Forever Afternoon
Chapter Twenty-Six
Word Count: 3,656
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: So I have had a really lousy couple of weeks, and despite knowing what I wanted for this chapter, I could not get it done, as I was fighting either mood or migraine as well as a DVD player that refused to play my disc so that I could get the parts with the corsairs and Legolas fighting the mûmak right. I ended up blending a lot of book and movie, though I admit this chapter is more movie than book, but I could not help but think of the mûmak part when I started this story, and it was one of the scenes I planned on from the beginning, though hardly the way I planned on it being, and the end part refused to get written, but it's a chapter, and it's closer to the end, and that is good, one must hope, because I've got nothing else.
Battles by Land and Sea
"Corsairs."
"Slavers," Nostalion said, spitting something else in the dark tongue after his words, and Aragorn did not need to know what had been said. He shook his head. This was the battle they had rushed ahead to fight, this was why their path needed haste, and they would not turn from it, not now. Even if Legolas now felt the call of the sea because of where they were, he knew it could not be undone. This was the fight that they must have, the one that they must win, or Minas Tirith would be lost.
"I will call the shadow host when it is time," Aragorn told everyone. "Be ready. We will still have to fight."
"Do your ghosts know friend from enemy?" Nostalion asked, and Aragorn turned to him with a frown. The elf got a nudge from Firyavaryar, and after another muttering of the dark tongue, the assassin faced him. "It is not for us that I ask. I do not care what happens to you or your men, but those ships belong to men of a sort I know well—the same sort that caused pain to my family. To Turvuin, to Alasse, to Eruaistaniel."
"To you," Legolas added, dragging himself back from the shore, his eyes still haunted by his glimpse of the sea as he searched the assassin's face with worry. "You believe there are more on the boats, more slaves. You think that if Estel sends the dead army forward, they will kill indiscriminently."
Nostalion nodded, though Aragorn had a strange feeling that it was Firyavaryar, not Nostalion, who was concerned with the fate of the slaves. He did not understand. Neither Avari seemed to like anyone outside of their families, only perhaps Legolas, and so it was strange to see them hesitate to put the slaves of the Corsairs at risk.
"Perhaps it is best to give the Corsairs a chance to surrender," Elladan began, and beside him, Elrohir nodded. "It is, I believe, unlikely, that they will do so, but if no opportunity is given, then we will not know. If it is possible to avoid causing harm to those they might hold prisoner, then it must be done. We cannot know the minds of those cursed that we brought with us. They have lingered long past death and may not be able to tell the slaves from the others, as Nostalion has suggested."
Aragorn could not disagree with his brother's words. "We will give them warning, then, and hope that they take it. I would spare as many as possible."
He walked forward, nearing the shore and calling out to the men in the boats. "You may go no further. You will not enter Gondor."
Aboard the ship, the captain leaned forward, rising. He snorted with scorn. "Who are you to deny us passage?"
"Legolas, fire a warning shot past the bosun's ear," Aragorn ordered, and Legolas did, letting his arrow fly—right into the first mate's neck. He frowned, whirling back toward Gimli, who looked a bit sheepish before he addressed the corsairs.
"That's it. Right. We warned you. Prepare to be boarded."
"By you and that pathetic army?" The captain laughed, having no knowledge of what the rangers of the North were capable of—though Aragorn realized their number was short two. The damned Avari had gone, and he did not know where. "Don't be absurd."
Aragorn cursed, knowing that it was time to summon the army of the dead, but before he could, Nostalion had already dropped the captain beside his bosun, his knives ready to strike any others who moved against him, though most were too stunned by his sudden appearance to react.
"There are worse to come," he warned, and Aragorn heard cries from the another ship. Was that Firyavaryar's work? Yes, he thought that was, but he could not see from here, and he could not concern himself with the Avari's actions now. He would have to trust him to do his part in the battle as he did his own. He turned back to the dead that were still behind him.
"You're still not an army," one of the corsairs said, rushing to attack Nostalion.
"No, but we have this army," Aragorn called, and the king of the dead moved forward, leading his people into battle and swarming over the ships. Screams of fear overtook the sailors, and Aragorn moved forward to join the battle. If there were slaves aboard the ships, they would find them, and they would set them free.
