Disclaimer: (sing to the tune of "Quit Playing Games With My Heart" by the Backstreet Boys (who I have no legal claim to either). Be sure to bust it out at the top of your lungs so you can share this magic with the WHOLE family!)
Even in my heart, I see
Tolkien won't give the rights to me
Deep within my soul, I fear
It'll never be my property!
So what is the real use of suing me?
When I know I don't own anything!
But I wish did, for myself (and a blo-onde elf….)
Quit playing games with my mind!
A/N: Ah…sorry, that was my arbitrary tribute to the Backstreet Boys. I was quite the teenybopper back in the day. And I just read they're going on tour sometime this year…hmm…
General note: I appreciate honesty and constructive criticism. I really do. However, if you really hate everything I've done with the story, then I don't want you to waste your time reading it, because if you dislike it, then it seems rather pointless to read it.
To the person who ever so politely inquired: Pippin eventually marries Diamond Took. Merry marries Estella Bolger. Sam has thirteen children and names his first son Frodo. I first read the books when I was eleven. I don't care if you don't believe me—it's really not my problem.
Alright, I feel guilty. I know there hasn't been romance and I really appreciate your patience. I was going to include the Battle of Helm's Deep in the next couple of chapters, but I went on a guilt trip and decided to write a really long Chapter Thirty-Six because everyone has been too patient with me. The only real catch is that there's a bit of a cliffhanger…anyway, I've talked too long. Onto…
Chapter Thirty-Six
Aragorn's next course of action was to wander around aimlessly for a substantially long period of time, occasionally mentioning some obscure defense tactic that I didn't have the patience to listen to. My feet started to hurt after what seemed like our eighth consecutive trip around the fortress and I quickly began to feel sweaty and uncomfortable.
"Where are we going?" I asked Aragorn after tolerating at least half an hour of this nonsense. He didn't answer me at first, instead studying people around us, most of whom seemed rather intent on hauling all of their earthly possessions with them. The major difference between them and us was that they seemed to have somewhere to go.
"Théoden will have ordered the women and children into the caves," he murmured in response. I raised an eyebrow. He suddenly stopped and looked at me, as though he had just realized something important. "Haley," he began, looking slightly uncomfortable. "This is a matter of some…importance." He was speaking in code again, which I took to mean he was trying to be sensitive about something he was about to say. "The King had thought that it might be…best for your safety if you remained in the caves with the women and children."
I wasn't sure how to react to this comment. Truth be told, I was half-inclined to simply accept it without a fuss. I liked the idea of being safe and not having to fear for my life with every passing second of battle. I hated watching others fall to the ground, lost to the world as a result of senseless murder. If I went into the caves I wouldn't have to witness any of these atrocities or worry about my own wellbeing. It made sense; I don't like fighting and I'm certainly not a hero.
But I'm not a coward, either, a tiny voice inside my head pointed out. I chewed thoughtfully on my lip. I had worked hard to get where I was—I hadn't necessarily done it gracefully or tactfully, mind you, but the point was that I had gone too far to turn back. Giving in and taking the easy way out would simply prove that I was not capable of going on the entire quest, as most in attendance at the Council had initially pointed out. I couldn't simply stop trying.
"I'm here," I said after a moment of reflection, "I might as well fight."
"This is your choice?" Aragorn asked carefully. I shrugged.
"Yeah…I didn't really come here to sit around, so…" I trailed off, quirking my lips up in a half-hearted smile. "Might as well." Aragorn nodded slowly before turning away and looking pensively at the walls.
"We'll place the reserves along the wall," he said as he began walking again. I suppressed a sigh. I had hoped that I might have distracted him enough so that he'd forget about battle strategies, at least temporarily. No such luck. "They can support the archers from above the gate." Having informed us of this seemingly useless tidbit of information, he continued walking, gently pushing past the crowds of people. Legolas suddenly took a large step forward and grabbed hold of the Ranger's arm.
"Aragorn, you must rest," he insisted firmly. Aragorn seemed to ignore him and instead continued walking, his eyes flickering over the walls, as if searching for another strategy to distract Legolas. "You're no use to us half-alive," Legolas pointed out, trying to get Aragorn's attention. Aragorn nearly rolled his eyes and ignored Legolas' protestations, which greatly annoyed the Elf. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips.
"Aragorn!" A familiar feminine shout interrupted what might have turned into an interesting debate (I had yet to add my two cents). Aragorn looked up, no doubt welcoming the diversion. Éowyn dodged around several people laden with baggage of all kinds, her eyes reflecting a quiet flame of fury as she approached us. "I'm to be sent with the women into the caves." I immediately felt guilty. I had at least been given a choice in the matter. I had no doubt that Éowyn was the better fighter and she also seemed to have no reservations about fighting, which made me feel even worse.
"That is an honorable charge," Aragorn replied, carefully. He always seemed to know exactly what to say. However, Éowyn didn't seem to share the same opinion and an angry flush rose in her cheeks.
"To mind the children, to find food and bedding when the men return. What renown is there in that?" she replied sharply, trying to mask the sentiment in her voice.
"My lady," Aragorn continued in a softer voice, "a time may come for valor without renown. Who then will your people look to in the last defense?"
"Let me stand at your side," she replied, her voice seemingly rough with emotion.
"It is not in my power to command it," Aragorn said dismissively before turning around and continuing on his course. I stood dumbstruck in my place.
"You do not command the others to stay!" Éowyn called at his retreating back. It could have been my imagination, but I felt as though this comment had been directed specifically at me and I felt even guiltier than I had before. Aragorn turned around and listened to her with an unreadable expression on his face. She continued almost angrily, a faint pleading reflecting almost imperceptibly in her stormy eyes. "They fight beside you because they would not be parted from you." She took a deep breath before continuing in a softer voice, "Because they love you." My eyes widened at what appeared to be a confession from Éowyn and I suddenly felt rather nervous and embarrassed on her behalf. Aragorn watched her with an almost blank expression, his eyes unreadable. She suddenly paled, seeming rather embarrassed and horrified all at once. "I'm sorry," she whispered, seeming shocked at the words that had just come out of her mouth. She brushed quickly past Aragorn, walking quickly towards the entrance of the caves. I shot Aragorn an exasperated look before quickly chasing after Éowyn. He could have been a little more tactful.
"Éowyn!" I called after her, trying not to get caught up in the crowd. She turned slowly, seeming slightly surprised when she saw me trailing after her. I quickly approached her and realized that I didn't have the slightest idea what I was going to say to her. "I'm sorry," I tried after a moment. She observed me with a slightly confused expression painted on her fair features. "Truthfully…I'd rather be the one in the caves," I continued in a slightly quieter voice. I felt uneasy admitting this, but it was too late to go back now. "I guess…it's a bit of a test for both of us…" I trailed off; wondering if that made any sense at all. She regarded me quietly for a moment before giving a rather half-hearted smile.
