judge you," Aragorn said quietly.
Legolas found his voice in the dim light. "Forgive me."
But Aragorn looked at him and said, "It is not like that, Legolas. If only it were that simple." The sadness of many ages great and gone by was locked in his voice and, marvelously, in his stare. At that moment Legolas could see that Aragorn was anything but human. "In the end you will find that you must forgive yourself." His eyes drifted with his thoughts. Everywhere Legolas felt the presence of Arwen. Then Aragorn collected himself. He lifted his chin, every inch a king. "And you will hate yourself, too, before the end."
There was silence once more. Legolas opened his mouth to reply but found himself speechless. Aragorn gave him the sad smile again, then lifted the fallen lock of hair away from Legolas' brow. The Elf froze.
"Now the road ahead is not so certain." Aragorn's face was shadowy in the growing light; Legolas could not read his expression, yet even the rhythm of his heart was a mystery. "Is it?"
"It never was. Not for me." Legolas sat up and drew off the thin cover, rolling his broad, archer's shoulders like a rising cat. Then he sat still, looking off at nothing. "Often I wonder if I am even meant to be here. Or if I've gone astray." Legolas was tired of confessing and confiding, yet he felt he owed something to Aragorn and could think of nothing else to give. "I know it is often a burden to you, Aragorn, and that you do not count yourself lucky—far from it. But you must know that you are fortunate to have your path ordained for you." He stopped, very sad again. "To have a path at all."
Aragorn took this in and chose his next words carefully. "This journey has given many people destinies they would have otherwise never seen," said Aragorn. "Do you think Frodo knew what was to be his fate a year ago?"
"No. Of course not." Legolas shook his head. Aragorn had not understood. How could he? "I'm not making sense."
"Your path is your own, Legolas." Aragorn smiled. "That is a gift. Be thankful for it."
"But," the Elf whispered, "You have seen my direction." He exhaled with empty eyes. He felt like he had been fasting for years and now the thought of sustenance sickened him. "And you do not approve of it."
Aragorn looked Legolas square in the eye—and though no words were spoken, he heard the Elf quite clearly: The nightmares have returned.
Silence fell again as the light grew. Gimli began to stir in his bed, though his Dwarvish dreams kept him in slumber a moment more. He snorted lightly and smacked his lips, blinking in the light. Aragorn rose from Legolas' bed and went to continue getting dressed. Legolas stared after him for a moment but then he, too, rose and prepared for the dangerous road ahead. Gimli looked up at them and let himself stare at their distinct beauty—the muscular presence of Aragorn, stern and proud, a light in the dark; and Legolas, like a stag, lithe, swift and strong, his piercing eyes suddenly unreadable. Standing together in the little room, Man matched Elf in height to the inch.
Éowyn had not slept that night—she spent it seated on the sill of the wide window in her room. The shutters were thrown open even though the nights now became very cold as they neared dawn. She did not feel the cold this time.
She didn't leave her room until just before the sun showed itself. At last when she saw the color of the sky softening she had come to her final decision. With light quick steps as silent as a hunter's, she had fled outside into the cold air. A horse snorted as she ran by, but it recognized her scent and went back to its standing sleep. Like a ghost she passed through the courtyard, swift and silent, and came at last to the armory.
Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli were the first up. Aragorn stepped out into the morning light that now clearly lit the open hall and went to awaken his brethren. Gimli took out his long pipe and sat on the steps of the dais, puffing away absent-mindedly. Legolas stood beside him silent as stone. He had stood there with Éowyn the night before.
He stared out into the valley, suddenly harsh in its brightness under the early sun, tying on his armguards without needing to look. He had laced them in place for many thousands of years. He observed Rohan's wide stillness and marveled at the contrast between the open land of the horsemen and the crowded, primeval forest of his homeland. A short, soft metallic sound caught his ear—it was too soft to be picked up by Gimli. He looked to its source out of the corner of his eye. Éowyn was standing in the shadows of the hall, half-hidden behind one of the columns. Her expression was unreadable. Something near her neck was shining. She backed into the shadows as he approached. Legolas tugged on the other armguard and laced it as he walked to her. His fingers lost their pattern as he realized what she wore.
She wore the glimmering mail shirt she had worn when she had hidden among the ranks to join the Battle of Helm's Deep, yet this time she made no effort to hide her female shape beneath its silver rings. She wore it proudly. Her breast shown as the dim light hit it—she had not put on the over-tunic. She sparkled as though she were bathed in starlight, dressed in the mail of Elbereth, a servant of the Star Host. Her slender limbs shone silver, her hair bright gold against her collar. Her riding cloak was tucked under her arm, a short sword in one hand.
