The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. Special thanks to Tamuril2 for your encouragement when I needed it!

Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

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Chapter 54 – United Allies

"Commander! Commander, something approaches!"

Eomer startled awake, the soldier's urgent call rousing him from the first decent sleep he had enjoyed in months. Although his brain remained oddly fuddled with the remnants of slumber, Eomer tossed his blanket aside and snatched up his sword that rested close to his side and shot up out of his spot. Taking a brief moment to swipe tangled hair from his eyes, he noticed that the camp had been plunged into utter chaos and confusion as he slept so he dashed off in the hope of determining through a coherent report from one of his men what had occurred to upset everything so greatly in such a short amount of time.

"Janor, what is going on here?" demanded Eomer when he finally picked out the hassled-looking Ranger from the throngs of Men rushing all about him.

Coming to an abrupt halt at the sound of his fellow commander's voice, Janor hurried over to him and breathlessly explained, "Tarsem was patrolling further afield around the camp in order to secure the area, he saw a party of people headed this way, he couldn't identify them from the distance he dared observe them from."

Eomer looked around, noting that the fires around the camp still burned bright, a beacon in the night for anyone sporting for a fight.

"Damn it! Put the fires out! Weapons! Get ready to fight!" shouted Eomer to whoever around him was listening. People immediately scrambled to do his bidding and he found himself a little irked that it had taken this long and his intervention to organise everything. Janor should have been perfectly capable of giving that exact same order. Of course, people were understandably anxious about the possibility of another attack, so much had been lost in battle already. They could not stand any more casualties. "Where are they coming from? Which direction?"

"That way," Tarsem pointed out into the darkness when Eomer came to join him at his side.

"How many?"

"I cannot tell."

Quickly formulating a plan, of sorts, Eomer shouted, "Get the horses."

The Rohirric warriors burst into action, far more organised than a moment before when they had been running about the camp without direction. Soldiers liked to follow orders. It was trained into them over decades. They could function without them of course but when in the presence of experienced leaders, they appreciated the guidance. Eomer understood this; more it seemed, than the Rangers, who seemed rather more free spirited.

With frankly surprising speed, their twelve remaining steeds, the Rohirrim's most valuable assets, were untethered from their resting places and brought forward to where Eomer waited for them, gazing out into the darkness as though he could see straight through it.

"Remember your training," called Eomer to his skittish men as he easily mounted his steed.

It was all the instruction they required. They were the Rohirrim, the Horselords, and great warriors. Against any threat they would stand, undaunted, and ride into the Shadow to protect those they loved and followed.

Drawing on years of practice defending Edoras and adapting it to this new situation, ten of Rohan's best riders and warriors mounted the steeds. With Eomer and Tarsem at the head, the horses moved out of the camp, smoothly accelerating into a canter once they were clear of the others.

"What should we do?" one breathless Ranger asked of Janor, who was staring after the horses.

Everything had happened so fast that Janor found himself struggling to catch up with all that had just occurred before him. "We…uh…We ready ourselves for attack. If Eomer is unsuccessful then we will need to be prepared. Get everything ready for battle."

"Yes, sir."

OIOI

"Be on your guard," warned Eomer in a low voice to his companions as they edged their horses forward through the night.

Upon Tarsem informing him that they were approaching the spot where the scout had earlier seen the dim light of torches, Eomer had slowed his small company to a gentle walk, all on high alert for anything out of place. The commander was nervous. He could feel the tension in his steed beneath him and tried to relax his posture. He was making the animal nervous. It was impossible to avoid though. They were all nervous being out here up against an unknown foe. Anything could be stalking out there in the shadows, perhaps even watching the Rohirrim's approach and waiting to spring their trap. The possibility that they were currently moving into a trap set by the Enemy was at the forefront of Eomer's mind as he coaxed his skittish horse forward. Was he leading his loyal men to their deaths?

"Shh," hissed one of the Rohirrim and the company came to a steady halt, ears and eyes straining for any sign of potential threats nearby. Silence seemed to almost pound through the blackness of the night. It put them even more on edge than before. "I thought I heard something," whispered the same man, his wide eyes searching as if hoping to see beyond the light of the torches.