"Thank you," she replied somberly. I nodded. "Good luck," she added as an afterthought.
"I'll need it," I responded. She gave another small smile before falling into step with the others, her back straight and her head held high. I watched her for a moment, wishing I had just the smallest amount of her courage, before turning and making my way back to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Aragorn gave me an inquiring look. I shook my head slightly in response. "Nothing. Just some words of encouragement."
***
The next order of business was to get Aragorn to rest. Legolas was quite resolute about this and carried on for quite sometime. It was only after I threatened to sing the entire score of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (he had absolutely no idea what it was, I'm sure, but I did mention that it was over two hours long) that he showed signs of wavering. I think the final straw was when Gimli threatened to join me and make up his own words, combined with Legolas' declaration that he would stop neither of us from doing so. Aragorn then admitted that he was starting to feel slightly weary and that perhaps he'd rest for an hour or so.
Nothing particularly significant happened during the time when Aragorn was resting. I was sent on a couple errands that often ended in me getting lost and have to beg directions from random passersby. However, there wasn't much else I could do during that stretch of time other than listen to defense tactics (of which there seemed no shortage of), so I bit my tongue and kept quiet about it.
Aragorn resurfaced sometime in mid-afternoon (two hours after midday according to Legolas), looking very refreshed. He immediately harangued us for letting him rest for far too long, but I took to ignoring him, so it wasn't so bad.
We then had a series of meetings with Théoden, who was looking slightly less irritated than the last time I saw him, and discussed a matter of things, all of which are too tedious to repeat here. However, I did find out what causeway meant, so I suppose it wasn't a total waste of time.
When we finally finished the last of our little talks with Théoden, the sun was rather low in the western sky and the evening shadows were beginning to fall. I suddenly felt very nervous. The ghastly army was quickly approaching. The air would soon be filled with battle cries and the prolonged moans of the dying, lifeless corpses scattering the ground.
I wanted to throw up.
We ate a quick dinner and then proceeded to the armory, a small torch lit room filled with people, weaponry and armor spread rather randomly across the small wooden tables in the center of the room. I looked quietly at the men that surrounded me. Some looked old enough to be my grandfather, with grizzled white hair and lined careworn faces, whereas others looked young enough to still be in junior high, their eyes wide and scared as they hefted weapons far too heavy for their thin, wiry arms. The weapons themselves looked as though they had been abandoned for many years; some of the swords were rusted and tarnished, seeming barely capable of cutting through a stick of butter. Aragorn had taken to inspecting some of the blades while I looked on with a heavy heart. The sword he held in his hand was so rusted that it appeared spotted, the edges nicked and ragged. He shook his head and dropped it on the table with a clatter, his face fixed in an expression of disappointment.
"Farmers, farriers, stable boys," he intoned somberly, his eyes flickering over the ragtag army around us. He turned and looked at the three of us, shaking his head slightly. "These are no soldiers." I felt my heart sink like a lead brick. If Aragorn had lost hope, then there didn't seem like much of a point in even trying.
"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli observed as a group of particularly ancient men passed by us.
"Or too few," Legolas added. I stared blankly at Aragorn, willing some miracle to occur and make victory seem possible. Nothing happened and I grew more depressed. "Look at them," Legolas continued, something akin to anger creeping into his stable tone. "They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes." There was a lull in the conversations around us and almost every eye in the room was turned to Legolas, who did not seem the least bit embarrassed. In fact, he was almost accusatory, which, in an odd way, scared me. I had never seen him like this. I folded my arms over my stomach almost protectively, worried about what he might say next. "Boe a hyn: neled herain…dan caer menig!" he continued bitterly in Sindarin. I clumsily translated: And they should be: three hundred…against ten thousand! A shudder made its way up my spine.
"Si beriathar hýn ammaeg nâ ned Edoras," Aragorn replied matter-of-factly. I struggled with this one. They have more hope defending themselves here than at Edoras. While it was not a statement that promised anything, it made me feel better than Legolas' previous declaration had. What he said next quickly changed that.
"Aragorn," he said, nearly interrupting the Ranger, his face contorted in anger, "nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer!" They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die! Those words were enough to make me want to cry. I suddenly realized that this could very well be my last day on earth—on any earth, for that matter. All the other times I had fought in battle were relatively spontaneous and I suppose the huge adrenaline rush had sort of distracted me from the possibility that I might lose my life. But now that chance seemed inevitable and I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life.
"Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn snapped back, stepping forward to face Legolas, anger passing like a dark cloud over his strong features. Legolas seemed slightly taken aback, almost as if he had just realized what he had said. A moment of cold silence passed between the two before Aragorn turned and stormed off. Legolas stepped forward, as though he meant to follow him, looking rather apologetic. Gimli placed a restraining hand on his forearm.
"Let him go, lad," the Dwarf said rather quietly. "Let him be." Legolas relaxed slightly, quietly watching Aragorn as he exited the armory. I regarded him with a blank look. I wasn't sure if I hated him for what he had said or not. The only thing I was able to deduce was that we were both equally troubled at that point.
The three of us suffered a minute or so of quiet observation from the men still gathered in the armory. The noise resumed after awhile, though we still received odd looks every once in awhile.
I wasn't sure what to say after that, instead staring at the men who passed by me, trying to summon what was left of my courage. Finally, I took a deep breath and gingerly placed my hand on Legolas' shoulder. He looked up and I started slightly, fearing that he might lash out at me. When nothing but silence greeted me, I opened my mouth to speak.
"We're all frightened," I said softly, deeply conscious of the azure gaze directed at me. "But we might as well give it our best shot." I found that I didn't really have anything else to add and turned to leave, thinking that a breath of fresh air might do me some good.
"Haley," Legolas said suddenly, catching my hand in his. I desperately tried to hide the blush in my cheeks as I turned around. "I am sorry," he apologized, his expression unreadable. I gave a little half-smile and shrugged.
"It's okay," I replied lamely, wishing I had something better to say. He released my hand and I left the armory, feeling slightly chilled as the cool evening breeze swept across my cheeks.
***
Night fell cold and dark upon Helm's Deep, the dark shadows seeming to foretell the horrific events yet to come. The wind was cold and unfeeling against my skin, blowing my hair in every direction. I had been standing outside the armory for a rather long while, thinking of nothing in particular as the sun sank beneath the horizon, an act that I found strangely symbolic to the situation.
"You'd best get ready," a passing soldier informed me. "There's not time left for idle thoughts." I nodded in response, taking one last look at the dark landscape before returning to the armory, gratefully noting that it was significantly warmer than outside. The weapons had been pretty much picked over; the few that remained were not in good enough condition to even contemplate using. I poked my head into one of the smaller rooms from which clinking and clattering sounds had been emerging. Gimli was busily digging through what looked to be chain mail, grumbling incoherently. I decided I must have been in the right place and began searching for some suitable armor.
