AN: I would like to explain that I am a great big bag of dicks. I could tell you about my busy schedule and exams and shoddy internet that still isn't fixed after four months of complaining to BT, but they are nothing but excuses. Feel free to continue to curse me.
HOPEFULLY, it'll be more regular from now on, and I'm trying to flesh out a plot for the sequel which will be WAY more Legomance.
Read, Review, Favourite and Follow
Battlefield Memories
The smile had chilled Rosalie's blood, but Aragorn stood firm and straight as the Ghost King stalked closer. He thrust out a hand, rotting bones glowing through translucent flesh, ragged cotton curling around his metal-plated wrists. The ranger's eyes narrowed, but he did not refuse the challenge, bringing his own hand to meet the Spirit's. Rosalie's hand fisted in her pocket, skin crawling and itching with every extra second spent in the cavern. Some silent message caused the Ghost Army to flee from their commander, back into their rock prison, while the King glided past the group, and through the girls arm. She jumped back, stumbling slightly into the dwarf, ice replacing her blood, fire replacing nerves. Never again, she vowed to herself, shaking her arm to get rid of the last tingling bites.
Flames erupted from small grates on either side of an archway, illuminating the mould and the dust and shrouding the path inside in complete darkness. The spectre floated inside unperturbed, not waiting to see if the Living kept up. Aragorn did not hesitate, Legolas right by his side, though Gimli and the girl lagged behind a few feet. To her, the black was suffocating; driving her pulse to insanity, squeezing sweat from her skin, and her heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of her chest.
"Afraid of the dark?" The Ghost King whispered, his deathly rumble echoing from further down the tunnel. If she could see, Rosalie would bet money that all three of her friends had stopped and turned. She bit the inside of her lip, clenching her fists. No, I'm not! She wanted to scream at the dead man, but knew it wouldn't convince him, or them.
"Afraid of what is inside it," Rosalie amended, and the unearthly, spine-numbing chuckle returned, before it was eventually swallowed by the darkness. She tried to settle her mind, her finger drumming nervously against her leg. Before she had never been scared of the dark, why here? Her brow furrowed as she thought of the Green Ghoul, and the Orcs, and the Dragons, and the Spiders Legolas warned her of - the Monsters of her childhood very much alive and prowling through Middle-Earth.
The girl almost let out a sigh of relief and a jump of joy when the black turned to dark grey. Almost. She knew how it would look to them if they saw. They couldn't know. They would think she was weak if they knew. Look down on her in pity, something she really didn't want from them. As if knowing what she was thinking, the tunnel was once again home to the Ghost King's awful laughter. The girl glared at him in the darkness, listening to his haunting, horrible wheezing. ... He can't actually read minds, right?
"Of course not," echoed from the deep, and Rosalie stiffened, face flushing six shades of scarlet. Crap! Unconsciously, her head darted around wildly, mind shooting to the blonde elf lost in the gloom with her. No! She berated herself, don't think about him! You'll give it away to him! "It was already obvious," the Ghost King crooned, and the Dwarf jumped to her rescue, his snarl awakening in the tunnel.
"I've heard enough of your incessant rambling! Just lead us out of this infernal maze you're keeping us in." That ended the laughter, and silence took back its throne.
Light broke though the shadows, shining gloriously in its victory, revealing a sheltered cove to the group, a crumbling rickety pier holding down a chipped and battered ship with jet-black sails. Water lapped the sides violently, splattering onto the rock at their feet, as if angered by their very presence. While Rosalie basked in the yellow warmth of the sun, the Ghost King flickered and wobbled, dissolving and reappearing a few seconds later, like a damaged video. His green glow was a dim halo around his figure, the craggy cliff face behind them tinted moss-green as the Army lurked just below the surface.
The spectre turned to them. "That is how we shall reach Minas Tirith," he announced, and Rosalie raised an eyebrow, eyes scanning over the ship again. I'd rather not - it looks like it will sink before it reaches the city.
"That is a pirate ship!" Gimli shouted, reaching for his axe, eyes burning as he glared at the ghost.
The elf's eyes lit up. "That is how you plan to get us there? Disguised as pirates that the Southrons Men think are their allies?" Legolas asked, and the muscles in the Ghost King's face tightened as he smiled, tendons poking through holes in his skin. The dwarf lowered his hand, though didn't stop glaring at the King. Rosalie didn't blame him; it didn't sound like that good of a plan to her.
