The War of Light and Shadow
By Freddie23
OIOIOIOI
Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.
A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. I hope you all like the chapter.
OIOIOIOIOIOI
Chapter 65 – Paving The Way
The breeze was picking up. Mercifully, it was beginning to blow away the thick clouds of fog that had enveloped the city for almost a week now, making it seem slightly less unbearably claustrophobic trapped as the Men were within the city borders. For days it had hung, day and night, over Osgiliath, cocooning all within. People had started to become uneasy shrouded in the thick grey haze. They tended to be unsettled when they felt so trapped within their own homes with the knowledge that Minas Tirith, the city taken, lay somewhere hidden away in the distance, swarming with monsters of the Shadow; at times it felt very much like there was no escape if the forces of Shadow were to attack them now. It was psychological, they all knew. There was never any hope of escape from Osgiliath with the White City looming in the distance, fog or no. Not being able to see the threat to their lives though made them all antsy. If their doom was coming, they wanted to be aware of it no matter what.
"Anything good to look at today?" Jecha asked the Elf perching upon the wall that had become a regular haunt for him of late, facing the currently invisible city of Minas Tirith. It was quiet here and as few thought to seek him out Legolas was left pretty much alone, which he had always preferred.
"Not much." Legolas did not turn to his unwelcome guest. His eyes remained squinting into the grey horizon in spite of his declaration that there was nothing to see.
"Would you mind if I joined you?"
Tense shoulders rose up then dropped down in an indifferent shrug that was decidedly cold. "Do what you like."
It was not much of an invitation but Jecha took it as an affirmative all the same and he joined the Elf on the wall. "You are still upset with me."
"I am not upset."
"Really? Then I am misreading."
"Obviously."
"Legolas, you must not blame me."
"Must I not?"
"You should not. I did what I had to."
The Elf finally, slowly turned his head to look at Jecha, anger burning bright behind blue eyes. "Are you sure you want to be seen with me? People might talk; you associating with a traitor."
"No one has accused you of treason."
"No? It certainly sounded like it." His eyes moved down in the direction where he could hear the citizens of Osgiliath moving about the city. "To them it sounded like it."
"You are worried about public opinion all of a sudden? Because you never have before. In fact you actively strive to distance yourself from any other Human here. Even Aragorn of late, I have noticed. You cannot blame that isolation on me, now can you?" To this, Legolas said nothing although his features tightened slightly as though he accepted what Jecha was telling him. "If you wish to continue your anger towards me then so be it. But in case you haven't noticed things are in preparation for the attack. You are needed."
"I do not believe so."
Jecha released a deep sigh of frustration. "Stop moping around feeling sorry for yourself. Now is not the time. There are more important things to concentrate on than your own bruised ego. Think of Aragorn."
"He knows where to find me. I'm always around if I'm needed."
"You and your pride!"
"Leave me alone, Jecha."
The Easterling shrugged softly, looking away from the Elf. "Whatever you want." He stood from his seat on the wall, straightening out his layers of still flawless clothes, still undamaged by the trials he had endured. It still amazed Legolas. Not once had he seen the man repair the fine garments and he seemed to possess only one set. It seemed truly miraculous. "If you want to sit out here alone and sulk then fine. I will not stop you. It matters little to me if you choose to brood." It was sharply said but there was no real anger in his voice. He was frustrated. Given Legolas' behaviour, he thought it a completely justified feeling but not one he was entirely used to.
Jecha knew that the Elf would not be easily convinced after their somewhat heated confrontation the morning before about Eomer's fears over the Elf's involvement with the Shadow. Not only had Legolas been angry at being accused of being an ally of the Shadow after all he had done to put a halt to Sauron's tyranny but also because he felt very much like Eomer had betrayed his confidence. He had not meant to reveal so much that night Eomer had turned from irritant to friend. The kindness had thrown him and he had let down his guard for one brief moment and now he was paying for it. Jecha was very much aware of all of this and he was beginning to think that his attempts to pull Legolas from his anger were folly.
To try to apologise would simply be a waste of his valuable time. Aragorn was awaiting his return in the command post and he did not want to keep the king waiting.
As he went to walk away though, Legolas' wistful voice drifted quietly over him with the most unexpected of comments, "I would give anything to be able to glimpse the stars just one more time."
Jecha stopped at the words of aching pain and turned slowly to look at the Elf, who had resumed his distant gaze, although this time it was directed upwards towards the grey heavens rather than down at the mortals below.