I quickly discovered that most of the chain mail vests were very large—fitted for men, no doubt. I eventually settled on what appeared to be one of the smaller ones. Gimli's search had evidently proved rather unsuccessful, as he was still digging through the pile rather angrily. I removed the tunic I wore over my lighter shirt and slipped the chain mail over my head, managing to get it caught in my hair several times. It was rather heavy and uncomfortable and I'm guessing it looked rather comical, being several sizes too big, but I really didn't have much of a choice in the matter so I simply pulled my tunic over my head, readjusted my sword, and hoped for the best.
I heard voices in the next room and would have entered had they not belonged to Aragorn and Legolas. Deciding to give the two of them a moment alone to make whatever apologies needed to be made, I hung back with Gimli, who had given up his fruitless search for chain mail fit for a Dwarf, selecting what he evidently thought would fit him the best. He had quite a time trying to get the thing on and I would have helped, but I was rather preoccupied trying not to laugh. He finally got it over his head and, after hiking it up a real lot, sort of waddled to the next room where Legolas and Aragorn had gathered.
"We had time, I'd get this adjusted," he informed the Ranger and the Elf with annoyance. They both regarded him with a mixture of puzzlement and amusement. I hid a smile behind my hand as Gimli released the gathered chain mail, which cascaded to the ground, the metal loops musically clinking together. It landed inches beyond his feet, the sleeves falling over his hands like some sort of robe. It reminded me of the dress-up games I used to play with Aunt Kate's castoff dresses, only I'd like to think Gimli looked far more ridiculous than I did. Both Legolas and Aragorn raised their eyebrows at the Dwarf, effectively hiding most signs of amusement. "It's a little tight across the chest," Gimli explained rather irately. I started to wonder if he actually realized that he was short.
The blast of a horn suddenly pierced the air, startling me slightly. I had never heard anything quite like it before and I began to wonder if the Orcs had arrived early, which didn't make even the slightest bit of sense. They couldn't cover that much ground in under five minutes.
"That is no Orc horn," Legolas stated, looking almost hopeful as he stared out the open doorway into the night. I felt slightly relieved, but no less suspicious as the lengthened note continued to drift through the air. Legolas suddenly lunged forward and darted up the stairs, followed closely by Aragorn. I took off after them, incredibly curious, but rather apprehensive as well.
I followed them out into the night, dodging around the handfuls of people who still crowded the passageways. The lone note continued, seldom broken, as though the blower did not need to breathe in order to sustain the sound. I quickly grew lost in the maze that is Helm's Deep, trusting that both Aragorn and Legolas knew where they were going. I heard shouts of "Open the gate!" and "Send for the King!" echo above the call of the horn. The noise suddenly ceased and I could make out many light feet treading in perfect unison. An idea suddenly struck me: Elves? It didn't seem to make much sense, but it was the only explanation I could come up with at the moment.
I followed Aragorn and Legolas around a corner and found myself face to face with an elven army. Théoden was standing there, looking rather bewildered at this sudden appearance. I blinked. This was certainly unexpected. A familiar blonde elf stood in front of the procession, clad in armor of scarlet and gold that seemed to glitter even in the absence of light. A name suddenly popped into my head. Haldir. The sentry who had stopped us in Lothlorien and, if memory serves, made fun of Gimli. I recalled that I had found him likeable at the time, if not a little haughty.
"We come to honor that allegiance," Haldir said, nodding to us in greeting, a slight smile upon his lips.
"Mae govannen, Haldir!" Aragorn greeted as he raced down the steps. He pressed his hand to his heart and extended it before leaping forward and enveloping the rather bewildered Elf in a hug. Haldir smiled rather uneasily and awkwardly patted Aragorn on the back. I bit my lip and tried to contain a smile. "You are most welcome," Aragorn said as he pulled away. Legolas greeted Haldir warmly (less frantically and with less hugging). I settled with giving him a quick wave, to which he nodded in acknowledgment.
The army (which up until that point had remained perfectly still) suddenly turned their heads to the left before pivoting and turning to face us. They did this in perfect unison, which was pretty cool, but at the same time, rather unnerving, as though they operated off one collective brain.
"We are proud to fight alongside Men once more," Haldir said to Théoden, who was still looking rather shocked, which he had every right to be, considering a bunch of Elves had rather randomly shown up on his doorstep.
***
The next hour or so was spent reorganizing everything in order to accommodate the arrival of the Elves. I will be perfectly honest; I did not have the slightest idea what was going on, nor did I have any real desire to. Aragorn told me to stay with Legolas, which I suppose was sensible, seeing as he had about a million other things to do without having to worry about me. So I stayed with Legolas and Gimli, who had just decided to accompany us, after having ditched the chain mail, deciding it was more trouble then its worth.
We were placed in the front row on the outer wall of the fortress with the rest of the Elven army, which made me rather nervous because I was pretty certain I wouldn't live up to their standards of a good warrior. I squinted at the dark horizon. So far I could detect no real movement, although I thought I saw a dim shadow on the horizon, but that could have been the result of an overactive imagination.
We stood there a long time, and I grew more nervous with every passing second. A slight breeze whipped across my cheeks, bringing the scent of something unpleasantly familiar. A series of faint, brutal, bone chilling cries reached my ears and I shuddered, my eyes searching the horizon. A smudge barely the length of my index finger was making its way across the land, torches flickering in the wind. I tensed up as my heartbeat increased dramatically. They were coming.
I gripped the bow tightly in my hands, the delicate elvish carvings imprinting on my palm. I had left my pack in an abandoned corner at Aragorn's request; he felt it would only hinder my movements. I complied with little argument (he was leaving his there as well, so I assumed it would be relatively safe), stuffing Aunt Kate's letter in my pocket as an afterthought. Now only the quiver of arrows hung limply at my back, and I shifted uncomfortably.
The smudge moved quickly, the figures becoming slightly clearer, the noise several decibels louder. With every step they took, my heart beat slightly faster, until it seemed as though I would have a heart attack before they actually arrived. I tried desperately to concentrate on happier things, but my attention kept wandering back to the advancing army in front of me.
A damp mist seemed to be moving through Helm's Deep, and a fine layer of wet dew settled on almost everything. I noted that it smelled slightly like rain as well, which did not sit easily with me. It was just one more disadvantage.
