Ch. 4 up! The remedy of the cliffie hath come!
Gweneth sat staring in horror at her father's body. Though she had been able to handle all the other warriors, she couldn't bring herself to even check for life in her father. It was the thought of what it meant if she found no breath that kept her back. She felt frozen, except her head, which felt like a river was rushing, pounding through it. She opened her mouth, but no sound came past her tears. Finally, she choked out, "Nana!" No response came. She knew Gwenél was out there still, she had seen her only a short time before. "Nana! Naneth!" She heard footsteps rushing up behind her.
"Gweneth? What is it- no!" Gwenél caught sight of what Gweneth was staring wide-eyed at and fell to her knees beside him.
"Is he- have you checked, Gweneth?" Her voice was desperate, choked with tears. "Túion... oh, please... Gweneth, have you checked? Answer me!" Gweneth found her voice even as Gwenél pulled a knife from her belt.
"N-nay, Nana. I haven't." Gwenél held the flat of the long knife to Túion's mouth and drew it away quickly. Gweneth couldn't see the blade, so she asked, "Nana, is he alive?" Some how that was easier thnan asking if he was dead. Gwenél turned to Gweneth with a wide smile and a cross between tears and laughter.
"He lives, iell nín. It is faint, but he lives. Come help me." Gweneth immediately knelt across her father's body from her mother. After the number of dead, dying, and wounded men she had seen in the last hours, she no longer hesitated to do what she could. "Just- just hold him, iell nín, to be sure he doesn't move while I do this." Gweneth wasn't sure she wanted to know what Gwenél was doing, but she held her hands firmly on her father's still back. Gwenél took hold of the arrow and snapped it off nearly halfway down the protruding shaft. Gweneth felt Túion's muscles tighten for an instant, but other than that he was completely motionless.
Gwenél shook her head. "My skill is not great in healing, too weak to do anymore for him. But we should do what we can to ease his pain until the healers can tend him." Gweneth nodded.
"What should I do, Naneth?" Upon hearing that her father lived, her mind had calmed a bit.
"Try to remove his guards, belt, straps, anything to free his breathing a bit." Gweneth nodded and began working at her father's wristguards. She felt a strange nothingness. For once she wasn't even worried for Legolas. The name entered her mind like a soft breath disturbing a heavy mist. Legolas-- oh yes, the man she loved. So distant he seemed, here in the world created by her shock. Yes, that's what she was feeling-- or rather, not feeling. She was in shock. Now it all made numb sense.
After a time, warriors came to carry away, assuring Gweneth and Gwenél that he would recover. Before they took him, Gwenél brushed a lock of his hair away from his face and kissed his cheek, murmuring, "Be strong, meleth nín." Then she went back to what she had been doing, tears sparkling in her eyes. She moved with the same light fluidity Gweneth did, as if she were floating, marking her as being in shock as well. Who wasn't?
Eventually Gweneth turned back to her duty, but with a different manner. Before, her task had been a simple one of labeling. This one was dead, this one alive, and so on, time after unrelenting time. Now it was, "He is dead. He was someone's son, brother, father, or husband," or, "This one is alive. His wife will be overjoyed." She saw faces, not just the mist of breath or the feel of a pulse. They were burned into her mind.
Gweneth worked until she couldn't drag herself to the next body. It was late at night. She felt she must have checked every fallen body twice, but it seemed that as the Orc corpses were cleared away and disposed of, more Elven bodies were revealed. Perhaps, as an Elf, she should not have been as tired as she was, but the Elven mind was highly susceptible to stress, and of that Gweneth had had no shortage. She felt herself being carried inside after a time, where she was placed in a hall with other resting workers, some healers, some warriors. She lay there and rested far into the next day. Little did she know what her beloved Legolas, so far from her mind, was experiencing.
The battle of the Pelennor was easily the greatest battle of its Age. Legolas had never seen so much fighting,nor had he ever foughtso hard, save possibly in the Last Alliance. He must have come close to death more times that day than in a thousand years before that. Every time he was tempted to let some Orc get the better of him and end everything, two thoughts came to mind. What will Gweneth do if I die? and For Frodo! So he kept on, even when defeat seemed certain, even when he felt the hot breath of death on his face. Perhaps every man had at least one of Legolas' thoughts pulsing through his mind: the thought of a loved one and how they would go on if he died. Whatever gave them victory, it came, and the battle was won.
Legolas felt ashamed of his wish for Gweneth when he watched Éomer grieve for Théoden and fear for his sister. Here was he, wishing for his lover that he knew was safe in Mirkwood under the protection of his father, and Éomer would never hear his uncle's voice again. He had only just gained him back from the clutches of Saruman, and now he was gone forever. And as far as he knew, Éowyn could die just as easily. A brave deed had the swordmaiden done, and long would it be remembered, but much grief did it cause those close to her. Who was Legolas to yearn for Gweneth's arms when Éomer grieved the loss of his uncle and the wounds of his sister, and countless women and children had been made widows and orphans in the space of hours? But though he felt it was wrong, he could not banish his longing for Gweneth's green eyes and soft smile. He knew nothing of the battle under the trees of Mirkwood.