"The stars?"
It occurred to Legolas with a sad jolt that maybe Jecha, a mortal Human born during Sauron's reign of terror, might never have seen the night sky full of stars as he had enjoyed during his own blessed childhood. It saddened him that Jecha, along with so many others amongst his kind had been denied that wonder that he had so loved indulging in before the changing of the world. It hurt him further still that Aragorn, his ward, had never looked up at the sparkling heavens and beheld its wonder. To the Elves, the stars were precious; to live without sight of them was a torture in itself, one that had taken its toll on Legolas when the skies darkened and clouded in the first years after Sauron's mutilation of Arda. Surprising, he mused, how one could adjust to such terrible deprivation. As a young Elf, he could not have imagined living without the sight of the skies. Even during his long tours of Mirkwood's dense forests, when the skies were obscured by thick canopies of green, he had always felt the light beyond. But now even that feeling of safety and comfort was gone from his world.
"They are so beautiful." He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes to lose his mind in the beautiful illusion that the air was crisp and clear and the city bathed in the starlight and moonlight of old. "When I was young, I used to creep from my bed chamber at night and go out onto the practice fields where no one could see me, lay on my back on the cool grass and stare for hours up at the sky just watching the changing heavens. It used to drive my father to distraction when he discovered I had slipped past the guards yet again." He chuckled softly to himself, lost for a moment in the pleasant memory of his childhood, which he seldom permitted himself to indulge in. "I used to do it all the more when I discovered his displeasure, just to irritate him." Jecha listened in respectful silence to these reminiscences, knowing that it was a rare thing for Legolas to open up to anyone. "And then the Shadow veiled the skies and all was blank and cold in the world and I could gaze upon the stars no more."
"That was before my time."
"Yes, it would be I suppose." Legolas' eyes opened again, shining with melancholy. "You are lucky. Not remembering; it is a gift."
"Do you think? Is it really better to have never known something than to miss it?"
Rubbing his hands down his face, Legolas asked, "What do you think?"
"Would you prefer to be ignorant?"
"I don't know," confessed Legolas thoughtfully. "Sometimes, I wonder."
Jecha stepped towards him again, almost as quiet on his feet as any Elf. He was growing concerned over the prince. It was unlike Legolas to talk of the past. "Are you all right?"
"I will be."
"You want me to fetch Aragorn?"
"No. Absolutely not." With that, Legolas slipped lithely off the wall to stand at Jecha's side. "Forget I ever spoke of this."
"Legolas…"
"Jecha, please. There is a lot to do."
As the Elf strode away from him with purpose restored to his gait, apparently having shaken off his melancholy, Jecha called after him, "I thought you weren't helping."
"Changed my mind."
There was nothing that could be said, Jecha knew, to stop him, so the Easterling waited until Legolas had a chance to gain a little distance on him and then followed behind. He may have had concerns about the King's guardian but war was coming ever closer to them; there was no time for this now. Maybe after Minas Tirith was back in the hands of the Allies then he could speak with Legolas and Aragorn and sort out this horrible tension that was inexplicably building up. Until then, Jecha convicted to spend his energies preparing the ill-equipped Men of Gondor for the siege. A daunting task, given the strength residing within the White City.
OIOI
Orthanc – Isengard
He had lost the ability to shout days ago. All he could manage now through his parched throat was the occasional weak rasp. Useless, given he was so isolated at the peak of Orthanc. No one was around to hear his increasingly weakened cries for pity and help. Not that anyone would pay him any heed even if they could hear his pleas.
It was the theft of his one comfort, being able to voice his displeasure at his incarceration, that had nearly broken him back when he had been able to feel anything. Now he could do nothing at all. It had been a long while since he had eaten or had even a drop of water to quench his thirst. He had no energy left in his thin body. Days previously, although he couldn't remember when exactly, he had laid down on the filthy, rodent infested stone floor and he had not stood up since even though his mind screamed at him that he must if he desired to live. Standing required strength and he needed all of his simply to keep drawing breath into his lungs.
This was not the way he'd wanted to end his life, rotting away in his master's prison, the very place he had once taken great pleasure in taunting the poor occupants before he'd been sent out on his ill-fated mission. He'd seen enough perish here to know that his situation was hopeless. He knew that there was no escaping Isengard. Even if one could break out of the prison, none could get through the outer defences without being spotted. Hopeless.