They drew closer and closer until even the man with the dimmest eyesight could see them, a skin-crawling screech occasionally rising above the rhythmic march of their feet and the clank of their armor. It suddenly became clear to me just how many there were. All the other times we had been outnumbered seemed petty in comparison. They seemed to engulf the land around them, the end of the procession barely visible. As I watched them continue forward, it suddenly occurred to me that there was no way I could survive this battle. Even the most skilled warrior faces death when outnumbered; there was simply no hope for a mediocre one. I began to realize that this could very well be the end for me. I had survived other battles due to an outstanding amount of luck—there was no possible way that it could hold out this long. It would have to fail at some point.
I looked carefully at the people around me, wondering what sort of thoughts were running through their minds, if they were now contemplating death as I was. My eyes fell upon Legolas. I knew his chances for survival were great, much better than my own. But I couldn't sit with the thought of him not ever knowing how I felt—especially if I died. I slipped my hand inside my pocket and felt the small slip of paper that contained my confession.
"Legolas," I said softly. He tore his eyes away from the nearing army and looked at me expectantly. "If anything should happen to me…I want you to read this," I continued, dropping the folded paper into his hand, trying to keep my hands from shaking. He stared at the note for a moment before pocketing it and nodding, seeming to be slightly intrigued by my odd request. I turned my eyes back to the horizon my heart pounding in my chest.
***
At length, a stony silence fell upon Helm's Deep, broken only by odd creaks and sometimes the far-off whinny of a horse. But the steady tempo of feet meeting the ground continued as the Orcs drew closer to the fortress, the torches casting an eerie glow that seemed to come directly from hell itself.
"You could have picked a better spot!" Gimli suddenly expostulated with a bit of a snort. Despite all the gloomy thoughts that were circulating throughout my mind, I smiled slightly. The stone railing was the exact same height as Gimli, making it completely impossible for him to see the field in front of the fortress.
Aragorn walked slowly down the gap between the two lines, stopping when he reached the three of us and looking out at the approaching army.
"Well, lad," began Gimli, looking grimly up at Aragorn, "whatever luck you live by, let's hope it lasts the night." There was a rumble of thunder and a lightning bolt suddenly streaked across the sky, briefly illuminating the surrounding landscape with an electric white light. I looked up at the cloudy night sky, cursing whoever was in charge of the weather.
"Your friends are with you, Aragorn," Legolas said as the lightening slowly flickered out, leaving us in darkness again.
"Let's hope they last the night," Gimli commented, looking quietly at the wall in front of them. I shuddered, suddenly longing for the safety of the caves, wishing with my entire heart that I had taken the opportunity to stay in there.
Well, either that or a machine gun.
"Haley?" Aragorn asked suddenly. "Are you ill? You are pale."
"Me? No, I'm…I'm fine," I replied, trying desperately hard not to squeak. I was not fine. I was frightened beyond all belief and rather convinced I was not going to survive the battle.
"Have strength," Aragorn said, gently squeezing my shoulder. I nodded somewhat half-heartedly, no longer able to take comfort in his words. He turned and went off in the opposite direction and I resumed staring bleakly at the advancing army, feeling all but hopeful.
There was another crack of thunder and a flash of lightning and the clouds opened up and let forth a shower of rain. It tinkled merrily against the metal, seeming oblivious to the horrific battle that was about to ensue. I shifted as the water trickled down the back of my shirt, cold and uncomfortable against my skin. The lightning flashed more often now and the thunder rumbled threateningly. And all the while, the Orcs drew closer.
"A Eruchin, ú-dano i faelas a hyn, an uben tanatha le faelas," I heard Aragorn shout in Sindarin somewhere over to my right. I looked expectantly at Legolas. I was physically trembling now and all the Elvish I knew seemed to have been washed away by the rainwater.
"Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none," Legolas murmured softly. I nodded, my grip on my bow tightening. They were so close now, practically on top of the stone ramp at the entrance. A primitive cry broke over the beat of their feet on the ground and they suddenly came to a halt. Everyone seemed to hold their breath and still the rain poured down. My hair was soaked and my clothing was beginning to cling to me like a second skin.
"What's happening out there?" demanded Gimli impatiently, jumping several times in attempt to see over the wall.
"Shall I describe it to you?" asked Legolas, a smile creeping onto his lips as the rain poured down his face. "Or would you like me to find you a box?" Gimli stared at Legolas for a moment before letting out an appreciative laugh. I managed a weak smile. My humor had practically disappeared, a dark fear taking its place.
Another frightening shout rose over the steady beat of the rain, wiping the smile right off my face. The Orcs responded immediately, beating the ends of their spears forcefully against the ground, screeching as they did so, seeming to delight in the prospect of battle. My heart echoed that same tempo as I regarded our enemy with ill-concealed fear. The familiar, distant, ring of a sword being removed from its scabbard sang out over the steady beat of the spears and a few men readied their arrows.
The beating and shouting continued for several minutes. Then, without warning, an arrow was released from its bow, singing as it cut through the air and rain in one fluid motion. With a dull 'thunk', its head was embedded in the throat of a particularly unlucky Orc.
One down, nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine left to go.
"Dartho!" Aragorn shouted, which I took to mean 'hold'. The creature made a choking sound before swaying and falling forward to the ground, dead. The rest of the army watched it with a mixed expression of stupidity and disbelief. One finally broke the silence with an angered scream, which turned into two, then ten, then one hundred, until it seemed that the entire army was screaming. My heart beat furiously within my chest and I suddenly found it incredibly difficult to breathe, the air seeming too thick and heavy to bring into my lungs. A louder shriek broke out over the clamor and they charged, screeching over the clatter of their armor.
I numbly watched them move closer, every step bringing doom nearer. As the gap between them and the wall began to close, I fervently prayed that the earth might crack open and swallow them whole. But to my great disappointment, the ground continued to remain solid as they drew closer, bloodlust clearly written upon all of their faces.
"Tengado a chadad!" Aragorn bellowed over the noise. I was amazed that I could still hear him—the screeches and the clatter of armor and weaponry seemed to vacuum out all other sound, dominating all of my senses. The part of my brain that had not yet been entirely consumed by terror translated the shouted command: Prepare to fire! With shaking hands, I raised my bow and withdrew an arrow from my quiver, lacking the grace and fluidity of most of my companions. I blamed it on nerves and fitted the arrow in the bow and drawing back with my right arm. My hands shook more with the realization that I had not practiced since we left Rivendell. More disconcerting was the fact that I had not been entirely skilled in the first place, earning a B on the skill test in P.E. I tried to shake those thoughts away and picked out an Orc in the charge to pin my vengeance on.
"Faeg i-varv... dîn na lanc a nu ranc," Legolas said from his place beside me, remarkably calm for someone who was standing in front of a charging army of nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine furious Orcs. "Their armor is weak at the neck and under the arms," he repeated before I had the chance to even begin to translate. I focused on the Orc I had selected for my first shot. He was sprinting quickly across the ground, his arms flailing wildly, teeth bared in a hideous sneer. I tightened my grip on the bow.
