May There Be a Light- Chapter III
The trail grew stronger and clearer as the Elves pressed on, each looking askance periodically for fear of an ambush lurking within the trees. But there was none. Legolas had a deadly arrow on the twine, ever ready for trouble. There was a cold gleam in his azure blue eyes, a focused and steady glare that added a fierce light to an otherwise unremarkable person and defined him as a warrior.
The sun was setting cold, the oaks were outlined in shades of darkness, and the heavy silence grew more intense. But still the two went on, resolute to continue until the enemy was located, or they died in the attempt.
All at once, Legolas heard a subtle snap and whirled, firing instinctively. The southron went down, a green striped arrow buried in his forehead. The man's drawn bow misfired with a sharp twang, the dart soaring pointlessly overhead. Orophin halted, aghast, and strode over to the body. Seeming to study it momentarily, he soon turned and sidled up to Legolas.
"How did he steal up on us so?" he asked in a voice that betrayed his mingled wonder and fear.
"My guess is that he didn't," replied Legolas. "I believe that he was lying in wait. There is no possible way that he could have been following us without us being able to mark his presence." Orophin nodded.
"You are almost certainly right," he said. "But, all the same, that was close. Too close. We must proceed with more care hereafter." To that end, the Elves applied themselves and experienced no more mishaps for a time. Legolas soon perceived that they were near the vicinity of the city, so he bade Orophin halt. They could already hear the distinctive din of battle: swords clashing, axes cleaving, arrows loosing, men uttering battle cries. All sounds were mingled into one uproarious tumult that gathered together and rose to Tar Menel like a storm. Legolas' eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared in the manner of a stallion.
"My people die," he hissed vehemently. "I will not leave them, Orophin."
"Should we not return to Anarato?"
"Do you hear the noise, Orophin?" asked Legolas, his eyes flaming. "Elves are dying! If I delay to call upon the others, it will be too late. You go, Orophin. And if I'm not allowed the pleasure of meeting you again, I was honored to know you. Be swift. Bid the others make all speed. Namaarie."
As Orophin turned to fly, his last glimpse was Legolas charging furiously into the gloom of the trees, his blade a shining star, his countenance that of a hero of old. Orophin bid him farewell and sprinted back along the trail. He knew he had to reach the others in time.
Legolas' sword was cleaving madly. It spun and sliced and whirled so proficiently, one could only wonder at the adept hands that wielded it so. Any arrows of the Southrons he eluded without trouble. After slaying not a few adversaries, he escaped the ferocity of the battle and made for the impenetrable looking wall of stone. He broke away from the mob of Southrons and took a flying leap forward and away from the enemy. Vaguely, he heard someone cry:
"It's Prince Legolas! Hurry, let down a rope!" At a glance, Legolas took in the scene at the wall and perceived what had taken place. The Southrons had apparently reached the wall at one point, and raised a few ladders. But now, the arrows of the Elves had driven them back and the ladders had fallen near the bodies of the slain.
Finally, someone found a sturdy rope and tossed the end down. Legolas grasped it firmly and felt himself being forcefully hauled up. He pushed off the wall with his feet to keep himself from dragging against the fortification, glancing behind himself fearfully in anticipation of Southron arrows. But there were none. The near sea of Southrons had drawn back.
When Legolas reached the top of the wall, he found that he was face to face with Haldir. The elf's features were outlined in the dancing torchlight.
"You are rather reckless, my friend," the leader of the Galadhrim said lightly, but with visible wonder in his eyes. He hauled Legolas up over the wall and continued, his voice growing serious.
"We are holding them back," he sighed, "for the time being. Earlier, we sent out a sortie. They did much damage, but were compelled to withdraw based on the amount of the adversary. We didn't want to lose any lives unnecessarily. For a while, the Southrons brought out their archers, during which time we suffered our greatest losses, but they did also, and so they removed themselves to the back of the company. They hadn't many archers and couldn't afford to lose them all at once. As for us, we are resolved to remain behind the wall until things change. Is Anarato coming?"
"Orophin is summoning them," answered Legolas. He noticed a gleam of worry in the general's eyes, but Haldir quickly blinked it away. "If we can hold out long enough, Anarato will hem them in from behind. I'm certain Orophin will make it."
"I pray you are right," said Haldir, turning back to the wall. He stooped down and peered over the wall in alarm. Out of the darkness appeared a lone southron, palms upraised in a token of peace. He was alone and unarmed, Haldir saw, so he bid him come up. Once the man was atop the wall, he pulled a rigid brown parchment from his bizarrely designed red shirt and handed it to Haldir. The elf turned and stepped away from the edge, deliberately unrolling the parchment. Legolas glanced over his shoulder and noted many words of hideous Southron speech scrawled hurriedly onto it in a blackish ink. Haldir turned back to the southron and asked him to read it. The southron agreed.