Just a week before, Uruks had been stood beyond the thick metal door, guarding him, but they had left when he had fallen to the floor and not gotten up. They had not returned since. It had signalled his end. He was all alone now. No point in guarding someone who was incapable of even making a bid for freedom. That irritated Grima to no end. He had infiltrated the Rohirrim, done what others could not, what others would not dare, in service of his master. He had gotten his hands on the Palantir and stolen it away from the false King, the bane of the Dark Lord. Who could ever have foreseen running into that ragtag mix of wild Men and stunted Dwarves? No one could have predicted such a complication. And yet, he was being blamed for failing in the mission entrusted to him even though it was folly. He was imprisoned and forgotten. Unfairly.
His endless parade of morbid thoughts got him through yet another lonely night. He found that in lieu of shouting the injustice of all this, these dark thoughts were the only things keeping him alive and reasonably sane. They were a comfort. A small comfort, to be sure, but he clung onto this one small mercy.
The dullness of his long imprisonment was broken up when the door to his cell was opened with a loud, long squeal that made his head hurt and light stung his eyes as it shone brightly from the open doorway; white, unnatural light that equally warmed and terrified him. With one arm raising weakly to shield his eyes, Grima squinted up at the tall shape of pure white looming over him.
"You failed me, Grima. I am disappointed."
All the wretched creature could do was rasp out something unintelligible. Saruman's nose wrinkled at the smell of the filth around him. He found it horribly distasteful, being down in the realm of his prisoners. That was what servants were for, after all.
"You know why you are being punished, don't you?"
"Master." A clawed hand, pale and shaking, reached out for Saruman's robes draping on the floor before him. The Wizard took a disgusted step backwards pulling his finery with him. At the best of times, he did not like to be touched, especially by the lesser servants under his command. "Please, master, have mercy."
"Mercy?" It was as if Grima had forgotten that it had been his master who had condemned him to die in this place in the first place. Perhaps he had become delusional. Not that Saruman cared at all. His purpose down here did not require lucidity from his prisoner. In fact, he found himself bored already with the talking. Time to end his visit to the dregs of his small empire.
"You are worthless."
Grima lifted his head from the floor. He'd heard the note of finality. "I tried, Master."
"Not hard enough."
"Please." The hand that grasped at Saruman this time failed to reach him and Grima had not the strength even to drag himself across the floor on his belly to reach for the wizard. "It…It was the Human. It was all his doing."
Aragorn, Saruman thought with a sneer. Once again, that pretender to the throne of Men was in the way. His Lord would not be pleased. But that was a problem for another day. First, he had to clean up this mess of his own making. Aragorn would feel the wrath of the Shadow soon enough.
"Saruman, please."
Grima's last breath was used on a useless plea. Normally, the White Wizard would never have dirtied himself with such an unsavoury task, choosing to leave punishment and murder to his servants instead but Grima had embarrassed him greatly in front of the Dark Lord. Payback for such a mortifying situation felt surprisingly good. He stepped out of the cell, pushing the door shut on the waxy, pale face of his sub-standard servant. Let the traitorous body rot in the cells. A crooked smile flitted across Saruman's face. A job well done and perhaps a chance to salvage his standing in Sauron's eyes.
Saruman walked rapidly through the narrow halls of Orthanc, his footsteps echoing around as they kept a steady rhythm on the black stone floors.
The forked tower of Saruman had been built long ago by the Humans who had occupied Isengard as a great fortress, reaching high up into the sky to give perfect views of the surrounding lands of Isengard; it proved perfect for observing his empire when he felt so inclined. He was in such an improved mood now that his latest problem was at last out of the way that Saruman decided to pause for a moment and admire the lands around his tower as he seldom did anymore. Long slits, narrow but an ideal size for archers to be placed strategically around the tower should it ever come under attack, were cut into the thick stone so Saruman paused on his walk to look out. The day was grey but Saruman didn't mind that. It was his master's plan to make the world dark and so it was a good thing that the blanket of misery covered Isengard as well. Besides, he personally thought the world looked rather good shrouded in grey. It always calmed him to look upon secure lands under the rule of Arda's most powerful.
Today though, he was not soothed by what he saw beyond the walls of his forked tower. Horrified, would have been a more apt description. Not quite believing what his eyes were seeing, the Wizard pressed closer to the window, perhaps in the foolish hope that he was mistaken. But he was not.
