For those of you who don't know, the last chapters were written when I was roughly sixteen years old to about nineteen... so now that I am twenty-five, we are going to hope that the writing will have changed for the better.
Fanfiction dot net: Prepare yourself. Emirichan the Great... has an update to administer.
I am attempting to keep a BIT more seriousness in the writing, as well as trying to keep a bit more of Tolkien's old English feel to the speech patterns. Watching the extended editions back to back REALLY helped. XD So BE WARNED: The writing may have changed a bit after SIX years of hiatus and the EIGHT YEARS of writing it has taken to get the fic to this point.
To the die-hard fans awaiting this for SO many years... give yourself a full back massage. You've earned it. I love you all. Enjoy your rewards!*
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
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Chapter Thirteen: The Light Wanes
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Stifling silence had overtaken the throne room, as frightening and bone-deep as the despair that overtook Theoden's army at their king's withdrawal the Uruk-hai had besieged their last pathetic shelter. The fear had been choking, thick as smoke, thick as tar, and the abrupt cease of the battering ram had almost been more terrifying at the thought that one being was holding back the entire Uruk-hai force alone. Not one man had the will to take their bodies from the door, lest the enemy break through at any moment.
Panicked, tremulous breathing and the occasional slide of boot leather across the aged stone was all that could be heard in the dark... until another cry would erupt from behind the great doors. Theoden had just enough mind left to recall that Aragorn's brothers had been spared, and it was most likely thanks to him that the battering of their stronghold had ceased. But for how long? No one dared ask. No one dared speak.
All they could do was listen.
The unnatural cries of Saruman's army continually droned into the rank air, punctuated by the enraged cries of one lone elf out for blood. Now they could but wait for the Noldor to be cut down, surprised that he had held for as long as he had. The huddled Men of Rohan leaned heavily against the crisply sealed portal to throne room, preparing themselves in hand and spirit for the next bout of slaughter to begin.
After what seemed like hours into the night, a new cry signalled the start of their last approaching hardship... and the end of their saviour's resistance.
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Pressing himself firmly against the Deeping wall, the Heir of Isildur listened with barely contained desperation as his brother poured his grief into the roiling throng of creatures swarming over the stone bridge. Keeping as far from sight as he was able, the ranger used the distraction of another swift, clanging flurry of blows to check his elven brother's position before he leapt...
Aragorn's heart tore when he caught sight of the lone figure still raging against the wall of Uruks before the gate.
"Elrohir," he whispered, stricken to his very core.
There was naught left of Elven features to identify him.
The gentle brother who fed, clothed and comforted Estel at the shoulder of his dear twin was no more.
Elrohir was drenched from crown to heel in the black blood of Uruk-hai, orc and goblin alike, his hair spilling wet swaths of pitch darkness like ink onto the already bloodied stone with every whiplike sweep of his hand, a scimitar taken from the enemy and a Rohirrim blade in each tightly clenched fist. There was no pause in his mission to take the life of every creature he sighted, not even to acknowledge a return blow should it strike true.
He was a living storm of death unstoppable, the son of Elrond Peredhil as clearly in act as in name.
Aragorn had just enough time to wonder if this what what their father had resembled during the great war against Sauron so many centuries ago: a swift bringer of justice in the most glorious and elegant image of warrior.
That thought quickly left him to be replaced with a frightening dual image of both weeping child and towering beast striking out at each foe: tandem in their despair and anguish, but parted in the pain of darkened innocence and the eternal hunger for carnage and death. Unlike the tales of battle long past were his brother's actions now: there was no quarter given these beasts in any case, but the viciousness of his strikes and the lack of attention to the Noldor's own well-being showed more of the darkness holding his soul than any bloodied body could display. Two goblin arrows still remained in his limbs, but he moved with no indication of pain or care for them, and not all blood coating Elrohir was the enemies'. His speed was undaunted, and the wolflike shrieks of vengeance with each fallen minion were strained with the depth of his grief, a grating of vocal chords as though across ragged steel.
