The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

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Chapter 36 – Victory in the Deep

"Force the doors open! Open them up!" Kinnale yelled to his attacking Rangers, hoping that his voice was not swallowed up in the noise of vicious battle. They stood now before the great wooden doors to the Keep, half a dozen trying to gain entrance to the innermost sanctum of the Deep whilst the others held the Enemy at bay, buying their colleagues more time.

The walkway was chaos. Orcs charged at them, under orders to keep the Men back at all costs, swords clashed, blood sprayed freely, although not as much red as black.

In response to his commander's shouted order, Veron ground out, "You don't think we're trying?" as he rammed at the solid door with his shoulder.

Kinnale made no response to the terse remark as he hacked at the progressing Orc bodies threatening his men. A line of just six men were holding back the Enemy but there seemed to be an endless supply of vile creatures and as fast as they were slain or thrown over the edge of the elevated ramp they were replaced by equally vicious monsters, uncaring whether they joined their fellows in death. There were worse fates than dying by the hands of Men when allied to the Lord of all Darkness.

Down below them on the ground fought the Rohirrim, remaining firmly under Eomer's command. For once, they were joined by the remaining Rangers, whom Kinnale had left under Janor's command. Aragorn was also fighting on the ground level. The boy had been ordered by Legolas before he left to remain close to Kinnale, perhaps the one person Legolas trusted wholly with the young man's care, but when Kinnale had given the direction to infiltrate the primary structure he'd declared that Aragorn should remain on the ground with Janor rather than going with the commander of the Rangers. Legolas would undoubtedly not be too happy when he discovered that the commander had left his precious ward in the keep of another but Kinnale had reasoned that neither would Legolas be pleased if said ward was placed unnecessarily in a highly dangerous position on the ramp.

The army of Shadow encamped at Helm's Deep was larger than any of them could have anticipated and that fact angered Eomer and the others, giving them reason and drive to fight with even more ferocity than was usual. Once, this fortress had belonged to the world of Men but the Shadow had taken it from them, defiled it with their very presence and now Eomer wanted it back. He was determined that the banner of Rohan would fly over the Deep by nights' end.

In spite of the Lord of Rohan's resolve, however, the Orcs fairly swarmed over the courtyard, undaunted it seemed by the attacking Rohirrim. No matter how many of the foul creatures the Men killed, they seemed to hardly be making a dent in the Orc masses.

Eomer continued to yell orders above the intense noise of death and battle but his Rohirrim, a mere one hundred and fifty Men against the Shadow's encamped legion of almost a thousand could not follow them, too busy with their own individual skirmishes to worry about the bigger picture. So, after a while, Eomer's precise and coherent commands dissolved into a simple and almost primal battle cry – encouragement for those facing their deaths.

With every one of his Men that fell to an Orc blade, anger burned hotter in Eomer's veins. It forced him to continue, to ignore the pain drawn by a wound on his left arm, ignore the fatigue that threatened him and the horror of the sights and sounds of war.

It was not, however, all anger aimed at the Shadow that fuelled his fiery rage. It was anger at the one who had suggested this futile, suicidal attack on the Deep in the first place – a certain ill-favoured Elven prince. In Eomer's mind, as he slashed at another attacking Goblin, every death sustained here tonight was more blood on the Elf's hands.

It would be worth surviving this night just to throttle Legolas with his bare hands.

OIOI

On the other side of the Keep, itself heaving with Orcs and Goblins – although mercifully the Uruk-hai remained in the places they believed a commanding appearance mattered, mostly on the front line – Aragorn was fighting alongside Janor. Actually, between them they were doing surprisingly well. Kinnale's order had been to attack the creatures from three sides – the front, where Eomer was; the main structure, which Kinnale himself and his Rangers were trying to penetrate; and the back where Aragorn now battled along with a few others. There were certainly less targets here than the other hotspots and yet the Enemy fought with equal ferocity. The Men had initially been outnumbered but now there were less than twenty Orcs left standing, a significant dent in the Shadow's army, it seemed.

In a matter of minutes, this small area of Helm's Deep was claimed back by the Humans and the Rangers took a momentary breather to rejoice in this small victory. It was short-lived, however, for the battle still raged on in other parts of the keep. With their comrades in desperate need of help, Janor swiftly ordered his men to go and join the others.

Before the older man could race off though, Aragorn grabbed his arm and said breathlessly, "I have to find Legolas."

"Aragorn, no."

"I have to. He could need my help."

"He ordered you to stay with us. Respect his wishes." Seeing that Aragorn was not convinced by this plea, Janor further reasoned, "You are needed down here. We need you fighting, not scouring the battlefield searching for Legolas."

"Come on if we're going!" Tarsem, the Rangers' ill-tempered scout snapped at the conversing pair as he dashed past them, sword dripping with Orc blood and craving to spill more yet.

