Well, crud. I told myself I wasn't going to ask, but... REVIEW. I am POURING myself into this thing; I've been writing it nonstop since the moment of my last update, what, three days now? And listening to nothing but Two Steps From Hell and Immediate Music on repeat... EVEN ON WALKS. I have been taking my toddler on walks in her stroller listening to epic choral music and trying not to see flying giant eagles and random elves leaping out of the trees.
Please. Review. Tell me what you think about the new writing. It's been forever, and I CAN'T STOP. Here, you have to listen to this while reading; it's what I wrote most of this chapter to. Just replace the.s with a period:
/watch?v=VG-mLawoxrs&list=HL1354110899&feature=mh_lolz
And THIS is the closes to the real feel of the scene with Legolas and Aragorn's situation below, from 1:00 to about the end of the clip. I ADORE this video. The music is AMAZINGLY perfect:
/watch?NR=1&feature=endscreen&v=e7w5p34t5EM
You're welcome. And yes, I am still writing the next chapter as we speak. AGAIN. CAN'T. STOP.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
~0~
Chapter Fourteen: That Hope Yet Reigned
~0~
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BOOM.
The joy was dashed from Aragorn's soul as quickly as it had come.
Their cavalry may have arrived, but the forces within the outer halls had not ceased their battering. Splinters were starting to spray into the chamber from the failing wood of the heavy doors, the brute strength of the Uruk-hai attaining their aim at last.
"He is here..."
Aragorn faced his elven brother with searching eyes.
Elrohir's voice was a tatter of smoke upon the wind. More blood fell onto the stone as the Noldor lay immobile, both hands lying where they had fallen palm up and covered in black, only the wall keeping him upright enough to speak. He looked as if he wanted, nay needed to go to the light streaming in from the window, to bathe himself in the wizard's healing presence, but could not bring himself to move. A gasp shook him, sending a tremor through his limp form and tapping the arrows still embedded in his arm and leg against the wall of the keep, bowing his head even lower:
"Mithrandir... M-Mithrandir..."
If they break through, they will be sure to end him first, Estel thought, unconsciously tightening his grip around his sword hilt, stricken at the thought of losing him after coming so far.
They had to get him out.
"Elrohir, you must hide," he urged him, grasping the weakened elf by his elbow and trying to force him to his feet. "There are passages... Gandalf's riders will be here soon, but we have to hold until then! Please, we must get you to safety!"
The blackened warrior did not seem to hear him, his head dipping back and forth as if trying to stay conscious. Shock appeared to have set in long ago, and all he could do was detachedly repeat the wizard's name.
"Mithrandir..."
Aragorn thought he would scream from unadulterated frustration as the sound of breaking lumber grew more frequent. Panic began to settle into the ranger's lungs, and he yelled into the twin's face, willing him to react as he grasped both of the elf's shoulders:
"Elrohir! I beg you, speak to me gwador-nin! GET UP!"
"Ride."
Aragorn whirled around to face Theoden, the horse lord's grave features transformed into the statuesque figure of a leader at last. The proof of their salvation and the possibility of victory had awoken the king from his stupor, and he faced the ranger with every bit of his royal blood displayed upon his features. The transformation was incredible, and not at all unwanted as he directed his newly empowered guard to their stations. The greying man turned to Aragorn, studying his face as he spoke in an attempt to quell the growing despair he found there:
"Ride out and meet them with me. We will drive them to the Rohirrim and bolster our soldiers' courage in one blow." Theoden's words held the ring of conviction that the Dunadan's had offered in their earlier exchange. "We must ride and push them back. It may yet save us all."
The king's deep eyes lay upon the warrior bleeding upon the throne room floor as he spoke the last string of words.
Aragorn set his jaw in answer, allowing himself a sliver of relief at the man's renewed vigor and veiled comfort.
"At your command, Theoden King," he said grimly, nodding his allegiance.
BOOM!
A sickening cracking sound heralded the breaching of the gate.
Their plan to turn the Uruks from the elf never even had a chance.