Inside the defensive ring that surrounded Orthanc, the Uruk-hai had gathered, hundreds of them pouring from Isengard's pits to congregate together. All were flocking around another group of creatures come out of the mists that had replaced the trees in the pillaged Forest of Fangorn. From this distance it was impossible to identify the ringleaders or exact numbers but they were vast. The whole army he had built painstakingly from almost nothing was spilling from Isengard and he had no idea as to the reason. Certainly, he had not ordered it.
Anger flared in Saruman's chest, followed almost immediately by terror as his mind caught up with what was happening in his land. He backed away from the window until he felt the opposite wall hard against his back. Someone had ordered this gathering of his army and he doubted very much that the order came from within Isengard for no one would have the nerve. It was true that the Uruk-hai were intelligent beings, by his own design he had made them so, but he was doubtful that they harboured any thoughts of mutiny. They were bred for obedience, not for free thought.
Still, Saruman thought that an Uruk uprising would have been preferable to the alternative. Only one other could command his army – the only one he acknowledged as his superior: Sauron.
This possibility – probability, in fact – startled Saruman into action. He pushed away from the wall in an almost violent movement and hurried down the corridor, gripping his staff tight in both hands. If his lands were emptying then he feared that his time was also coming to an end. At what point, he wondered, had he ceased to be useful? Was he not an important, powerful and loyal ally? Had he not done all that was asked of him by the Lord of Darkness?
Crashing through the double doors to his study, Saruman turned and slammed the heavy doors closed behind him. He considered barricading them but then decided against it. Anything coming for him now would not be stopped by furniture of wood however study it looked.
Panic coursed through him. Magic probably would keep the Uruks at bay but against the darker servants of Mordor, it would be weak and mostly useless. What defence then did he have? He had nothing to bargain with. He apparently had no further purpose within Sauron's empire. He was obsolete, a loose end that now had to be terminated, just as he had done moments before with his own unfortunate servant Grima. And just as he had denied Grima the mercy he had begged for, so he knew he would be denied.
Hurrying over to his window, he looked out. The army was growing. All bore their armour, ironically stamped with his own symbol - the White Hand, and their weapons. Isengard was fast emptying and preparing, it seemed, to march into war. Saruman looked upwards to the skies, wondering whether the Nazgul were circling overhead. If they came for him, he was not sure whether he had the skill to hold them off. But he would try all the same. Until the last.
On the plinth in the middle of the room, in a place of reverence - sat the Palantir of Isengard, covered as it always was with dark cloth. Saruman ripped off the covering. Sauron, he knew, possessed one of these in his tower in Mordor. So too did Aragorn, despite all of his thwarted efforts to change that fact. Ironic, that he should now be, in what may very well be his final moments, looking at the very thing that had destroyed him. Usually, the Stone flared brightly when he looked into it, ever maintaining his connection to the Dark Lord but today it remained dark, dead. Saruman's heart leapt. He was out of contact. Mordor had abandoned him. Were he to summon up the Palantir of Mordor, he was certain his calls for clemency would go unheeded.
As if the Stone were a weapon intent on destroying him, he stepped away from it.
By the time he had run through the options in his mind, what the Dark Lord would do, by the time he had figured it out, it was too late. Darkness filled his mind, like a veil being pulled tight over his senses. This was followed almost immediately by dazzling light building behind his eyes. His staff fell from his hand, clattering noisily to the floor. A wave of weakness swept over him. His elderly form crumpled to the ground. A terrible crack sounded as his knees hit the floor but he did not feel the pain of the debilitating impact. In fact, he felt nothing other than the life seeping out of him. No, not life. Power. He looked over at his intricately carved staff. The magic, that blessing granted him long ago by the Valar themselves, was now being stolen from him by the Dark Lord leagues away in Mordor.
Gradually, he began to feel himself growing weaker still. He was not sure how Sauron was pulling this trick off. It would be costing him great power. It had to be with the aid of the Wraiths. Only the Witchking had the know-how to steal such potent magic. If it was indeed the Witchking then Saruman knew he stood little chance of escaping this fate. Yet, he still fought the strong pull of Dark magic that assailed him. He wouldn't go down without a fight.
But he was nowhere near strong enough. Perhaps if he had had the forethought to have anticipated this treachery then he might have been able to put up a better fight. Not like this though. There was nothing he could do but let the inevitable happen.