But she went along with them, keeping close to Aragorn and Legolas as the Ghoul led them down the dock, a sun-bleached white deck masked over the hoard of ghosts clambering aboard. The sides were high, blocking spray and sight but not the scorching sun, a small gap for an old gangway that was lowered for them. Without warning, the ship dived into the waves, cutting through them with the ease of a younger boat, and Rosalie staggered, hand latching out for support from whatever was closest - Legolas.
Oh no, she moaned internally, face heating up faster than the wood beneath her feet, a little surprised at how the elf's face seemed tinged pink as well.
Legolas ripped himself away, and Rosalie flushed further, mortified. "I - I'm sorry," she stuttered out, but the elf just shook his head violently, marching away from her to peer over the side of the ship. She looked around, thankful that both Gimli and Aragorn didn't see that exchange. Why can't it just be normal?
Rosalie had eventually gotten bored of swaying with the tides, deciding to sit against the side of the ship and watch the boat rock. The Ghost King growled, peering over the side. "We are very close," he announced, the last of the Fellowship looking up at him. The girl peeked over the top, hair burning brightly in the harsh sunlight. Gimli scowled, shoving her head back down.
"Your hair's too obvious." He muttered, and the girl rolled her eyes, but kept her head down.
The boat stopped. Aragorn crouched beside her, and Rosalie tried to turn around stealthily without falling into the ranger, surprising herself when it worked. She opened her mouth, a little shocked to feel Aragorn cover it, eyes widening as he shook his head. "Late as usual," a voice boomed from below, presumably land, and the hand on her face tightened fractionally. Rosalie pressed her tongue to the top of her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. "Alright, there's enough work here that needs doing."
No reply came, and the voice on the dock began to get angry, the breeze bringing mumbled obscenities to them. Another voice joined it. "Come on you sea-rats!" He shouted, "Get off that ship."
As if on cue, Aragorn and Legolas both leaped over the side, Gimli a second behind them, leaving the girl in the dust. She blinked, and jumped as well, stumbling a little on her landing, but brushed it off pretty quick, staring up at the two men on the dock determinedly. They blinked in surprise. And then began to laugh.
Rosalie glared at them, sword now slack in her hands. Seriously, you're just gonna laugh? She huffed, frown deepening. Suddenly, the laughter choked off, the two men stumbling backwards, frames shaking like leaves in a storm, and Rosalie grinned. Knew we were scarier than that. Green invaded her vision, rushing past her ears and face, and she jumped before slumping her shoulders. Should've guessed it would be the Ghosts they were scared of...
It really did look like a battlefield from where the woman stood. Smoke bloomed like soft grey pillows from craters in the white rock walls of Gondor, and from the North, sturdy, graceful lines of Rohan soldiers, sunlight glinting off their armour, burning orange helmets in the heat of battle. Rosalie gulped, throat closing over, heart faltering in her chest. Too real, too similar but too different. Instead of the rain, the darkness and the palpable, cloying desperation, there was cold sunlight, churning blue skies and pain filtering through the air.
Rosalie took a stuttering shallow breath through her nose, narrowing her eyes at the scene, pushing back the rising memories, and bile. For a moment, clouds bloomed in the skies, wind stirring the smoke, blocking sunlight to create false dark nights. The marching men morphed into marching Orcs, but a roar broke her spell.
The brightness returned, and Aragorn had turned to face her, mouth uttering words lost to her. Hesitantly, she nodded along. His forehead creased as he quirked an eyebrow at her, and she flushed like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Rosalie found the dwarf's smile scary as his eyes tracked across the plains. "There's plenty for the both of us. May the best dwarf win." Legolas eyed him sharply. The woman huffed. Of course that's what they're thinking of.
Gimli cackled sadistically, twirling his axe like a baton, sprinting into the bloody frenzy. The men followed soon after, their gleeful bloodlust subdued behind icy masks Rosalie hadn't seen since Helmsdeep. Her grip on her sword handle, weapon still sheathed, tightened. Something stopped her from drawing it.