Eomer's eyes also darted all around. So great had the tension grown now that he almost wished that something would happen just to break it. He could neither see nor hear anything out of place though so he softly ordered his men, "Let's move on."

Still looking about nervously, Eomer nudged his horse onwards, prompting the others into action as well. Now they continued even more slowly than before. They were nervous.

"Wait!" Tarsem's barked out command sliced so effectively through the thick silence that every single man jumped at the sound and the horses whinnied, shaking their heads, for they too could feel the focused intent of their riders and reacted accordingly. "There! I saw something."

All followed the Ranger's pointing finger, desperately searching.

They saw it almost too late. A shape, shadowed and shrouded in dark cloth, burst forth into the light and hands dragged one of the Rohirrim from his saddle before any of the others could react to the surprise attack.

Swords were drawn but they never had a chance to engage.

"Jecha! Stop!"

Everything stopped then for the voice was familiar and Eomer leapt from his mount to confront the speaker head on.

Legolas, however, shoved past the commander to drag the attacker, Jecha, from the Rohan man he was currently pinning to the ground, knife poised at the jugular for the kill. "Get off him!" Legolas ordered the stranger, sounding to Eomer to be rather exasperated, as if he was fed up with this attacker for some reason other than his murderous intent.

"Lower your weapons." Eomer's order was instantly obeyed by his own men, although the Rohirrim still looked startled, uncertain about what exactly was happening. All they knew was that they had been attacked and that one of their own – the Elf Legolas – was amongst the attackers. Or was perhaps their rescuer, they were uncertain about that particular detail. Unfortunately, they had no choice but to obey their own commander and they each sheathed their swords as ordered. "Aragorn." Assured that, in spite of the new unknown people joining the future king, there was no danger imminent, the commander followed the example of his men and sheathed his sword. "We were not expecting you so soon."

"We made good time."

"And picked up some new friends along the way, I see," noted Eomer, looking pointedly in the direction of Legolas and the stranger who was being spoken to in firm but hushed tones by the Elf.

"Oh. Yes."

Behind him had gathered the other new followers in Jecha's group, waiting patiently for their king to introduce them.

"Aragorn, Eomer, we should get moving," interrupted Legolas before the younger man could speak, walking purposefully towards them.

"Good to see you, Legolas."

"Eomer."

"Glad to see that reunion wasn't at all tense," Kalub noted dryly, shoving past Gimli and Gloin who were blocking his path and who had taken to staring dumbly up at the massive beasts the Rohirrim rode.

"Thank you, Kalub," ground out the commander of the Rohirrim.

All the tracker did was shoot Eomer a thin smile of knowing then go to greet his fellow Ranger, Tarsem, who had dismounted his horse to help Kalub with his bag. They met with a restrained but cordial handshake. A welcome of companions in battle rather than friends. Even so, Kalub found himself pleased to be back amongst old travelling companions and allies rather than being burdened with merely Legolas and Aragorn and the none-too-friendly new people they had picked up along the way. They were all too different to what he was used to for his liking; even the other Humans he found impossible to get along with. At least among the Rangers Kalub was respected, he knew where he stood amongst their ranks and he was not an outsider.

A loud cry, obviously from some brave, not to mention lucky, nocturnal creature, startled all the gathered company.

"Time to go," Eomer decided, finally breaking the tension that had again built up between him and Legolas after only moments reunited. "I trust that you are willing to walk back to camp. We have no horses to spare."

One of the Dwarves scoffed, shifting on his sturdy feet as a physical outlet for his discomfort at the notion of getting atop one of the stinking, skittish, dangerous beasts that these Men seemed to take pride in riding. Beasts of burden had never been beloved by the folk from the mountains. What use could such creatures have when Dwarves' legs were built so sturdy?

"As if we would ride atop one of those things," snorted Gloin stubbornly, dark eyes glinting in anger at the very notion that he should need the aid of any beast of burden.

Eomer stared in wonder at the thickly bearded, short creature stood abstinently before him and his shorter companion. Never in his life had he seen such an unusual being. Rather amazingly, it was Legolas whom Eomer looked to for reason and explanation.

