Welcome, Chaps and Chapesses! This is a slight A/U fic, though I have tried to stick to some semblance of the story. I respect the rights of purists to have a cow, because usually I am one of them. :D
Please accept my humble apologies for this, and plush Haldir toys for those who are upset! Umm… I think that is all.
Oh, and flamers will be laughed at, then used to make S'mores, which I have heard of but never had, being and Aussie. So there you go.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lord of the Rings. If I did, then this would probably be in the story, so I wouldn't have to stick it on FF.net. But I am trying to buy the rights to Rúmil though…
~
Yaluumesse…
It was midnight. An owl sounded out its call as the moon shone down on the plains. The animals had settled for the night, all of them safe and warm in their homes, with no idea of the troubles they were about to face. For far away in the land of Mordor a huge battle was about to take place, one that would decide the fate of Middle-Earth. An army of Men, Elves, Hobbits and Dwarves had formed to fight against the Maia Sauron, Lord of Mordor and ruler of The One Ring, and his army of Orcs. He attacked Middle-Earth with the intention of destroying all that was good and true, and bending the creatures of this land to his will. Yet this peril was far from the minds of all the creatures of the plains, save one.
Running swiftly across the plains a dark figure went. This creature knew of the troubles of Middle-Earth, and was determined to do everything in its power to destroy evil. Quickly the Elf ran, looking neither to the right nor left as he sped on, focusing only of arriving at Mordor in time to help. He reached the edge of the plain, and disappeared from view.
The owl hooted again, and all was silent.
~
It was Gimli's turn for watch. Grumbling he paraded around the camp in the Morgul-vale, his eyes peeled and alert. He stalked back past his fire again, where all his companions were seated. Noticing the Dwarf, Aragorn smiled and called out to him. "Hello there Dwarf! Have we seen anything unusual yet?" He queried. Gimli shook his head.
"No, not a beast stirs on such a foul and dangerous night, knowing that Gimli son of Glóin is on patrol." Gimli stated, swiping his axe menacingly.
A soft laugh accompanied this boast. "Aye, no creature is that unwise!" Legolas smiled at his friend, laughing. "Indeed I would not dare come within 6 leagues of you myself if you were in a foul temper with me!"
Aragorn laughed. "No, me neither! I have not the lack of brains to do something so foolish."
"I believe I once did, over the matter of the Lady of the Light, and we have yet to settle that quarrel Gimli." Éomer laughed.
"Then you indeed are stupid, Éomer. To challenge a Dwarf with an axe? And on a matter of beauty? No one with half a brain would do such a foolhardy act."
"True, but Orcs are not known for their intelligence. We must be ever vigilant, for it will not be more than 6 sunsets before we arrive there and attack, and our boasts will do little against their hoards." Gandalf cautioned, arriving in the circle. "Therefore we must continue to keep our watch, Gimli son of Glóin." Gandalf frowned at the Dwarf, who muttered in return and turned to stalk off. As he did so, Legolas leapt up from his seat, and drawing an arrow from his quiver, he set it against his bow with one swift movement and aimed it into the dark of the night.
"Make yourself known, for I know that you are there!" He called. The others in the company turned and looked at Legolas, and then into the night, but could see no movement.
"Legolas, are you sure…" Éomer started to speak, when from the inky blackness of the night, in the direction that Legolas's arrow was pointing at a dark figure emerged, draped in a cloak. Slowly walking forward with its hands in the air, the creature came into the full view of the campfire. "An Elf!" Pippin exclaimed, for he was always surprised at these strange folk. It was none other than the figure that had fled across the plains less than two eves ago.
"Take of your cloak and hat!" Legolas demanded, but the Elf shook its head. It walked closer though, and pulled its hat off its face and let it rest on its hair, which was hidden. "What is your name and business, stranger?" Legolas directed. The strange Elf continued to say nothing.
"Speak, or I will tickle your voicebox with my axe!" Gimli growled, moving forward with his axe raised. At this the figure trembled slightly, and started making frantic gestures, pointing to its throat, then shaking its head.
"Can you not talk?" Gandalf inquired. The Elf grinned and did an awkward little dance, overjoyed at being understood.
Pippin laughed at this exhibition. "You are obviously a friend, sir Elf, and yet I have never meet one of your kind with so ungraceful movements before." He laughed. The Elf shrugged, then smiled again.
Gandalf looked at the Elf, it seemed so familiar… "So what is your name, strange Elf?" Legolas inquired. The Elf's eyes widened, then puckered into a frown. It tapped its finger against its chin, obviously trying to decide how to tell them. It ran forward, and picked up a lump of cold coal from a burnt out fire, then crushed the coal in its fist. Pointing to the remains, it then pointed to itself.
"Coal?" Naurcom, a tall dark-haired Elf, guessed. The Elf frowned and shook its head.
"Cinders?" Éomer queried, his suggestion also met with a shake of the head.
"Ash?" Legolas asked. The Elf once more burst out grinning, and danced around the fire, then fell in front of Legolas, dramatically bowing and paying homage to the bowelf. The group abounded with laughter, and watched as the Elf continued to 'worship' Legolas.
Naurcom got up and stalked menacingly over to the Elf. There was something about this creature which he did not like. Pulling his sword out, he made as if to attack the Elf. "What is your business here Elf? Tell me now, or I will turn you into Orc feed!"