Legolas stared at the sword as though it was the herald of his demise. Then he found his breath and looked into Éowyn's face. Her eyes were smiling. Her mouth was not.
"Don't do this," he said.
"Come with me."
He followed her outside to the hidden balcony where they had stood together the day before. The sun danced off her shining form and blinded him.
"I'm going with you," she said. Then she let herself smile.
And for a moment, Legolas' heart was singing. He took the idea of not being parted from her and held it in his hands—he treasured it and dreamt of it, taking the moment and letting it ride for many years in one instant. It was an impossible joy: to ride with her to whatever lay ahead. He would never leave her side. He would mow down rows of the enemy and then turn to her to see her smiling proudly. He would kneel before her, ask her to bless his knives with her glance, then use them to carve a path before her feet. They would ride together into the doom the Valar had wrought for them, beautiful and terrible, blindingly resilient, plunging headfirst into the storm. They would face anything.
But this was, of course, nothing more than a shining dream—a vision of greatness and heraldic destiny that they were never meant to see. The truth was matte as marshland and it killed the ecstasy he had so quickly conceived and made his words lack prominence.
"You can't."
Her smile did not die—it spread. "No. But I am."
The laughter in her eyes was worse than anything else she could have said or done. He set his jaw. "You are not coming."
She let him see her smile fade. Her eyes bore into him, but the smile washed away like patterns on a seashore. Her hands fell—it was all she could do to keep her sword from slipping through her fingers to clatter on the ground. He stared back, drawn up to his impressive full height, straight and tall, his eyes frightfully cold. She felt like a child next to him, and her tone let it show.
"I must go on with you," she said, almost yelling.
"You will not. You will not because you cannot."
"You cannot tell me what to do."
"You have a duty to your people, Éowyn; I have a duty toward mine." He softened his tone a little, but the white fire still flickered in his eyes. He was a prince. He would have her remember it. "We each have our responsibilities. I will fulfill my own."
"Rules you mean?" She was getting at something. She was challenging him.
"Yes. In a sense."
She narrowed her eyes. "There are some laws that none should break, Legolas. We cannot live without water, we cannot breathe without air, and indeed," she paused for effect, "We cannot love each other."
Legolas froze. Fear seized him in a severe instant, and he turned lost eyes upon her—was she saying goodbye? But Éowyn's face was all marble again. She went on, "It's not possible. It's against all things in our world. You and I are not meant to be." She looked up at him again, staring him straight in the eye, hopeless but not afraid. The marble was shattering. "But we are."
Without a word, he reached out and pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest. She pulled away with equal force. She was strong, but he was stronger. One arm he used to bind her to his torso, and the other he used to tilt her face toward his. Slowly and tenderly, he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her. For a moment she fought him, but then she too was lost.
When their lips parted, Legolas whispered: "I wonder...were we born to this as well?"
"Yes," she whispered back. Her hands knotted in the folds of his gray Lórien cloak that hung down his back. Her face she pressed against his collarbone. "If you love me, you will not go," she whispered, but her voice echoed in his head. His heart twisted with sorrow.
"That's not fair. Do not do this to me, Éowyn," he said, equally quiet. He held her closer still, his hands seeking her warmth beneath the cold rings. "It is not in your nature to be so cruel. I go without fear, but not without regret. And I ask nothing of you."
"You're throwing your life away. By taking this road, you are throwing it away." Legolas did not answer her or even look at her, his arms loosening ever slightly around her. She went on, gripping him harder than ever. "You have such a gift, a life that cannot end—"
He looked at her, his eyes narrowed. "If it's a gift, then I could give it away." Now it was Éowyn's turn not to answer. His tone was frightening. He didn't seem human at all. He was like a force of nature, a tidal wave, bent over her. "And even if I could...would you take it?"
No, she realized, she did not think she would. It astounded her. And then Éowyn realized as an afterthought that she was trying hard not to cry. She never cried. She had not cried since she was a child. But here—here he had made her want to scream with tears. He was ripping her apart, slowly and keenly as a blade wrought of ice, a snow-tipped spear through her heart. Yet he looked at her helplessly innocent. All of his dreadful, distinctly immortal malice was gone. He looked at her, as lost as she was, as alone.
He did not expect her to reply as she did. The low beauty of her voice—a flickering alto it would have been in song, humanly perfect—shocked him.