"I will explain everything later," the Elf promised. He understood how startled Eomer must have been. No doubt, the Men of Rohan had never even heard of the Dwarven race. Indeed, the people of the caves were all but extinct in the world now and due to the ferocity of Sauron's extermination of the hard-working beings, they had probably never seen or heard of anything like them. Books and writings that may have explained of the other races of Middle Earth and their histories were probably more useful as fire kindling these days than they were learning. And Legolas could not blame them for that. He had little doubt that had he been presented with the choice even Lord Elrond of Rivendell, renowned lore-master and scholar that he was, would have done the same thing in the end. Dire need changed all outlooks, even that of the scholarly and the wise.

The return to the Men's camp went surprisingly swiftly and mercifully without incident. All were eager to get back, even if only for the false comfort of the firelight.

"Look what we found," announced Eomer with a grin when, not long before the break of dawn, they met Janor and the readied soldiers on the edge of the campsite.

"Legolas!" Janor cried with open excitement and no small amount of relief upon seeing the travellers returned. "Aragorn! You're back!"

"Yes." Legolas managed a fleeting smile as he found himself brought into a crushing embrace by the enthusiastic Ranger. "We have returned."

"Nice to see you again, Aragorn," the Ranger smiled at the young man once he had released a rather uncomfortable Legolas from the tight embrace. "And Kalub." He briefly embraced the tracker then asked, "How was your mission? Successful?"

Legolas looked from Janor to Aragorn then Jecha and back again. "In a manner."

"What does that mean?" asked Eomer, having dismounted and left his horse in the care of one of his men.

"Well, we…uh, we retrieved the Seeing Stone," Aragorn started with a plus.

"But?"

"We lost Grima."

"What?! That snake got away from you?" Anger reddened the man's face and he stubbornly remained standing as the others sat down around one of the fires, relieved to finally be off their aching feet after travelling so far. "How?"

"We had other…concerns at the time," Aragorn eluded cryptically, still deciding on how best to phrase what had actually occurred on their journey. It was quite a tale to accept, even for the most open-minded person, which they all had to agree Eomer was not.

"Other concerns?"

OIOI

"Hold on just one moment," Eomer pleaded, hand raised to halt any further words of this supposed 'explanation' coming from the future king of Gondor and Elven prince who had proceeded to tell the tale of their eventual journey. "You recruited a what?"

"An army of the Dead."

"I see. And they pledged to fight alongside us, did they?"

There was a definite edge of mockery in the man's voice but Aragorn considered it to be entirely justified given what the commander was being asked to believe. After casting a quick glance in Legolas' direction, taking note of how fed up the Elf looked by now, Aragorn answered, "That is correct."

"Right. And this man you…negotiated with…"

"The King of the Dead."

"Right, King of the Dead, he will come to you when summoned, vanquish the scourge of Mordor, after which you, wielder of the Sword of Kings, will release said Army of the Dead from the curse imposed upon them by your ancestor Isildur? Am I missing anything out?"

"No, that's about it."

Pursing his lips together as if he had just discovered himself to be the victim of some ill-conceived practical joke, the man of Rohan asked with all seriousness, "Have you been eating poisonous berries?"

"What? No!"

"So, this is some form of latent madness then?" determined Eomer flatly before sighing and running his fingers through tangled blonde hair. "That's just perfect."

"Let's get one thing straight," put in Legolas sternly, "no one has lost their mind here. What Aragorn says is the truth. The army was persuaded to join with us and to fight for Gondor – For Aragorn."

For a long while, Eomer stared at the ground at his feet, trying to make sense of everything he had just been told. As of yet, he had not entirely ruled out the possibility that on their journey to recover Grima and their stolen artefact, they had looked into the Seeing Stone and had consequently been driven quite insane by its power like so many before them. Surely that was the only reasonable explanation for their impossible account of what had transpired. More realistic certainly than treating with an army of ghosts.

And yet, Aragorn had always seemed so sensible, so grounded. Of the Elf, it was no less than he'd expected. He'd always imagined it to only be a matter of time before the Elf snapped completely. But not Aragorn. Aragorn would not lose his wits so easily.

"An army of ghosts," he finally said, his voice slightly breathless as he still tried to make sense of the concept.

"Yes."

"And none of you have gone insane in your absence?" Eomer asked just to make certain.

"Quite sure we have not," Aragorn confirmed obligingly.