Elrohir had turned his gaze back upon the doors as they spoke, and Aragorn did not see him move when he took the sword from the ranger's belt and took up a head-height stance, blade-first at the head of the remaining Rohirrim a dagger's length from the breaking doors. A collective gasp escaped those closest to him; the gathered Men could not help but draw back from this bloodied creature of such unknowable power suddenly a shoulder's width away, the cold green eyes not wavering from their mark as black fists covered in iron bracers pounded their way through the opening, rasping, chattering growls filtering through the gap.
"Fall back! Mount the horses!" came Theoden's thundering command, and the men were quick to oblige. Whether from fear of the orcs or the dark elf himself, neither he nor they could tell.
"Elrohir, get back!" Aragorn ran forward as fast as his wounded limbs would carry him, catching up a discarded blade as he pelted down the length of the throne room.
Elbereth, they will kill him; he is already bleeding out!
Sensing the man's charge behind him, Elrohir swung down viciously upon the hands reaching over the threshold and dropped four of them to the floor along with their armor and weapons, clawed, severed fingers bouncing with a sickly wet smack on the stone.
The reaction was immediate; shrill cawing and furious animalistic bellows nearly took the ranger's hearing as the injured beasts withdrew to allow for more. Aragorn attempted to get past the elf and shield him as the first of the creatures overtook the keep, but Elrohir's attacks not only maimed the oncoming Uruk-hai: every stroke blocked Aragorn's sword from its destination, deliberately parrying him back into the throne room and away from the swarm.
"Elrohir, what are you doing?!" Estel roared as a particularly heavy block sent him reeling back toward Theoden and almost off his feet. "You must let me through!"
At last, Elrohir answered, his gaze never leaving the hideous features of the twisted, hulking monster he had deadlocked before him, mere inches away.
"I will not lose you to them, Estel," he said evenly, his blackened face smooth and without strain despite the shuddering of his body as he held fast against his opponent. One tear crept from the corner of his left eye to drink away some of the gore from his skin as he spoke:
"They took him... They took El... They took Legolas-"
A snarl ripped across his features, his entire bloody face spasming, and Aragorn's heart bled at his words:
"I will not... lose you too-"
An abrupt fling of his blade sent the orc back into the wall, and the fire returned to his eyes.
"You WILL NOT HAVE HIM!" Elrohir screamed, and threw himself past the broken door and out into the corridors, clashing blades resounding together with the feral uproar of the dying and embattled within.
"Elrohir," Aragorn whispered.
There was no reply.
His mind was numb; why had he ever let him go? Could he have even attempted to save him in his state of mind? Elrohir was determined to save the last of his brothers as surely as Estel wished to save him, but there was no stopping the twin now that he had no anchor of which to speak, no comfort left but the weight of a blade.
The ranger shivered from within.
The shadow around us may be vanquished this day, but I do not know what we shall become of the shadow on his heart...
"My lord Aragorn, we begin the charge!"
Swiveling to face the Rohirrim at his left, he realized the man offered him the reigns of a war horse, a mare of deep chestnut red. He saw the hidden opening to the inner stables and as quickly as he comprehended their purpose, he swung himself up onto her back, bracing his injured leg and wrapping the sword to his hand to keep it from tearing away from him in the fray, a mark of both preparedness and his stubborn refusal to let go of the strength dawn had given them.
He would save his brother from the evil of Sauron, whether he wished it or not.
~0~
Dark times indeed, the wizard thought as he knocked another goblin into nothingness with a sweep of his staff.
Gandalf's spirit had been troubled since their attack had begun, dark evil and staggering light lurking beneath the surface in ways he could not place. The sun had risen, and their arrival had been both swift and saving; their mounts had proven hardy and their destination had risen to view in the best time they could have hoped for, lest the entire contingent rode upon eagles themselves.
The Istar had been pleased to see that any of them had survived their night-long ordeal, but there was a force on the air as overpowering and as soul-stirringly tangible as the smell of Orc and the blow of a sword. Many of the Firstborn had perished, golden armour shining beneath layers of pitch and grime, red blood mixing with black in a muddy swath of destruction. That alone was enough to pull hearts into depths they could not escape.
But further still were the forces of living spirit that moved the battle this day.