Aragorn and Legolas rose immediately. "Put down your sword!" Aragorn demanded. "This Elf is obviously on our side, and swordplay will not happen in this camp unless it is against the Enemy! But," Aragorn turned to the Elf, "We do need to know why you are here."
Ash nodded, keeping a wary eye on Naurcom's sword, which had not as yet been lowered. Ash took up a fighting stance, and then pretended to fight imaginary Orcs with sword and bow. As the Elf was play-acting, Ash went behind Naurcom and suddenly kicked his sword away from his hand, so that it fell point first into the ground behind him. Frowning, the Elf shook its head at Naurcom, then went up to shake his hand, Ash holding out his hand to Naurcom in a friendly manner. Naurcom, not pleased at being humiliated in front of his colleagues, looked down at Ash in disgust, and turned away. He picked up his sword and stalked off, not turning back. Ash sighed and slumped down into Naurcom's seat, chin in hands. Pippin came up behind the Elf and placed his hand on Ash's shoulder.
"Don't you be fretting now, Ash. Lord Naurcom takes a bit of getting used to, but he always comes up good in the end. As for you now, would you like a bit of tea to warm you up?"
Ash looked into Pippin's kind face and felt warmer inside. Nodding, Ash followed Pippin to the fire and sat down next to him, listening to the Hobbit's chatter.
"…when I first met Lord Naurcom I did nothing but shake all over, I did. He came to us but a few days ago, with a band of wanderers from who-knows-where. Oh apples, I am forgetting my manners. Pearl would have something to say about that, indeed she would. Don't you go forgettin' your manners, Peregrin Took, she would say, and here I have gone and done just that. My name is Peregrin, but you can call me Pippin, and this here is the remainder of the fellowship. There was nine of us, but Boromir died… and Frodo and Sam are trying to sneak past the big flaming eye-thingy in order to save Middle-Earth and Merry…" Here Pippin's voice trailed off. "Merry wasna able to come with us, he was… he was injured."
Ash watched as Pippin thoughts faded somewhere else, millions of leagues away. Suddenly he snapped back and shook his head and grinned. "Sorry, me mind has a tendency to run away with itself. Anyway, I'm Pippin."
Ash shook Pippin's hand and he grinned. "And since ye canna talk, I'll introduce you for yeself. You're Ash, Elf of unknown origins and disturber of Naurcom." He laughed, and Ash smiled widely. Yes, that is exactly who I am.
Pippin then turned as he introduced the others. "Well, this here foolish and far to curious hobbit is meself, Pippin. Then you have King Aragorn and Lord Naurcom, who you already have met, in sorts, and this is King Éomer of the Riddermark. Over at the other fire you can see the sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir…"
Elrond's sons are here? Then I truly must be careful.
"… and this is Gandalf the Wise, and a very nice Wizard he is to." Pippin grinned sheepishly.
"I thank you for the compliment, Master Perigrin." Gandalf spoke as he shook Ash's hand, noting that Ash would not meet his eye. Gandalf found this odd, and continued the introductions in place of Pippin.
"The Dwarf over here, who is meant to be on watch mind you, is Gimli, son of Glóin, a most ferocious Dwarf. This Elf, who you might know of, is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood." As soon as he said that, Ash leapt up, and stood there, mouth open. Eyes blinking, Ash suddenly bowed deeply to Legolas, much to the shock of all. Many times Ash bowed, over and over, whilst Legolas sat there, turning a deep shade of red.
"It is to Aragorn and Éomer you should be bowing to, not me." Legolas murmured, trying to stop the bowing Elf. Yet Ash continued to bow, and in doing so a pendant on a leather necklace, or a nelanthè in Elvish, fell out of Ash's shirt. At the end of this nelanthè was a pendant, which all Elves possess. They are a personalised pendant, and each individual one has magic linked to it, for the pendant glows with the change of the wearer's emotions. As the Elf becomes angry, scared or hurt, the pendant glows a harsh blue, but if the Elf is joyful or in love, it glows a soft and warm blue. Ash's pendant was glowing a faint but harsh blue, showing Ash was disturbed by Legolas' identity.
Being used to seeing these pendants, indeed wearing one himself, Legolas was not concerned at its presence. To Gandalf though, it was a huge shock. He knew that pendant, indeed it must… no, it cannot possibly… yet no two pendants are the same, so it must be…
Standing up, Gandalf stretched. "The fire is going down, and I fear there is little wood left. Come, Ash, we find some means of a fire together in this desolate land." He turned and left the group. Ash gulped silently, and followed the wizard.
~
They walked along the cliff-face silence, collecting debris and branches they found. Ash refused to look at Gandalf, and silence hung thick between them for quite some time.
"Shall I go first or you?" Gandalf inquired. Ash remained silent. Gandalf frowned. "Does your mother know you are here, Lady Ashlieth?" He asked.
Ash sighed. "I knew I could not keep it from you Gandalf. No, mother does not know I have come to fight, and she is not to find out!" Ashlieth declared stubbornly.
Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "I see. And your father, has he any clue to your whereabouts?"
"Father could not care less Gandalf, both you and I know that. He cares not a fig for me, especially since Meneldil died."
Gandalf frowned, there was no reason to deny it. Meneldil had always been his father's favorite, and his recent death had greatly affected Anárion. The noble death of his son…
"Father, you are wrong!" Meneldil bellowed at Anárion, his fist slamming against the long oak table. "To ignore the threat of Sauron and the Ring is foolhardy!"