Some might even join the fight, and even with an army of the dead, Aragorn knew he would need every soldier he could get.
"Be at peace," Legolas said, kneeling down next to one of the slaves, trying to ignore the water all around him. He could feel it drawing him toward it, that he might jump into its depths as many had in their attempt to evade the army of the dead. He had never seen such fear before, their terror leading them to their own demise, to where the dead did not fight so much as terrify, sending all that could fleeing in any way they might.
The slaves, though, they had not been able to run. They were shackled, forced to remain at their posts as the undead army terrorized them as well. True, they had not been harmed in body, not as Nostalion had suggested before the battle, but they were still grieved in spirit, as was Legolas.
He could feel the sea, and that longing was wretched, more horrible as all the fear he had witnessed destroy the corsair army.
"We will not harm you," he heard Gimli say, and he forced himself back to where he was, to helping the slave that he was setting free. "Those dead are at the command of our friend, and he would not cause you harm."
"He would be a great and terrible lord, far worse than any we have ever known," the slave said, shuddering, and Legolas winced to think of their suffering.
"You have known lords of men, and they are nothing to fear," Nostalion said, drawing the slave's attention to him. The man stared, and Legolas shook his head. The other elf did not need to go about scaring these ones any more than he already had. "True terror lies elsewhere, as that one you think to fear—he is a loyal echil, and he will cause you no harm, that much I have already seen."
"You are the elf that they fear, aren't you? The one that destroyed their encampments in the north and freed all their slaves, slaughtered them by the hundreds? They said he was fierce, something dreadful to see, with a scar down his face and unnatural eyes, that he moved without sound and cut through them without mercy. There is a legend told about it, the slaves repeat it to give themselves hope, but I always thought it was just a story, that the hope was false."
"Oh, aye, it must have been," Gimli said, and Legolas frowned at him.
"Exaggerated, perhaps, but I do not think it is as false as you think, Gimli," Legolas said, watching Nostalion. He had seen the assassin fight, and he knew that Nostalion could have done what was claimed. However, he thought that Nostalion had not been alone when this legend was created. The slave had mentioned unnatural eyes, and those belonged to Firyavaryar. Together, those two would easily have destroyed any slave trade up north. "You and Varyar did that—at least some of it."
"I did only what was necessary to end the threat to my family, as I have always done," Nostalion said. He looked at the distance, shaking his head. "We have too much to do to linger here. Those that would not come with us on the boats should go now."
Gimli looked at the sky. "It grows dark. We cannot sail in the night."
"Yet if we stay, we will not reach the city in time," Legolas said, frowning. He looked toward Estel on one of the other boats, knowing how this must weigh upon him, knowing that they would still be late even after all they had done.
Gimli grunted, kicking at the hull of the ship. "Some of these boats are no longer fit to sail."
"I did not say that they were," Nostalion said, glancing at the same damage the dwarf had observed. "Nor did I claim there was any wind to speed the journey. We have neither of those things."
"You have many men who can row," the slave said. "We were doing that for the corsairs, and we can do so for you."
"Aye, laddie, that you can," Gimli agreed. "And if you will, that will help, but it may not be enough, not when the repairs will delay us and the wind cannot help us."
"You're still worried, aren't you?" Estel asked, coming up to join Legolas by the shore. He had been supervising the others as they worked on the boats, and that was necessary work, but Legolas had not been able to be a part of it. "Or is this the sea longing?"
Legolas grimaced. He did not want to think of that, though it was hard not to when they rested so close to the shore, when he could hear the water lapping against the stones. He did not know what could be done about the call he heard. He needed to forget it, but it was tearing at him all the same. He would need his friends—perhaps even the distraction of battle—to keep him from the sea.
"I do not know how to resist it, Estel," Legolas admitted, looking at his friend. "I must see this through to the end, for our fates are bound together, bound to the ring as well. We chose that path when we chose the fellowship, and we have not departed from that course, even when it may have seemed to be that way. Yet here, now, I think I would falter in a terrible way because the sea is interfering with what I know to be right."
"I am sorry, Legolas," Estel told him. He sighed. "I would have spared you this if I could have."