The knowledge that he would die from this sent of a jolt of fear through him. He did not want to die, to linger forever in the Halls of the Dead alongside the many hundreds he had condemned to their deaths. And he didn't want to go like this. He had been betrayed and it stung that he meant so little in the grand scheme of things.
It was an odd feeling, the sensation of the life draining out of him. Sinking further down to the floor, Saruman looked to the Palantir, wondering whether his treacherous Lord was watching him surreptitiously through the Stone. No doubt he took pleasure in this. With his foot, he kicked out at the plinth, hoping to jolt the Seeing Stone from its resting place. It did not so much as judder under the force of his impact.
The touch did incite something though. It was as though he had suddenly been enveloped in a blizzard. His vision turned white and the temperature dropped all around him. Shivering, he curled up into a tight ball. The whiteness became punctuated by spots of black after a while. Dizziness overwhelmed him and darkness slowly descended over his vision.
Within an hour of the order from Mordor being given, the Tower of Orthanc and the network of caves that were buried beneath it stood deserted. All within emptied out into the ring surrounding Isengard. There was no point in lingering in the realm now that the commanding Wizard laid dead within. Their forces were needed elsewhere.
Rows and rows of Uruk-hai and Orcs marched out of the dead realm, now under new orders from the Master of All.
OIOI
"Do you feel it?"
"Hm."
"I can feel it."
"Hm."
"It's horrible. I don't like it."
"Good to know."
Kalub sighed, an overly loud and dramatic sound in the quiet. He turned his attention to the Elf sat opposite him at the table and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Yes."
"Really? It doesn't seem like you're listening."
Distractedly, Legolas answered without looking up, "I'm getting the gist."
The Ranger slapped his hands down lightly on the table before him. "The gist?"
"You don't like waiting."
"How can you be so calm? We're going into battle at dawn."
"I'm aware."
"Then panic a little, would you?!"
At last raising his eyes to his Human companion, Legolas asked, "Would it make you feel better if I descended into panic?"
"Maybe. Let's give it a try." When Legolas merely smiled blandly at him, a clear sign that panic was not on the Elf's mind nor would he lower himself to feeling the same apprehension that Kalub was feeling, the Ranger grinned at him in return then with another almost bored sigh, he sat up straight in his chair. "All right. I'm going to take a walk around the city. Do you want to come?"
"No, thank you."
Kalub got up from his chair, stretching his arms above his head with a low groan. "What are you going to do tonight?"
"Sleep?" Legolas suggested with a quirk of a smile in Kalub's direction.
"Funny. Seriously?"
Glancing down at the weaponry arrayed on the table ready for tending, Legolas answered, "I'm going to finish this then go and check on Aragorn before the gathering at the edge of the city."
"Dawn. Is it me, or does it seem a long way away?" Kalub asked as he went to the door.
"No. It doesn't seem far enough away to me."
"Right."
For a while longer, Legolas sat preparing his weapons, ensuring that they were perfect for the fight ahead. The upcoming battle against the Shadow for Minas Tirith would undoubtedly be long and fierce and he wanted to be ready. He, unlike the rest of Osgiliath, had not been pleased when Faramir and Aragorn had announced that the attack would commence at dawn. The Men of Osgiliath, now including the Rangers and Rohirrim, were as ready to confront the armies of the Shadow as they ever would be. There was little point in delaying the inevitable. Nothing was going to change dramatically. Better to call the attack now during the night while the Men were on alert. Once, long ago, there would have been an advantage to attacking Orcs during the daylight for they despised the light of the sun. But the world was grey and dark now all the time. Night and day no longer mattered to the forces of Shadow.
Whilst most went about this night in a heightened state of excitement, anxious about what awaited them but also eager to get going with the attack, Legolas was not looking forward to it at all. He was not afraid of what was coming. Unlike many of these Men, he knew what to expect of battle. He'd seen more than enough fighting in his long life.
So, as others seemed like Kalub, unsettled, Legolas remained ever calm. He was sure that the other warriors amongst the Men about the city felt the same. Experience, knowledge, brought about that tranquillity. It was the untrained fighters that worried Legolas the most. Warriors were few and far between in relation to the forces guarding Minas Tirith so Faramir, under Aragorn's advisement, had drafted in the able men and women from all quarters. Eomer had not been happy when the ranks of his Rohirrim had been bolstered by the willing women from Edoras but his protests had been ignored. Now was not the time to leave able soldiers on the side-lines no matter what their sex.