"Leithio i philinn!" Aragorn shouted. I made an educated guess and decided that it meant "fire" and released my arrow, which landed in the ground with a "thwack", before being trampled to smithereens by the advancing army, missing the intended Orc by a foot or so. The only positive thing I could come up with at the moment was the fact that it might have given them splinters. I noticed that most (if not all) of the other elven arrows had hit their targets, and I tried to look cool, as if I had meant to hit the ground.
"Anybody hit anything?" inquired Gimli rather anxiously. I did not mention my lack of success and quickly retrieved another arrow, repeating the same process. The arrow actually hit its intended target that time and I was rather pleased to watch the Orc in question fall to the ground and not get up.
Various cries of "fire!" in English and Elvish erupted in the air, nearly drowning out the hideous shrieks that echoed through the night. Orcs fell in waves as almost every arrow found its mark in the flesh of the foul creatures.
"Send them to me, come on!" shouted Gimli furiously, contrary to my recurring mental cry of "Make them go away!" They continued to draw closer to the wall despite the casualties on the front line and quickly began returning our fire with their own. I squinted carefully as I lined up another shot. They also appeared to have crossbows, which is Middle-earth's equivalent of a semiautomatic machine gun. My stomach clenched repeatedly as I released another arrow, mindful of those that were slinging through the air and into the hearts of our soldiers, the force knocking them off the wall and causing them to fall to the ground with a sickening crunch.
And all the while I could not dismiss the thought that the next one might be meant for me.
I noticed a large amount of Orcs running forward and placing large unidentifiable bulky objects at the base of the wall. I had very little time to wonder what they were doing before Aragorn starting shouting in Elvish.
"Pendraith!" I frowned at the unfamiliar word as I readied another arrow.
"Ladders," Legolas explained, most likely out of habit by now. My eyes widened slightly and I inhaled sharply. Up until then I had felt relatively safe and only had to worry about arrows. I would definitely not feel as protected or confident with Orcs in the fortress.
"Good!" exclaimed Gimli rather happily. I was about to make a mental note to confront him about his rather unnatural desire for bloodshed when this was over when I was reminded of the fact that I might not be there when it was over, or anyone else for that matter.
The ladders were slowly raised, one right after the other, the visual effect reminding me of the wave at sports games.
"Swords! Swords!" shouted Aragorn above the roar. I slung my bow over my back and withdrew my sword, the metal shining brightly. I gripped the hilt tightly, desperately trying to harness the dark fear that was growing within me.
They scaled the ladders quickly and soon invaded the walls, swinging their blades in large arcs, dealing quick blows to those in their way. I flung myself into battle, attempting to take down whatever happened in my path, trying to cope with the idea that this would be my last battle.
The sounds and smells of the brawl completely overtook my senses. I seemed to move in slow motion, while the hideous shrieks and moaned cries of death beat ceaselessly on my ear drums, the air thick with the pungent, sharp smell of death. I brought my sword through an Orc I barely remembered beginning combat with, watching his eyes cloud over in pain as my blade ripped through the soft, yielding skin of his gut. I withdrew my sword sharply as he fell to the ground, black blood spilling out the corners of his mouth. The harsh reality suddenly hit me; this is war. The previous romanticized notions of gallant soldiers returning home to their devoted sweethearts after a brief scuffle that maybe left them with a minor bullet wound were quickly thrown out the window as another Orc made a charge at me. War is a never-ending cycle of both physical and emotional pain and torment. War is devastation; war is destruction. War is men and women young and old, lying dead in dirty ditches. And my greatest fear was that I would be one of those who would not live to see the sunrise.
"Legolas!" I heard Gimli shout above the noise. "Two already!"
"I'm on seventeen!" the Elf replied almost smugly, as if they were playing croquet instead of fighting for their very lives. Gimli made a noise of disbelief.
"I'll have no pointy-ear outscoring me!" he shouted back before swinging his axe into the crotch of the nearest Orc. I was too worried and distracted at that point to even be insulted at his use of the derogative "pointy-ear." Legolas shot at several more Orcs before turning back around and shouting:
"Nineteen!"
The battle continued on in a blur of blood and sound, Gimli's voice occasionally rising above the clamor to shout a number. I could feel nothing, barely noticing when the rain stopped, only aware of fear in my heart and the doom that seemed to creep closer with every blocked swing.
I was having a rather difficult time with a particular Orc who would just not die. Every time I tried to deliver the final blow, he would dodge out of the way or counterattack. We had been dueling back and forth for at least ten minutes when he shouted to one of his comrades.
"Grogor!" The Orc in question looked up as he ran his blade through a man he had been grappling with. My stomach clenched as his victim fell to the ground, his eyes glazed, and a faint trickle of blood running out of the corner of his mouth. The Orc I was fighting shouted something in his language to Grogor, whose lips curled up in a horrible sneer as he came forward, raising his weapon slightly. I got the impression that he had said something to the degree of "Help me finish her off", which was not encouraging in the slightest. However, the time the nameless Orc had taken to speak to his friend was enough to give me a slight advantage. I swung at him with my sword, watching in disgust as his head was separated from his shoulders, falling to the ground with his twitching body. The sword slid out of my hands on the backswing, the hilt slick with the sweat of my palms. It clattered to the ground several feet away, leaving me defenseless.
Unfortunately, Grogor did not take kindly to people lopping off his friends' heads and came charging at me angrily, his weapon poised to come down on me. At that moment I knew it was over. I would never be able to retrieve my sword in time. The hunting knife was useless—it was far too small to deflect a sword. The bow and arrow were out of the question—there was not enough time. So I stood there, powerless, bracing myself for death.
But the end never came. Grogor suddenly halted in his tracks and made a rather pained noise, a malicious grin still spread across his face. He fell forward to the ground, his weapon sliding out of his grasp with a clatter.
"Twenty-five!" crowed Gimli triumphantly from his place behind the dead Orc. He then shot off in another direction, intent on taking down every Orc on the wall. I blinked in shock. Gimli had saved my life. As unintentional as it may have been, he was the reason I was still breathing. Perhaps I was standing there like an idiot, but I was a living idiot. I suddenly remembered why I was there and picked up my sword from its resting place on the ground.
It was not a confirmation of the outcome of the battle or even my future wellbeing, but it was enough to get my confidence back. I raised my blade and charged into battle, not knowing whether I would come out living, but knowing I would put up a damn good fight before I gave up.
***
I sank back into the same trance as before, my body overpowered by the sensations the battle produced. My actions were now furious and feverish, as though possessed by some demon, my breath coming in ragged gasps, blood pounding in my ears. I was barely aware of any injuries I received, instead completely focused on the melee that surrounded me.