"This is not your doing."
"Even if I was warned not to lead you by Pelargir so that you did not hear the call and experience this longing?"
Legolas shook his head. "The needs of one elf are not the same as the needs of Middle Earth, and you must do what is right for all. You are soon to be the king of Gondor, and with that comes a great responsibility, one far weightier than what we have borne in the past. I do not envy you that, for while I suppose I have now a great burden of my own, you have one that affects far more than I do or ever will have."
"You don't think so? You are a prince, after all."
"It is very unlikely that my father will die before all the elves pass from Middle Earth, especially if we manage to defeat Sauron. No, Estel, I have never expected to have to assume the throne, nor has anyone else thought I would, either, not unless they plotted to kill my father, and they would not do so without acting to eliminate me as well," Legolas told him, watching his friend grimace. His father's lands had never been as great a threat as the kingdom of Gondor, and they both knew that.
"Still, we have always had that in common, being heirs."
Legolas managed a slight smile. "In a sense, I suppose, but I do not think that that I have ever been an heir in the same way that you have. Most of the time, it was only an annoyance to be the prince. It is simpler to be... a friend, and I fear that is all I have ever aspired to be."
"Nothing more?"
"Oh, there was once that someone accused me of wanting to be a bird—"
"A bird?" Estel laughed. "I do not believe it. Why would you want to be a bird?"
"I did not say I did," Legolas corrected with a more genuine smile this time. "Someone else suggested that was what I wanted when I spent all my time in the trees. It was rather amusing at the time, though I ensured that he did not spread that rumor."
Estel nodded. "I think I would as well."
"You should rest," Legolas told him. "You have seen us this far, we have begun the repairs necessary to continue our journey, and you will see us to the end of it, and you will be called upon for much tomorrow, for we will battle again. You cannot do that without rest."
"And what of you?"
Legolas did not want to tell him that he could get no rest so close to the trees. "I will take my turn soon enough. Do not fret over me as well."
Estel gave him a look, and Legolas knew his friend was worried, that no words would stop that worry, but the future king of Gondor needed to rest and prepare for what was still ahead of him. Legolas did not need as much sleep, and he would cope well enough with the sea longing. He could find a way to manage it, for it would not interfere with his duty to his friends. He would never allow that to happen.
He would rather have a longing to fly, though. That would be easier to bear.
"Do you think yourself a bird that can fly when you are up there?"
Legolas laughed as he looked down at Varyar from his tree. "You cannot resent the trees forever. It is not as if you were tormented by a dead tree as Idhrenion was."
"Speak not to me of that folly. I only asked if you imagined you could fly when you darted about among those trees, for you sometimes run about them as though you do, and it seems to me quite foolish, for you have not the wings or the wind."
"I do not need wind," Legolas said, smiling. "I only need the vantage of the trees and the beauty of the forest."
"Hmm. Perhaps we should find you an Ent-wife to marry, since you love the trees so much."
"Yrch," Legolas cried, jumping down to catch his friend, but Varyar had already started running, and for a moment, Legolas would have liked to be a bird, for he could soar above the trees and find where his friend had gone to hide.
"Is that a smile? Here, of all places?"
Legolas lifted his head. Estel had, in fact, departed, but he had not been left alone for long. He nodded. "Yes, Gimli. It was a smile. Even in dark places and times there are reasons to smile."
"Oh, aye? And what is your reason for that here?"
Legolas was about to tell him of the memory, but his ears caught the sound of two voices on the wind, and though the language was not one that anyone wished to hear in these dark times, on the eve of battle, he found himself smiling again, for he recognized one of them despite the unpleasant tongue it used, for even the black speech could not disguise the voice of a friend.
"Courage, Gimli. 'Oft hope is born, when all is forlorn,'" Legolas told him. "Even if it is only a small gildin."
Gimli had decided that he was no more fond of boats than he was horses, or perhaps it was that he had a certain fool elf princeling to worry about when he was aboard the ships. He had seen his friend glance at the distance more and more of late, and he did not like it. He could not understand what was so fascinating about the water, nor did he understand the call, but he saw the distraction in the elf, and that worried him, as much as he'd always told himself that he would not worry over any elf.