It didn't stop the enemies. A small team of Orcs broke from the pack rabble, stalking closer like perfect hunters. One of their growls awakened Rosalie's senses. The four prowled nearer, and her fingers slipped around the handle, sweat greasing it. She licked her lips, gulping dryly. Their yellow eyes smirked in smug satisfaction at her fumbling. The first Orc lunged as the sword finally revealed itself, and she slashed at his stomach, a little surprised when its stiff leather armour gave way under the metal. It fell back, panting shallowly as it bled out painfully. Rosalie struggled with a surge of bile that rose up, but it made the other three more wary.
She waited for them to move, still a little panicked. Two eyed each other before both stepping forward, raising their scimitar's above their heads in tandem. Rosalie struck, twisted confidence returning, cutting them down as if they were weeds. She stared down at the leftovers, trying to find some kind of remorse, and a way to remove the lump threatening to choke her.
What's wrong with me? Why do I feel so… It took a few crucial milliseconds to recognise it. Afraid. It didn't feel like this before Helmsdeep. This was different from then. She just couldn't figure out how.
The army of the Dead swept across the plains, leaving death and ruin in their wake, entire squads executed, the green glow absorbing them and spitting out their lifeless corpses. She watched as they did, watching as Aragorn did as well. Did he feel anything for them? Was it right to? They were the enemies, the ones that killed, tortured, maimed; the ones who set Rohan alit. She knew it was really stupid thing to do, but she did it anyway: she re-sheathed her sword.
What are you doing? Her instincts were screaming, and she felt like doing it too. She wasn't in the fray, skirting along the edges, a few wisps of green encapsulating most of the fight inside a bubble that she wasn't in. Rosalie dropped to her knees. "Why am I shaking?" She whispered to herself, voice high and shaky as she spoke.
Across the plains, a trumpeting roar shook the ground, and her eyes widened as she saw a certain platinum elf face it down. Elephants… They have giant Elephants, she thought, mouth dropping open, heart quaking. They really were giants; knees looming above riders, with tough, grey, thick, skin, scarlet paint smudged across their hide in violent swirls, lethal spikes tied to their two front tusks, four curls of ivory hidden underneath. Several Southrons sat in their shaded Howdah, swaying as their elephants moved.
Then, Legolas ran at it. What he is doing?! She wanted to shriek, hands going to her sword. What was she doing? Watching from the sidelines as soldiers and families died fighting Orcs she could've stopped. What stopped her? Fear. Fear, that all of them must've felt, but it didn't stop them from doing the right thing. All a part from her. And now, an elf she … was fond of was now charging at a creature ten times larger than his horse.
Legolas jumped, dangling from a tusk before righting himself and running along, firing arrows at the men on top, still climbing as he went. It's like Captain Jack Sparrow, but blonde… And I don't think he's crazy, but then he is running up an elephant. The elf reached for an arrow that wasn't there, and hesitated. One of them took the opportunity, and lunged. In a blink, he drew a knife, thrusting it forward, sending the Southron over the side of the beast and hacked at gnarled ropes. From inside the Howdah, men fired at Legolas, the elf just plucked one from the air.
The ropes snapped, fraying and the Howdah began to tip. Rosalie hacked an Orc who came too close, wincing at the blood spray, eyes still stuck to Legolas. He clambered onto the bared grey back of the creature, the elephant moaning in pain as the Howdah steered it to the right and into another of the creature.
Rosalie's eyes widened, watching Legolas slide down its back, somehow still standing gracefully. She wasn't the only one; the dwarf gawked at him before mouthing something at him and shaking his fist. It stirred something inside her – Gimli's nonchalant behaviour even in the midst of battle. Sure he seems to have some kind of bloodlust but... She bit her lip.
Around her, the war was dying out, small pockets of resistant skirmishes rather than the brutal fighting like beforehand. Faded orange light illuminated floating dust speckles in their temporary spotlights. The woman stared down in horror at her sword, dim flashes of the metal poking from underneath the blood. The clawing feeling came back. What had she done? Next to nothing compared to the Rohan soldiers and Gondorian guards inside the city. Watched but didn't act as Orcs and Southrons alike massacred soldiers, destroyed families and tore husbands, fathers, brothers and sons from life. This victory wasn't hers, it was theirs.