"Togo han dad, Legolas!" I heard Aragorn shout. I looked up at the Elf as he let an arrow loose from his position near the edge of the wall. It landed near the throat of an Orc who was holding what appeared to be a gigantic sparkler high in the air. The entire picture was slightly reminiscent of the Olympic torch, with a much larger component of evil involved. I wondered what was going on as Legolas released another arrow while Aragorn shouted something like "Kill him!" in Sindarin. He couldn't possibly be trying to light a stone fortress on fire. The only other plausible explanation I could think of was that they had rigged the wall with explosives, but those certainly hadn't been invented yet.
Had they?
The kamikaze Orc flung himself and the torch into one of the culverts beneath the wall. There was a momentary pause followed by a deafening explosion, which sent large sections of the stone wall flying in all directions. The force knocked me off my feet and sent me flying into the stone railing that lined the walls. I gasped as the chain mail dug painfully into my ribs and back. Dust descended in clouds and gravel and small chips of stone rained down. I covered my nose and mouth and tried to keep from choking as I listened to the distant sound of boulders crashing into the ground, hopefully landing on some Orcs in the process. The air was thick with a metallic, smoky smell slightly similar to that of fireworks, irritating my lungs to no end. I had a severe coughing fit and tried to stand up, knees wobbling. The world slid in and out of focus, the very ground beneath me seeming to sway. I blinked a couple of times before my proper vision returned, leaving me feeling rather dizzy.
I retrieved my sword from where it had fallen several feet away and looked out over the Orc-infested field. A large line had somehow made its way up the causeway, and from the looks of it, they had not forgotten to bring the battering ram. I swore rather colorfully and surveyed the damage that had been done by the dynamite. There was now a huge gap in the wall, water (from a drain, I assume) gushing everywhere. The Orcs were taking advantage of said gap and were pushing each other out of the way to gain entrance. Strings of curses flowed from my mouth and I took off in the other direction, searching for a way to get down. Gimli, who had apparently been unconscious for several minutes as result of the explosion, took the more direct approach of shouting "Aragorn" and then jumping from the top of the wall and on top of the incoming group of Orcs.
I tripped my way down the stairs, regrouping with some of the archers who were stationed behind the wall. I had lost track of both Gimli and Legolas. Aragorn was standing a good ways ahead of us, yelling in Elvish. Apparently he was saying something to the degree of "Fire!" as all of the elves around me let forth a shower of arrows. I didn't want to bother with the bow and arrow at that point, seeing as I'd have to put it away in less than a minute and I wasn't such a great shot anyway. So I resorted to standing there with my sword, frowning fiercely at the advancing Uruk-hai.
"Herio!" shouted Aragorn as the first line of Orcs fell. I took that to mean "Charge!" and took off with the rest of the archers.
We met the Orcs head-on, losing several of the archers as a result. I threw myself into battle, again losing myself to that trancelike state that had held me captive for most of the battle. I acquired several new sets of scratches and bruises, and broke a finger (I'm not sure exactly how). I dimly remember seeing Legolas slide down the stone stairs on what appeared to be a shield, noticing how much it resembled skateboarding.
The conflict continued for some time—I cannot say exactly how long. After a while, time seemed to have no meaning, the battle turning into an endless repetition of pain and death. I was making a charge at an Orc when I heard Théoden shout from somewhere in the fortress:
"Aragorn! Fall back to the Keep!" I marveled at his ability to project his voice over the deafening sounds of battle. "Get your men out of there!" I was momentarily annoyed by his failure to recognize the fact that I was a woman, but I got over that rather quickly.
"Nan Barad! Nan Barad!" Aragorn shouted somewhere over to my right. I understood the meaning well enough and took off in his direction, not really having the slightest idea where to go. "Haldir!" I had caught sight of him now, shouting at the wall where Haldir had been fighting. He looked up at Aragorn, who was gesturing wildly. "Nan Barad!" The Elf nodded and shouted at those under his command to retreat.
"What are you doing?" demanded Gimli as Legolas and another Elf dragged him past me. "What are you stopping for?" I shot after the three of them, figuring they probably knew what they were doing.
***
I found myself some time later at the stronghold of the fortress, somewhere above the front gate. I had lost track of both Aragorn and Gimli, who had somehow wandered off when both Legolas and myself were not looking. The only positive aspect I could find about the situation was that the Orcs had not yet managed to breach this part of the fortress, which made me feel safe, for the moment at least.
An odd squeaking sound penetrated the air, followed by a hiss and a rush of air. Suddenly, a rather large grappling hook was flying through the air, quickly latching onto the stone wall, successfully knocking several men in the head in the process. Several similar squeaks were made and at least three more hooks attached themselves to the wall. Some of the men were struggling to remove the hooks by force, which, despite all the effort put into it, did not seem to be working in the slightest. I looked out over the wall, wondering if they meant to bring down the wall. My eyes widened slightly. They were raising ladders. Ladders that happened to be covered in Orcs.
Two fell easily against the wall, letting what appeared to be at least one-hundred Orcs easily access the wall. I tightened my grip on my sword, trying to prepare myself for another fight. The third one was still being lifted, carrying another fifty, at least. An arrow suddenly flew through the air, breaking one of the ropes lashed to the grappling hook. Legolas regarded the ladder with a quiet satisfaction as it made its quick descent to the ground, squashing many Uruk-hai to an unrecognizable pulp in the process.
While the absence of the third ladder acted as an advantage to us, there was still the problem of the one-hundred other Orcs entering the fort, as well as the thousands of others on the ground that entertained the same desire. I was trying not to think of those attempting to destroy the front gate.
Legolas suddenly leapt upon the wall, causing me to briefly wonder if he meant to jump.
"Aragorn!" he shouted, presumably to Aragorn, who had somehow gotten down near the front gate. I didn't even want to know why at that point. I approached the wall and peered over the edge, making out the small form of the Ranger and the Dwarf far below on the ramp. Legolas threw a rope down to the Ranger, who caught hold of it easily. Legolas quickly dismounted from the wall, handing me the end of the rope. I held it tightly in both hands as Aragorn grabbed hold of Gimli, and jumped from the ramp. The initial force pulled me forwards some and I dug my heels into the floor in order to avoid being pulled over the edge. Legolas began hauling them upwards. It was quite the tug of war and my muscles cried out with every movement, in addition to shooting pain in the finger I had broken earlier.
At long last, Aragorn's hand appeared over the top of the wall. Legolas grabbed hold of his wrist and I rushed forward to help, biting back the burning question of "Whadja eat? A ton of bricks?"*. With the additional aid of another soldier, we managed to get both Aragorn and Gimli over the wall safely.
