Maewyn: Shield Maiden of Rohan Chapter VII

The White City

by Luthien Meneldur

"We must hurry into the fields," Aragorn said. "Make much haste!" He looked only briefly at his companions before running toward the fields with Narsil gripped firmly in his hand.

"Come Gimli, and we will see who comes out ahead!" Legolas sprinted after Aragorn, with his fatigueless energy. He saw the Pelenor Fields before him, and stopped for a moment, noting the number of bodies that littered the ground. Not too far in the distance large Oliphants battled against the horsemen of Rohan, trundling along with lines of barbs strung between their tusks. His breath was caught in his throat, and he seemed only to be able to think of the mortality of Maewyn. He found himself running through the blood soaked fields looking at the faces of the bodies around, hoping not to see her face, but searching nonetheless. He was searching the faces when an orc came up behind, and he pulled his daggers quickly, and ran it through. His instincts were still alert.

Legolas began to look about again and a thundering began to grow all around him, and the ground began to shake beneath his feet.

"Legolas!" He heard Aragorn's voice strain to reach him across the vast space between them. Legolas turned to find Aragorn with his eyes and found instead a trampling Oliphant, moving in his direction. He had no time to think of sorrow now, only survival. With no fear he ran between the legs of the great beast, and climbed the arrows notched in its side. He found the rope to the basket carrying the soldiers atop the great beast easy to cut, and rode it all the way up the creature's great side. Once atop the great beast, he looked far around quickly, before notching two arrows to his bow, and driving them into the skull of the poor beast. He made his way back to the ground, and thought, "the poor beast, only doing what he's been taught. He said the elvish words of mourning for such a death, and moved further along through the fields.

Soon there were no orcs to kill, only bodies that had been ravaged by the dead army, and the companions made their way to the gate of the great city of Minas Tirith.

"I have never seen so great a city," Legolas said, as his eyes wandered up all the levels of the great city of men.

"The white city," Aragorn whispered. "I wish I had not come to it this way."

"There are some paths we can not choose," Legolas said, as he put a hand to Aragorn's shoulder.

"At the least you did not come to it to lose a battle," Gimli said. "We have come to victory." He hefted his axe, and put it back into the loop of his belt.

Aragorn fell silent, though he smiled a hopeful smile to his friends.

At the gates of the city the needed not wait long for the dead King to come to them.

"Release us," came his frozen voice.

Gimli pulled his axe from his belt as the army materialized around them. He held himself ready for a fight, but his arms shook with uneasiness. "Bad idea," he said. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead." He began to tremble more as the eyes of the King came on him.

Legolas looked on Gimli with disapproval. "He has a hard heart that one," the elf thought.

"You gave us your word!" The King screeched.

"I hold your oath fulfilled," Aragorn said softly. The King's face showed relief, and Aragorn watched as blew away like dust on the wind.

Legolas watched the dust blow across the field and into another place altogether than Middle Earth. Then his mind flashed to Maewyn. "Aragorn! Where would the survivors of this battle gather?" He asked, concern in his eyes.

Aragorn looked concerned, as if it was the first time he had seen his friend in days. "Any good man would help with the wounded, or see to his own wounds," he said.

Suddenly a loud scream cut the air, the scream of a man and the companions turned their heads to see Eomer holding a limp form in his arms. He screamed again, and was weeping.

"Eowyn," Aragorn whispered, and bounded off toward Eomer.

Legolas looked around, and bounded off through the field of bodies. His eyes darted here and there, and the elven prince searched for hours, until the sky began to grow darker than it had been. And there he found her, laying amidst a bit of trampled, muddied grass. She saw her laying there, and remembered their day in the valley at Meduseld; laying the sunshine, and running in the grass. He knelt down next to her, feeling tears well in his eyes. Her breathing was shallow, but she was alive. Her long hair was messed about, and had been cut in some places. Blood, dust and sweat smeared her face, and her helmet lay an arms length from her body. The small sword she would have carried was nowhere about, and one of her arms was broken. Blood leaked from a cut on her face, and through all the dirt and mess, he could still see a brilliant beauty in her.