Legolas had been impressed with what Aragorn and Faramir had come up with, with regards to the taking of Minas Tirith. It was a well-thought-out plan, covering every aspect of the upcoming battle. Of course, it was impossible to predict what would happen once they reached Pelennor Fields and the Shadow army saw their approach. Not everything could be planned in war.
Now that Kalub had deserted him and the nervous tension had drained from the room, Legolas found that same energy had been transferred in part to him. Still, he forced himself to complete his task, knowing that it had to be done and done well. He would not be caught out tomorrow.
Once he'd finished, he packed away his twin blades, the daggers and the bow and arrows that he had been loaned by one of the Men of Osgiliath. Ready for the attack. He used to perform roughly the same ritual before leaving to patrol the forests of Mirkwood and he found it to be of some comfort now in this unfamiliar environment.
Certain that everything was sufficiently prepared, Legolas rose from his seat.
Next, he had promised himself that he would seek out Aragorn. The only time he'd seen the king in days was when he and Faramir had addressed the gathered mass of people in the square and then he'd not had a chance to really speak with his ward. Oddly, he felt reluctant now to seek Aragorn out. He and Aragorn had not quarrelled recently, there was no lingering animosity between them that Legolas knew of and yet during preparations for the upcoming assault on Minas Tirith Aragorn had not once sought him out to comfort or advise. He supposed that he was as much to blame for he had not sought the man out either. There was no reason he could think of for this reticence.
Still, it niggled him that Aragorn seemed to be putting distance between them. After all, the young man had always relied upon him, even when they had disagreements, Legolas knew that Aragorn looked to him for acceptance and guidance.
But no more, it seemed.
How much he had changed, Legolas wondered as he pushed in his seat and looked around the candlelit room. In Aragorn's youth, he had been reluctant to be looked to for advice. It was a parent's job to guide a child and Legolas had not been a parent in many years. However, over the years, his views on Aragorn and his duty to the future king had changed greatly. Now, he wanted so much to help Aragorn on his quest for the throne of Gondor. And yet now Aragorn turned away from him and he knew not why.
Of course, it was inevitable that Aragorn, once he had reached Gondor, would look more to the Men of that realm than to his Elven guardian. Legolas had always know and appreciated that. In fact, in the early days of travelling towards this realm, he had thought it would be a relief not to be burdened with the title and responsibility that Aragorn carried with him. And Legolas was glad that his ward seemed to be getting on well with the new Steward of Gondor and that their relationship was firm. He would need such an alliance in the future should their campaign against the White City be successful. But the prince who had guided the young man to his destiny had always assumed that at the end of their quest there would be a place for him.
After all, what was he without Aragorn at his side? He had no kingdom, no home of his own. He had no army. He had few friends within the ranks of Men and was generally looked upon with fear and suspicion by most of them. It could not be denied that he had not exactly gone out of his way to make friends with any of the Men of Gondor. At times, it must have looked like he was doing everything within his power to make enemies amongst the Humans. But surely doing what was right regardless of the personal consequences was not a crime worthy of exile from the life of his ward.
When Aragorn took the throne, what would his place be then? Would he just become another soldier? That he wouldn't have minded, he supposed, for he would always fight for Aragorn. The thought of being distanced from the man he had raised hurt though. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a selfish part of him thought that for all his efforts in getting to this point he deserved better.
Sighing to himself, Legolas pushed such self-pitying thoughts aside with a twinge of shame. He should not be thinking thusly. He should be proud of his ward for growing enough to no longer need him, he berated himself.
Outside, the air was fresh because of the cold, but lightning streaked across the sky over the mountains bordering the land of Mordor. A storm. Legolas wondered what the Dark Lord was doing this night, whether Mordor felt the anticipation growing in the lands next to his Black Lands. He doubted it. There was no way that Sauron could know what was being planned right under his nose. He was oblivious. That made Legolas' heart somewhat lighter.
After a brief walk, he found Aragorn sat outside the building that he was sharing with the Rangers.
"Aragorn? May I join you?"
Aragorn looked up, startled at the sound of his guardian's voice and there was surprise on his face at Legolas' presence. Nevertheless, he answered quickly, "Of course."
With a smile, Legolas joined him on the rotted step, noting Anduril resting next to the man and the flask of Ranger brew that had once belonged to Kinnale clasped in the man's hands. "How are you doing?"
"Fine. Waiting. You?"