He had praised his blessed fortune to have crossed the plains while following the army's trail, and not an hour too soon. Elrond would have willingly sacrificed himself for his son, had he not been present to draw the young one himself. Now Gwaihir soared a man's height from the ground, sharp talons shredding through whatever unfortunate orc he happened to pass, and apparently relishing the feel of it from the way he continually flexed his claws.
Rohirrim horses were both courageous and tolerant, and fortunately none of them spooked at the giant creature hanging gracefully in the burnished silver skies above them. The King of Eagles had stayed high until they had reached the battleground, swooping down past the horses with Elrond and his son atop either wing, armed with elven blades and slashing out from both sides to clear a path for the wizard and his stallion as they came.
The brilliance of the light seemed to emanate from the tower whilst the shadow burned a gaping hole into the fields below, neither of them lesser in their strength, and the souls containing them seemed- familiar somehow...
Gandalf was forced to grit his teeth and leave the mystery unsolved as another screeching goblin attacked from this left.
Time enough for that once the battle for Rohan has been won-
"Elrond! Go, young one!" The wizard gestured at the blood-spattered castle in the distance.
The elf lord took his cue and shifted his gaze to the fortress, setting Gwaihir's path with a short utterance. "To the Hornburg!" Elrond rallied the army of Men, eyes blazing. "To the keep!"
This was the ancient warrior in all the mythic telling of his deeds, from the time of the Silmarils and beyond. His lengthy dark hair was spread aloft in the high wind atop the great eagle, the curved silver sheen of Hadhafang brandished above his head, pointed towards their aim as his robes billowed behind him, all the glory of the Eldar revealed in his passing. He could not know what awed hopefulness he inspired in backing these men, the King of the Great Eagles serving as both his mount and his comrade, dealing death to the enemy with each dive as surely and efficiently as any monstrosity Saruman could have devised.
"We will dispatch them as Theoden drives them from the keep!" the elf lord directed the soldiers below as Gwaihir ended the life of a particularly belligerent troll not a horselength away from him. "Forward!"
The horsemen sounded their answer in tones parched for vengeance, raising sword, spear and halberd in the full gallop toward what remained of their people.
Elladan nodded in his own response and held onto Gwaihir's side for dear life, as desperate to take the fortress as a drowning man struggling for the surface. His sword had been saturated with orc blood before he had ever reached the field, and he shuddered in remembrance of his former captors, fearing his brothers had suffered the same on this field more than any fear of the memories themselves.
"Illuvatar, protect us all," the dark haired elf muttered as they swept past line after line of Saruman's legions, his practised grip nearly cracking the casing of his hilt, more than mere passing gales stinging his eyes. Elrond watched his child from the corner of his eye, knowing just how near the night's experience was to the boy even now. He would never neglect the field, not while Aragorn, Elrohir and all of Theoden's kingdom still lay at stake, but Elladan knew his father was fighting the urge to take him solidly into his arms as they drew closer and closer to the dark animals below.
Not hours ago had the twin awoken in the tall grasses of Rohan to his Ada's wan, tired face smiling gently down at him, a pair of shining drops in the lord's usually ageless eyes:
Ion-nin... My son...
He had never expected to wake, and the unmarked elf was grateful still that Mithrandir had returned him to his father. Despite that relief, his spirit nearly cracked in two as the image of a fair-haired archer filled his vision.
If only they could have woken Legolas.
He had wished that there was more time to grieve for their lost friend, but the warring continued ahead of them and the fervent tug of another churning entity pulsed within his breast, spurring him on and demanding that he fly faster toward the Deeping wall. More torment than Legolas had ever suffered resounded from whatever spirit was bound to him now, and while the feel of the presence was foreign, fraught with decaying light and steeped in breathtaking despair, Elladan felt fear take root within him as he knew.
The soul that held so much void and darkness could only be Elrohir.
Never before had such torment been a part of his twin's familiar spirit, and he wondered with waking horror if even the Song of Illuvatar still held him now. None but the Eldar could hear such music, but the silence in the last wisp of connection they shared was clenching his stomach into knots.
Elrohir... What has happened to you my brother?