The elf, though he looked slender, was strong, and lifted the girl from her resting place amid the carnage. He carried her back into the great city, and up into the topmost levels where the houses of healing were. There he laid her to rest, and gained some herbs from the healers that he knew would help. There were so many wounded that the healers had no time to help everyone, so Legolas tended the girl himself, watching her until the time came that he was called away.

Aragorn came to his side. "We must hold council with Gandalf," he said, putting his hand on Legolas' shoulder. "How does she?"

"She is well enough that I may leave, though I wish not to," Legolas said, never looking up from Maewyn's face.

"Then you must come." Aragorn stepped back to leave.

Legolas washed her head once more with the warm herb-water he had made, and followed Aragorn from the houses.

"How does Eowyn?" Legolas asked, curiously about the wounded Princess. He had heard naught of her since watching over Maewyn.

"She will recover, the kingsfoil has done her well," Aragorn said. "Her arm may not recover. In killing the witch-king she has brought a malady upon herself that I cannot cure, nor can the healers, but she will recover."

"Much is well," Legolas said with sorrow in his voice.

"Much is ill," Aragorn said. "Have you not heard of Denethor? The Steward has died this night."

"You now lead Gondor, as it should be," the elf nodded.

"I do not see things clearly as I once did Legolas," the Dunadan said confusion in his eyes.

"Then do not try to see ahead," Legolas offered. "Look to now, where there is still hope."

"Yes, we always have hope," Aragorn whispered softly.

The council met in the throne room, quiet and sad. All was silence for a long while. They considered each other, and thought of all that had been.

"Frodo has passed beyond my sight," Gandalf broke the silence. "The darkness is deepening." His face was drawn, and wrinkled, and showed his great age.

"If Sauron had the ring, we would know it," Aragorn said with conviction. Legolas knew him to be right, if Sauron had the ring there would have been no stopping the armies, and the world would have covered with darkness.

"It is only a matter of time," Gandalf said hopelessly. All eyes moved to Gandalf as he seemed to grow in stature. "He has suffered a defeat, yes. But behind the walls of Mordor, the enemy is regrouping."

Gimli, sitting in the chair of the deceased steward, removed the pipe from his mouth and blew a cloud of smoke. "Let them stay there, let them rot! Why should we care?" He place the pipe back into his mouth and pulled on it until the bowl glowed orange.

"Because ten thousand orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom!" Gandalf snapped at the dwarf, who removed the pipe from his mouth and began to look about, avoiding Gandalf's glance. The wizard sighed and looked to the floor. "I've sent him to his death."

"No," Aragorn burst in. "There's still hope for Frodo. He needs time, and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that." His voice resounded hope, and Legolas noted that while he seemed so hopeless as of late, he was still capable of hope.

"How?" Gimli asked exuding a puff of smoke.

"Draw out Sauron's armies, empty his lands," Aragorn said, as he moved about the crowd of people. He seemed kingly, and fit for the throne room. "Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

Gimli, in the midst of drawing from his pipe coughed loudly in surprise.

Eomer spoke up for the first time. "We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms," he said in his gruff voice.

Gandalf's eyes were lit up. "Not for ourselves, but we can give Frodo a chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us!" His words betrayed his excitement.

"Keep him blind to all else that moves," Aragorn agreed.

"A diversion," Legolas said. He was distracted. They did not need him here, what need was there. He put in only what he felt he must, he said something, but he wished to be back at Maewyn's side. He could only hope he would be there when she woke.

There was a glint of disbelief in Gandalf's eyes. "Sauron will expect a trap, he will not take the bait," he said.

Gimli leapt from the steward's chair. "Certainty of death? Small chance of success? What are we waiting for?" He bellowed. Aragorn let forth a large smile, as did the rest of the council at such words. They would be on their way to the Black Gate immediately. Everyone was eager, only Legolas wished to wait.