Ch-6 Rating: PG-13 (ch 6 of 10)
Chapter 6 – Helm's Deep
The journey to Helm's Deep had been long and costly. Many fine warriors were lost in the attack by Orcs and wargs; Aragorn among them. As Legolas stood at the cliff searching the rushing waters far below for any sign of his friend, he struggled to accept the loss. Death and grief were becoming all too common to the immortal; the unfamiliar act of mourning all too frequent.
Upon arriving at Rohan's solid rock fortress, Gimli bravely took on the grim task of advising Èowyn of Aragorn's fate. Her attachment to the Ranger was plain for all to see, and in her grief, Èowyn turned to Dèorwyn for comfort.
Dèorwyn. Since Edoras she had been uncommonly quiet and subdued. Her eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and the shadows beneath turned them an impossible shade of dark green. She did not speak of the mutant beast nor the loss of Theodred, and Legolas worried that she did not seek solace.
Once again walking the Keep, studying it for strengths and weaknesses, Legolas became aware of a stirring among the crowd – murmurings quickly turning to shouts of joy. Not believing the rumors, he ran to the center of the disturbance. There he saw Gimli, unabashedly embracing Aragorn. The Man had returned. Through luck or fate, Aragorn had survived the fall from the cliff. He brought with him news of the approaching horde. Saruman's army would be here by nightfall. Battle preparations were escalated, and the women and children were being directed to the caves for protection.
Legolas sought out Dèorwyn before it was too late. He did not know how much he wanted to share with her, only that he needed to speak with her. But a pang of regret washed through him, and his steps faltered. He knew he must find Aragorn and somehow make things right. Their earlier confrontation was still raw.
Despairing at the sheer imbalance in number of warriors, Legolas had voiced his belief that Rohan would fall. Aragorn angrily pledged his allegiance to the Rohirrim, but behind his look of defiance, Legolas thought he saw hurt and disappointment. The Man had turned and strode off leaving Legolas staring after him, regretting his lack of faith. The Elf debated which direction to take, then made his decision.
He found Dèorwyn sitting on a rock parapet, leaning against the high wall abutting it – fast asleep. She was once again wearing the tunic and breeches of the Rohirrim. He feared she intended to join the battle, and wondered how best to dissuade her.
Sitting beside her, he gently slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. Dèorwyn stirred only slightly, settling her head upon his chest and giving a soft sigh. Exhaustion returned her to sound sleep.
Leaning against the wall behind him, he cradled her. They had but a few hours remaining before the attack. He would stay until the last possible moment before he had to leave, but he did not have long.
A figure stopped and stood before them. Legolas looked up to see Theoden staring at them, his eyes filled with question and doubt. "Dèorwyn means much to me," Theoden spoke softly, but his warning was clear.
"And to me," Legolas met his gaze openly, feeling no need for explanation nor apology.
But the king was not ready to abandon the fight. "She has seen much loss in a short time."
"Let us hope she sees no more," Legolas replied. Theoden silently studied him, weighing the Elf's sincerity. His expression relaxed as Dèorwyn stirred, their conversation rousing her from sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she looked at Legolas in confusion.
He smiled softly. "You looked in need of a pillow softer than that wall." Watching intently, he saw the confusion in her eyes give way to gratitude, and a deeper emotion burning just beneath the surface.
It was then Dèorwyn realized Theoden's presence and stood before him, pushing away any embarrassment she felt at having been caught in intimate moments.
"I see Theodred allowed you much during my…illness," Theoden studied her attire with a keen eye, but disapproval was not evident. "Dèorwyn, I will have you protected."
She opened her mouth to protest and declare her intent to fight, but Theoden straightened to his full height, and his stern look warned her to broach no further argument. "Go to the caves with the women and children," he commanded. Immediately, as if regretting his harshness, his tone softened. "They may yet have need of your sword ere the night is through."
His words caused a chill to crawl across her skin and settle coldly around her heart as their meaning seeped into her – it may be that none would survive the night. Unintended, her eyes darted to Legolas now standing behind him, then back to Theoden, searching for reassurance but finding only grim affirmation of her own fears.
"Say your good-byes," Theoden gestured over his shoulder. He turned to leave her and resume his duties as king over the thousands gathered in the Keep. But Dèorwyn grasped his hand before he could go and kneeled before him.
Bowing her head and with trembling fingers, she raised his hand to place a kiss of tribute upon it. The sting of tears threatened, but she refused them, determined that he should see her strength and devotion, not sorrow nor despair.