As they cast down foe after foe on their swift descent into Helm's Deep, Gwaihir shrieking as a horn to arms beneath them, Elrond Peredhil and Elladan Elrondion sped across the field with only one thought shared between them, equal in their worry and their urgent need to arrive at the tower at last:
Hold on, Elrohir. I am coming for you.
~0~
The silence was heavy, and the emptiness even moreso. Neither had been expected.
The clatter of armour against the halls was jarring as they emerged from the tunnels, such secrecy having been necessary up until then that it made Haldir jump to have such blatant sound hit his ears. The elven guard managed to lift Legolas' up into the main floor of the now vacant throne room, every beast having followed at the humans' charge down into the great frothing abyss of Men, Uruk-hai and elves. He had intended to leave his captain guarding the prince as he followed in their wake to aid them, but the warmly shining archer had refused to let go once the dawn-lit room had appeared around them.
"Dark-k... it is so dark," Legolas murmured, eyes too bright and too unfocused to be speaking of the chamber. His trembling had yet to abate, and it held both unearthly power and weakness within. Another sob escaped him before he could quell it.
It is torment... The darkness of this world, I cannot...
"I will not leave you my prince," Haldir promised, tugging one arm over his shoulders to better support the Mirkwood elf as they traveled to the top of the keep. "Take as many arrows as you can find and shoot from the tower," he ordered his captain. "I will follow ere I am able."
The captain gave a short nod and disappeared into the halls. May the Rohirrim return quickly, and victorious, he prayed briefly. The prince firmly propped against his side, Haldir began to search for some coverings to still his lord's shivering, knowing that at least some of his bodily reactions to his current state were from the night storm's frigid embrace.
As the elf turned toward the throne, a great moan came from deep in Legolas chest, and his breath caught as if he were in the midst of a vision, his head vaulting back as he clutched at the Lothlorien guard that held him.
"Estel!" he cried, sky blue eyes seeing yet not seeing as his face drew parallel with the ceiling of the great hall.
"Estel!"
The ranger was on horseback in the valley, Theoden beside him, Gimli, Gamling, tens of other Rohirrim all fighting valiantly and tirelessly against goblin, orc and Uruk, hope painting their faces into portraits of determination and the very essence of will-
Yards away, one fallen, half-dead goblin held a gruesome, deformed crossbow, fixed with a serrated arrowhead and already set at the ready, but an Uruk-hai blocked Aragorn's view. He did not see as the creature aimed for him with one last sodden breath and laced its bony fingers into the trigger-path-
"NO! Estel look out!"
He saw Aragorn's eyes widen with understanding, and the bolt hit him with such force that it knocked him underfoot, trampling him beneath horses, ripping him apart amidst hungry, gaping mouths with dagger teeth. He was dead before he even hit the ground and after, there was nothing left-
"Lord Legolas!"
"NO!" he screamed in explosive denial. "They must not take him!"
Legolas anguished lament was a frantic curse to the skies, disturbing and potent obsession taking over his face as he ripped away from Haldir's hands and took off at a full sprint into the recesses of the castle, shaking legs skidding over the stairs as he overtook them, the muscles of his back knotted into taut ripples of fear, golden hair whipping past him in his wake.
Haldir spat a Silvan curse as he followed the delirious elf toward the tower.
~0~
Victory was near.
Aragorn thought his heart would sing at the sight of Gandalf plunging down the mountain with all the fury and devoted sword arms of the Rohirrim horsemen, and now that Gwaihir had joined the battle from above, there was precious little keeping them from decimating Saruman's beloved creations.
Elrohir was nowhere to be found, but Aragorn kept his mind blank and sought to keep his thoughts of nothing but survival until the battle was over. Even a lone orc at the end of years of warfare could be the difference between telling tales by the hearthfire with a good friend and telling tales of said friend at their burial, accompanied by songs of mourning. His chest burned with the need to know that his brother would live, that he wasn't already buried beneath mounds of Sauron's mutated warriors, but a sharp slit to the back of his shoulder reminded him of the cost of preoccupation.
A startling horn call nearby forced his gaze toward the treeline, and drawing his sword vertical before him, Aragorn realized that the Rohirrim had herded the remains of the evil beasts toward the welcoming cover of Fangorn Forest. Welcome would be short lived within those towering, ancient branches, he knew. The Rohirrim were gathered at the forest's edge, barring the way should any creature find the courage to return their attack, and he could hear Eomer's bellowed warning for his men not to enter into the trees.