"Fall back! FALL BACK!" I heard someone shout once the Ranger and the Dwarf had both their feet on the ground. There was a terrific crash followed by the cry of "They have broken through!" I let loose a few angry curses. "The castle is breached! Retreat!" They didn't have to tell me twice. I took off after Aragorn, similar cries of "Fall back!" and "Retreat" echoing through the night.
We ran through a maze of passageways and open areas, Orcs swarming all over the place. Fear moved my heart and my feet pounded against the floor. We finally reached the interior rooms of the castle—or the keep, I suppose—and quickly set about barring up all the entrances as our surviving comrades poured in. Haldir was one of the last to stumble in, clutching at his side, a crimson stain bloodying the gorgeous fabric of his shirt.
I was shaking with fear. We were shut in completely, and nothing short of a miracle seemed capable of saving us now. The men had set about tearing the room apart, looking for something, anything to brace the doors. The Orcs had quickly begun utilizing the battering ram against the doors, each resounding crash causing more anxiety within me.
"The fortress is taken," Théoden announced bitterly as we attempted to fit wooden beams against the door. "It is over." Aragorn ran toward the King with Legolas to retrieve a bench from one of the tables.
"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it," Aragorn shouted at the King, using his own words against him. I put my weight against one of the beams holding the door as another hit from the battering ram shook the entryway. "They still defend it. They have died defending it." Aragorn spoke these words bravely, a trace of anger creeping into his voice. This was another one of those times where, despite the fact that we were currently being held under siege by an army of angry Uruk-hai, I wanted to slap the King, even thought he did have the right to despair, considering the current circumstances. Another hit shook the doorway. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" Aragorn asked in a slightly calmer voice. I darted after Legolas, who had gone after a lone table sitting near the edge of the room. He tipped it over, the crockery and candles spilling to the floor in a series of crashes. I took the other end of the table and carried it toward the door. "Is there no other way?" asked Aragorn, almost desperately. We propped the table up against the doors as another blow sounded.
"There is one passage," one of the Homeboys informed Aragorn. I made a mental note to find out his name, seeing as he was one of the more prominent attendants. "It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many." I leaned heavily against the table. Another crash shook the door. They were making a dent now; we wouldn't hold out for long. I tried to control my wobbling knees, digging my heels into the ground.
"Tell the women and children to make for the mountain pass," Aragorn commanded the Head Homeboy, grasping his shoulder firmly. "And barricade the entrance!" He pushed the Homeboy off into the direction of the caves.
"So much death," Théoden said slowly and painfully. Both Aragorn and the Homeboy stopped in their tracks and looked oddly at the King. Another crash and the doors trembled. I shut my eyes and tried to calm my ragged breaths. "What can Men do against such reckless hate?" Théoden continued, seeming to accept the horrific fate that had been laid out for us. Another crash shook the door, dust escaping from the creaking planks.
"Ride out with me," Aragorn suggested after a moment of contemplation. Théoden looked at him curiously. "Ride out and meet them," Aragorn continued, an almost insane look glittering in his eyes.
"For death and glory," Théoden replied, seeming to catch on to Aragorn's idea.
"For Rohan," Aragorn said assertively as the battering ram crashed against the door again. "For your people."
"The sun is rising," Gimli informed them quietly, also seeming to accept this fate. I looked at the three of them strangely, wondering how they could be so tolerant of death, how they could accept such cruel fate. Aragorn looked at the light streaming through the window, seeming to realize something important. The battering ram crashed into the door again, this time the force sending me skidding across the floor on my knees.
"Yes," said Théoden as I rubbed at my burning knees before getting up and bracing myself against the door again with the others. "Yes," he repeated, louder this time and slightly more confident. "The horn of Helm Hammerhead shall sound in the Deep…" he continued robustly, "…one last time." He said these last words with pride, anger, and sadness, a very powerful combination that could have reduced me to tears if we had not about to face death and if the name Helm Hammerhead wasn't so amusing.
"Yes!" exclaimed Gimli in a similar tone, raising his axe in homage to Théoden, before running off to some unknown destination. There was a mighty crash and the door splintered, the beams breaking with a snap. I was more frightened than ever. The end was near, not only for me, but for Rohan, and quite possibly, Middle-earth itself.
"Let this be the hour when we draw swords together," Théoden said to Aragorn, clasping his shoulder comradely. Aragorn nodded quietly. "Fell deeds awake," he continued, staring at the door as it splintered and cracked with another hit of the battering ram. "Now for wrath," he said impassionedly, his voice thick with anger and raw emotion. Aragorn withdrew his sword, his eyes fixed and cold, "…now for ruin and a red dawn!" With that, he placed a polished helmet upon his head. A low, piercing sound suddenly broke through the air, one I could never describe properly, other than to say it had qualities that would amuse most adolescent boys to no end. Horses were quickly brought forth from a doorway off to the side, whinnying and stamping impatiently. I reluctantly removed myself from the door, taking Larien's reins in my hands and whispered a few soothing words to her before sliding my foot into the stirrup and swinging myself up onto the saddle. She whinnied sharply. She could smell the Uruk-hai and I could feel her muscles tense in fright underneath the saddle. I smoothed her mane gently, not able to give myself the same reassurance.
As the horn sounded again, the door gave way, letting in light and a horde of murderous Orcs. Larien whinnied again, seeming rather intent on bolting, as she had done several days earlier. I held tightly on the reins staring at the long line of Uruk-hai attempting to make their way into the keep.
"Forth Eorlingas!" shouted Théoden, raising his sword high in the air. The men around me raised their own swords with echoing battle cries. I nudged Larien in the sides. She didn't need to be told twice. She took off with the others, intent on vacating the premises as soon as possible, bringing me closer to death.
I suppose the advantage to riding out on horses was that we were significantly taller than the Orcs and therefore out of reach. We could also trample them. I rode quickly with the others, trying to keep Larien's speed in check, which was a task in itself. I swung my blade and anything and everything I could, most of the time striking something in the face. We soon came down the causeway, which was filled with advancing Uruk-hai, who didn't take very kindly to our presence. I urged Larien down the ramp, hacking whatever I could. I looked up for a moment, taking note of the number still on the field. The vast amount still living seemed impossible—surely we had made a bigger dent in their numbers? But they still covered the landscape, seeming instead to have multiplied rather than diminished.
There was suddenly a burst of white light from a large hill slightly to the right of the fortress and a loud whinny broke over the horrible chatter of the Orcs. I looked up and saw a rider clad in the purest of white set upon the noblest of steeds, its coat pure and white as the driven snow. My heart leapt.
Gandalf.
Even amidst this horrible picture of devastation, I wanted to sing. Gandalf was here. The battle suddenly seemed worth fighting, and even winnable. A wizard could do magic, and technically magic could be extended to blowing a host of Uruk-hai to little tiny bits. I brought my sword down on another Orc, my heart filled with a new hope.