"Go then, Legolas Greenleaf. But try to remember Éowyn who has been left behind."
Her voice faltered, overwhelmed with her tears. Her breath became labored and short and a single drop, then another, slid down her face. He watched, amazed. She looked down, ashamed. Her hands were fists.
He had never seen her cry.
Legolas took in the sight as one would absorb a great work of art. He did not dare to speak, nor even blink. He was left breathless and empty and yet drenched with wonder. Very slowly he brought up his hand, resting it on the warm edge of her face, and slid his thumb over her cheek. The tear was wiped away. It was too much for her and she collapsed against him again, her fingers digging into his arms. There were too many tears for him to catch.
He held her for a long time, simply content to feel her heartbeat echoing his own. Yet his was deeper: more constant, it seemed. She is mortal, his mind whispered. She is mortal. She is not yours to have. She is not for one such as yourself. Would she break in his arms? His fingers found a strand of her hair, smooth as glass, and he toyed with it absentmindedly. He realized that, though great evil lay before him, at this moment he was utterly content. He did not care for the next dawn.
"The world is coming to pieces," she said softly. Her voice was not as steady as it usually was. "Madness has taken a hold of all whom I love—they go out to die and leave me here to wither in despair." She exhaled. "I have been alone for so long. I do not wish to be alone again."
Legolas gripped her harder. "We are all alone now. We stand on the brink."
Éowyn's breath was shallow, her eyes wide. "You will fall to darkness," she whispered in a frightening voice, her face pressed against his breast, "and I will not be there to defend you, or to die by your side."
He shut his eyes and leaned his chin upon her head.
"Let me fall. Let that be the greatest evil ahead, if it lies ahead indeed," he whispered back. And his voice was sure. "Let me fall, Éowyn." He stopped only a moment to draw in a ragged breath. "Either way you will have to let me go. Let me fade away as I must fade. That is the one clear path before me. It opens before all my people." Sadness mingled with his joy—the weight made him want to collapse. "But I would fall fighting for you. Let me fall."
They stood plaited together on the balcony. The sun lit them as was its duty and brought some warmth to their flesh though all the world was cold. His hands on her back felt the metal of the countless rings that made up the mail that covered her. It was then he noticed just how full of despair he actually turned out to be. Very tightly he held her, one last time, and she responded and pulled him hard to her. Then somehow he untangled himself from her warm, loving form and went to join the others. Something inside him was tearing in two. He would not look back at her as he walked away.
Éowyn let the shocked stares fall all over her as she strode through the Great Hall of Meduseld to bid the riders farewell. She sparkled like a diamond, a warrior goddess of terrible beauty, though in her face there was a great, unyielding sadness. Her golden hair was free in the slow valley breeze. Her face, for all its sorrow, was set and sure. In her hands she held the Cup of Parting.
Outside in the main courtyard the Rangers were climbing their mounts, their gray hoods thrown over their heads even though the sun was rising. At their head was Aragorn, tightening the bridle on Hasufel's downy snout. Her eyes fixed on him—she did not look to find the Elf.
Aragorn heard the murmur of the Rangers first. He turned to her as she approached. In one sweeping glance he took in the chain mail, the scabbard and sword, the riding cloak thrown over one shoulder to reveal the gleaming form beneath. Éowyn walked to him without breaking eye contact, though inside her heart was thundering, thinking of the night before. She bent her head and offered up the brilliant cup, her smooth hands steady.
A hush fell over the Gray Company, and as she spoke she felt keen eyes upon her. She did not need to guess whom they belonged to. Aragorn took the cup, familiar with the traditions of Rohan, and drank its cool draught, never taking his eyes off her. Even under Legolas' gaze, which seemed to sting in the dawn, she somehow found her voice.
"Aragorn, will you go?"
His face was unreadable, placing the cup back into her hands. "I will."
There was something about the simple conviction of his words that touched her, deep within. And though Aragorn spoke with great conviction and bravery, she sensed his doubt. His doubt, to her, was worse that fear. She brought the cup to her lips and finished its contents, then looked at him hard again.
"And you will not let me ride with you. As I have asked."
"No, my lady, for it is not my leave to give." Aragorn brought his hand to Hasufel's shimmering flank. "Every hour—every minute we spend here hastens Sauron's victory. We must ride, Éowyn."
He called her by her name, not her title. She felt his friendship and his concern, fatherly at its best and protective at its worst. She was left speechless. In this one moment of uncertainty she felt the eyes upon her again, heard the hum of another's focus. The thought came to her, and she made the decision swiftly after.