The cacophany that ensued told all that those legions would not be returning to the battlefield again.
They have gone...
Exhaustion was starting to rear its ugly head as the ranger took in the state of the valley. There were only the stubborn few left now, being swiftly taken down by flanking Rohirrim guardsmen, and hordes of fallen, dying or wounded orcs and others covered the field in a myriad of nauseating, macabre décor: dented shields, destroyed catapults, horse carcasses, remains of helmets, shattered swords and broken bows... Other things less recognizable piled the field, things he dared not try to make out.
The movement on the field was stilling, however, and his years of duty as a soldier were stating that the day had been won.
We must return to the gates... Perhaps Elrohir is still near the keep... The Dunadan spurred his mount back toward the Hornburg, preparing to search for him in the bodies.
Aragorn was just ready to breathe again when the Uruk came for him.
The mare shrieked her panic beneath him and bucked, kicking wildly at the creature's face as it snarled at her, and his axe bit deeply into her right haunch as her hooves met ruined flesh, nearly dumping Aragorn from the saddle. It was at that moment that he realized just how far he had strayed from both keep and forest, and that there were no other Men nearby to aid him.
The shrill whinny of the mare drew Elrond's attention immediately from almost a half-mile across the valley. Keen elven eyes captured his son's predicament immediately, and he gripped the feathers on Gwaihir's neck in a sharp attempt to direct him, making him scream in protest as the elf lord pointed in Aragorn's direction.
"Gwaihir! Down there! Quickly!" he ordered, showing his fright with the severe lack of decorum as he forced them on toward a single horse and rider so agonizingly far away.
The ancient elf lord's heart fell. His senses told them they wouldn't make it, but the ache in his breast cried out that they must.
"Gwaihir!" Elrond exclaimed in helpless torment, urging him to make haste.
Elladan searched for the source of his father's frantic insistence, taken aback by the panic evident in his usually calm words, and the twin's heart stopped when he realized the faint form on the ground below was none other than his human brother. The Uruk was just as miniscule from their vantage point, but the difference in size and strength was apparent even from their faraway view. He would soon be driven back by the blows, his failing stance clearly recoiling from the beast as it struck him.
"Estel!" The twin cried, his eyes filling with horror and his hands catching deeply in the bird's back. "Gwaihir hurry! We must fly!"
The eagle screamed at earsplitting volume with all of the desperation that shook his elven riders, spilling downward closer and closer to the ground in an attempt to pick up speed, only an arm's length from the perilous terrain.
We cannot be too late! Not now when we are so close-
Across the field, Aragorn was too focused on each parry to even sense their approach.
The Uruk was dying, and that merely made it stronger in its final efforts. A warg's deep baying came from within its blood-quenched throat, and it swung the full weight of its axe into Estel's midriff just as he brought his sword to bear in front of it. He felt his arm buckling beneath the force of the blows, and the corner of his vision showed Eomer straining his stallion's pace in a frenzied attempt to reach him before it was too late. The man was too far, however- Aragorn's sword arm was already giving way.
There was no way he'd get there in time.
Estel's eyes flashed. These were the ones who had tortured his brothers, who had killed his dearest friend, and he'd be damned if he was going to let them take him as well. Elrohir...
"DREGO MORN!" the man belted as he struck, and Aragorn's cry booked no room for doubt.
He would have this creature fall beneath his blade.
The Heir of Isildur side-swung at the monster as it raised the axe high- too high, blessedly taking out its left arm and following by slicing off its head with the return strike, screaming with each gargantuan effort they took from him. With the absence of its gaping maw, the writhing, convulsing body fell to its knees and finally backward to the earth into a puddle of gore, placed as if merely waiting to consume it from sight.
It was over.
His chest heaved with the effort of each breath, his shoulder burned from torn muscles that had held the giant warrior off for as long as he had. Estel's eyes swam with fatigue and he leaned forward against his mount, the fire-brown mare tramping her displeasure at the long tear in her rump, tossing her head.