The bereft twin did not even notice that he still wept with each strike.
Aragorn shut his eyes at the sharp ache in his breast. His family was falling apart in front of him as surely as the defenses of Helm's Deep, and he could not even think on it for fear of signing his own death warrant with such distraction. Hope for Gandalf's swift return now had two heavy reasons: the salvation of Rohan, and the tattered soul of an immortal treading farther and farther from the Illuvatar's song.
Ai, gwador-nin... What will become of you this night? I fear for your spirit...
"AARHH- Agh!"
His shaken observance had allowed for too much time to pass; without warning he heard a new kind of cry escape his older brother's throat, unseen behind the wall of stone.
It was unmistakably the cry of one dealt a mortal wound.
Aragorn's chest was pierced with a dagger of sheer panic as he heard blood spattering the floor, followed by the staggering of elven boots as its owner caught himself just before pitching over the edge of the passage into the abyss.
"Elrohir!" Aragorn screamed, not even bothering to look before throwing himself into the fray before the shadowed gates.
The shout distracted several Uruk warriors in their rush toward the elf, and the ranger's flailing plunge into the horde of dark creatures sent five of them over the opposite side of the bridge, placing Elrohir behind him as he caught a huge goblin scimitar with his own blade and flung it away. He could smell the coppery scent of blood overpowering even the stench of the black army's dead legions. Though he dared not look away from the surging enemy forces barring their every turn, he could hear his elven brother moan as he struggled to stay upright against the Deeping wall.
Valar, I beg of you, please let me bring him home safe-
With a sudden, explosive roar of infuriated agony, Aragorn was shocked to see Elrohir pitch himself sword-first directly on top of the shielded monolith of Uruk warriors, killing three of them between the spaces in their shields and kicking a dozen more off of the high path with each fevered step as he ran across the topof the surging machine that was Saruman's army. Aragorn felt his heart drop through his stomach as the Noldor elf's blackened body was dragged downward-
-and disappeared into the seething mass of evil beasts as they swept toward the keep.
"ELROHIR, NO!" He did not recognize the voice as his own, his bloodied face paling to white, breath catching in his throat.
His brother was gone.
It felt like he had just severed his heart from his body, and he could not bring himself to move even to protect himself.
No- He is gone- he is gone- It can't be, it cannot!
The Dunadan could have died from the sheer anguish of losing sight of the dark-haired elf, knowing what even now was being done to him beneath the impenetrable armour of the Uruk blockade. The orc army was mobile, however, and it cost him dearly.
Out of nowhere, searing pain in his thigh: a razor edged black sword sheared a thick stripe of cloth from his leg, and in horror Aragorn realized that he had finally been cut down, slipping with a sickening finality into a puddle of black blood on the cold stone floor; there was no way to stop the next blow when it came for him. There were too many, too many!
One Uruk saw the opening as this pestilent human lost his advantage over them, and rotted teeth appeared from behind shredded black lips in a smile of victory as he hefted a halberd high above him, ready to strike the Dunadan's sword from his hands and take his head in one blow-
A shrieking like the damned in all their consuming agony erupted before him, and the oncoming beasts were forced to turn to save themselves from being shoved over the ledge into space. There was confusion in the horde, but confusion swiftly turned to fear and fury as the source of the sound grew nearer, not losing any of its intensity as this new power took out warrior after warrior in its flight up the bridge.
The entire right side of the phalanx was sent toppling like so many child's playthings from the edge of the path, closer and closer to the entrance. Whatever approached was hidden by cracked, warped Uruk armor and falling bodies as it came. An interminable frenzied cry marked the source of the damage as it came, and Aragorn just barely recognized it as an ancient battle cry to arms:
"DREGO MORN!" ("Flee, night!")
What happened next, Estel did not think he would ever forget in all his mortal years.
