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Chapter Twelve: A Rude Awakening
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There were heavy, lumbering footsteps approaching them: more than just one pair.
A lot more.
Eowyn's breath caught, her sword held at the ready just in front of her breast. If they found the opening to the caves, the entire clan of Rohirrim would be decimated. Her people would be extinct, no more than a memory. Her grip tightened on the hilt, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, her jaw set in a straight line.
She wasn't going to let them go without a fight.
The footsteps were nearing her; it was easy to make out the individual clatter and scraping of metal against metal as they walked, trying to go slowly to surprise anyone who might be lurking in the darkened halls. The leader growled something unintelligible, and the footsteps following him silenced, making the leader's approach even more distinct.
A few steps closer the thing drew; Eowyn could almost feel its hot breath on her face-
Suddenly, the pained cry of a dying Uruk cut through the air. The creatures heard, starting in surprise and retreated, running with clanking shields and tapping armour toward the outer wall from where the cry had sounded.
The woman released her deep breath, the one she had been so sure was to be her last. With wondering eyes, she regarded the mouth of the cave before her. What happened? That shouting...
More hoarse bellowing followed the first, in different voices. Now the Rohirrim shield maiden was completely baffled. Everyone had retreated behind the second wall after that deafening explosion; she had heard the order given. Yet even now, Orcs were dying out there. Eowyn turned and ran back to the caves to prepare the women to move, a single other thought enveloping her mind:
Who was slaying, and who was being slain?
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"Fall back! Fall back, you maggots!"
A commanding Uruk tried to force his men into retreat, but they were dead and headless before he even finished the sentence.
"Why y-GHK!" The first in command fell, shortly followed by his arms and his head.
The beasts were backing away in what appeared to actually be fear of this newcomer. The Uruk-hai had taken up positions against the doors, ready to break them down, when a dark shape materialized from what they thought had been a sealed passage. Everyone within twenty feet of it had taken up the cry of "elf!" in seconds, but none had lived long enough to move to dispatch it.
With a shrieking roar of insane, unbridled rage, the elf leapt atop the stone wall overlooking the battle, one of their own ragged swords held mockingly in one hand, the fierce winds catching the creature's flowing black mane and floating it up in the gales as though possessed by alternate forces.
All Uruks had tales told them about the dreaded elves, but this seemed to rival even the worst of stories.
It was male, and it was small compared to them, but its eyes glowed like the forging fires of hell, ready to take all of them back down with him. Its chest heaved with unimaginable anger, and a hunger for vengeance that could not- would not be sated lurked in the luminous green depths of those eyes. Raising the sword high above him, the elf threw back his head let loose a scream- no, an animalistic roar that rivalled the orcs'- and jumped off the edge of the wall in a swan dive directly into the army nearest the gates.
The speed and sheer strength which the elf shattered armor, sliced through helmets and cut through bone and muscle was uncanny. There was no stopping it, there was no killing it, and the stirrings of fear swept through the orc army.
"Come on, you worms, there's on'y one of 'im!" shouted a catlike Uruk. "Finish him off!"
"Take him down! Forward!" gurgled another, spitting green juices from its mouth as the elf screamed, lashing out with a chilling cry that crescendoed into oblivion.
Both of them were sliced clean in half by the blade of their own making.
The creature was a whirlwind of spinning steel meeting filthy flesh, attacking, attacking again, and again, and again, leaving no room for thought. In mere moments, the elf had made a circle of fallen warriors sprawled in the mud like fallen redwoods, roughly fifty orcs dead beneath his feet.
The Uruks shouted a great battle cry and made for him with spear and sword and arrow, but none of them affected the elf any more than to add to his already predatory appearance: the blades that reached for him tore at his clothing and ruffled his hair into an even more ragged-looking warrior, eyes still blazing from beneath the dark strands of hair in his face. His lips curled in a snarl, revealing white teeth that for some reason looked incredibly sharp, and he shot forward into and through the Uruk nearest him, leaving his entrails in a pile behind him a few moments before the beast realized it was dead.
Thousands of orcs screamed in terror and outrage, charging head on. The elf spat blood as he turned on the next warrior.
It was not his own.
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"I cannot."
The ranger stared at King Theoden in utter disbelief. "Theoden..."
His eyes were laid bare with grief, defeat, and a bitter weariness that had consumed his soul. "I cannot help them. You were right, Aragorn. You were right from the beginning. We should have called for help while we still could." The king of Rohan's face was twisted in despair. "The elves joined us only to fall to their doom. And now... there is nothing left."
The Dunadan wanted to shout at him, to cry out that they could still retain their dignity, their valour, but his gaze did not reach the king. Darkness had him in its grasp, and there didn't seem to be anything that could pull him back.
Aragorn knew something was wrong even before he heard the cry:
"RrrrrrrRRRAAAAAAAGHH!"
A voice that was not orc. Someone was still outside, and they were alive.
And angry.
The banging of the Uruks against the doors had ceased and now a great commotion had overtaken the entire army. A few Rohirrim came running frantically back and forth across the room, bringing more material for barricades: tables, chairs, even a cart, while the others stayed behind, ready to bodily slam themselves against the doors should the Orcs return their atttention to entering the throne room.
"What has happened?" the ranger demanded of a sentry that had just rushed in from below. "What is going on out there?"