"He poses no danger to us, Meneldil." Anárion calmly replied.
"Take a look at your map, Father!" Meneldil cried. "First it will be Rohan , Gondor and then he will find Gondolin! Already there are numerous foes scouting in the Echoriath, waiting to find the secret path! We have but days left, and you continue to ignore them!" Meneldil despaired over his father indifference towards the lives of his people. "Send out a small army Father." Meneldil pleaded. "I will lead them, we can stop them now and afterwards move on to join with Rohan and Gondor-"
Meneldil was cut off by Anárion leaping to his feet, enraged. "I will not hear of you helping that Steward! They deserves not our help, let Denethor protect Gondor alone!" He spat, his face turning blood red with rage.
"And if he fails and Middle Earth is taken over, what then? We will be dead, thanks to your own stubbornness! Sauron will control Gondolin as much as the rest of Middle Earth, and he will kill us all!" Meneldil yelled, staring at his father. Anárion said nothing, just sat back down.
"I will not allow you to go." He said simply.
Meneldil stared long and hard at his father, then slowly drew himself up to his full height, his countenance transforming into one of a warrior. "Then I leave without your blessing." He declared quietly.
Anárion started to rise. "You leave, and you relinquish your claim to Guardianship of Gondolin." He warned.
Meneldil sent Anárion a piercing stare. "I know." He stated, then turned and left the room, Anárion thundering after him.
"Meneldil! MENELDIL!" He roared, but his son had left.
Meneldil departed quickly, taking with him a small company of loyal soldiers. They would first ride to Rohan, and see if any help was needed there, before riding on to Gondor. Briefly farewelling his mother, Meneldil and Ashlieth walked out to his horse together.
"Ashlieth-" Meneldil paused. "Tuilindelle, this is war. I do not know if I will come back alive-" He was cut off by Ashlieth protesting voice.
"You will! You have to!" She told him.
Meneldil held up a hand for silence. "I do not know if I will come back alive, I do not know if I will be able to protect you from Father anymore. Promise me you will stand up to him. Do not allow him to control your life, or force you to do anything you do not want to. Do not let him hurt you! Always do what you believe is right!" He stared at her, his eyes full of concern. "Promise me Tuilindelle!"
Ashlieth stood silent, the though of standing up to her father a terrifying one.
"Lle vesta Tuilindelle?"*
Ashlieth nodded. "I promise Meneldil, and" she added, "I will take care of Mother also." She added, before Meneldil could make that request of her.
A slight smile broke over Meneldil's grim features. "Ah, my sister. I will miss you."
"Then come back quickly!" Ashlieth replied, her voice straining to sound cheery.
"I will." He said, a sad smile on his face. He bent and kissed the top of her head lightly. "Farewell." He swung up onto his horse and waved to her. Ashlieth waved back, tears streaming down her face and he turned and rode off.
"I love you Meneldil!" She cried out.
"I love you, my sister!" He yelled back over his shoulder, the head of his troops, a proud and noble warrior.
The victory at the Echoriath's was brace and swift, but the small luck they had was not to hold. Meneldil died during the battle at Helm's Deep, showing bravery and honor in his final moments. Many were stricken with grief when they saw the great Prince fall, surrounded by Uruk-hai and wounded in a score of places. After killing a score of Uruks, the Prince was caught unaware as a cold blade rammed into his stomach, and Meneldil stood there gasping, shock written on his fine features. Elves and Men alike saw him slowly tug a white handkerchief out of his pocket, and stare at it, running the linen between his fingers. Then he clenched it in his fist and threw himself into the fray, roaring like a madbeast, screaming names of those he loved. Names like Ashlieth, Niamh, Anárion, and one that was unfamiliar to them all escaped his lips as he died…. "TÁRINIA!"
Gandalf shook himself out of his thoughts as Ashlieth continued.
"He cares for no one, not even mother now. He just wishes to gain his immortality, he spends hours pouring over his books, trying to find the secret."
"So, the Guardian has not yet found it?" Gandalf inquired.
"No. He has been able to prolong his life manyfold by drinking a special potion, but the ingredients are becoming harder to find, and it is not enough for him to prolong his life, he wants it endless." Ashlieth sighed. Anárion
Gandalf furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. Almost three thousand years ago Anárion, younger son of Elendil, brother to Isildur, had fought against Sauron in the last Alliance between Men and Elves. And he was thought slain in the siege of Barad-dúr, and in the heat of battle his body was lost and Elendil and Isildur left, heavy-hearted. Unknown to most, Anárion survived and disappeared for many centuries, allowing his hate for his brother and his father to boil within him.
Years later he married the Lady Niamh, sister to Olwë , Elmo and King Thingol. Knowing of the Elves immortality, Anárion married Niamh in order to discover the secret, believing it had to do with the Elves blood, and use it for himself. Anárion, though a cold man, was a brilliant alchemist, and after spending many years studying Niamh's blood, discovered part of her makeup that was different to humans, and was able to use his potions to prolong his life. He had sired two children, Meneldil, his son and the only thing he cared about, and a daughter, Ashlieth, both of them half Elvish, yet granted immortality.
Gandalf shook his head. Immortality was a dangerous thing, not to be trifled with, especially for Men. He sighed, then placed his focus back on Ashlieth.
"So then Missy, why are you here?" Gandalf asked sternly.
