Chapter Sixty-Seven

~ Legolas ~
The fighting started almost immediately when our charging army clashed with the encircling army of Uruk-hai and Orcs. It was swift, deadly, confusing. All around there were shouts, grunts, cries; all around bodies flew, fell, flung forward; all around there was death, injury, blood.

This was battle at its worst – and maybe its best.

If you liked war, of course.

I did not.

Nor did Estel or Tinúviel or Eldarion or Aragorn or Mithrandir or Haldir. But when it was necessary, we were certainly a force to be reckoned with.

There was no Orc that stood in front of me and lived, and there was no ally beside me that fell. The forces of Gondor and Rohan were weary from the long two days of marching, and quite a few were not yet at their prime or long past it. In other words, this was not the best army to muster to fight all the armies at the Black Gate. But it was the best we had, and we would do our best with it.

I was just slaying an Orc when a terrible shriek filled my ears. If not for the reflexes ingrained in me with years of fighting, I would have dropped my sword to claw at my ears.

Nazgûl.

I nearly cursed under my breath.

There was no way we could possibly hope to fight the Nazgûl. True, Éowyn had brought about the end of the Witch-King of Angmar – but that end had been prophesied for centuries before by Lord Glorfindel. None of the others had that. And I did not think Mithrandir was up to fighting one of them, much less all eight of them.

Then there was another sound – a fluttering ripple, almost, that in no way resembled the sound of a Nazgûl.

I looked up just in time to see eagles fly down and attack the Nazgûl.

And I wasn't the only one.

"Eagles!" I heard one of the Hobbits – Pippin, I thought – shout. "The eagles are coming!"

The eagles descended on the Nazgûl with a ferocity, speed, and swiftness that took everyone by surprise. The Black Riders shrieked in surprise and disdain as the eagles bit and clawed at them, sowing confusion and pain among their ranks and distracting their focus from us – something for which I was very grateful, as none of us were in any condition to fight them.

Then the surviving Nazgûl all suddenly screeched in unison, a high-pitched mind-blowing scream that had me cringing. As one, they swung towards Mount Doom.

Fear bloomed in my heart.

Frodo.

Someone had put on the Ring, and attracted the attention of the Eye and the Nazgûl.

No. No. No!

After all this, for things to end this way?

Something touched my back; I instantly tensed and spun around, nearly slicing the person in half. But she had the sense to leap away.

I felt the wildness in me drain away at the sight of Estel.

"Legolas! What are you doing?" she exclaimed. "Three Uruk-hai have nearly killed you!"

I raised my hand and touched her cheek briefly. "I'm sorry. I was . . . distracted," I spit out, slashing to her left; the Orc howled and fell back, its own sword falling only a few inches short of Estel's side.

"I know." She glanced towards Mount Doom, her own concern appearing briefly, and then she went still and her eyes went wide. "Aragorn!"

I whirled around.

For a moment, I couldn't see him – although how I could miss the Sword of Elendil, the Flame of the West, Andúril – was beyond me. Then I saw, and my own eyes went wide in horror, and I sprang forward, shoving Men and Orcs alike out of my way.

Aragorn was on the ground, a troll's foot on his chest.

As I struggled to him, he withdrew a dagger and slammed it into the troll's foot; it grunted. But he had done no true damage, and he was at a major disadvantage. He would die if someone – if we – didn't help him.

I flung myself forward against the press of people towards him, vaguely aware of Estel doing the same at my side.

But we couldn't – wouldn't reach him in time.

I wanted to howl in frustration.

Without stopping, I reached for my bow as I ran. I would have to try and use it; by the time I was in sword range, all I would be good for was avenging Aragorn's corpse. And by then, the Middle-earth would be doomed, for there was no other heir to the throne of the King of Men, no other person to unite them, no other Man willing to take on that burden and set things right.

And then the most horrible scream I had ever heard punctured my ears.

~ Estel ~
I felt the strangest tug on my gut, even though the Elessar did not burn or shine or do anything. It was like a shadow, a burden, a fear was leaving me – one I hadn't even known I was prey to.

Then the Eye cried out.

Legolas shuddered as his pace slowed a fraction; his ears were more than twice as sensitive as my own, and already I wanted to claw at my ears from the terrible noise. I couldn't imagine how it must hurt him.

The noise continued, and I risked a glance.

I stared.

The Eye was contracting furiously in the tower of Barad-dûr, screeching and roiling in its nest of fire and flame.