"Well, that is something." He sighed, raising his head. Dawn was creeping towards them and he knew that soon the hushed camp would be bustling with activity. There was still much to learn from the future king and much to tell of his own misfortunes. "I assume that these new…friends of yours are also our allies?"

Aragorn cast his gaze over the newcomers and then confirmed, "That's right. They were the ones who found Grima and told us of the Dead Men under the Mountain. I hope that we can all work together."

"I wish for that too."

Eomer took a moment to assess Jecha. The introductions had been brief earlier and Eomer had not had much of a chance to decide what to make of him. Certainly, he was strange. Just his dress screamed 'different' to the scruffy Rohirrim and Rangers he normally travelled with. He was proud, that much was obvious from the nearly perfect state of his clothing and the way he held himself straight and readied for anything. And yet he was no mere wallflower. Strength and intelligence fairly radiated from the man, along with a deep sense of danger. There was little doubt that the lithe man was a strong warrior at heart. Beneath the veneer, polished and smooth, he seemed toned and physically capable. In the leather sheath strapped to a shining, highly polished black belt, rested an overly elaborate curved sword. A weapon that Eomer guessed had seen action many times in the past. The man's age was impossible to determine. Dark eyes held a look both of wisdom and youth – much like Legolas' did, the man mused. But there was no way to tell unless the man's mask was removed.

Those who travelled with him clearly looked to him for reassurance and leadership. He was trusted.

His companion, similarly dressed, although in garb ever so slightly finer as though he had seen less action in his years, had yet to speak a single word. No one seemed inclined to even look at him let alone talk to him. Aragorn had made no introduction, almost as if he wished to ignore the man completely or maybe didn't know his name. He kept his distance from the others but watched every move being made with narrow dark eyes, twinkling with the same intelligence and wisdom that shone in Jecha's eyes. Perhaps they were kin. Eomer took an immediate dislike to him and he noted that even Legolas and Aragorn showed no interest in communicating with him. Only his fellow Easterling paid him any attention but spoke to him with hushed almost deferent tones. Given that he appeared slightly older than Jecha, Eomer wondered if perhaps they were father and son.

"So, an undefeatable army. That is a great coup indeed," Eomer finally conceded with a nod of approval. "If it is true."

"Yes," agreed Legolas.

"Sauron would stand little chance…"

"No," Aragorn shook his head as he warmed his hands over the fire. "They agreed to fight for the freedom of Gondor and her people, not to liberate Mordor."

"Hang on, you're saying that you made a pact with the perfect army and didn't think to include bringing down the Dark Lord in the deal?"

Aragorn looked to Legolas to drink in the brief flash of encouragement that was offered then protested, "We were not exactly in the position to ask for much. To Gondor they are bound and only Gondor will they serve. We could ask no more of them."

Feeling irritation beginning to form in the pit of his stomach, Eomer counted to ten in his head to reign in his temper. What was done was done. It could not be changed and at least the now certain taking of Gondor was something.

"All right," he finally sighed.

"It is something, Eomer. It is vastly more than we had before."

The man was surprised for this sounded almost like a plea; not a normal tone for the Elf to take, certainly in his presence. His eyes grazed over the Elf. He looked the same, although perhaps more wary than he had in the past. Perhaps it was simply that Legolas did not entirely trust the new Men amongst them. Or perhaps the Elf did not like the fact that Aragorn actually seemed to like and have faith in their newest members rather than just in him. Eomer shrugged it off for the time being. He didn't intend to spend his valuable time worrying over the Elf.

Now that light was beginning to drench the camp, Legolas was able to see the changes in the Men he had left behind weeks earlier and he sat up straight in surprise.

"Where is everyone?"

Fear entered Eomer's eyes than, and although he had expected this question and although he opened his mouth to reply no response came forth.

"Eomer, what happened?"

Sighing, the man finally managed, "There was…We were attacked."

"By who?"

"Orcs. Lots of Orcs."

"Was anyone hurt?" The concern was plain on Aragorn's face; he already knew what the answer would be.

"The attack was vicious. We lost…many."

"How many?"

"Sixty-five dead in total."

"Sixty-five!" Legolas, Aragorn and Kalub all exclaimed in unison.