"I told you, I want to fight the Orcs. Please, Gandalf, don't make me go back, it is awful at home, I can't stand it. Please, I want to fight, I want to help Middle-Earth. I couldn't stand it if became overrun with evil. All this beauty gone." She flung her arms wide with exuberance. "Please Gandalf. Father kept on saying how much better his life would be if he had one fighter to 'carry on his bloodline'. I know I can't please him, but… I want to try." She finished softly.
"I cannot allow you to do something so foolish as to fight in this battle." He told her. Ashlieth lowered her eyes.
"Maybe I am a fool, but I am a fool with nothing left. Only the desire to free the land I have loved." Slowly Ashlieth lifted her eyes. "Please Gandalf."
Gandalf scowled as she stared pleadingly at him. "Please? Can't we just let the others believe that I am a mute male Elf named Ash? Please?" she begged.
Gandalf harumphed loudly. "Alright Ash, button your mouth and let us collect firewood."
Ash cheered and did a little dance of delight, her mouth sealed again. Peering around her, she quickly threw her arms around Gandalf. "Thanks you so much." She said.
Gandalf hugged her back. "That's alright missy, I could never stand up to you anyway." Ash grinned, and then turned to collect firewood. Her pendant shone a soft blue due to her happiness. She was going to fight in the war! She grinned and bent to collect a piece of wood.
They continued in silence for quite some time, when Gandalf stood back up and frowned. "There is one point that concerns me, Ashlieth. Naurcom."
Ashlieth sighed. "I know, that concerns me also, yet he cannot find out that it is me, it would just be to… uncomfortable. It would create more problems than it is worth."
"Yet to hide such a thing to one's betrothed…" Gandalf left the sentence hanging, noting the displeasure on Ashlieth's face.
"Yes, my betrothed, the light of my life, the one who I care about most in Middle-Earth." Ashlieth said, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Well, that's what father wants me to think at least. Father and Naurcom are cut from the same cloth, both of them think of no one but themselves." Ashlieth finished, frowning. They continued on for a while, walking and thinking. "I don't love him Gandalf. I don't like him, I don't even respect him. What kind of life will that be?
Gandalf said nothing, but his grey eyes held sympathy for the Elf, and Ashlieth knew he would not tell Naurcom. Though displeased with being found out, she was glad she had someone to talk to, for she would be doing very little talking for the next few days.
~
"Rúmil, I want you to meet a new friend of ours," Legolas brought Ash up to the front of the group. "Rúmil, this young elf is Ash. Ash, I want you to meet one of our best archers, the most skilled bow elf in Middle Earth, Rúmil. I am placing you under his leadership from now on, you can learn much from him." And I do not wish to see one so young and naive come to harm. Legolas added silently. Rúmil good-naturedly punched Legolas in the arm.
"Ignore him, Master Ash. Legolas can use a bow better than any other elf I know, he has won many a competition against me-"
"With no help from your cheating!"
"Me? Cheat?" Rúmil looked at Ash in a horrified manner. "Legolas, I am ashamed to know you think that! I was merely… guiding your bow."
"Guiding! You hit it as I fired!" Legolas protested strongly, trying to keep from laughing.
"No, no, no, that was your hand shaking! You're no telella*, Legolas. Just grow old with grace and do not blame your faults on others." Rúmil pacified him, his eyes dancing with mirth. Legolas made as if to strangle him, and soon both Elves were mock-fighting, with exaggerated blows and tumbles.
"Oww! You have my hair! Let go!"
"You bit me! Girl!"
"Haha! Die, mortal!" Legolas threw Rúmil down in victory.
"Arrg! I am wounded! Have mercy, oh mighty Prince!" Rúmil pleaded as he grasped a "wound" on his chest. Legolas, in a very dignified and regal air, offered his hand to 'the mere mortal' and helped him up. Both friends stared at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing, tears streaming down their faces as a bewildered Ash stared on.
'Is this really the somber Prince of Mirkwood my mother has such great respect for? And who is this Rúmil? Why is he so easy-going, for I have never met such a teasing elf before, and in such times of trouble, in such a fearsome place. Look, many of the men dare to smile because of him. Surely he is a rare elf.'
"Ash, it is a pleasure to meet you, I feel it will be a great pleasure having you around." Rúmil held out his hand and grinned, and Ash shook it, his warm smile showing the honesty in his words. Yet he grew confused as Ash said nothing in return.
"Ash is mute, Rúmil." Legolas explained, seeing Rúmil's confusion.
"Oh, I am so sorry. Maybe, when this is over, the Lady of the Light may heal you, or indeed Elrond too is a mighty healer. But I do confess that I find my Lady's healing touch much more pleasant than the strictness of Elrond." Rúmil confessed, his eyes still merry.
'Does he never lose that cheerfulness?' Ash wondered as Legolas sniffed the air.
"I fear I smell Gimli burning dinner, and I hear Aragorn's wrath at another charcoal meal. Come, let us rescue him before Aragorn decides to eat Gimli for the evening meal!" Legolas smiled.
Rúmil laughed at the thought of Gimli on a plate with an apple in his mouth, then ran off after Legolas, with Ash jogging behind.
~*~
As the days passed on, Ash became more and more at ease around the Fellowship, finding a particular friendship with Rúmil, Legolas and Pippin. Rúmil and Pippin were such fun, always laughing and dancing with her, and doing silly play-acting as well. It was during one of these plays that her lack of weapons was first noticed.