If he must see me weep, she thought, then he shall see me weep.
She was surprised by how easily the tears came this time, but somehow she could not get them to fall straight away. It took a long moment. The entire Gray Company froze. At last the first drop fell, sliding slowly down her cheek. She knew that one must have hit Legolas point-blank, like one of his arrows—even so, she could not muster any joy for her small victory. Her tears shone in her eyes, reflected in Aragorn's. But as she sank to her knees, she realized that she was afraid for them all, and that her plea was very real—realer than she'd like it to be.
"I beg thee," she whispered, her voice breaking.
The only sound was the shifting horses and the wind rippling many cloaks. The ground was blurred beneath her. Why wasn't he coming for her? Why was he silent? Had the tears lost their power? She knew she was being defeated.
Aragorn leaned and raised her by her shoulders. "No, my lady." He could not bring himself to look at her glimmering face. He brought her quaking hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'm sorry."
Then Aragorn let Éowyn go and stepped away. When he turned his back on her she took it like a hit and stepped back. She was to be alone again. The Ranger mounted his horse with ease and gave the order to ride. The Elf was riding with him. She saw his back, draped with the magical cloak of the Elves far away, forgotten. Her tears had done nothing. In the end, she had known they would hold no power.
As they rode away, Legolas allowed himself to look back from the head of the column. He turned and met her eyes. She stood perfectly still. Only her hair fluttered in the wind. Rohan spread wide around them, mist clinging to the deep of the valley. The sky was pink and blue with dawn, and birds were waking everywhere.
He could still ride back.
Legolas shut his eyes against her gaze and turned away, facing the road that unfolded before him.
They had entered the land of the Dead, but Legolas had not known it from any sort of inborn sense. Rather he could tell they had passed some sort of threshold because the horses had started to stall and toss their heads, neighing shrilly. The Rangers were a grim and stalwart folk, but he noticed that more than one of them gripped their reins a little tighter than they had before, slate-colored eyes glancing left and right.
Beneath him Arod trembled from snout to tail, and his cloudy coat was glistening with a cold sweat. Legolas knotted his hands tighter in his mane and whispered one or two words of comfort. It did little. Astounded at the change, he glanced over his shoulder at Gimli. What little could be seen of the Dwarf's face under his unruly beard had blanched. His small dark eyes were wide and darted about at every movement in the ravine.
Legolas turned forward again. There were countless questions swimming in his mind. He let his consciousness travel, seeking any sort of answer about this place that was effecting everyone but himself. Aragorn's mind seemed sealed behind many broad walls. Even so, Legolas was not sure the Ranger would have been able to provide him with anything at the moment. Clearly the Elf could smell the uncertainty, almost stronger than the fear, and he found himself marveling at the ambiguity of their mission. The thought came swiftly and he banished it thus. He did not want to come to question that. Not now.
The trees around them grew tall and thick, blotting out so much of the gray light of day that it seemed twilight had fallen again. Legolas did not like these trees. Nor did he like the lines of stones that marked the trail—they seemed to stair, like unquiet statues. But he did not fear them. They simply troubled him, and told him the path they rode was not to be the easiest road taken.
At last one stone rose before them, mightier than the rest. Aragorn was at the head of the column, with Legolas, Gimli, the sons of Elrond and Halbarad close behind. Suddenly, as Aragorn rounded the stone, Hasufel whinnied and reared. Almost at the same time, Arod started to stamp. Legolas pressed his hand onto his horse's neck and whispered the phrase his father had taught him. Always it had managed to calm any unbroken horse—but now, it did little. They were forced to dismount and lead the horses round the bend.
The gateway to the mountain was called the Dark Door. Above it Legolas could barely make out the rustic carvings of some tongue of Man, more figures than words. He turned to Aragorn to see if he could read them. But Aragorn's face startled him. For the first time in all his years of knowing the Ranger, Legolas saw pure fear.
"This is an evil door," Halbarad said to no one in particular. "My death lies beyond it."
Aragorn turned to his friend but said nothing.
"I will pass," Halbarad went on, very quietly, "Nonetheless. But no horse will enter."
"We need the horses." Aragorn spoke for the first time. His throat was dry and made his words sound strange. "There is a long road ahead of us on the other side." He tugged Hasufel's reins. As if in response to his rider's words, the horse would not budge. But Aragorn gave one mighty pull and the beast stepped forward once, then again, until at a slow pace they entered the carven door and disappeared into the black.