"I've been preparing."
"Everyone has. Have you seen?"
"It has been hard to miss. Things have been manic."
Memories of the frantic days leading up to this night made Aragorn smile gently. The Men had worked fast and hard to get everything ready. For the most part, Aragorn and Faramir had been right at the heart of the chaos, planning and organising the troops. He had been aware of Legolas the whole time. The Elf had remained on the periphery, keeping out of the way of Faramir as asked by the new Steward and allied King, but Aragorn had heard from various people that he had been guiding the Men of Ogsiliath, teaching the ones unschooled in the art of war. Although Aragorn had not seen Legolas much or spoken of it, he appreciated the quiet support.
"They're doing well though, aren't they?"
"The Men?" Aragorn nodded, wanting his mentor's opinion. Legolas smiled softly at this. "Yes, they're doing very well."
"You don't sound terribly convinced."
"No, they are doing very well. Under the circumstances, I don't think they could do any better."
"Do you think they're ready?"
"As ready as they'll ever be."
"Good." Silence fell then, comfortable enough. Then, after a few minutes, Aragorn spoke up, and the quiet, nervous question that had obviously been resting heavily on his mind for some time now, probably ever since they had started working on the attack plans for the retaking of Minas Tirith. "A lot of them are going to die, aren't they?"
Legolas sighed deeply, raising his hand to run thin fingers through his hair. He would have given anything to have avoided this conversation. "Yes."
Nodding, keeping tears at bay as they threatened to gather in his eyes, Aragorn asked, "How many do you think?"
"I don't know."
"Most of them?"
"Possibly." What was the point in lying to the man now? He would find out for himself in just a few hours. Legolas wanted him to be prepared for what was going to happen after the battle as he could be.
Aragorn turned away from him, discreetly swiping tears from his eyes. His voice was thick when he started to speak again. "Those people are going to die because of me, on my orders."
"Yes, they are."
This was not what Aragorn wanted to hear. He should have been used it by now. Legolas had never been one to hide the truth or to soften the bad news for him. On some level he had always appreciated that candour. But now, when he actually wanted to be lied to, Legolas stuck to his policy of absolute truth.
"How am I supposed to command them knowing that?"
"Exactly the same as you would do under any other circumstances."
"I'm not sure that I can do that."
"Well, you have to."
"How?"
Legolas leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees and he could peer up at his ward's face. "It's hard, Aragorn. It's never easy to give an order you know is going to end up hurting – even killing – innocent people. It should never feel easy. But you have to do it all the same. It is the burden of command and one that you hold by birth-right."
"You know that I have never wanted it."
"I know."
Aragorn sighed and took the opportunity to look around the courtyard he was sat facing. He was tired but sleep would not come easily to him this night. Tension was thick and taut in the air. He doubted that many would find peace. Perhaps the more experienced, battle-hardened warriors would not be too bothered by the impending task. But, Aragorn thought, even they must be feeling anxious. What was coming would surely be an epic battle, the start of another full-blown war, possibly. It was bigger than any of them, excepting Legolas of course, had ever seen. Certainly, he felt the fluttering of nerves in the pit of his stomach. A quick glance in the Elf's direction left him none the wiser as to whether Legolas was sharing his feelings. Of course, Legolas would not reveal that by accident. He only ever revealed such personal details by design and Aragorn did not think that he was going to say that he was afraid.
"I have never seen war."
"It is not war. Not yet. This is one battle, Aragorn. You must remember that."
"It's hard."
"Yes. I know that as a leader you must always look at the bigger picture. But the big picture is for strategy meetings. It's for planning. When in battle, it's all about the now. You concentrate on what needs to be done in the moment. Everything else can wait. Your only focus has to be what stands in front of you. You cut down one enemy then move onto the next. This you have done before. It is no different."
"There are going to be thousands."
"Probably. One at a time. Just as I have taught you."
He knew that Legolas' words should have been comforting. In the past his guardian's wisdom had always helped him. The enormity of the task before him very nearly swamped him though. Despite what Legolas claimed, this was not a rowdy patrol of Orcs that stood before them, it was the very worst of the Shadow. There was no chance that they could take Minas Tirith as they had taken Helm's Deep. The White City was exposed – nothing but flat plains surrounded it on all sides. There was no cover. And the army encamped within would still be vigilant.
Scouts from Osgiliath reported that Orcs manned the walls, patrolling day and night. Archers probably. No one knew what weapons they had within the walls.