Elrohir burst forth from beneath the shields with all the hatred of Morgoth himself in his face, screaming like a wraith and shedding pieces of orc and goblin from his person as he caught his footing on the open stone before the entrance of the Deep. His breath came in gasping shudders that stemmed more from madness and sheer fury than pain or weakness. Shock stilled the monsters for an interminable moment.
Then, without a single glance at his human brother, Elrohir once more set about laying utter waste to the oncoming legions in front of him.
Lying prone across the entryway, Aragorn felt as chilled as if the demonic being that had clawed its way out of an entire army were after his own blood. The elf's eyes held no sanity, no sentience save for thoughts of revenge- and he did not even flinch as a gout of deep red blood poured from his side.
Aragorn was starting to believe that perhaps Elrohir would hold off Saruman's forces alone and win. But most certainly at the cost of his life.
"Laddie!"
"Aragorn!"
Gimli- Aragorn saw a flash of white amidst the grey stone of the tower and saw that Gamling and the dwarf had both secured a throw line for him.
"Aragorn! Get out of there! Quickly!" Gamling ordered gruffly, swinging the line closer to where the ranger lay.
Struggling to stand on his wounded leg, Aragorn blocked the wild flail of a broadsword as Elrohir severed an Uruk's arm from its body still holding the weapon and sent it careening toward him, almost directly into the man's face. Nausea filled him at the sight of the heavily injured Noldor continuing to hack into the side of another bellowing Uruk warrior until he cleaved him in two before moving on to his next victim, still screaming with all the pain he endured inside and out. Smoke from the explosions below drifted in front of the Dunadan and draped itself over Elrohir like a veil of starless night.
It was if the very ground on which they stood wished to take the elf from him.
"Grab him, Aragorn! Hurry!" Gimli shouted from somewhere above him.
"Elrohir come, we must away!" he cried hoarsely, his good leg trembling beneath him as he limped toward the far side of the bridge. His eyes stung from rain, smog and orc filth, and he was barely able to see enough to dodge an arrow as it sped past his neck. The rope was slick with rainwater, and he prayed it would hold long enough to drag them away from the throng, securing it to his own belt as swiftly as his sword-cramped hands would let him.
With each passing moment the fray grew wilder, the army pressing in closer about him, his brother's form less discernible in the gathering dark. He jerked in surprise as the rope began to move upward, looking frantically out into the valley for any sign of the embattled twin. He saw nothing, and his insides twisted as if he'd been stabbed.
No!
"Elrohir, we must retreat! Hear me, my brother!"
There was no response save for the shrieking of connecting blades and the growl of the thousands of Uruk-hai below him.
Aragorn felt his stomach heave, the length of his spine gone cold. The helplessness that had gripped him in the glittering caves was borne anew in him, and he screamed in frustration and pain. The elf wanted this, he wantedto die! He couldn't leave him like this, not again! Not ever again!
"Gwador-nin I beg you, take my hand!" Aragorn exploded, straining to reach him as the soldiers above him continued to gather the line back into the tower. His feet had left the ground now, in mere moments it would be too late-
"ELROHIR!" the Dunadan cried in despair, his strength failing him.
There was an audible pause in the rhythm of battle, and soon Elrohir's sodden black tresses came into view just above a pair of goblins whose rush took him as far as the entryway and smashed him into the ground. He had caught their blows with an enemy spear, seeming to change weapons as quickly as each orc he felled, but the elf's face was tight with strain and Aragorn knew he would be unable to hold them for long. A larger Uruk was readying a scimitar for the elf's head, in seconds the goblins would be spaced far enough for him to throw a fatal blow-
Aragorn's heart contracted and he threw his hand far enough down the wall to graze his brother's face, leveling one final Sindarin challenge to spur his brother's departure in the hollow scream of a madman:
"Would you discard the gift of Legolas Thranduilion so lightly, Son of Elrond?!"