Cautiously, she picked her way through the wreckage. Bodies littered the dense grassy plains, friend and foe, coarse leather and dull metal, black paint and burnished gold. She kept her head straight, forcing herself not to look down, cringing a few times when the 'ground' beneath her crunched. A light breeze stirred, breathing gentle whispers and encouragements to the survivors, wiping away smoke trails, instead of leaving it to claw and crowd like Helm's Deep. Aragorn had taken a stand close to the city walls, gleaming white marble shining through the destruction. Legolas and Gimli loitered nearby, seemingly arguing about something. Probably about their 'scores', she thought darkly, guilt rising as she remembered taking part in their game the last time. She wandered over, reaching the ranger at almost the same time as the Ghost King.
His green glint was dull like dusty glass, but the sunken skin and bone showing from underneath enhanced the dark aura around him. "Release us," he hissed at the man, and Gimli cleared his throat.
"Bad idea, very handy in a tight spot, those guys, despite the fact they're dead." The Ghost reared back, eyes widening, the green flicker flaring outwards from him.
"You gave us your word." He snarled, spittle flying from his mouth in rage. The anger held up a calming hand, and looked directly at the King under the Mountain.
"I hold your oath fulfilled. Go, be at peace." The iron stance the King had before softened and relaxed at Aragorn's tranquil words, eyes shutting, and his mouth curled into a tiny smile. The rotten flesh healed, leaving smooth skin and a living face before the Ghost King and his army melted into a lime mist.
"That is the end of a myth." Rosalie jumped in surprise at the elf's proximity. The ginger dwarf snorted.
"The end of campfire stories." He countered, and then eyed the woman. "What was your final count?" He asked casually, but Rosalie stiffened anyway.
"I – um – I lost count," she answered honestly and uneasily. How had she been so calm before? Why was this battle different for her than Helm's Deep? Gimli pulled a face, opening his mouth, but Aragorn cut the dwarf off, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Let us go find some Hobbits."
The night was cool, an indigo sky studded with diamonds waiting to be noticed. Rosalie leaned against the stone railing on a west-facing balcony; the scars of the war mostly hidden from her view. A gentle buzz of human life from lower in the city wafted upwards, strangely comforting to the woman, the warm light of candles and controlled fires, different from the angry flames of war, brightening the city. She sighed, running a hand through her hair, disgruntled when her fingers halted at knots. "You should be sleeping," a quiet voice chided her, and she froze before subtly trying to frantically re-smooth her hair. Crap, why does he have to be out here too?
"So should you," she quipped, turning to face Legolas, heart lightening fractionally when he smiled briefly. He walked over to stand by her side, gazing up at the stars thoughtfully. Rosalie's insides soared, while a small traitorous part of her became suspicious. He had been ignoring her for a while, where did the sudden change of heart come from?
"Elves do not need sleep as much as mortals." He stated, and the woman bit the inside of her lip. She didn't know if he meant to do it, but the elf had a habit of always reminding her of their differences.
"I don't feel much like sleeping tonight," she mumbled, and Legolas sighed. She peeked up at him from the corner of her eyes as the realisation settled in. He knew. He knew that the faces of Orcs and Southrons and dead men plagued her thoughts. He had to. He didn't console her, he didn't try to sweep it under the mat, he didn't ignore it. He offered unity in it, giving her strength just by standing by her side. "Does it get better?" She asked in a whisper, the words painful and sticking in her throat, hating the childish tone laced through it.
His answer was to grasp her hand, looking down at her, cerulean eyes pained and sympathetic. Slowly, he lifted his free hand to her face, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. Blood raced to the surface, and her eyes darted down to her feet. God, what is he doing? He couldn't really feel... Really? "Rosalie?" Legolas murmured, catching her attention and their eyes met again, the colour on her cheeks deepening.
The elf began to lean down. Her eyes widened, and gulped. Oh man, he, oh man. Someone was jumping up and down inside her head. There were celebrations and fireworks, and he hadn't kissed her yet. Why am I so excited? It's not like it's my first kiss. She wondered, but reality seemed to remind her of him. Her mind began to fog. Not even a few seconds had passed, but it felt like an age. She could feel his breath on her lips. Rosalie felt like she could explode in anticipation. And –
A sharp rapping caused Rosalie's eyes to fly open, and she flailed her arms. She stared at the door of her room in disbelief. So wait, it was... She groaned. Loudly. A female voice outside apologised hurriedly, and repeated her message. The woman's head fell back on the pillow, and she pinched her nose, irritation and yearning churning around inside her.
And she'd have to face him later.