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Chapter Ten: As Long As I Live
"So, now that Saruman has me in his grasp, he will extend his control over Rohan through King Theoden. There will be none left to oppose his rule and the world of men will fall."
"Gondor still stands," Aragorn said.
"Sauron will soon remedy that," Legolas whispered. His voice had gotten progressively quieter as more and more Uruks passed by and gave him a rough kick or two. They seemed to think it great fun to torment the injured "halfling". The elf's face was pale and cold. An Uruk had thrown the cloak of Lorien into a nearby tree and fastened bonds around the three companions hands.
"Legolas!" a voice blasted in his ears.
"What?"
"Have you reconsidered my offer? I have the power to stop your pain or kill you at will. You know this. I want your trust and your friendship."
"I know what it is you want and as long as I live, I will not allow you to have it," Legolas shouted, a wave of pain washing over him.
"Legolas Greenleaf," Saruman laughed. "The mighty warrior. You are helpless, bleeding, weak, exhausted, half dead, and captured by my fighting Uruk Hai. What power could you possibly possess that would aid you?"
"Ai Elbereth Gilthoniel!" the brave elf shouted with great effort. The sun seemed to grow brighter for a brief moment.
"Legolas?" Aragorn's familiar voice questioned him, concernedly.
"He doesn't look well," Eomer observed, leaning in closer to Legolas.
"The fog must be clouding your eyes. I'm fine," Legolas spat defensively.
"Good! Then maybe I'll just let those Uruks pulverize you without a second thought," replied Eomer, frustratedly.
"Then let Rohan fall swiftly and be blamed for the doom of Ennorath!" the elf cursed, causing alarm to spring up in Aragorn's eyes. This was drastically unlike Legolas to lash out at a friend and curse a country in such a rash manner. Something was desperately wrong.
Although neither human could see him, Legolas had to brace himself hard against the ground to keep from fainting. His vision blurred and he didn't see the orc that had come to torture him until it was too late. It smiled maliciously upon the elf and then kicked him like pile of dirt, on his side, his shoulders and his head. The elf couldn't help but groan from the pain that had amounted. He could feel blood trickling down from his head, but was powerless to stop it. As the orc was about to strike yet another blow, Eomer, fully armored blocked it. After a few attempts, the orc realized he would be unable to get to the elf and admitted defeat, heading off toward the other orcs.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get there sooner," Eomer apologized, turning to Legolas. "Stupid bonds combined with the fog."
"Hannon le," Legolas whispered, barely audible. "Are you hurt?" Eomer shook his head.
"Armor comes in handy," Eomer replied. "I'm fine, or better." He held up his hands, revealing his bonds had been sundered. Through all the pain, Legolas managed a smile. Eomer crawled over to the tree the Uruks had thrown Legolas' cloak into. Grabbing the lowest branch, he swung himself up. In no time at all, he had gotten the cloak and climbed down. He draped it over the elf's body, which, only now did he realize, was shaking like leaves in a hurricane. "Sleep, my friend," Eomer whispered gently.
"Hannon le," was all he managed as he drifted off to sleep.
"He must be quite a warrior," Eomer commented. Aragorn said nothing, but looked at Legolas, a deeply worried look on his face. "How did he get the arrow wounds, and why are you in this cursed country?" Aragorn sighed.
"We have a quest appointed us by the Council of Elrond in Rivendell. Legolas and I were two of a nine-member company. The quest . . ." Aragorn debated telling Eomer of the ring. There had been no representative of the Rohirrim at the council, but they still had a right to know, and he felt he could trust Eomer. ". . . was to destroy the one ring." The expression on Eomer's face had not changed, so Aragorn continued. "Gandalf the Grey was our guide, but he was lost in the Mines of Moria."
"That is not news that will be welcomed by many of the people of Rohan!" Eomer exclaimed. "He was a good keeper of the righteous and all that was good in this Middle Earth." Aragorn knew this all too well. He nodded, and swallowed before continuing.
"Legolas and I set out yesterday to scout out our trail. I told the others to wait for us one day. They've gone by now."
" Where would they have gone?" asked Eomer.
"To Mordor, either directly or through Gondor. It depends on who was chosen to lead them." He fell silent, resuming his vigil over Legolas. At length, Eomer spoke again.
"How was Legolas wounded, if I may ask? I see you are reluctant to speak of it, but perhaps I can help, somehow." Aragorn looked over the man for a long while before replying. He was young, less than thirty years of age, but very knowledgeable and realistic. Aragorn decided it was no good hiding this from him.
"He was wounded while we were scouting out the terrain. A goblin arrow pierced his side because he warned me of it. Where the other wound came from, I do not know." Eomer placed his hand on the ranger's shoulder understandingly.
"Don't blame yourself. He is a warrior and knows as well as you the risks that occupation brings." From the ruckus of the Uruk army, they heard the word 'Saruman'. Both men's faces winced in expressions of utter hatred. In that instant, they realized they shared a common goal: revenge on Saruman.
Aragorn soon crawled over to his friend's side. Sweat beaded his pale brow, but he was still shivering.
"Mithrandir," Legolas called as loud as he could, which was a pained whimper. Aragorn motioned to Eomer, who came over, placing his hand on the elf's forehead.
"He's warm," he worried.
"He must be fighting against infection."
"Hold on, Legolas," Eomer whispered. "Keep fighting, my friend."
Legolas couldn't hear the young man, but he was certainly fighting: for breath, for life, for his sanity. Pictures of Gandalf's dead body, mutilated from his battle with the Balrog flashed through his mind as his body convulsed from the heat of the fever and the Earthly chill of exhaustion. He hadn't had any peaceful rest, but was too weak to open his eyes.