The Dunadan spoke softly to calm her, his stained sword almost slipping from his grasp but for pure instinct, dark, sweat soaked tresses pasting his forehead, blood streaming from his nose where one of the creatures must have hit him. Aragorn could not help but close his eyes, just for a moment...
~0~
Legolas couldn't keep the images away; there were too many coming in from all sides.
The darkness burned him like ice and fire, and he felt as though the skin were being stripped away from his eyelids when he closed them against it. His breath burned in his lungs and he felt his ribcage stretching painfully as he pulled in more breath than they could take without strain. Running shouldn't have been possible but for the wailing alarm he felt in every inch of his body, and he nearly plunged to his doom off of two of the parapets as he slammed against them to stop his flight, searching the grounds below.
The vision was still fresh in his mind, he should know the creature when he sighted it-
"Ahh!" Slapping both palms across his eyes, the golden-haired elf yanked his head back away from the sight as quickly as he had started his search.
Ai, the pain!
Every dead man, elf and orc on the field was suddenly poured into his mind at the moment of their passing. He could feel how each of them had perished: blades in his back, clawed hands in his gut ripping out his innards, the jolt of a snapping neck, the breaking of bone as horse fell upon rider- every living thing that had died on that endless field gave him their life and their death with his sight of them, all at once. The fear, the anger, the pain, the dying- it all poured into him as a waterspout sucking all of the world down into the oceanic depths of his soul. He shook with the tidal rush as the past battle seemed to take him up in its entirety.
Illuvatar I beg of you, take this vision from me! I do not wish to see!
Haldir emerged to the dawn spreading its wings over the wreckage of the killing field, shedding golden light onto those still standing in the distance- and his prince's shrill scream of agony as he collapsed against the center of the tower wall. Legolas was weeping with the overwhelming burden upon him, dragging him downward into senselessness, and the Lothlorien elf knelt to gather the prince to his breast.
"My lord, we must get you back to the keep-"
Down the length of the tower platform, Haldir's captain was watching in bewilderment, his weapon lowering as he observed them.
Eyes streaming tears as the elf behind him laced both arms beneath his, drawing his head just above the stone wall as he began to take him inside, and as he opened them, the terrible images returned to his waking eyes...
...and he saw that one being still lived.
The endless hurricane of shadow and light suddenly had a dark blemish in its expanse, and Legolas realized with difficulty that he was looking at a single goblin in the distance, still in the throes of death but not across its threshold, radiating malice that hurt to witness- and the wicked point of an arrow emerged from beneath its half-buried form.
It is he!
With an unintelligible shout the prince's legs found their mooring and he tore himself away with the same ferocity as he had escaped the keep, shocking his protector into exclamation.
"My prince, what-?!"
Haldir's gaze caught the rush of Legolas' shimmering silhouette struggling with the other elven captain, wrenching the bow from his hands and leaping atop the wall, his head jerking as he saw his target below, teetering precariously over a sheer drop as he readied the shot with every drop of expert aim the prince had ever possessed. The bowstring groaned with tension as he drew it, each nail-length feeling as though he were drawing the full measure of it from strips of his own skin, sweat dripping down his temples as he warred against his own instability.
He will not take you, Estel!
His concentration on the fields below did not tell him of the danger as he edged toward the abyss, one braced bare foot sliding halfway off of the Deeping wall.
"Legolas!"
"My lord!"
Time seemed to slow. Both Haldir and his captain flung themselves forward to stop the Mirkwood elf before he dropped over the side of tower, barely catching onto him before he toppled into nothingness.
"Go-" Legolas bit off the word as his footing slid even further-
-and released.
The arrow flew just before the prince fell to his knees and almost off the edge of the keep, supported on either side by the elves of Lothlorien.
Blue eyes fixed on the dart as it left his hand and even as he fell his mind followed both his own shot and the bolt of the enemy, streaking past debris, Rohirrim and the great eagle beyond as one found its mark within the goblin's throat the moment it hit the trigger, and the next sped toward his beloved friend, passing with disheartening swiftness; he could see the look of weary relief on the man's face, the Evenstar pendant gleaming against his chest-
And the vision ended as the bolt buried itself into Aragorn's body.