"A further fifteen have been poisoned, fatally. Forty-seven have died of the Orc's poison already, and Valon says there is no cure."

"Poison?"

"So many killed at long range, by arrows tipped with poison. We barely stood a chance."

Legolas shook his head. During his time attempting to cleanse the forests of Mirkwood, Legolas had seen many good, strong warriors and plenty of defenceless innocents cut down by the cruel poisons devised by the Orcs. The effects may not have been instantaneous but they were nonetheless devastating. A truly horrible way to die as he recalled.

Eomer broke the sombre silence that had descended. "I suppose you will want to rest now. We normally travel during the day but we can make an exception for your return I suppose."

"I for one am exhausted," stated Kalub, stretching his arms above high above his head. Already the man had kicked off his shoes and shed his thick jacket.

"We will rest for a while, set our plans in motion later," decided the Elf amongst them.

"Good plan." Aragorn too was worn out. On the road, they had not paused much for rest, so it was welcome now that they were back amongst people they knew and trusted.

"All right," Eomer said, "Janor, show our new…friends where they can rest for the day and give them anything they require."

"Of course. This way."

Much to Eomer's surprise, the heads of all the newcomers turned towards Aragorn, seeking permission to leave it seemed. Wide eyes, filled with amazement, followed their line of sight to find that the boy was equally uncertain, shifting uncomfortably where he sat in the light of their attentions.

"Janor will take care of you all," Legolas told them.

Aragorn confirmed with a nod. Immediately, Jecha got to his feet and the others followed his lead, going after the Ranger. The other Easterling went last, getting lithely to his feet and following the others slowly. He looked over his shoulder only once to glance back at Eomer with calculating eyes.

"I am going to bed too," said Kalub, hauling himself to his feet.

"Wait a moment," Eomer stopped him although he also got up, prompting the others to stand as well. "I didn't want to say anything in front of the strangers." Dread filled Legolas, Aragorn and Kalub at the grim tone of the commander's voice. "In the battle with the Orcs…I'm sorry to tell you that Carion was killed."

"What?!" they exclaimed as one in horror.

"He was injured by the first wave of attack. He never stood a chance. He died in Janor's arms."

Grief shadowed Aragorn's face, which had drained of all healthy colour, and he subconsciously gripped Legolas' shoulder as if for support. Kalub dipped his head, breathing deeply, hurt by the loss of his friend and companion. That he had not been there to see him before he had fallen, not had a chance to say goodbye, hit him hard.

Suddenly though, the tracker raised his head and asked in alarm, "How is Veron?"

"He's been better."

"I should go speak with him."

Eomer barely had a chance to nod before Kalub had pushed past him in his haste to find the bereft twin brother of his fallen comrade. When Legolas and Aragorn went to join him to pass on their condolences, Eomer snagged the Elf's arm and held him back, effectively stopping his ward at the same time.

"Legolas, Ciaran was hurt as well."

Panic struck Legolas' heart and the pain he felt crash over him came as somewhat of a shock. For Aragorn it would have been perfectly understandable but for Ciaran? What on earth was happening to him? Gone were the days when he had closed himself off from feeling anything for anyone, it seemed. In truth, he couldn't decide whether this was a good thing or not. Judging by the way the feeling made his heart beat erratically and the pain it caused him, he decided that it was bad. And he had no one to blame but himself. It had been his choice to take on Aragorn as a ward. That had been when it had changed him.

"How bad is it?" Aragorn asked in place of his guardian.

"Valon says that he will recover in time but right now he is not well at all."

Legolas sighed, eyes falling closed. "Don't tell me…"

"Poison. From an Orc arrow," confirmed the Rohan commander. "The wound, mercifully, is not life-threatening but he has to take time to recover." Eomer fell silent as Legolas digested this information, noting the way the Elf raked his fingers through his hair in despair. When Legolas raised his head again, the man continued, "He has been asking after you a lot during his convalescence. If you want to see him…"

"Yes, of course," Legolas answered although his voice remained distracted.

"By the second fire. Valon is with him and the others."

"Thank you." Legolas shook his head to one side and then to the other to clear his mind somewhat and indeed he seemed to be considerably more in control of himself when he turned to his ward and spoke again. "Aragorn, go get cleaned up and get some rest."