Patting Aragorn's back in reassurance, Janor led him quickly after the scout. "Don't worry about Legolas. He can take care of himself."

OIOI

"Kill it! Kill it!" the Uruk in charge of the armies of Helm's Deep bellowed above the clamour of battle. One lone Elf should not be causing such chaos amongst their ranks; such disruption to the plan and defence of the Keep must not be allowed. And yet Orcs kept falling to the Elf's deadly twin blades. Now the Uruk-hai had – somewhat reluctantly – joined in the fight, hoping that their additional strength could cease the Elf's tirade of slaughter. So far though, their attempts had not been at all successful and it was starting to irritate the current commander of the Deep.

From outside, the doors continued to be pounded upon by the relentless Humans and with all the Shadow army's attentions focused on bringing down the Elf running wild within the inner sanctum of their Lord's fortress, the barricade was weakening by the second. Cursing foully in its native tongue, the Uruk shoved its great weight against the cracking door in immense anger. He would not be beaten by these ignorant attackers.

As yet another Goblin toppled backwards with its neck twisted and snapped and its head flopping at a sickening angle, falling at the commander's feet, a flash of pale white amidst black bodies and blood caught the Uruk's eye. It focused its shrewd eyes on the shape loitering in the corridor opposite and a small smile cracked its hideous face. Abandoning single-handedly barricading the doors, the Uruk cut around the fighting, making its way towards what could prove to be the end of this particular battle.

Legolas swung his knife, precisely aimed to cut off the head of one particularly persistent Orc, leaving the creature's bulky, malformed body to drop to the floor and its ugly head to swiftly join it. Almost immediately another two replaced it. He had made a considerable dent in the numbers swarming in the entrance chamber to Helm's Deep but at least twenty of the creatures still remained standing and fighting.

"Elf," a deep baritone voice cut clearly through the battle in what Legolas could only really describe as a pleased sing-song tone. "Elf? Look what I have here."

Momentarily taking his eyes off the immediate problem in front of him, Legolas rapidly searched the hall for the source of the taunting voice calling to him. When he saw the commander of the Uruk-hai dragging Eowyn's limp, terrified form through the sickening mass of dead Orcs littering the floor using her slight frame as a human shield, his blood froze. He'd thought he had left her safe. Obviously he had been mistaken.

"Throw down your weapons. Drop them to the ground," the voice commanded and the Orcs and other creatures took a slow step backwards, knowing that their leader was now in control of the situation and that the Elf was defeated. As they retreated though, they laughed cruelly at the Elf and the predicament he had been placed in. "Drop them now or I'll snap her head right off her neck." A large clawed hand went threatening to Eowyn's throat, braced to go through with its threat. The Uruk stepped through its protective ring of Orcs and Goblins to give Legolas the best possible view of what was happening. "There is no way out for either of you."

Legolas glanced discreetly down to the twin knives in his hands, dripping with blood. "True," he mumbled to himself and then, before the Uruk could even think to react, Legolas threw one of the deadly-sharp knives right at the creature's head. This was no time to mess about. Before the monster had dropped to the ground, Legolas' long knife embedded deep into its skull, the Elf was running forward in an attempt to catch Eowyn before she fell to the ground along with the now dead bulky creature who'd taken her hostage.

He was not successful, however, and Eowyn, stunned into paralysis by what was happening to her, was crushed beneath the heavy Uruk.

Unfortunately, there was little Legolas could do about it right then because the surrounding monsters now advanced towards him again, furious that the Elf had murdered their leader.

Their anger fuelled their strength, just as it did the Men outside, and they attacked Legolas with renewed vigour.

Legolas, however, was already thoroughly exhausted after taking down almost forty Orcs and Uruks single-handedly and found it suddenly hard to throw his arm hard enough or accurately enough to make any impact on the remaining enemies.

So, when one of the Uruk-hai managed to sneak behind him and strike him hard over the head with the club it carried, Legolas fell to his knees without resistance. Still seeing stars, Legolas could do little but watch as the other creatures crowded around him, glee at the thought that they might taste Elf-flesh this day after all, replacing their previous battle fury.

The scene, Legolas mused idly, was chillingly reminiscent of the final moments of his father as he had witnessed on his last day in Mirkwood. The prince was surrounded by blood-thirsty monsters, each one longing to deliver the final fatal blow to this most hated of enemies.

For decades, through his painful loneliness, Legolas had longed for this final moment of his wretched life. He'd almost imagined that death would come as a great relief. And yet now, knelt on the cold flagstones, slick with the blood of Orcs, of Helm's Deep, Legolas found that he felt something quite unexpected: fear at what was coming.

If he died here, then Aragorn would be all alone in his mission.