Legolas fell into blackness, and there was not even time to contemplate whether the blow had been fatal or not.
~0~
"ESTEL!" Elladan screamed in despair and terror, leaping from Gwaihir's back an unsafe distance from the ground and rolling with the teeth-cracking impact, twisting into a dead run on his feet without care for his well-being as he saw Estel knocked off the horse by the deadly bolt. Elrond was even now skewering the offending goblin's heart on his blade with all the fires of hell in his snarl-twisted glare, Gwaihir barely landing on spread talons before his two riders took off in either direction.
Aragorn saw nothing, but his name registered vaguely in his scattered mind as he fell, accompanied by strange details:
A flash. Golden light. A glowing arrow. A dark projectile skimming over his chest and embedding itself in his shoulder, taking him off of the horse entirely as she screamed, running.
Pain. The beat of wings. Desperate, agonized voices calling his name.
Then all was dark.
~0~
"Estel? Estel, wake. Heed me, my son!"
He had never heard his father's voice so bitingly afraid before. A new voice joined him, tremulous and probing.
"Estel?"
Aragorn's eyes snapped open.
He knew that voice so very well.
Anxious sea green eyes met his, and he found his vision swimming for a different reason entirely. The eyes were young, younger than Elrond's, but they matched in color. The hair was dark and long, the skin only slightly dirtied from the filth of the skirmish, enormous wings the color of dying autumn leaves shifting and folding somewhere in the unfocused space behind him. His father's hands held his head, and he could feel the ancient elf's knees touching his shoulders above him as they knelt about him.
Hands grasped his, and Aragorn took them with tears of joy running down the sides of his face.
"Elladan," he rasped, his gaze shimmering. The word spoke volumes.
A smile covered the twin's face, and he shed tears of his own as he pressed his head to his brother's, long hair draping over him. "We thought we would not reach you in time," he admitted, eyes crushing closed in contemplation of the near miss. "There was an archer..."
Archer... Legolas... Aragorn's heart swelled at the thought.
"Elladan... You are here... Is he-"
Elrond's voice broke through. "I do not know what has become of Thranduilion, my son. At the moment of his death he protected himself so strongly from interference that even now my sight cannot reach him. But there is most certainly some force at work here that we have not seen," he ended, his eyes distant with more than mere distraction.
"Elrohir!" Aragorn cried suddenly, drawing away from the ground with a jolt that sent waves of pain through him from his shoulder. "Agh-"
"Estel, you must still yourself," Elladan warned, grasping the man from back and front to lower him back to the earth without aid of his own efforts. "Ada, we need to tend this quickly-"
"No... Elrohir... Ada, El, you must find him..." The look in the wounded twin's eyes as he'd emerged from the ravaged corpses of the Uruk-hai filled his mind, and a shocking amount of terror clouded the Dunadan's plea. "I do not know if he can be saved; you must find Gandalf and..."
What?!
"Estel, what has happened to him?!" His fear infected Elladan with those words, and he began to shake. "I felt it- I felt much, but I could not understand it- what has happened?!"
"We lost you... The grief was killing him, El," Estel's voice was broken from where he lay. "I tried to bring him back, but... he wouldn't stop... He slayed so many, Elladan, so many of them, but they just kept coming... They hurt him sore, but still he dove in... I had never seen him so..." The man trailed off with a choking sound.
Elladan and his father pulled up short, exchanging glances. Each knew the depth of what had transpired; both twins had experienced something chillingly similar at the capture and torture of their mother at the hands of orc kind so many years ago. Seasons they would be gone, sometimes longer, disappearing into the wilds to slay as many orcs as crossed their path, to the very near loss of both. Only centuries of healing in the last homely house had stopped them from fading into shadow, the mythic elven spirit-death having brushed them with its wings of grief all too closely.
It appeared that their old enemy may have returned to claim half his prize.
"Ada," Aragorn called weakly, tilting his head back to seek him. "We must find him quickly; even if we can save his body, I fear so deeply for his mind... I do not know if we can call him away from this darkness."
Elrond's hands had gone deathly still with each passing word from his adopted son. He made certain that his voice would be steady before he quelled Aragorn's disparaging thoughts. Elbereth, spare him...