Usually, Aragorn would have argued that he too wanted to see Ciaran but he recognised the look in his guardian's eyes; he would brook no refusal. So, he nodded and slowly moved away, leaving Eomer to lead Legolas to where Ciaran was laid in recovery.

Whilst Legolas crouched down at the young man's side, Eomer went in search of the physician to provide them with an update as to his condition.

"Ciaran?" Legolas said softly, laying his hand in a soothing motion against the boy's forehead, which was hot with fever.

"His condition is stable."

The Elf looked up at the sound of Valon's voice. "He is improved?"

"Much improved since he was first brought to me. The first couple of days were touch and go for a while but mercifully the dose he received was low enough not to be fatal. Given the alternative, he was extremely lucky. Had it been anything greater than a graze, he would have died days ago." Valon looked around and Legolas eyes followed his gaze to drift over the others lying on the ground, many of them looking considerably worse off than Ciaran. "Many others do not share his good fortune."

"The poison is bad?"

"Yes. Particularly vicious."

"And yet he got off relatively lightly."

"As I said his wound is but a graze and we managed to cleanse it shortly after it was sustained thus it was not fully absorbed into his blood."

"Thank the Valar."

Legolas startled as the words left his lips, for it had been decades since he had considered anything to be a blessing from the Creators. In these dark times, there seemed to be very little to thank them for. And yet the familiar prayer slipped from him automatically.

By now, the Elf's eyes were fixed firmly upon Ciaran again. Knowing that his presence was no longer required, Valon stepped away with the stealth that any Elf would have admired.

How much this young man reminded Legolas of Aragorn in his youth. Innocent in spite of all the horrors he'd witnessed, all the terrible suffering he'd been made to endure. And yet, also so terribly burdened.

"Ciaran?" the Elf asked again and was this time rewarded with a mumble of recognition. "Can you hear me?"

"Father?" breathed the boy, turning his head towards the voice that had broken through the veil of mist that clouded his fevered mind.

"No, child. It is Legolas."

"Legolas?" Ciaran frowned then forced one eye open to look at the Elf. Indeed, it was confirmed. "You're back?"

"For a couple of hours now."

"There was an attack."

"Yes," Legolas nodded, taking Ciaran's delicate hand in his own. "Everything is fine now though."

"Orcs."

"I know."

"And…them."

"Them?" Legolas asked in confusion, for the boy became even more agitated when he spoke of this mysterious 'them'. "Who are they?"

"You know. The…The Shadows."

Legolas felt his blood run cold at the mention of this for there was no doubting to whom the boy was referring. Shadows. The Wraiths. No warning of their presence close by pricked at Legolas' senses; it had not done since Kinnale's death in the caves months ago.

Shaking off the shadow that had momentarily descended over him, Legolas forced a smile and reassured, "You are safe here."

"No. They are here. Amongst us." Wild eyes darted around, frightened and suspicious.

Legolas had little doubt that if the Wraiths of Mordor were in fact moving amongst the gathered rebels then the air would be positively charged with their dark energy, by-product of their black magic. He felt no such tension. The Nine were not here and were nowhere close by either. Nor had they been close recently.

"They are not here. I promise. Do you trust me, Ciaran?"

Although he swallowed thickly, a sign of his fear, Ciaran nevertheless nodded, settling back a little with Legolas' reassurance. "Yes. I do."

"Then trust that I will keep you safe. I will not let them touch you. Not ever."

"All right," Ciaran said; already his fevered eyes were beginning to grow heavy again as sleep crept up on him.

"Get some rest. Valon says that you will be better soon."

A small smile graced Ciaran's pale lips then. "I'm glad you're back."

Legolas simply nodded in return and sat quietly as he watched the boy doze off. He doubted very much that given his delirious state Ciaran would remember much, if any of this when he next woke. His distress, too, would no doubt vanish as he gained his strength back and rid his body of the Orcs' poison. Most likely, his imaginings of the Wraiths were merely remnants of nightmares. Understandable, for they probably haunted his memory more persistently than any other horror he had witnessed being, as they were, responsible for the death of his beloved father.

Even so, the Darkness weighed heavily upon Legolas' mind as he watched Ciaran sleep. Would that he could be so easily convinced of safety.

To Be Continued…