Startling, Legolas realised with a jolt that he no longer welcomed death. When had that revelation happened? His chest ached with the pain of regret, no longer for his questionable past actions, but for this moment here, for allowing himself to fall and for however brief a moment rejoicing in it.

Goblins, snapping and excitable, tugged with their long, filthy fingers at his blood-stained clothing almost teasingly. They wanted to play with him for a while before they finally disposed of him. This angered Legolas even further but there was nothing much he could do about it. As he'd fallen to his knees, his weapon had been ripped from his hand and thrown far out of his reach; he had nothing left to fight with. And with the creatures now surrounding him, baying for his blood, he could not regain his feet.

Outside, the Men were still trying to break the door down but Legolas guessed they would not get in soon enough. He was all alone.

Or…not quite alone.

As he knelt there on the floor waiting for his inevitable demise to come, the Orcs became distracted all of a sudden and when Legolas looked up from the flagstones he realised why. Eowyn was standing behind them with Legolas' white-handled knife clutched tightly in both hands, swinging wildly and inaccurately at the Orcs threatening her saviour. Unfortunately, not one of her strokes actually connected with anything and the Orcs found the sight of their prisoner, wide-eyed and so obviously terrified, wearing an over-sized jacket to cover her nakedness, swinging feebly at them, to be highly amusing rather than threatening.

Their amusement created just the kind of distraction Legolas had been hoping for and it gave him a chance to get to his feet, knocking away the startled Uruk stood next to him. With their attentions on Eowyn, Legolas snatched up the scimitar dropped by the creature he'd just disposed of and killed another two Orcs straight away before they even realised what was happening.

Whilst the Elf attacked the creatures of Shadow again, it still wasn't enough to remove their attentions entirely away from the young woman and four of the Orcs, ignoring the Elf, advanced menacingly towards her.

Eowyn swung the knife at them in an effort to scare them back but in her current state it hardly made for a terrifying figure. They simply sneered, undeterred, and advanced closer. In fright of her captors, the light knife slipped from her shaking fingers and clattered to the floor and she backed away from them.

Just as the Orcs went to grab her and she heard Legolas desperately shout her name, the doors behind her suddenly splintered and then burst violently open. Leaping aside to avoid the stampede, Eowyn could only stare wide-eyed at the Men who stormed inside, chased seconds later by even more Orcs.

In the melee, she was pushed again to the floor and she curled herself into a protective ball against the wall as many feet trampled past her, unaware of her existence in their haste. Pressing her hands to her ears and squeezing her eyes shut tight against the brutal violence going on all around her, she remained quiet and still as all around her Orcs and Goblins fell to Human swords.

Then she felt something light touch on her shoulder. She startled and shrunk away from the touch but then gentle, familiar hands were pulling her hands away from her ears.

"Eowyn, all is well now," Legolas' voice whispered reassuringly as she found herself lifted from the ground.

"Who is that?" Kinnale, wiping black blood off his sword and onto the filthy tunic of a dead Uruk, asked breathlessly of the Elf, seeing him carrying a quivering bundle in his arms.

Rather than answering though, Legolas strode towards the doorway. "Let's go."

Inside the main structure, the Men had proven successful in getting rid of the Enemy hoards and outside in the courtyard the others seemed to be enjoying similar success. Bar a few fights dotted around, the battle was finally over. Some of the creatures had fled, realising that their command over Helm's Deep was at an end, but most lay dead or dying on the ground now saturated with blood.

"Hey," Kinnale said, catching Legolas' elbow and holding him back as the Elf went to carefully pick his way through the mess of fallen creatures that littered the walkway. "You are injured!"

Remembering suddenly that he had indeed been injured in the fight with the Uruk-hai, Legolas glanced down at his shirt, surprised to see the blood stain there so visible. He quickly played down the injury, reassuring the man, "It's just a scratch."

"Legolas if you…"

"Really, Kinnale, it is fine," Legolas sharply reiterated, already moving again, distracted by the scene of the courtyard before him. Although taking in the Orkish and Human bodies strewn on the ground, Legolas was in truth, only searching for that which he feared losing the most. "Kinnale," he called back to the commander, who was now giving orders to his men to secure the Keep, "where is Aragorn?"

Kinnale looked across to him in a sharp movement betraying his instinctive guilt. He could not lie to the Elf about his ward, however, so he admitted, "I deemed it to be too dangerous for Aragorn to storm the doors with me so I left him with Janor."

"Legolas!"

"You left him?" Legolas growled out, turning on the man with undisguised anger at what he had just been told.

"Legolas!"

"I told you not to leave him!"

"It wasn't like I had a whole lot of choice in the matter," Kinnale defended his actions, willing Legolas to calm down before he reached him and thus was able to throttle him with his bare hands as he now looked quite inclined to do.

"Legolas, I want to talk with you."