Sea green eyes went wide within the blackened face, and his entire being stilled.
The Uruk struck downward with a snarl of triumph, and the ranger thought his heart would stop, crying out-
An elven hand caught his, slippery with blood and clutching at him with a strength that bruised him. Instantly Aragorn threw himself into action, sliding the Noldor elf from beneath the oncoming horde and up into his arms. It knocked the beasts unstable and the Uruk sliced the goblin to his left clear through to the floor, spears and arrows raining down around them as Aragorn and Elrohir were pulled higher and higher, agonizingly slow in their pace.
Elrohir caught one arrow as it grazed his cheek and threw it lifelessly into the black sea of monsters writhing beneath them, shielding Aragorn from as many as he could not dodge alone. Aside from the occasional stilted movement to evade enemy fire, there was nothing more from him.
Estel's blood pounded in his ears, and he gasped to avoid losing consciousness. He could not seem to catch his breath. The man had truly thought that he would have to leave his brother behind in that hellish swarm, and shivers that had nothing to do with the storm wracked his body. The Dunadan held Elrohir's hand in both of his as though he would drop him into Mordor itself should he release him. The elf merely held on soundlessly as they reached the top of the stone wall.
He didn't even feel it when they both collapsed onto the freezing stones of the keep.
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"NO! No, I beg you! I must away-"
"Prince Legolas- Legolas, please-"
"No, no, no, no, no," the prince continued rabidly, cradling himself and rocking violently atop the bier. The Mirkwood elf's eyes were haunted, and he trembled with the force of an unseen power that coursed through him. His light was bright, too bright to be the natural glow of any elf, and the wounds that had marred his beautiful body remained, now merely scars in their misuse of the archer.
The Lothlorien guard kept both hands raised as if to act, but could not bring himself to touch the newly awakened prince after his first reaction to the hands upon him, whether for fear of sending him back or of wounding him further he did not know. His eyes were troubled as he watched the prince's movement and awed by the sheer brilliance of his light. His captain hardly dared speak.
"Lord Haldir..."
"They call m-me, they call me still- WHY did you not let me go?! Why..." Harsh sobbing took over Legolas' demands and he bent into himself, his arms wrapped protectively over his soiled golden head as if to ward off the breaking world.
Haldir could not comprehend what was happening.
His mind seemed to be frozen, unable to put the words on his tongue into voice, his hands trembling too hard to properly reach out and grasp his lord's hands in a gesture of comfort. How had this happened? How had the prince returned? Never before had a Firstborn revived from such as mortal death in front of him. Lord Glorfindel was renowned for his return, but never had Haldir actually witnessedsuch miracles.
Now that it had occurred, however, it seemed that this miracle was naught but the darkest of nightmares for the sure-armed, heartstrong elf he knew as the son of Thranduil. Haldir thought he would retch.
What did one do with a spirit broken from its return?
"I cannot- I c-cannot bear it- Naneth, why?" Legolas moaned again, shuddering as if from bitter cold.
"My lord Haldir, if we do not make haste the yrchwill be upon us! We must leave for the passage at once!" his captain whispered, a note of panic entering his voice at the thought of losing such a hope as their prince's return as soon as it was given. The dark legions could still hold sway over such acts from the Valar should they be discovered now.
A new bout of heart-wrenching weeping overtook the younger elf, and Haldir realized that if they did not get out of the wall soon, the noise would indeed bring the whole army about them. There was no choice, they had to flee- but which was more important: the damage of his body or the damage of his soul? The older elf did not know which he feared more: the blades of the shadows or the obvious trauma holding his prince's mind like claws against tender healing flesh.
He made his decision quickly.
"My Prince- Legolas," Haldir soothed, bringing his arms about the archer at last, trembling as much as the younger elf. "We must bring you to safety, my lord; we must get to the keep. Sidh, mellon-nin... sidh..."