"They say: 'We are ready to negotiate with you, if you will send one, and only one, of your leaders, unaccompanied, to treat with our most venerated and inexorable general, whose name we will not reveal, at present, to perhaps procure peace, a magnanimous offer on our part," read the southron in broken elvish, "Comply with us and no more of your people need die. Do not be foolish enough to refuse. As you can see, we are far from defeated and you are still outnumbered."
Haldir was silent, at first. Everyone was as the words sank in. All were trying to unravel the catch. Were they really ready for peace? Or was this some foul trick? Haldir went, once again, to the edge of the wall. Legolas noticed that he was squinting out into the waiting army of Southrons, visible only by their torches, as if trying to solve some puzzlement. He blinked once, and then turned to the southron courier.
"Why do you want peace if you are so confident of victory?" he asked.
"We are a merciful people," the southron replied, though his eyes did not convince anyone of this statement. "We dislike forcing into extinction other beautiful peoples that would be useful for better purposes. We need subjects. The dead do not make good ones; neither can they pay tribute." Haldir lowered his eyes, as if in deep thought.
"Will the leader have guaranteed safe conduct?" he asked finally.
"The very highest," replied the Southron. "No harm will be done to him and he will be returned undamaged even if he decides that he would prefer war. You have the word of the Southron people." Haldir sneered at the man, as if he didn't put much faith in this southron's word. But then, he nodded.
"You are not considering going-?" asked Legolas in incredulity, placing a hand on Haldir's arm. "The Southrons are not renowned for their truth of word. It seems naught but foolishness to me. You will be slain!"
"It may very well be folly," said Haldir, frowning with thought, "but nevertheless, I must make an effort for peace. I will go with this southron and hear the terms, but I will not for anything surrender this city or agree to pay a tribute as slaves. Elves are a free race and will remain free if I have a say about it. We will not be their subjects. 'Tis better to die than to be a slave! However, I may be able to offer them a one-time tribute to convince them to leave. If they accept and name a price, I will consider it. I know we are not defeated, but I would at least attempt to make them listen to reason."
"An excellent decision, o my sagacious adversary," put in the southron. Haldir glared at him disapprovingly.
"Legolas will take over the command in my absence," continued Haldir. "Obey him as you would me." He stepped to the ladder and, seeming to feel an air of finality, as if he didn't expect that he would return, he turned about and gave a reassuring glance towards Legolas. Then, he went down, followed by the southron.
Legolas watched them go. As the southron disappeared over the top of the wall, they vanished from sight, hidden in the now heavy darkness that was night. The southron was carrying a torch with him, and that was the only thing the Elves saw as they peered over the wall: the great flickering flame traveling into the distance, growing smaller and smaller as they watched. And that was that. They were gone.
The Prince of Mirkwood sighed heavily and sat, his back to the cold stone wall. He was nearly exhausted, now that he thought about it, and needed to give his fatigued legs a rest. He hoped Haldir was right. Maybe he could procure peace somehow. But, one way or another, he felt that something didn't seem right about this business. Perhaps it was the look in the southron's eyes that had made him fear the most. He was terribly nervous and uneasy, and the other Elves noticed.
Most were repairing weapons, some were watching vigilantly at the wall, others were resting, as Legolas was, while still others were tending to the wounded. Legolas noticed one youthful elf that he had special pity for, mostly because he was such a sorry sight. He had long, dark, hair, and a handsome, boyish face, but his features were drawn with pain, and a sad, tired, countenance hung over him. He was sitting against a wall opposite Legolas holding steady a brutal Southron arrow that had pierced his shoulder. This was the part that was especially difficult about war.
All at once, a sentinel leapt to his feet and gave a cry:
"Horn! 'Tis the horn of Anarato! They have come!" Legolas was comforted. So Orophin had reached them in time! Now the Southrons were ensnared between two sizeable forces, with nowhere to run. They were like rats in a trap. Legolas felt almost certain they would surrender. But, to his great surprise, they merely advanced. He could scarcely see them in the darkness, but their torches allowed him to make a good guess. They would be hard to hit in the gloom, but they could shoot roughly where they perceived them to be. Legolas tentatively drew out an arrow. He wondered if they meant to attack or no. In any case, it didn't look good for Haldir. Legolas cursed under his breath.
"Vile Southrons!" he said vehemently. "So much for 'guaranteed safe-conduct'!" He turned to the others. "Hado i phillin!"
The first volley of arrows was loosed like a shower of deadly silver rain.