Pointedly ignoring Eomer's voice coming ever closer and sounding increasingly irate, Legolas turned away from the relieved Ranger and strode down the ramp even as Eomer stomped towards him, pausing only when he had to kick an Orc corpse out of his path.

"Thirty-two men! I lost thirty-two men in this attack!" Eomer yelled as he approached the Elf.

"Have you seen Aragorn anywhere?" Legolas calmly asked of the furious man.

This only incensed Eomer further and he stopped abruptly and waited for Legolas to reach him before continuing to shout, "Did you hear what I just said? Thirty-two men!"

"Yes, I heard you." Although the big man stood in front of him now, Legolas' eyes were still scanning the courtyard around him. It was hard to distinguish much at all in the mess left behind after the battle, everything seemed to be covered in a thick layer of black Orc blood, even the men searching the yard for survivors among the destruction were smeared in the foul liquid.

"Great! They are my men, Legolas."

"Yes. Have you…?"

"Hey," Eomer shouted, snagging Legolas' arm and bringing him to a halt, "how can you be so blasé about this? My men are injured, they need medical aid and rest and…are you even listening to me?" the man demanded angrily. When a soft whimper emitted from Legolas, Eomer noticed for the first time that the Elf carried something – someone – in his arms. "Who is that?" he asked sharply.

Legolas looked down as if only just remembering that he had been carrying someone around with him all this time. He shifted the slight weight in his arms and held out his precious burden for Eomer, who stood stunned by the action, to take.

"What?" Eomer asked in confusion upon taking what Legolas offered him.

The Elf was already making his way down the ramp when he explained bluntly, "Your sister."

For a long moment, Eomer stood frozen, staring at the empty spot where Legolas had just stood, unable to move or speak or breathe as the words sank in. When he did dare to look down at the weight in his arms, soft green eyes, so painfully familiar, blinked owlishly up at him from the safety of behind the collar of Legolas' jacket. Suddenly, Eomer's breath exploded out of him in a ragged sob of emotion. Fearing that he may very well drop his precious sister should he remain standing, Eomer sank weakly to his knees.

Tears ran freely down his cheeks and to his utter amazement, a thin, bony hand emerged from beneath ragged fabric and brushed against his pale, wet face.

Any semblance of composure he'd been clinging to evaporated at his sister's touch. He cried Eowyn's name and pulled her to his chest, holding her as tight as he dared. She clung to his armour as he cried on her. This was undoubtedly her brother and she felt no fear that he would harm her. Closing her eyes, she breathed his name, revelling in the sound of it.

Even as Kinnale and other concerned Men approached to ask what on earth could have broken the ill-tempered commander of the Rohirrim in this way, brother and sister sat oblivious. No one else mattered in that moment for Eomer.

Meanwhile, Legolas' mind too was singularly focused on another. He ignored the tired, injured Men he passed, looking only for Aragorn.

When he found Janor, who was supposed, according to Kinnale, to be looking after the young Aragorn, sifting through Orc carcasses, presumably looking for Human survivors, his heart raced in irrational fear. Aragorn was nowhere to be seen. Legolas ran over to the second in command, calling his name urgently.

Janor looked around himself, alarmed. When he realised that, despite the Elf's desperate tone, there was no Orc or Uruk stood behind him waiting to cut him down, Janor sighed and frowned in confusion at Legolas.

"What?" the man asked with an indignant shrug.

"Aragorn. Where is Aragorn?" Legolas demanded breathlessly, reaching Janor.

"Oh. He's right over there."

Legolas followed the direction of Janor's pointed finger with his eyes and finally saw a dirty Aragorn knelt on the ground, helping a couple of the Rohirrim tend to one of their fallen comrades.

Able to breathe easily again now that the pressure on his chest had eased, Legolas headed toward the young man, ignoring Janor's questioning if he was alright.

Aragorn looked up at his name being called and, upon seeing his mentor's face, he smiled in relief that Legolas remained standing after the battle. However, currently his fingers were the only things plugging an injured man's artery so he couldn't get up to greet the Elf as he wished to.

Legolas stood over them and smiled in return. "Are you injured?" he got straight to the point.

"Nothing major," Aragorn promised. "You?"

The Elf discreetly turned to his side so that Aragorn would not be able to see the blood that caked his shirt. The man was busy; he didn't need to worry unnecessarily. So he echoed Aragorn's words. "Nothing major."

Aragorn nodded, his attention drawn back to the man laid out before him.

Much as he would have liked to look at Aragorn, reassuringly fine, for the rest of the day, Legolas knew that there were still things to be done. So, he told Aragorn that he would be at the main structure then wandered off to look for Kinnale. Firstly, he needed a report from the Ranger and then the clean-up would begin. Men would need treatment for their injuries; those who had lost their lives would have to be retrieved from amongst the Enemy. There was much yet to do in Helm's Deep.

To Be Continued…