The architects of Minas Tirith had been clever. It was a functioning, communal city but it was almost as good a fort as Helm's Deep in Rohan. Built into a sheer rock-face, it was ideally positioned to overlook all the lands surrounding it. It was layered, towering into the sky with the top tier holding the king's residence and throne room and, according to legend, the fabled White Tree of Gondor, which made it a simply enormous target to take. And it was teeming with Orcs and Uruk-hai and Goblins. Minas Tirith meant much to the Dark Lord; he would not let it go easily.
All this, combined with a mainly inexperienced and under-equipped army, made Aragorn understandably nervous about approaching the city. An insurmountable task.
"You'll be with me, right?" Aragorn asked softly of his guardian. He felt Legolas' stare on him and the intensity of it made him feel uneasy, as it always had. "I need you with me out there."
"Just like always," confirmed Legolas sincerely.
"Will you promise me something?"
Legolas frowned slightly, wary of committing to anything given the uncertainty of battle. "What would you have me promise?"
For a moment, Aragorn paused, as though he was nervous about confiding in his guardian his fears. Then, he looked up into blue eyes watching him so intently, and said bluntly, "Don't do anything heroic in battle tomorrow."
Legolas chuckled softly and asked, "Heroic."
"I need you, Legolas. Don't do anything heroic that might get you hurt."
"Have I ever been careless in battle?"
"Too many times to mention, although I might mention Helm's Deep as a prime example. You ran into that keep without any thought of your own safety. I don't want you doing the same thing here. I need you alive and fighting my corner."
In Legolas' eyes shone regret and Aragorn felt a pang of guilt for mentioning anything. "I will do nothing to endanger you or myself, if that is what you want. I will not be reckless."
"Thank you." Aragorn swallowed around the lump in his throat. "You are all I have."
After a brief squeeze of Aragorn's shoulder, reinforcing his presence at his side and his promise to his guardian, Legolas stood up, remaining stooped ready to pull the man up off the step. "Come on, you need to get some rest."
Ignoring the hand he held out ready to help him up, Aragorn ran his hand over his eyes, "I don't think I'll be able to sleep."
"Try. You never know."
"Are you going to bed tonight?"
Legolas quirked a smile at him. "Well, that's different. I don't have a bed to go to."
"Faramir never found you somewhere?"
"He doesn't like me much."
"I wonder why."
Laughing softly, Legolas bent down and took Aragorn's arm, dragging him up and ignoring the protests he received at doing so. "Yes, I wonder." He turned the young man around, retrieving Anduril at the same time – not that any other would take the sword – and led him inside.
Given that Osgiliath was filled past habitual capacity, many were packed into the few suitable abodes in the centre of town, bedding down anywhere they could. Aragorn had stayed with the Rangers at his request. It was where he felt most comfortable. Of course, he wondered at Legolas not being with him, but he knew how his guardian was about being around people, especially Humans and especially indoors, he'd just assumed that it had been Legolas' choice to keep his distance. Really he should have known that it was Faramir's doing and that, given that Legolas knew how much Aragorn had on his mind right then, he wouldn't mention his exclusion from Osgiliath's community.
Aragorn's belongings had been put upstairs. He didn't have his own room; that would have been impractical, but he had a prime spot close to the warmth of the fire and the Men of Osgiliath had laid out fine furs for him. It was more than most got and Aragorn was grateful for it.
"Right," Legolas whispered so as not to disturb the sleeping Rangers around him, "lie down for a while."
"How can they sleep?"
"They're used to it." Legolas helped the man lie down and then whispered so softly that no one but Aragorn could possibly hear, "Or they don't know any better."
"I think I prefer ignorance."
"Most wise people would object to that. But I happen to agree with you."
"So, you're agreeing that you're not wise then?" chuckled Aragorn to Legolas' slight consternation. That he had improved his ward's mood though swept all thoughts of irritation away. "Where are you going now?"
As he tucked the furs around his ward, Legolas replied, "To check that everything is prepared."
"Isn't that something I should be doing?"
"No. You should be conserving your energy for tomorrow." Aragorn nodded in earnest. He was tired. Much had been going on recently he had barely had time to rest. "Go to sleep. It's a few hours before you need to be up." Legolas stood from his crouch now, leaving with the assurance, "I'll be around if you need me."
"I'll see you before, right?"
"Of course. I will find you."
To Be Continued…