Another mounted figure stepped into view, and the cry of "Rohirrim!" suddenly echoed through the air. Then, a score of other riders stepped into view, making me nearly giddy with joy and hope.
"Éomer!" exclaimed Théoden beside me in a mixture of confusion and happy disbelief. I suddenly recalled the disgruntled captain who had stopped us on the plain when we were traveling to Edoras, now regarding him with a deliriously happy adoration, a sharp contrast to the peeved annoyance I had felt when I first met him.
"To the King!" shouted the captain. His soldiers responded with a roar of happy cries and they took off down the hill.
I remember being impressed not so much by the fact that they had come to help us than by the fact that they were now leading a charge down a practically vertical hill. Dirt and dust stirred in clouds in their wake. A good portion of the Orcs made a defending line at the foot of the hill, snarling and growling as Gandalf and company descended upon them. A blinding white light suddenly shone across the Orcs, seeming too strong and too ethereal to belong to the sun. It bore down heavily on the army, some of them holding their hands over their blinded eyes and moaning pitifully.
With a resounding cry, Gandalf and the Rohirrim met the Orcs head-on, trampling them under the hooves of their mighty horses, their broad swords and long spears delivering swift blows that resulted in instant death.
The sun rose in the sky, mingling with Gandalf's own powerful light shining down on the Orcs. The breeze stirred my hair and I caught the faint smell of something pleasant. And then I knew everything was going to be alright and I nudged Larien forward, a smile painted on my lips.
***
Within an hour or so of fighting, the few remaining Orcs were retreating. I looked at their frantic fleeing forms with grim satisfaction on my face. Then I did a bit of a double-take. They were fleeing into a forest. A forest that had definitely not been there the night before.
"Keep out of the forest!" someone shouted as the Orcs fled. "Keep away from the trees!" I think I would have done so even without his advice. Magical appearing forests are rather high on my list of things that freak me out. I watched with ill-concealed confusion as the last of the Uruk-hai straggled into the forest, not seeming to care that it had spontaneously appeared out of nowhere. As they slipped out of sight under the cover of the lush green foliage, there was a slight pause. Then, one by one, the trees began moving, until the entire woodland was swaying from side to side, as if it had been possessed by giant green mice. Horrible screams erupted in the air, combined with the creak of wood and the whisper of moving leaves. My eyes widened and I came to the conclusion that Fangorn Forest had come to our rescue, as disturbing and frightening as the result was.
The next order of business was to burn the carcasses and tend to the wounded. I went in search of my pack, which I found undisturbed due to the fact that it had been nearly buried under rubble and a misplaced table. I shook off the dust and swung it over my shoulders and went off in search of one of my companions.
I found Legolas wandering around the Deeping Wall, regarding the scattered corpses quietly. We then encountered Gimli, who was sitting on top of a dead Orc, and smoking a pipe. A smug smile tugged at the corners of Legolas' lips and he approached the Dwarf, seeming rather boastful of something.
"Final count…" he greeted, examining his bow with a bit of pride, "…forty-two." I rolled my eyes. I had expected that near death would have eliminated their desire for competition, but it had apparently been strengthened.
"Forty-two?" inquired Gimli with an equal amount of smugness. "That's not bad for a pointy-eared Elvish princeling." I couldn't help myself; I snorted. It was a good insult. Legolas shot me a rather annoyed look. "I myself am sitting pretty on forty-three," Gimli continued. I laughed harder. This was rich.
Legolas suddenly reached for an arrow, fitted it to his bow, and shot the Orc, the arrow landing between Gimli's legs. I stifled another bout of laughter.
"Forty-three," the Elf declared smugly. Gimli frowned.
"He was already dead!" the Dwarf pointed out. I smiled again.
"He was twitching," countered Legolas.
"He was twitching," began Gimli, calmly, "because he's got my ax embedded in his nervous system!" His voice rose to an annoyed growl, usually reserved for me. He shook his ax to prove his point, and the Orc twitched slightly, which was rather disturbing, but funny nonetheless. It felt so good to laugh again—everything was turning out perfectly and I felt extremely light-hearted.
But my heart fell like a load of bricks and I paled slightly.
The note.
I had forgotten all about it—I had honestly expected to die…I hadn't thought about what to do should I live and actually need it back.
"And what was your final count?" Gimli inquired as my laughter died down and I frantically calculated just exactly how I would get the note from Legolas.
"I…uh…well, you know, I lost track after forty-seven," I lied, trying to distract them. They both looked at me with slightly put-off expressions, knowing full well I hadn't done half as well as I claimed.
"I find that rather unbelievable…" Gimli pointed out, gesturing with his pipe. I smiled tensely, trying to appear normal.
"Ah well…you know…I'm just…special," I stumbled. "Legolas…you know that paper I gave you at the beginning of the battle? D'you think I could have it back? Now?" I tried to look and sound unconcerned. My heart was racing. I had to get it back. Legolas frowned and retrieved the note from his pocket, still folded neatly.
"This?" he asked holding it up for me to see. I nodded.
"Yes. Can I have it back?" I asked nervously, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
"What matter does it concern?" he inquired, holding it slightly out of my reach. I paled.
"Oh…nothing. It's just…something I thought was important. It's not. Really. It was just in case something happened," I explained. I had to clasp my hands behind my back to prevent them from shaking.
"If it's important, I think I should read it," he pointed out, making a move to unfold it. My face lost all coloring and panic rose in my throat.
"It's not important," I insisted, placing a restraining hand on his forearm.
"But you just said it was," he replied.
"I know…but I just don't think you need to read it," I said, trying to keep the quaver in my voice to a minimum. My argument was quickly losing ground and I was nearly trembling. This could not be happening.
"I think you should read it," Gimli commented from where he was perched on top of the dead Orc. Whether he meant to antagonize or help me, I knew not, but I glared at him fiercely anyway.
Unfortunately, Legolas seemed to agree with Gimli's advice, and unfolded the first crease. I looked on in horror as his hands moved to unfold the second fold. There was nothing I could do to stop him. So I turned to the one option left to me.
I turned on my heel and ran.
*= I actually know someone whose boyfriend said this to her when she made him carry her down the bluff at the beach (she's a total twig, so it didn't bother her). She told him he needed to work out more.
I admit it: that was rather evil of me. However it is a twenty page chapter and I warned you. Anyway, I had to do it—it seemed like a good way to end the chapter. I'll update soon…I promise. To get me to update sooner, send 200 dollars in cash to—heh. Just kidding. It'd be more like 300. Please let me know what you think…rather nervous about this one as well. Seems to be a reoccurring theme as of late. Anyway—gotta go. The devil and I have tea together in half an hour.
Interesting fact of the day: There is a llama named Blue Kat for sale online. Don't ask me how I know this…