She was walking behind a sulking Naurcom, imitating him much to the delight of Pippin. As she did so, Naurcom spun around and placed the tip of his sword under her chin. "I have had enough of you, Master Elf. You are brave enough behind my back, but let us see how you fight man to man!" Ash's eyes widened, and then she shrugged her shoulders and indicated that she had no weapons.
"No weapons!" Pippin exclaimed. "Well, that must be fixed immediately! Come on Master Ash, let's get you all fixed up! We'll go see Aragorn!" Pippin grabbed her by the hand and whisked her away, leaving Naurcom glowering at her back.
Aragorn was astounded. "No weapons? Then how, in the name of Rivendell, did you expect to do any good in the battle? Ward Orcs off with your funny antics? Challenge them to a silence competition? This was most unwise Ash!" He said sternly. Ash's head and shoulders dropped in despair, and Aragorn softened. "Come, little Elf, we will take you to our meager supply of weapons and between Legolas and myself, we should be able to fit you for a weapon or two. Come." Aragorn strode off, with Ash following behind him.
After finding Legolas they went to a small cart, filled with weapons of every sort. Ash was amazed, she had never seen such beautifully crafted weapons before. There were swords, daggers, bows, axes and many types of shields. Her eyes were wide, and she was truly amazed at the awe-inspiring weapons.
"I think our Elf friend likes what he sees." Aragorn smiled. "Come Ash, what weapons are you most comfortable with?" He watched as Ash looked around, then picked up a beautiful bow, testing it for its flexibility and strength. Legolas nodded in approval.
"That is indeed a fine bow you have chosen, yet I believe that this one may be more suited to your strength" He reached over and picked up a lighter bow. "This one will allow the arrows to fly faster and more true, yet it is light and durable. Try it." Legolas held it out to Ash. She walked over and took it from the Elf, still humbled to be in his presence. Taking it quickly, she held it up and smiled. Indeed this bow was much more to her liking, it felt more like an extension of her arm, as though it weighed nothing at all. Ash nodded furiously, indicating that she liked that bow, and was about to leave when Aragorn stopped her.
"A moment Ash, a bow needs arrows to shoot with, and you also need weapons incase of close combat." He added, passing Ash a quiver of arrows. Blushing, Ash accepted them from him, then turned to a bundle of small swords. Taking up a dirk, with the blade being the length of her elbow to the tip of her fingers, she brandished it about the room, and feeling pleased with her choice, she nodded.
"A wonderful choice, Elf. I would have chosen that one for you myself." Aragorn agreed. "Now let us see how accomplished you are with these weapons," Aragorn started, but was interrupted by Pippin, who had run into the room.
"Strider, Gandalf says he must speak to you at your earliest convenience, which I believe means now by the way he was huffin' and puffin' and boomin'." He spoke. Aragorn frowned.
"Alright, I am on my way. Legolas, take Ash out to the training grounds." He spoke, and Legolas nodded. Aragorn then left the tent, striding after Pippin.
Legolas turned to Ash. "Come, show me your talent on the battlefield." He smiled, then lead a nervous Ash from the cart towards a small cliff.
Once they got there, Legolas pointed out a boulder a good distance away. "See the stump which rest near that boulder? Hit the knot in the middle." Legolas told her.
Ash nodded, slightly concerned, but she knew she could get close… she hoped. Taking an arrow from her quiver, she set it against her bow, aimed quickly, then let it fly across the field, hitting the knot slightly to the left side. Legolas nodded, please with the shot.
"May I?" He asked Ash.
Ash nodded, and handed him the bow and quiver. Taking three arrows, Legolas fired them off in rapid succession, taking very little time to aim. Ash watched them carefully, wondering what he was doing. The first arrow struck the very dead center of the knot, which caused Ash's eyes to widen. The second flew and hit the exact spot where Ash's had struck, slicing her arrow neatly in two, and the third flew and struck the ground right between Gimli's legs, who had been walking up to them. Ash's eyes were like saucers; she could not believe the skill of the Prince of Mirkwood. He grinned at her, and handed her bow back, satisfied with her reaction.
"Don't mind Legolas, he is very pleased with his skills. That is one of his old tricks, you will get used to his boastful nature in time." Gimli huffed, pulling the arrow out of the ground and handing it to Ash. "Our Prince here enjoys seeing the reaction of the folk of Middle-Earth when he scares them half to death, and yours was no exception, but I can say they you are a talented bowelf, so be pleased with your effort Ash." Gimli finished.
"That, Ash, is high praise indeed coming from Gimli. It took him many a month until he would admit the same of my bow skill. Although I have no reservation in saying that Gimli is too a skilled creature, his axe and I have come very close to meeting each other personally many times." Legolas bowed to Gimli, who roared with laughter.
"Aye, 'tis true. Many a time I have nearly scalped the Elf after being provoked."
"Yes, and much fun it is too!" Legolas agreed, laughing also. Ash looked on confused, how can an Elf and a Dwarf get on so well, the two cultures are rivals by nature. Ash finally gave up trying to figure this pair out. Some things just happen.
~
"I'm a free hobbit, not given to love or mushy stuff like that. It means when I go home I can 'roam' about, if ye know what I mean." Pippin winked at his friends, who laughed at the thought of Pippin, roaming. It was five nights since Ash had come to the Host of the West, and already she had grown to love the people she knew there.
"I also do not have the time, nor the patience for love." Éomer put in, slightly ruefully.