Briefly he rested his hand upon her head, and then he was gone, lost in the throng of his people.
Legolas placed his hand on her shoulder. "I will walk with you."
As they wound their way through the masses toward the entrance to the caves, the shouts and clangs of war preparations hammered on Dèorwyn's senses, building a layer of hopelessness atop her fear.
Èowyn was already at the caves talking with a small group, one of them a young woman crying inconsolably – someone's daughter, or perhaps a young betrothed. Èowyn hugged the girl to her shoulder, and her eyes met Dèorwyn's. A silent nod between them served as acknowledgement of their duty.
"I must join Èowyn in affording comfort to these women," Dèorwyn looked around her in desperation. "But I do not think I have any to offer."
Legolas grasped her shoulders and turned her to him. "You have suffered great loss and borne it with a strength you will need to draw upon if you are to offer comfort to them," he nodded toward the group surrounding Èowyn. "But Dèorwyn…this moment with me, before going to them, let me be your strength." The grip on her shoulders tightened and his eyes gleamed with an undeclared emotion.
"You have grieved in silence more than need be. If you cannot open yourself and draw strength from others, you abandon yourself to hopelessness," he lightly shook her, willing her to listen to him.
"I too allowed despair to overtake me," Legolas shared. "I challenged Aragorn, believing all was futile."
He paused, again filled with regret that he had doubted this Man, the would-be king, who had safely led them through so much peril. "I realize now we must trust in him. Aragorn's strength and his destiny are what will see us through this night. By accepting that, I have found something I feared was lost." Legolas' eyes bored into hers. "Han mathon estel. I feel hope."
He studied her, searching for the moment when she would understand what he asked. "Estelio meleth nîn." Legolas appealed to her. "Trust me."
Still she hesitated. Even as a child, she had learned it was best to trust in her own strength. The intentions of others could easily weaken and fail. Would he be any different?
It was then she saw it in his eyes – acceptance. Believing he sought something she would not give, perhaps could not give, he would ask no more of her.
Legolas gave a resigned sigh. "I must find Aragorn." He hesitated a brief second before releasing his grip on her shoulders. 'Trust me,' his words echoed. He was leaving.
"No!" she gasped, sliding her hands to his shoulders and around his neck, weaving her fingers into his pale strands. His response was immediate as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. Cradling her head, his lips came down on hers.
She clung to him desperately as his mouth slanted across hers. His kiss claimed her, demanding possession and she willingly surrendered. She pressed herself to him, needing the feel of his strength
His tongue teased her lips, seeking entrance. She opened to him, greedily accepting the slick flesh that explored and tasted her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around his, chased him when he left her, and savored him as he gently sucked and swirled around hers.
When his lips left hers, Dèorwyn's whimpered protest broke in a shuddering sigh as she felt his warm breath on her neck and his soft tongue licking the shell of her ear. He kissed a path down the column of her throat to the hollow where her pulse raced.
Grasping a fistful of her hair, Legolas groaned and buried his face in it, breathing deeply of its scent. Suddenly, the space around her was empty and she knew he was gone. She opened her eyes to see he had already gained the stairs to the armory where he would seek Aragorn. As the last glimpse of him was lost, hope filled her.
Before finding Aragorn, Legolas allowed himself the luxury of final thoughts of her. The taste and texture of her remained with him still.
He regretted not sharing all with her: 'Estelio meleth nîn.' Trust me, my love.
Dèorwyn had not felt protected in the caves of Helms Deep, she felt trapped. Throughout the night, sounds of the battle had echoed off the walls, and the women and children were helpless, waiting to see if friend or enemy came for them.
Morning brought with it the Rohirrim victory, but celebration was quickly replaced with horror at the death and carnage that greeted them.
Everywhere the dead and wounded lay, and she had frantically searched for him, stopping at each body crowned by blonde, Elven hair, hoping not to find him there. It seemed a lifetime passed – she was beyond despair and already grieving her loss.
"Dèorwyn," she heard her name as in a dream, faint and distant behind her. Certain that her pained soul was playing tricks and not daring to believe, she slowly turned in place to see what ghost called to her.
There among the wrecked and ruinous remains of the battle stood Legolas. Her tired eyes focused on this magical being, seemingly arisen from the dead surrounding her. A sob rose in her throat, threatening to choke her.
She ran toward this specter, real or imagined. He caught her in his embrace.
Continued…