"We shall look for him, my son. Let us return to Theoden, and perhaps they may aid our search."
~0~
Eowyn was staring into the abandoned halls with eyes as wide as apples, regaining her breath, her gown stained with spattered streaks of black. The Uruks had suddenly stemmed in their rush upon them; she had whirled to face the next wave... only to find the broad archway empty save for her. The horns of her breathren sounded in the deep, and she sagged toward the wall, the bloodied blade still welded into her trembling hands.
The day had been won.
She less than rushed to the glittering caves to announce the Rohirrim's return, favoring her left leg, and Arwen met her at the entry in a rush of robes.
"Is it true?" the she-elf panted, her face filled with both joy and apprehension. "Have they come at last?"
Eowyn could do no more than nod, relief sapping her strength as easily as any skirmish. The dark-haired woman let out a sigh of utter hopefulness and rushed up the path toward the open air, as graceful as any doe on the steep passages of the deep. Eowyn knew that she needed to return to the caves and muster the able-bodied to aid those still outside, but she too could not wait to see them any longer. The shield maiden heard her murmur softly to herself as they ascended the stairs:
"Oh, Estel. Please may he be safe."
Eowyn paused in her tailing of the other woman as the name registered.
That was the name that Lord Elrohir...
A pang as dark and rending as any orc weapon shot through her heart, and she knew suddenly this could only be the giver of the jewel she had heard of from Lord Aragorn, on the road to their fortress that seemed such a long time ago. His heart belonged to this woman, and apparently hers to him. Eowyn had hoped so deeply that perhaps, with no chance of his love's return that she...
The shielf maiden banished the hurt from her heart as fully as she could for the moment, laying down her sword to rid herself of the extra weight, and continued up the path behind her. Their people were saved, and there were those who needed aid. She would not dwell on such things before their time.
In tandem the two women mounted the main entrance, Arwen's midnight gown and Eowyn's linen white battle dress flowing in symmetric patterns with the winds of the dawn. The beauty of both faces as the sunlight hit them were a picture of all the fairness of the free peoples of Middle Earth, a symbol of the final alliance of elves and men that had saved them all that night.
The Evenstar's pale skin was lit with her elation, the dark of her mane floating outward as the cool air hit her from below, and a prayer escaped her blushed lips as the view of the battle's end spread out before them.
"Hannon le. Elbereth Gilthoniel, thank you," she breathed.
Sun shone in sparkling arrays off the armour and shields of Eomer's distant horsemen, and even though dirtied with all the filth of a volcanic eruption in its magnitude, Helm's Deep was still theirs.
Eowyn found her eyes wet with her gratitude, a sweet, sad smile taking her mouth despite herself. The morning breeze caught her ripples of hair and bore them aloft, as if displaying a proud, enduring banner of victory to the soldiers below, and golden sun warmed her skin at last.
Hope yet reigned this day.
~0~
Next time: the finding of Elrohir and the twins reunite at last! STAY TUNED.
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~0~
GUH. YOU'RE WELCOME. I HAVE BEEN WRITING NONSTOP, AND WHEN I'M NOT WRITING I'M BRAINSTORMING.
I wanted this to end better than the last chapter; I know it was a cliffhanger, but not by much, seeing as you guys got ALL THIS in only three days! I hope you enjoy the music; to me it really seems like the experience isn't complete without it.
It's getting to the point where the sheer brotherhood shared between the Fellowship, esp. Aragorn and Legolas, and of course the non-Fellowship bonding of the twins and Elrond to both Aragorn and Legolas, cannot be ruined for me. I see slash pictures of them with their faces real close, or hugging each other while sleeping, and it's such a strong bond of brotherhood I can't even bring myself to misinterperet when that's what the picture was meant to be. It's quite relieving, actually. XD If the picture is just explicit slash, then I can't even see it as them... Should be a classified as freaking super power. WIN.
I am still on the case, as there is much to still wrap up here: there is a lot that needs doing before they can even attempt the next battle in Gondor, which I may or may not be up to writing. After this, I think it's high time Immortal Stranger got updated. And FINISHED.
See you all next week. It's a promise. Thank you to all the faithful!