Eight days later, Legolas stood watching the Mouth of Sauron's retreat outside of Mordor. After the battle of the Pelennor, Legolas had hoped that the fighting would be done with, but in his heart he had known that his journey was far from over. So it had been confirmed, and now he knew that these moments he was living now would likely be his last. "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Justice shall be done upon him!" Legolas closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath, preparing himself. His bow was strung, his knife was ready. But his heart was not yet prepared. Such Shadow lingered over this place that it sickened him, and made his heart long even for the darkest places of the Mirkwood.
But the thing he yearned for most was Gweneth's touch. It had been so long since he had seen her, since he'd held her last. More than half a year it had been, and his heart was past the point of aching for her. Now he had to fight for her and for all Arda. If he survived, and they gained victory, which was more than impossible, then so be it, and he would be happy. But if fate took the most likely course, if he was killed and all his comrades with him, then he only hoped that Gweneth would find her way to a safer place and escape the hold of the Dark Lord. The gates opened.
All thoughts of Gweneth and anyone else fled his mind as a filthy flood of enemies rushed out the gate. Legolas' head reeled with hate at the jeering calls that were shouted at the small company surrounded by the sea of foes. Then all turned to chaos as the battle began. Long he fought, and past when all hope was gone. But hope soon kindled new, and the Dark Tower was thrown down. Legolas, watching the Shadow well and depart, also felt a great weight lift, from his shoulders and from his heart. He laughed for joy and relief as his foes ran for their lives, their master stricken to ruin. And he knew that, though still the Shadow had left its mark on the world, the reign of Sauron was over.
In the Mirkwood a week and a day had passed since the battle under the trees. The Orcs had been disposed of, and the slain warriors were given honorable services. Still there were about the palace many men with parts of their bodies swathed in bandages, splinted tightly, or stitched up. Gweneth had been busy, helping to tend to her father, who was awake and quickly recovering. She had been by his bedside when he had woken, and had sung to him many things as he lay there smiling up at her. Her life was returning to normal, but for a few things. One, that Legolas had not returned. Since the battle, and even before, she had not found herself missing him as keenly as she might. She still loved him, but she didn't think she was overattached anymore, as he had so often said her to be.
Second, the Shadow lingered heavy on the hearts of everyone. The songs and merriment were less and less frequent in the Wood as the Shadow seemed to billow like a black cloud over their hearts. Not knowing anything more of the events outside of the Mirkwood, Gweneth feared that the quest had failed, and that Legolas was dead. Yet somewhere, in her heart, she felt that it was not so. Thus it was that eighth day after the battle under the trees and, though unknown to her, the battle of Pelennor Fields, that Gweneth was sitting near the magic-bound doors of the cave-halls, humming an old Elvish song to herself. Then, all at once, the Shadow departed suddenly from her.
It was such a shock that she sprang to her feet as if in fright. She heard startled, amazed cries from the places around her, and she knew that it was not just she. The Shadow was gone, and that could mean only one thing. She rushed down the hall to the throneroom, and without a thought for courtesy burst through the heavy doors. There in front of his throne Thranduil stood, with an expression of shock and joy on his face. "My Lord King!" Thranduil turned to her with a giddy smile. "It is gone, my Lord!" Thranduil nodded and swept down to her, taking her in his arms and spinning around for joy.
Gweneth laughed, feeling lighter than she could remember ever having been before. The weight of the Shadow and the Dark Lord's reign was gone. "My Lord, does this mean that the quest is done? That Legolas may return now?" Though she knew it must be so, Gweneth could hardly believe it. At Thranduil's nod, she wept for joy. "It's gone. It's over." Little did she know how close her words were to Frodo's.She felt as if she had been fighting a battle, and suddenly her enemies had disappeared before her eyes. So elated was she at the absence of the Shadow that her senses seemed jumbled and she was afraid to move for fear she would stumble. Thranduil smiled excitedly and took her arm.
"Come, Gweneth, let us celebrate with the kingdom." He walked with her out of the throneroom and into the other halls, where the sounds of laughter and singing could be heard. Their Gweneth found her mother and father and laughed and wept with them for a long time. Though she didn't know where Legolas was, and he could still be in danger, she was confident that he would return. Too many joys had already come to pass for this last joy- Legolas' return- not to come.
TBC...
What a joyous chapter, aye? This is one of my favorite chapters of this story. Thank you all for your reviews, and keep them coming!