"My lord," the man panted, his helmet askew, "I'm sorry, we tried to stop him, but- the elf- he escaped from the caves- took a sword and went up the passage-"
Elrohir?
"What?" Aragorn whispered.
"I am sorry-"
"Elrohir!" he exclaimed, eyes wide. The Dunadan shot into the nearby doorway, cape flying and feet pounding against the hard stone, running at top speed to a secret exit in the outer wall, leaving the sentry crying out in shock and calling for his lord to come back.
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Haldir had lived through much, and seen many battles, but even in his countless years, the outcome of this fight was looking more grim than anything he had before witnessed. The elf was bloodied, bruised, and wheezing slightly, but his hurts were not serious, and he and his second in command had made it inside before the maelstrom of orcs crashed into the gates.
"My lord, how should we regroup with the humans?" breathed his captain, a sturdy, armour-clad elf with dark hair and a stern face, his skin caked with grime.
"We'll have to use the secret entrance," he whispered back, the elvish rolling off his tongue like water. "Sheath your sword. If we're silent, they shouldn't see. Most of their attention is on and the main doors, and he seems to be holding his own."
The captain harrumphed quietly. Elrond's son was much more than merely "holding his own".
"Let's split up. We'll meet back in the hollow where the prince's body is laid," Haldir told him quietly, his throat constricting as he mentioned Legolas' remains.
His second-in-command nodded, bowing his head at the mention of Mirkwood's former prince. "T'will be done, my lord."
Haldir's blue eyes grew cold as he watched the Uruk-hai trying to fend off the son of Elrond. His heart bled for him; he could see how much pain lay on the young elf's soul at the loss of his friend. Something else nagged at him as well, as though something was not right with him beyond even Legolas' passing, but time was of the essence.
The Lothlorien elf began his descent from the small hollow in the broken wall, stepping to the ground below without a sound.
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Pain was slowly overtaking him as feeling was regained in his extremities.
No... Ai, no, he lamented, weeping bitterly. Why did you pull me away? I cannot... Ai, I cannot bear this-
It was burning now. Legolas was almost reaching the end of his limit. All he wanted was to return to that paradise, those white shores and the face of his mother smiling tenderly at him. But the arms, those wretched arms, had pulled him back into the depths of oblivion, and now that he was waking, everything was wrong.
Where am I-? Take me back! Please, Valar, take me back, he cried. There was no answer.
Flashes of white and blue slithered through the darkness that was his surroundings, and each time there was a jolt that shook him to the core. He was writhing in a sea of black, hellish flames searing his body, his lungs screaming-
NO! Where are you taking me-? Leave me alone!
There was no answer from the merciless grip that kept him trapped in this dark hell, this place of punishment. He was alone. The elven prince fought with all his might, but he had no strength, no strength, and a body that didn't exist...
The last thing Legolas remembered before being thrown into unimaginable agony was a pair of grey-blue eyes that watched over him like those of an angel.
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Haldir was crouched carefully in a space inside the damaged wall that had mercifully been left untouched and undiscovered. The passage to the throne room lay directly ahead, although narrow, and the prince's corpse had been laid with the utmost care in the underground halls, where it was thought it would remain undisturbed. The Lorien elf almost wished he didn't have to go this way; it was still so painful to see the young elf in such ruin, pale, torn and sullied by death.
His captain, having taken the roundabout way inside the inner wall, leapt into the opening and landed on his feet hunched over, fitting easily into the hollow.
"Come," he mouthed, and the two of them crawled in a crouch through the extremely tight spaces toward the entrance.
Someone had lit torches before the battle began, far enough down so that the light would remain hidden until one climbed all the way into the passage. The two elves extricated themselves from the long, jagged tunnel into the flat-bottomed hallway that intersected with the path to the throne room. A bier was set up longways inside the main hall, a makeshift tribute to their royal highness.
Haldir's eyes glossed over with tears once again as he laid eyes on the young prince. Oh, young one...
"My lord, we should go," the captain murmured, though not without compassion. He had loved the Mirkwood elf as much as the rest of his people.
Haldir looked at him with eyes that pleaded for just a little time. "I want to take him back with us," he managed. "He is alone here... If the orcs should discover him, I..."
The captain bowed his head. "I understand, my lord."
"Help me," he ordered, reaching for Legolas' arm and beginning to pull him up over his shoulder. The moment he touched him, though, a great flare of life-force burst up and out of the body, making it arch into a half circle and glow a brilliant blue as the corpse' eyes snapped so wide that the whites shone all around them.
Haldir had been startled into the wall, his back pressed into it as far as he could go. "Legolas-?" he breathed harshly, fear and wonder playing across his features. His dark-haired captain was backed up against him, so utterly afraid that he was shivering, and his legs had given out in the initial shock.
"M-My lord?" the poor elf got out.
"L-Legolas?"
The prince was lying prostrate on the stone bier, but he remained caught in the same pose, arms flung wide, legs spread-eagled, his one, renewed breath still trapped within him. Haldir began to realize that Legolas had been granted life, and if they didn't do something that gift would be lost.
"My lord," Haldir addressed him, laying hands on him and searching the dark eyes for recognition. "Legolas!"
Legolas finally looked- really looked- directly at him... and began to scream.
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