Legolas turned to Arod. The horse's large black eyes, wild with fear, met his gaze and a flurry of questions seemed to follow. I'm here, Legolas told him, and no harm will come to you while you are with me. But Arod snorted and tossed his head away from Legolas' touch.
"The Rangers' horses may come soon enough," Elrohir said behind him. All the usual mirth in his tone was gone. "But that Rohan horse is going nowhere." Indeed the Gray Company had begun to move. Legolas heard Gimli's breath by his side.
"He'll come."
Legolas laid his hands over Arod's eyes and whispered again. We will see daylight again, my friend. Wide fields and fresh grass and morning. Come with me. Arod shivered from snout to tail once, then took a step. Then another. Legolas turned to Gimli and smiled. But the Dwarf was staring at the ground. Legolas walked Arod into the gateway. It wasn't until he had gone far into the gloom that he finally heard his friend's steps behind him. Gimli ran lightly and caught up to him. They walked side by side, silent as the grave.
Legolas felt none of his own fear, but the fear of his companions was overwhelming. It surrounded the company. He wondered if it would linger forever.
Elladan held a torch just behind him, but its light was of little use now. The walls of the cavern seemed to have fallen away; naught but empty blackness stared them down on all sides. Even Legolas' Elven eyes proved useless in the gloom, until at last he thought he saw something flicker in the dark. Soon enough the outline of a breastplate emerged from the looming shadows—a warrior lay in the dust, his finger bones still clawing at a seam in the rock wall: a door long forgotten by legend and song.
This, Legolas thought, is Death. This is what comes to mortals, one and all.
"The forgotten door," Elladan whispered.
As if in response Aragorn cleared his voice and called out into the fathomless mountain: "Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years! Speed only we ask. Let us pass, then come, for I summon you to the Stone of Erech!"
For a moment there was silence, save for Aragorn's fake echo bouncing off of distant walls. Soon the echo died and a pounding silence followed. Then there was a blast of cold air. Legolas clutched Arod's reins as all the torches blew out. There was a rustle and soft hubbub as horses and riders regrouped. But there was no light anywhere. Slowly they walked forward. Legolas measured his breath and took slow steps, leading Arod steadily. He couldn't locate Gimli anywhere.
At last he thought he could see. He looked up and far above he saw a tiny crevice—and stars! It was night again outside. Very little light peeked through into the heart of this, the greatest cavern, with sheer sides bordering a black, yawning chasm. Legolas was sick of being under the earth, but he kept his uneasiness to himself as he led his mount onward.
Suddenly Legolas felt a familiar shift in space and turned. In the dim light he barely saw Gimli's outline. The Dwarf stumbled. Even a creature born to caves was lost in this hard dark. Legolas caught him by the shoulder.
"Gimli, we can mount again."
He couldn't answer, but nodded, his bushy beard rustling against his mail shirt. Legolas helped him up, then mounted in front of him. They rode on again, Rangers on their horses, too, on into the dark. Gimli's breath was harsh on his back, so Legolas turned to speak to him. But before he could open his mouth he looked past his shoulder, past Elladan in the rear, and beyond.
An army rode just behind.
"The Dead are following," he whispered to no one in particular. Gimli stiffened, his breath short beneath the heavy curtain of his beard.
He narrowed his eyes and looked harder. It was like peering into the black depths of a clear, still lake. The figures shifted in and out of the gloom, their supernatural horses snorting silently. Banners hung in tatters. Spears shone in the black.
"Yes." That was Elladan, his voice more lilting than that of any other rider, even more so than his twin's. "The Dead ride behind." If a voice could smile, his did just then. "They have been summoned."
Legolas looked still. This, he thought, suddenly unsure, is Death? And despite himself he was thinking of Éowyn again. This was her fate. Legolas turned away from the visions that followed, but he couldn't get the thought out of his head. Was this what became of Men? Or was this just one way for their story to end?
The ravine opened, and they saw the night again. Far away Men's homes twinkled, but Legolas wondered if anyone else could see them. The moon was cold in the sky, and everything looked ghostly now. He urged Arod forward until he and Gimli were in stride with Aragorn.
"The Stone of Erech is near," Aragorn said, still looking ahead.
"And what will the Stone bring?" Legolas asked.
"We will see. We will ask them."
Gimli sucked in another tight breath.