"And what about you, Lord Naurcom?" Rúmil asked. "To whom is you heart given?" Ash pricked her ears up at this, and waited to see his reaction. Naurcom gulped down the last of his drink and wiped his mouth.
"Well, my heart is given to no singular women," Ash's eyebrows raised at this, "but if you are asking if I am engaged, then yes I am, and to a very fine Elf as well, and a pretty deal I got out of it." He finished, grinning as if proud of himself.
"That's not the only reason I am betrothed to her. This Elf, named… well, anyway, this Elf has long, curly hair, a dark red-brown in colour, she has a stunning body, and she loves me completely…" Naurcom paused as Ash had a fit of coughing. "And, well," he paused mischievously "I can tell you my bed will not be cold for quite some time afterwards. Here, as a friend I will make you all a proposition. When the time comes that I have finished with her I might let you all have a bit as well…" Naurcom was cut of as two arrows were held under his chin.
Ash could stand it no longer, she was growling furiously at Naurcom, her entire body shaking in rage. How dare he offer her around like that, how dare he! She growled louder, and pushed the point of the arrow closer. Beside her, also with his arrow to Naurcom's chin, was Rúmil.
"A female is a precious gift, how dare you insult you fiancée's honor like that! Love is a special and holy thing, and for you to think of her as naught but an item or object for you to conquer is a despicable and shameful action. Disgrace on you and the race of Men." Rúmil spat out through clenched teeth. Naurcom was shocked, he had never seen the usually cheerful Elf this angry and upset. His normally mischievous brown eyes were as dark as a raging storm, narrowed and as cold and harsh as the winter ice. Naurcom gulped.
"I am sorry Rúmil, I don't know what came over me, to much drink perhaps?" He offered, lifting his goblet. "Please forgive me." He asked. Rúmil glared at him, then lowered his arrow and strode off towards the cliffs.
Ash also lowered her arrow, though not in peace. No, she felt that if she kept it there she might do some damage to him in anger, yet she never took her eyes off Naurcom, sending a piercing gaze his way. This disquieted Naurcom, who stood up and brushed passed her, muttering something about maps as he strode away. Ash stood there, silent, then also left, heading after Rúmil. Only the Pippin, Éomer and Gimli remained around the campfire.
"Was it something we said?" asked Pippin.
~
Ash found Rúmil sitting on a log beside the cliff-face. He held his chin in his hands and was staring into the horizon towards the black gates, face furrowed. Ash walked up and sat beside him, wondering what had upset him so, why he had rushed to defend her honor so quickly. They sat there in silence, the two Elves lost in their own thought. Finally Rúmil spoke up. "Men take for granted too many things. They are true to nothing, and they love no one but themselves."
Ash shook her head, and held up one finger.
"There is one, who?" Ash leapt up, and taking out her sword she stood tall and walked around, until Rúmil knew whom it was that she was talking about. "Aragorn? Yes 'tis true. He seems to be the only exception to the rule. It does my heart good to see him and Arwen in love." He smiled, then frowned again. "She gave up her immortality for him, you know Ash. Was that a wise decision?" He pondered.
Ash nodded her head fervently, placing a hand on her heart. "For love, yes, I suppose so. Is there someone you love Ash?" Rúmil asked.
Ash dropped her eyes and shook her head, no one could love a half human/half Elf like herself. She pointed to Rúmil, with a questioning look on her face.
"Is there anyone I love?" He asked, then sighed. "No, there isn't. I too am destined to be a bachelor," He said, and gave an exaggerated sigh. "So it seems, then, that you and I will live on in utter loneliness, which may not be such a terrible thing." Rúmil mused. "At least I will never have children. I doubt Middle Earth could cope with more than one of my type, but I wish…"
Rúmil was cut short when the sound of a horn blew from the camp. Rúmil leapt up and ran, calling out. "Run Ash, that is Aragorn calling us. There must be news of the Orcs." He cried. Ash leapt up and ran after him, could this be it?
~
A few seconds later they arrived at camp, and saw all of the warriors gathered around Aragorn and Naurcom, fear and concern blazing from the crowd. "Tell me, what has happened?" Rúmil cried as he pushed through the crowd, Ash close behind him. Aragorn looked at them, worry etched on his strong face.
"Sauron's eye has moved, he has seen us advance. It is therefore time to strike against him, give the ringbearer his chance and strike against evil! We must go, boldly to the Black Gates, opened-eyed into Sauron's domain. Come men, now we fly! Take only what you need for battle and water. Leave all else behind. Quickly men!" Aragorn yelled. There was an instant flurry of activity, all creatures running to prepare themselves.
Ash felt her heart in her mouth, she was about to fight! Hastily she ran to her campfire and grabbed her sword, her bow still in her hand. Placing the quiver of arrows on her back, and grabbing a water container, she ran back to the gathering area, her entire body tingling with excitement.
When all had gathered, Aragorn pointed his sword in the direction of the Black gates. "Onwards!" He called, then swinging upon his horse he galloped off, and the army ran forward, brandishing swords and spears and yelling a fierce battle cry, the noise echoing off the surrounding cliff-face.