Ever.
Legolas was different. Gimli did not quite know what had gotten that stubborn, pointy-eared creature close enough to call friend, but somehow, something had changed to where the old grudge between their peoples did not seem to matter.
"You're late," a foul orc called from the shore, thinking them corsairs. "Get off your boats. There's work to be done."
Gimli watched Aragorn and the others jump down to the shore with ease, the whole of the grey company showing itself to the orcs, men and elves at the ready. He landed beside the others, axe ready.
"There's plenty for the both of us," Gimli said as they moved forward into the battle. "May the best dwarf win."
Legolas ignored him as he started letting his arrows fly. Gimli followed close to Aragorn, unable to track the position of the other elves and men as they moved into battle. He would watch over his friends, knowing both the elf and the man to be in need of a dwarf to protect them.
He heard Legolas begin to count, and he swung his own blade into the fray, his numbers climbing as he cut his way through the rabble of orcs around him. The Rohirrim had done good work, thinning them out, and if not for the mûmakil, they might have won this battle without them, without the army of the dead.
No, that was a fool thought—they needed Gimli's axe to see this done. He would be there when the last orc fell.
"Legolas!" Aragorn called, and Gimli turned to see the mûmak rushing toward them. He shook his head as he saw the expression on the fool elf's face. That idiot was going after that thing himself. Legolas ran toward the mûmak, climbing on to a tusk as it swung low, dropping down to the creature's leg, barely catching himself on arrows others had used to try and fell it.
Gimli grunted, swinging his own axe to kill another orc, telling himself that the elf would be fine, even though he did not believe that, not when he could see his friend climbing across the side of the mûmak with only arrows to hold onto. Elves were agile, yes, and he knew that Legolas was as well, but he also knew how far it was for the elf to fall, and even when he reached the back of the creature, he was not safe.
He was up there, alone, with all that rode in the mûmak's basket to contend with, and Gimli could do nothing to reach him, nothing to aid him. He gave a fierce cry as he cut the head off another orc, frustrated and trapped on the ground while the elf risked his fool head up there.
Not only that, but he was gaining on Gimli in score, for there was no one to stop him from counting every Southron rider as his own kill. Gimli would have to make it up on the ground.
He looked up to see how Legolas was doing and found himself staring as the elf hung from a rope off the side of the mûmak. Was the sea longing so terrible, he wondered, that Legolas no longer cared if he lived or died? Was that the reason for all those stupid risks he was taking?
The elf cut another rope, and the canopy holding the riders slid off the other side of the mûmak. Gimli rushed toward it, though the army of the dead were already doing their work when he reached it, killing all that had not perished in the fall.
Turning back, he saw the elf firing arrows into the mûmak's head, once and then twice, and the beast fell, tumbling to the ground. Legolas slid down the trunk, landing in front of Gimli, who was torn between wanting to shake him for being an idiot and hug him for being alive after that.
"That still only counts as one," Gimli grumbled at the elf, who shook his head and went to rejoin Aragorn.
"I think you should at least give him two, dwarf," someone said, and Gimli turned to face the ranger that Nostalion had claimed as his after the battle—only this was no ranger. He wore the same clothes as the one Gimli knew he'd ridden with through the paths of the dead, but the hood had come down, and there were no mistaking his ears as any but those belonging to an elf. Behind him, crumpling as an empty feedbag might once its stores were depleted, was another mûmak.
"Two?"
The elf pulled on his glove with a slight smile. "Do you not know that in this game the prince always wins? That is what happens when one plays with royalty."
Gimli thought he understood then—this was Firyavaryar, and yet Firyavaryar was supposed to be dead. Had he been raised with the army of the dead? Was that it? When Aragorn summoned them, he summoned the traitorous elf as well?
No, that was not possible. The "ranger" had been with them before then.
"A hundred," Legolas called, and Gimli cursed as he looked toward the elven prince, who grinned, rejoining the battle beside Aragorn.
"Foolish elf. You'll not beat my count!" Gimli yelled back. The strange elf next to him laughed, and he shook his head. "Same goes for you, laddie."
"You amuse me, dwarf, with how little you comprehend the way things truly are."