The troll paused, looked back at the Eye of Sauron – and then fled. Other Uruk-hai and Orcs did the same thing, not even challenging those they passed or attempting to harm us. I could have lifted up my sword and I would have sliced in half at least ten, twenty, thirty of them as the minute passed and they ran by, suddenly oblivious to us.

Aragorn stood slowly.

His movement was like a spark of remembrance in me. I suddenly remembered why I had been running to him.

I completed the move, and I ran up to him and threw my arms around him.

"Estel," he said, his voice breathless with surprise. "Estel – what – What is going on? What – why – "

There was another tug in my gut, and then suddenly there was the tiniest avalanche in the corner of the tower of Barad-dûr. A very, very, very tiny avalanche. Just one or two rocks, falling and clanking to the barren ash-soil on the ground.

And then the tower's base crumbled.

The tower of Barad-dûr – the ultimate symbol of darkness, of Sauron, of Morgoth – was falling.

Just a few thousand feet from the ground, there was a painful pull.

And then the Eye of Sauron folded onto itself and then imploded, sending an enormous shockwave of air and ash and dark power flying forth.

The ground itself shook beneath the shockwave. The Black Gate disintegrated, taking the first massive hit, as soon as the shockwave glanced off of it. All around us, the ash crumbled into the sinkholes as the shockwave tore through, decimating the land of Mordor – the entire land.

"Frodo! Frodo!"

It was Pippin, I thought – or perhaps it was Merry . . . someone, shouting, celebrating, not realizing what was going on. . .

And then Mount Doom exploded in a terrific burst of flame and fire and lava, and an agonized cry fell from my lips as the tug in my chest grew painful for the first time. The Ring was destroyed, Sauron was vanquished, the tower of Barad-dûr had collapsed – but something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly, dreadfully wrong.

With a start, I realized that the ground was shaking ominously underneath us.

No!

The ground began to crumble beneath us then, and all around us the shouts of victory turned into cries of alarm as finally they noticed.

I fell to my knees when the tug turned painful beyond comprehension, gasping for breath against the pain.

Valar, I prayed. Valar, you saved us – you saved me. You must have had a purpose. If this is it, then don't condemn the rest of us to the same fate! Men still have yet to prove who they are! We are not set in stone! Valar, let them live!

The Elessar burst into light then, and it burned white-hot against my neck.

I didn't try to stop it. If I had to die – if my life was now to be taken as it should have when I threw myself off the cliff – maybe that would make the Valar understand I meant what I said, maybe that would be the repayment that would allow Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Haldir, my sister, my brother, my mother to live.

Legolas, please understand.

I could see him – dimly, fuzzily, blurred – in front of me, pulling at the Elessar and mouthing words I couldn't hear.

Legolas, I love you.

Then the earth stopped.

A woman appeared in the middle of the army, so suddenly and silently that I would have mistaken her for a hallucination.

But there was something . . . different about her.

No one else seemed to notice her, even though she was clearly out of this world, with dark and long tresses laying about her and a bright silver girdle gracing her flowing, ethereal clothes. Time seemed to slow as she approached. She walked towards me with deliberate, slow steps, almost flowing like a liquid more graceful than the flowing water of the Nimrodel, or any river known to the races of Middle-earth. Her face was like a goddess – kind and stern, calm and angry, powerful and passive.

She stopped in front of me, and her eyes met mine, orbs of a color I couldn't begin to describe.

"Estel," she said, her voice full of a melody that was once joyous and beautiful and somber and sorrowful – and yet she spoke not a word.

Perhaps it was in my mind, or perhaps my eyes were deceiving me, or perhaps I was dreaming.

"Estel Elessariel," she repeated, her voice like that of flowing water, birds' songs, and lively laughter all in one. "You are a daughter of the line of Kings, descended from the noblest bloodlines to walk this earth, heiress to kingdoms far grander and greater than any here. Are you really willing to die for such a paltry exchange – the life of those around you?"

I replied without thinking. "I would die a thousand times to save the life of just one, Your Majesty."

Her expression eased – although I couldn't remember when it had been stressed – and she sighed, the sound of wind blowing gently through a forest.

"So be it."

And she bent over me, and lifted a hand, and pressed a single finger to the glowing Elessar around my neck.

The world erupted in color and sound and feel and taste and more – and then I knew nothing but an all-consuming blackness as my eyes slipped shut.

"So be it, my child."

And then I knew nothing.