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Deana: Thanks. I am glad you like my story. I hope I get as many reviews as your story is getting, although I doubt it because I am not as good as you! I'm happy to hear from you.
Pirate: I'm sorry, but I don't know what you mean about whatever keeps showing up in the story. It didn't show up in the review. Whatever it is I hope it is resolved in this chapter, and I hope you enjoy this one as well!Author's Notes: 2 REVIEWS???? I really hope Disclaimer: See first chapter. In addition, most of these Elvish phrases are not mine. They belong to Howard Shore and David Salo, the writers of the soundtracks to The Two Towers and Return of the King.
IMPORTANT: In this chapter, Sindarin is used. The translations will be in ... after the sentences.
Chapter Two-Preparing for War
Legolas watched as the wearied Aragorn sauntered into the hall of Helm's Deep. As he did so, he could not help but smile. It was almost funny how Estel always got himself into trouble, and how it always seemed to be with him."Le ab-dollen. You're late", Legolas spoke, then looked over him, surveying the injuries he had sustained. "You look terrible!"They both let out long held sighs of relief and shared an embrace. Legolas backed himself up, reached into his pocket, and drew out The Evenstar. He gently dropped it into Aragorn's hand and closed his fingers over top of it. Upon seeing this, it seemed that a great burden was lifted off Estel, and his eyes turned a few shades brighter.
"Estel, estelio han, estelio veleth, for The Evenstar gave light when all seemed dark for me. It kept hope in my heart that you were yet alive. Arwen is a great gift. Keep her safe for me." ...trust this, trust love...
Legolas felt anger in his heart, but he knew naught why. He was surrounded by Men of all ages, all of whom would likely, in a few hours, be dead. He had been in many battles before, but this one made his heart cold just thinking of it.
"Many have seen too many winters!" Gimli remarked.
"Or too few." Legolas said, barely able to contain his rage. "Look at them. They are frightened, you can see it in their eyes."
Suddenly, as if as if someone had shushed them, everyone in the armoury was silent simultaneously. Legolas continued, his emotions nearly boiling over.
"Boe a hûn: neled herain dan cær menig. And they should be...three hundred against ten thousand. "
"Si beriathar hyn. Amar nâ ned Edoras. They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras." Aragorn replied. Legolas could tell that Aragorn was frustrated with his rash speech, but Legolas didn't care. He was too passionate to stop now.
"Aragorn, me i ndagor. Hyn ú-...ortheri. Natha daged aen! Aragorn, we are warriors. They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!"
"Then I shall die as one of them!" And with that, Aragorn stormed off.
Legolas suddenly came to himself. How could he be saying such a thing? And to a man, of all people? He went to follow his best friend, but the Dwarf stopped him.
"Let him go, lad."
His heart dropped in his chest in failure. His rashness had taken hold of him again.
Legolas followed the sounds of Aragorn's grunts as he struggled to put on his heavy metal armour. He walked in behind him, trying desperately to hide the sadness in his eyes. Aragorn met his gaze and looked wonderingly at his friend Elf. Legolas opened his mouth to speak.
"You have led us this far, and we have not gone astray. Forgive me, I was wrong to despair."
Legolas watched for his reaction, hopeful that he would accept. To his delight, he did, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"Ú-moe edhored, Legolas There is nothing to forgive, Legolas."
The sky was growing dark and clouded. Mist slowly descended on the fortress of Helm's Deep, announcing an impending rain. The shadows of the evil to come were seen by the Elf's eyes, yet no other heeded. No help had come from neighbouring lands, so 300 men, 1 Elf, and a Dwarf were left to defend it borders. Legolas could smell blood in the air. This night would come to hold much death and pain.
Gimli sat on the steps overlooking the dark pastures, smoking on pipeweed and watching intently as the Elf reacted to things only his eyes could see. Silly of an Elf, it was, so silly.
"Come over here, lad, and sit down. You're giving me a headache just standing there!"
"I cannot relax when a battle is to be fought."
Typical. Always heroic, elves were.
"Well it won't do us any good if you're too tired to fight!"
With that, Legolas had to yield. His pride in battle was too boisterous to deny that.
"Alright, mellon nîn. I shall sit. ...my friend..." Legolas said, dropping gracefully to Gimli's side.
"So tell me, Master Elf. Why is battle so important to you?" Gimli asked, seeking answer to the question he had longed to ask for some time.
In answer, Legolas drew one of his twin Elven blades, examining it and running his fingers from hilt to tip.
"These blades were given to me when I was but a child by my father. One day, when I was the equivalent of a 6-year-old boy, my father took me aside and told me he was to teach me how to fight. He said that all of my older brothers and my sister never had the need to fight. However, since my mother died at the hands of Orcs when I was only 2 years old, he felt that someone to defend the family was needed. From that day on, he told me to remember this phrase: Hain-...di na lanc a nu ranc.'"
"What does that mean?"
"'Their armour is weak at the neck and beneath the arm.' From that day, when I fight in battle, I say this before I strike. It reminds me of what the foul creatures did to my mother. It reminds me of the day they pulled her body from the ruins of their torture camp, and I was there to witness it. That, Sir Gimli, is why battle is so important to me."
Gimli blew a puff of smoke, pretending not to be phased a bit by what Legolas had just told him.
Legolas stood, going back to his place at the balcony.
"I have rested enough."
As he stared out into the darkness, an ancient song was heard parting his lips. A song that he had heard once sung at the funeral of Theodred.
"Bealocwealm hafad fréon frecan forth onsended
giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende
on Meduselde r aet he ma no wære
his dryhtne dyrest and maega deorost.
Bealo..."
(Old English)
An evil death has set forth the noble warrior
A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels
In Meduseld that he is no more
To his lord dearest and kinsmen most beloved.
An evil death...
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By the way, I am not sure whether the accents and such will show up. If they don't, well, crap.....sorry!