At this new touch the prince stiffened and cried out, trying to escape him, until Haldir caught the young one's eyes and held him lightly, letting him partake of what little peace still lingered in his own heart. Crystal blue eyes drank in the offering of spirit with fervor as the veil between them was cast aside. The peace of the Eldar was an anchor to a storm-battered ship: a precious mouthful of water to a traveler in the deserts of Harad.
Recognition lit his gaze, and the shivering subsided momentarily.
With a choking sob, the prince collapsed against him with a Sindarin prayer on his lips.
"Haldir... H-Haldir... I saw her... Ai, Elbereth, what have I done? What have I done...?"
Haldir thought he would collapse from sheer relief at having reached the anguished prince at last, even through mere recollection of his comrade, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd held.
Another soft sob shook him.
"Help me..."
The Lothlorien elf's voice was strong as he took up the oath. "I swear to you, my lord, that I will aid you however I can."
Even to send you to the Western shores at the battle's end, my friend.
Carefully tilting the prince's stained, half-clothed body into both arms, he lifted Legolas to his chest and signaled for the other elf to follow, taking great pains to avoid hitting the Prince of Mirkwood against the jagged rock walls and making his way up the path toward the inner holding of the keep.
Estel will be beside himself, Haldir thought. Then it occurred to him, lifting his heart as they began the move to the keep. Perhaps he can heal this affliction... We will pray it is so. There will be no one short of those treading Valinor to help him now.
~0~
Eowyn had long awaited this moment, but now that it came, she was beginning to be uncertain of her abilities. The Uruk-hai were too many; there would be no avoidance of their attack once the caves were discovered. A few wounded had been delivered into their midst before the outer wall had fallen, but more than half of them had perished not an hour after their coming. Some of the women cried for their fallen, some sat in denial, some in dull acceptance.
Erhia was none of these. Eowyn had taken up her place beside the cave entrance, waiting for the first of the beasts to show itself. She was surprised to find another Rohan maiden at her side, having taken up a blade for herself and bedraggled brown hair pulled back with a leather strap to allow her better vision. A swift glance between them was all that they dared before silently standing guard at either side of the opening.
It had been a painful length of waiting for death to appear, but the moment heavy footsteps echoed from above, they knew their time had come. The first blow jarred her to her bones, and she shouted her ardor to the towers above, one last prayer overtaking her thoughts before they faded into the mindless dance of battle:
May we fight well.
~0~
There was a commotion in the East. The shriek of horses as they fell and the snarling sound of flesh tearing spoke of horsemen falling beneath the army's hand. The battle had resumed and Arwen could no longer hear the sound of her sibling's wrath outside their hidden fortress.
The Evenstar thought she would die from the pain wrought upon her at her brother's cry, but now she could do naught but wait and tend Theoden's people. Eowyn had traveled up to the highest levels of the cave and begged her to stay behind, drawing the families as far from the offending force as possible, and they had traveled to the last depths of the cave's protections.
Illuvatar, guide Elrohir to your will, she prayed, a chill of the surrounding evil preying on her as surely as the winter's frost. The elf maiden could feel her brother's light waning, and most frightening of all was the all encompassing grief and madness that had taken him.
He no longer spoke to her of the Eldar's grace, and that had been worse than any wound.
At long last a cry had echoed across the hornburg, and she knew that it was Estel, calling for their brother. She knew he would protect him were it in his power to grant. A single tear traversed the length of her pale face.
You may not wish Kingship, my love, but the healer remains within you. Save him...
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"Elrohir...? You must release me, gwador-nin."
Inside the throne room, Elrohir had refused to move, keeping both arms around the Dunadan with strength that pained him, clutching the man as purposefully as Aragorn had held onto him during their rise to the keep. The occasional glance of a Rohan soldier took in Lord Aragorn encased in a living throne of darkness, the blood-soaked elven warrior pressed against his back wrapped possessively about him, reminiscent of a demonic guardian from days of old. They shivered at the thought of approaching either of them, judging by the gleaming green eyes in the shadows.