"Fight," He ordered himself. "Don't allow yourself to be mastered." It wasn't easy to carry out those orders. His wounds had stopped bleeding, but so much blood had been lost that he felt drained of life. He was thirsty and drowning, starving and bursting, burning and freezing at the same time. He couldn't stand another moment of it. Then he slipped into unconsciousness.
"Take some food, young Hobbit. This is the best stuff we've had since we left Lorien," Gimli insisted.
"I need t' do some thinking, Mr. Gimli. Something's not right with Mr. Frodo, but he won't let me help him with it," Sam confided. The group had decided to have lunch before carrying the boats down Rauros. Sam had been sitting by himself since he'd prepared the animal Gimli and Boromir had killed for the Fellowship's lunch.
"He's been under a lot of pressure lately, laddie, what with Gandalf's death and the other two not returning, but you worry too much about him. He'll be fine once we arrive in Gondor for a rest." Sam wanted to believe Gimli terribly, but somehow he knew things would only get worse once they were in Gondor. He looked past Gimli at his Master who was watching Pippin and Merry sing and make fools of themselves, pretending water was beer. For the first time since they left Lorien, Sam thought he saw his Master smile. 'Maybe things will be all right,' he thought.
"Come on, lad," Gimli summoned the Hobbit, helping him off the stump he was on. Sam couldn't help but notice a note of sadness in the Dwarf's voice. He tried to disguise it, but Sam knew he missed Aragorn, and even Legolas. Most of them were disguising their guilt, pain, and regret, so the others couldn't see them. Frodo's grief was so obvious, thought Sam. Maybe that was why he had opted for Gondor. Pippin and Merry were both so young; they were trying to cope with death and loss by holding onto the hope that Aragorn and Legolas still lived. Boromir . . . 'well, who knows about Boromir,' Sam thought. 'He's going home, that's all that matters.'
Frodo, Pippin, Merry, and Boromir were laughing and dancing around the campfire, singing Bilbo's song about the Man in the Moon. Frodo was glad for the distraction from the road ahead.
"I hate to break up the party, but the Enemy is watching and listening. Some of us are too loud for our own good," Gimli observed grumpily.
"Aww! We were almost to the part where Frodo disappeared at the Inn of the Prancing Pony," Pippin moaned.
"I never did get to see that stunt," joked Merry. "Do it again, Frodo."
"Well, I was having a good time until someone mentioned seriousness," the ringbearer jested.
"Gimli started it," Pippin defended himself.
"Come, come, gentlemen. There's only one way to settle this," called Boromir, drawing his sword. He thrust it at Gimli, but the Dwarf scowled and walked away.
"What's wrong with him?" Pippin asked.
"It beats me," replied Sam, while fighting Boromir.
"Sam," Frodo laughed and joined the jest. Pippin and Merry found their swords and added to the cause.
"Let's see, four on one, can the Captain of the White Tower, Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, take the enemy? Yes, he can," Boromir laughed as he shielded himself and fought the Hobbits.
"For the Shire," Merry joked as he ducked Boromir's sword and tweaked him in the leg.
"Gondor is avenged!" he cried, nicking all four Hobbits in one stroke.
"Oh, come on, all of you!" Gimli growled.
"Come on, little ones," Boromir called. Reluctantly, the four Halflings followed. Once they reached the boats, Boromir said "Stay here. Gimli and I will carry the boats to the other side of Rauros." He removed the baggage from Merry's boat and plopped it on the Shore. Then he was gone, taking the lead boat with him.
"Well, there's no sense in the fire going to waste," Pippin declared, pulling his pipe from a bag. The other Hobbits followed suit, sticking twigs into the fire and lighting a few weeds they put in their pipes.
"As long as I live I will never understand Hobbits. How can they sing when the enemy is in hot pursuit of us? Frodo may be the Ringbearer, but even he does not seem to grasp the severity of our situation. Please enlighten me, if you can, laddie," Gimli complained. Boromir was silent for a while. Then he began to sing quietly.
"Home is behind, the world ahead and there are many paths to tread through shadows to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight. Then world behind and home ahead, we'll wander back to home and bed. Mist and shadow, cloud and shad, away shall fade, away shall fade. Fire and lamp and meat and bread and then to bed, and then to bed." He didn't have as good a voice as Legolas or the Hobbits, but it wasn't painful to hear, either. It was a song that brought peace to weary travelers who heard it.
"Do you hear that?" Eomer asked Aragorn, who nodded in response. It was as if the wind were singing the words to their hearts. "That's no song of men, elves, or Dwarves, that I can tell. Is it a song of these Hobbits?" he inquired.
"It is, but it is not a hobbit singing it. I do not know who it is." Only Legolas recognized the voice, but in his situation, he was uncertain whether he heard it correctly, yet it brought him comfort. It said there were many paths to tread. "Thank you, Boromir."
"As long as I live, I'll never get used to boats, Mr. Frodo," Sam promised.
"Just move near the Brandywine river and you will," Merry laughed from the last boat. It had taken Gimli and Boromir nearly an hour and a half to load all three boats down the falls. Now the group was making its way down the Anduin river, moving rapidly toward Osgiliath.
"It feels so chilly," observed Pippin. "It must be almost evening."
"No, it's not much into the afternoon," corrected Boromir. Gimli had been silent for a while; he was still in his foul mood. Frodo felt as if the ring was as heavy as a mountain. So, all was silent in the boats now.
The poem is from the Fellowship of the Ring. I didn't make it up.
MornieGalad