"Gurth gothrim lye!!!"*
~
Many, many hours later they were still running, though without the vigor that they first had. Ash was exhausted, though she tried not to show it. She knew she could not keep it up for much longer without a break, and felt her limbs turn to water as she ran on. She was so tired she did not notice Rúmil riding beside her. "Ash!" He called. She turned her bleary eyes up at him and smiled. "Here," he beckoned, lowering his hand to hers, "my horse can take us both." He smiled at her, and gratefully she took his hand, swinging up behind him. She immediately relaxed, and lay her head on his back, completely worn out. Rúmil smiled, he was amazed this boy had made it so far, and he worried that Ash had not the stamina to endure the fight. Yet he could do little about it except watch over him.
Three hours later they arrived at the Black gate. Just the sight of it made Ashlieth shiver in fear, the smell that came from within, the fear that hung upon the very air. The whole Host was silent, and all stood forlorn and chill in the grey light of early day before the towers and wall which they could not assault with hope. For a moment, all stood still and stared at the frowning Black gates.
It was Aragorn who first broke the silence, and he arranged the host in such array as could best be contrived, and they stood on the Slag-hills, hills that had been created by Orcs after years of labour.
Ash looked around nervously, and saw a boy named Timon beside her. She had met him before, and the two had walked together often. Timon was young, and was white and shaking with fear. On seeing Ash, he gulped and smiled tensely. "Are you ready for this Ash?" He asked.
Ash nodded, hesitantly.
He grinned. "No, me neither. But this isn't about us, it's for Middle-Earth, right?" He asked. Ash smiled. He was right; they did not matter, as long as Middle-Earth was saved.
Ash's eyes widened as she watched the Captains ride forth towards the black gate with horsemen, holding banners high. Her breath caught in her thraot as she saw who was riding out, Gandalf, Aragorn, Naurcom, the Sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir, Éomer, King of Rohan and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Prince Legolas, Gimli, Pippin, and …
"Rúmil." Ash whispered, her breath catching in her throat. So soft was her whisper that no one heard it, even in the terrible silence of the moment, but for a brief second, Ash's heart was squeezed by a terrible force, and she clenched her hands to dull the pain as Aragorn began to speak.
"Come Forth! Let the Lord of the Blackland come forth! Justice shall be done upon him. For wrongfully he has made was upon Gondor and wrested its lands. Therefore the King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart then for ever. Come forth!"
The silence that followed was long and severe, and all peoples waited with baited breath. Yet the silence remained until the Captains moved to turn back, when with a great noise the Black Gates opened, revealing the Mouth of Sauron1 and his minions.
Loud words followed, the contempt and malice of Sauron's Lieutenant showing in every gesture, every word, and every look that he gave. The strength of Aragorn demonstrated in his commands, the wisdom of Gandalf in his words, and the sound of Pippin's heart breaking as he was shown Sam's cloak and sword, and Frodo's mithril-mail coat.
"No!" He cried, springing from behind Imrahil, his voice fill of grief, only to be shoved back by Gandalf. Ash's heart went to the young hobbit that she loved so dearly, she wished to hold him like a mother would, soothing all his pain. Yet she stood firm, her face impassive, her heart torn in two.
The talking continued until Gandalf snatched the token's from the Lieutenants hand and told him in a loud voice, "Begone!" The Lieutenant's face twisted with anger, and he turned and galloped madly back to Cirith Gorgor. Then Sauron sent his army forward, and the Captains rode back to be with their people, and so the battle begun.
The assemblies of all the peoples of Middle-Earth stood fearless together, not wavering until the Nazgûl arrived, their cold voices crying word of death and the armies of Sauron charged, then all hope left the hearts of men.
The first wave crashed into them, and Ash found herself surrounded by running Men, Elves, Orcs, Uruk-hai, Easterlings and Trolls. She was shorter than most, and soon found herself lost in the mass of people fighting. She turned to Timon, but found he had disappeared. Stopping, Ash turned around to find him, and saw him behind her, lying on the ground with a gash in his thigh from an Orc spear. She could see him try to get up, but fall back down. Suddenly she ran back towards him, his voice in her head. "This isn't about us…" But it was. He was part of Middle-Earth and she would not let him die.
She fought her way past the army of Men until she came to him. "Timon, are you okay?" She screamed at him, trying to be heard above the noise. He looked up at her, his eyes wide. "I think so, but… Ash… you talked!"
Ash froze, then shook her head. "Of course I talked, come on, get up!" She screamed, pulling him up. Placing his arm around her shoulders, she half ran, half pulled him forward, trying to find a safe spot to place him. Don't let him die she thought, and she ran with all her might. But Timon was heavy, and Ash found that she could not hold him for long. Finally dropping him, Timon lay still on the ground, his face pale from the loss of blood, his eyes closed in unconsciousness.
Blood, so much blood was covering the ground. The sickening stench, the screams of those who were struck filled the air. Hemmed in on all sides, Ash looked up and saw no escape, no chance of survival for her and Timon. Mutated Orcs and Uruk-hai crowded around them, fighting other Men and, in some cases, each other. Ash's hand shook as she tried futilely to remove her dirk2 from its belt.
No escape. Then this is to be my end. I wish it wasn't so. I am so scared to die. Meneldil, why aren't you here? I need you.
In that instant, something changed. Ash did not miraculously slay millions of ors, her wrath overcoming all fear, nor did she command Timon to stand and fight for what they were going to die for, life. Nor did she rescue anyone of note from a painful death. But something small changed.
By the grace of Eru, Ash found the courage, the strength, to unsheathe her dirk. She found the spirit to move her frozen wrist and attack foes. She found the grit to stand over Timon, draw his fallen sword and defend him. And when an Uruk blade rammed Ash through her side, she found the breath in her lungs to scream, loud, long and terrible.