The elf would not speak, but merely held his human brother and sat silently against the wall farthest from the braced doors. His eyes showed no life within them, not even the pain of his hurts, and it was more terrifying than the ferocity with which he had fought not minutes prior. The rain of black from Saruman's legions surrounding the Noldor elf stained Estel's hands darkly he held them, and more continued to soak his clothing from his trembling embrace.
A drop of blood fell from the end of his nose.
Shock had set in, and Elrohir was not behind the eyes that fixed on the gates before them. Aragorn feared that he might never again see the gaily mocking sibling that had once graced this shade of a being. The only movement from him was whenever Estel tried to rise, and the arms would catch his body harder in a gesture of denial, not allowing him to move toward the doors. At first the ranger thought that perhaps Elrohir was just in such turmoil that he could not release him, but the change in pressure whenever he pulled away showed a glimmer of the elf's protective nature.
He didn't want Estel anywhere near the enemy approaching.
In the meantime he waited for the next round of slaughter as tightly wound as when he'd been chopping a path of gore into the gathered enemy before the gate, and Aragorn knew that he would continue his chosen path of revenge as long as the enemy still existed.
The man sighed shakily, and merely held his brother's hands tighter where they gripped him.
"I must help them, Elrohir. I must bind your wounds, or you will fade." There was no answer. Aragorn felt his heart break within him. "Please, brother."
The silence answered for him.
They will kill you. I cannot let them.
"I do not wish your death... We must stop the bleeding. I will stay at your side, but you must release me." Estel chose the tone of a child, belying his desperation to help his ailing sibling. He could feel the unsettling warmth of blood against his back, and a pitch black circle of liquid was creeping across the throne room floor from beneath them.
"Please, Elrohir!" he cried. Still the elf did not relent.
Tears filled his eyes as he felt some of the strength bleed away from his brother's grip. The doors shook in answer to the pummeling of the gate, and orcen bellowing rose anew as the wood began to give way under their strength. Aragorn felt the fear taking him, felt Elrohir dying at his back and the last of his hope was stealing away from him.
Boromir's words were not false... All will fall to shadow.
...
When the light hit his eyes, he thought he had blacked out, and this was a vision of the White Shores come to torment him. Blinking heavily, he turned his face to the portal in the Eastern wall...
...and Aragorn saw that the dawn had come at last.
The whinny of a stallion reached his ears from the mountains, and he remembered Gandalf's words just in time to hear his brother's voice escape in a grating breath:
"...Mithrandir..."
Aragorn felt the arms around him fall to the floor and leapt up to face the elf with a surge of hopeful joy as he saw his face change. Elrohir had turned his head toward daybreak as if he had sensed the wizard's approach, sightlessly seeking the illuminated strength of the Istar as he neared.
"Mithrandir," he repeated hoarsely, barely able to form the word. A measure of the darkness was taken from his gaunt features, replaced with a weariness that lay deeper than flesh and bone, but there was presence to his gaze now that had not been there before.
"Elrohir-"
With all the power of the sons of men, the Horn sounded in the deep, accompanied by the shouts of the Rohirrim, and Theoden suddenly lifted his own head in answer. Horses unnumbered sounded their challenges over the valley and the cry of a great eagle overshadowed them all. Hope awakened in the hearts of all who heard, for there was no mistaking the armies of men that mounted the cliffs.
Help had come at last.
~0~
I am making a vow to all you fans of this story who still read it:
I will be updating again this week, because I WANT THIS TO BE DONE, DARNIT. I am as hopeful for the next few scenes as you all are, and I CANNOT sit and wait another three years for this to be finished! I want WEEKS, curse it all! DO NOT PANIC. I AM NOT LEAVING THIS HERE.
See you all as soon as I finish the next installment- (types madly)