They rode down into the land, and the lights in the tiny houses went out. Legolas thought he heard the cries of people. He thought he heard someone shout, "The King of the Dead is upon us!" Aragorn looked the part, his already stone-set face white in the night air, his gray eyes blank with determination. He stared ahead at the hill that rose before them. At its peak Legolas saw a huge black globe, as tall as a Man, half buried in the earth. The Stone of Erech, he realized. The Rangers ascended the hill and dismounted by the globe. It shone as if newly polished, but Legolas could not see his reflection in it, nor the reflection of anyone in the company.
Elrohir stepped forward and drew from the folds of his cloak a silver horn. It was carved with Númenorean ruins that Legolas did not recognize. They looked older than any he had encountered before. Aragorn held out his hand, and his half-brother set it inside. The Ranger's long fingers curled around it, and he held it for a moment as though lost in thought. Then Aragorn brought the horn to his lips and blew it once.
As Legolas stood on the hill he knew he heard answering horns from somewhere in the night.
Then the army was visible. It's number was uncountable in the darkness, but they encircled the hill and the Gray Company, outnumbering them many times over. They seemed to take stronger form in the moonlight. Legolas saw they were as decaying corpses—great chunks of their faces missing, the hollows of their eyes filled with an eerie light. Now Legolas felt a wave of unease stronger than the others, but still he couldn't grasp fear. Nothing about this was familiar. Nothing was remotely Elven. The cold wind came back, and blew Legolas' hood from his head. He stared at the phantoms, who in turn stared back.
"Oathbreakers!" Aragorn's voiced shattered the silence. "Why have ye come?"
Silence followed. One dead warrior seemed to be looking at Legolas with particular intensity. He stared back, unafraid. His hand went to the hilt of his knife, as if it could do anything against the Dead.
Then a voice came, and Legolas thought he felt it rather than heard it, for it seemed to come from within himself, from his lungs and his heart, and even his blood.
"To fulfill our oath," it said, "and have peace."
Legolas turned to Aragorn.
"The hour is come at last. I go to Pelargir upon the Anduin, and ye shall come after me. When all this land is clean of the servants of Sauron, I will hold your oath fulfilled."
The earth seemed to stir, and the ghosts trembled around them. A humming filled the night. But Aragorn stepped forward and yelled, "For I am Elessar, the heir of Isildur of Gondor!"
It was always wonderful to hear Aragorn name himself. Every soul in the company lifted. The Dead looked stunned, uneasy, yet deeply respectful. But then the night came down with silence again. Legolas looked back at the Dead, but they seemed to melt into the dark. Still he knew they watched and waited as the Gray Company made camp in the shadow of the Stone.
Dawn came somehow, though Legolas doubted it would. All night he had tried to dream of Éowyn, being the only among the company who could have found rest on the Hill of Erech. But she seemed lost in his mind—only he found winding halls and empty stairs. He ran through countless starlit fields, plunged into rivers and forests. The whole world seemed empty and he was alone. When the sun rose he rose with it, fascinated by the power of the Shadow Host all around them though light was in the sky. He mounted at Aragorn's word, and Gimli seemed his old self as they took off. They thundered down the hill and into Lamedon. They passed empty villages, where people had left for the war or because of the onslaught of the King of the Dead.
But there was no dawn the next day. There were stars, yes, but they became dimmer and dimmer as they rode toward Minas Tirith and the storm of Sauron. He knew a battle lay ahead that was to be greater than any he had ever fought. And he knew it was likely he would fall in it. Yet somehow even that thought did not make him afraid. The warning of Galadriel was nothing. He had seen Death. He could face it again and again.
Legolas let himself look back one more time. He was astounded by the swiftness of the phantoms. Some even overtook riders, flowing over them like cool breaths. He felt his heart lift and he too smiled. Coolness flowed over him, whispers sounded in his ears. Hundreds of years worth of stories drifted past. In the sea of death, the Elf and his kinsmen relished within what he came to realize was a smoldering sense of pride for Aragorn. Dead Men went by as the Living drove them, and Legolas knew he was apart of something great. Even if she was far away, and safe as she could be. Even if he was alone.
The Dead whispered and washed by. Legolas turned ahead and took in a deep breath. He wanted to spread his arms wide to feel the numbing cool. He had seen at least a part of Death, and smiled.
-Fin-
Continued in...Chapter 20! Dernhelm Sets Out
(This is my only Éowyn-only chapter—that is, we leave Legolas for a while and focus solely on Éowyn as we focused solely on Legolas in the first chapters of this story. Don't worry: he's coming back strong in Chapter 21)
A preview of the next chapter is available at the Leaf Storm fanlisting (link in my author profile).
Now please review!