Then merciful Elbereth came to her rescue, and Ashlieth fainted, collapsing atop of Timon in painless sleep. And their blood ran together, and joined the mass that covered the Mordor soil.
Rúmil heard her long cry, and its noise pierced his very soul. Slowly, cautiously, he fought his way over to her, his face filled with horror as bright, bright blood covered her back. With rage he fought onwards, standing over Ash and Timon like a guardian angel, his swords a mere blur to the casual eye.
But even angels become weary, and Rúmil's shoulder began to ache, and his sword began to slow, his head drooping slightly. And his limbs tired, and his heart grew heavy.
Far, far away a creature falls into flame…
"The eagles are coming! The eagles are coming!" Éomer looked up into the sky, his heart filling with relief as the eagles attacked the Nazgûl, swooping suddenly onto the living dead. But the Nazgûl, turned and fled back into Mordor's shadows and their sent a call so terrible that even the hands of Sauron's slaves froze, loosing their limbs and allowing fear to seep into their hearts. Then Éomer cried aloud with the other Captains, and hope filled his heart, and he fought on, stronger.
The call of the Captains also lifted Rúmil's heavy heart, and he picked up his sword with a renewed strength, his mind clearer, and his face determined to keep Ash and Timon alive.
And Gandalf rose his hands and called out "Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom." As he spoke, Rúmil felt the ground beneath his feet tremble, and the mighty Towers tottered and fell down. The Black Gate was thrown into ruin, and a roar, far away at first, but soon on top of them, came, loud, bellowing the destruction of Sauron and all that was evil.
As the roar diminished, Rúmil looked down to his feet and he cried aloud when he saw the state Ash and Timon were in. Their faces were pale, the blood dawn out of them and spilling onto the black soil. Not now, do not leave now.
Scooping Ash up into his arms, Rúmil called Elrohir over to pick up Timon, and together they rushed them over to the Slag-Hills, where the healers were set up. On their way, Ash recovered consciousness for a moment. "I'm not… tell her… Gandalf… Meneldil." She moaned before falling into a painless sleep. Rúmil paused for the briefest moment. He spoke?
"Hang on Ash, hang on. Come on Lad, you've found your voice, do not give up now."
~
The battle was over, Middle-Earth was saved. The battlefield was strewn with the bodies of Orcs and free-creatures alike. Rúmil walked up and down Morannon, trying to find survivors. He wiped blood off his forehead, a cut from an Orcs weapon. The Orc had paid. Yet it was not his own wounds which was on Rúmil' mind. He was worried about the young boy-elf, Ash. Rúmil had left him at the hills, concerned, but unable to stay. There had still be enemy forces to deal with, not all of Sauron's minions had died in the collapse of the Black Gates.
Now that the battle was over, he was impatient to see how Ash had fared, but his place was here, helping those get the treatment Ash had. So he continued, walking up and down, finding the wounded and carrying them down to the tents at the bottom of the Slag-hills, which were now makeshift hospitals. Rúmil would carry the hurt to Aragorn, and some others who knew of medicine, and they would tell him where to place the wounded. There was so many that the tents were filled and the wounded spilt out onto the ground surrounding the area. This continued long into the night, until there was no more wounded left.
When he had checked and re-checked the entire battlefield, Rúmil strode quickly down to the tents. Being one of the first wounded, Ash was in an actual tent, far away from the Black Gates. Finally arriving outside the tent, Rúmil saw Gandalf seated, snoring, on a log next to her tent. Striding up, Rúmil shook Gandalf urgently. "How is he?"
Gandalf looked up and blinked sleep out of his eyes. "Pardon? How is who?" He asked gruffly.
Rúmil sighed in frustration. "Ash! How is he?"
Gandalf muttered something barely audible in reply, and Rúmil' eyes widened as his sensitive elf ears picked up what a mortal would have missed, his brain whirling. Did Gandalf just say…
"What was that Gandalf?" Rúmil whispered.
Gandalf snorted gruffly. "I said, she is fine!" He replied crossly, and promptly fell asleep again.
Rúmil eyes were as wide as the moon, reflecting his confusion and amazement. "She?" he asked softly, then sprinted into the tent. Running down its length, he stopped suddenly and walked slowly forward, for there, lying asleep in Ash's spot, was a young female Elf with long, curly, dark red-brown hair.
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Lle vesta Tuilindelle? = Do you promise Little Swallow?
Telella = Young elf, child
Gurth gothrim lye= Death to our foes
1: The Mouth of Sauron is not a great big mouth 'ringed with fire', although that does make and interesting picture… "Who can gather all of Sauron's body part before the music stops?" No, seriously, he is a Black Numenorean, a Man who cannot remember his name, and he looks pretty gross. For more details, see Return of the King, (Book Five, Chapter ten, page 870 in my book)
Oh, and that entire scene can be found in the same chapter. I stole a lot from Tolkien, but what could I do, re-write it? No, that is what happened in the story, so that is how it will stay.
2: A dirk is a 'sword', about twice as long as a dagger, but shorter than a real sword. Easy to carry, yet can be used in battle. Lighter as well.
Anywho, and questions, give me a buzz down …
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See the pretty review button, click it, and answer this chapter's topic question…
Have I screwed anything up severely here? Like, with the story line and stuff (Other than the intentional, i.e. Naurcom, Niamh, Anárion etc)