Chapter 6
I swear exams are turning my brain into mush... It is still Tuesday this time, but only just. I can't believe I nearly forgot again! Stupid AS Levels... To make up for it, have a slightly longer chapter :)
On the plus side, finished another exam today- only five more to go! Ha. Hahaha. Hahahahaha. It's just the really difficult ones left... But I have stashed plenty of really bad exam food (basically, chocolate, more chocolate, and some sweets) in a cupboard in my room to keep me going.
Oh, and I completely forgot to mention last chapter that Belhadron's sword quite closely resembles the sword Thranduil fights with in the Hobbit movies- it's not curved, but a straight edge, and all pretty and elven-y.
Disclaimer: see Chapter 1
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They came into the slight clearing, and instantly Belhadron's eyes searched out Legolas, who was standing a little way away with Faramir. He was bloody, and Belhadron's eyes quickly found the red stain on one leg, but other than that he looked alright.
At the light sound of elven feet reaching his ears Legolas turned, and some of the worry dropped off his shoulders as he saw Belhadron walking towards him. There was blood on one side of Belhadron's face, and the same blood staining one arm, but it could not have been too bad because he had an arrow on his bow and pointed, unwavering, at the man walking in front of him.
Belhadron gently nudged the man in the back and directed him over to where the others, who had survived, were being tied up by some of the Rangers. They walked past some of the dead men on the floor, though Belhadron was thankful to see that none of them were from Gondor.
Suddenly the man froze, halting in mid stride. Belhadron took a step forwards, drawing back the string of his bow slightly, when the man howled in rage and spun around to face him. A knife was in his hand, having been hidden somewhere.
"That was my brother, you scum!" he screamed, his face contorted in rage. He charged forwards, brandishing the knife. Belhadron, at the last moment, ducked and spun around, his bow still nocked. He sighted and fired.
There came another howl from the man, this time full of pain. The knife fell from useless fingers as he clutched his hand, and Belhadron, nocking his last arrow, moved forwards and kicked the knife away.
The man looked up at him, still clutching the hand, where an arrow passed straight through the palm. Belhadron motioned with his bow, and the man climbed shakily to his feet, bravely breaking the arrow in half and pulling it from his hand with a muffled scream.
Belhadron glanced over at Legolas who, seeing what had happened, had run over to them. Faramir stood behind the blond elf. "Tell him," said Belhadron, and spat a long string of Silvan at Legolas. He really wasn't in the mood to try and translate into Westron.
Legolas listened, and then turned to the man. "He says the only reason he didn't shoot you instantly through the throat is because he is quite fed up of killing people now, after the hundreds of years he has spent doing so, and that if he wanted you dead, you wouldn't have even known." Though the words were Belhadron's, Legolas was not exactly calm towards the man. After all, he had just tried to kill his friend.
Faramir signalled over one of his men. "Tie him up," he said. "Set him with the others." The Ranger nodded, running over with a coil of thin rope.
Belhadron watched as they tied the man's hands behind his back. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the man. "You picked this fight," he spat. "Did you not think people will die?"
The man glared back and Belhadron turned away, a calm rage over him. "You know nothing of war," he said, his voice cold.
"Easy," murmured Legolas, gripping one of Belhadron's shoulders. He kept up a murmured stream of Elvish, switching randomly between Sindarin and Silvan. Faramir watched as the tension slowly left Belhadron's shoulders and he laughed at something Legolas said.
"You were too slow," Belhadron said, switching back to Westron as he spoke to Legolas, his eyes catching Faramir's gaze. Legolas smiled.
"So were you," he said, reaching out and gently touching the cut on Belhadron's temple, from where the flat of the blade hit him. Belhadron stood still, and rolled his eyes as Legolas quickly looked the wound over.
"It's not too deep," he said. He glanced down at the blood on his fingertips, and almost without thinking wiped it off on the edge of his cloak. It was only then that he paused, feeling a slight revulsion at the casual way he had felt with his friend's blood on his hands. After so many years he had become used to it, he supposed, but it wasn't meant to be like that anymore.
It was meant to be over.
Belhadron rolled his eyes, gently nudging Legolas with his shoulder. "I could have told you that, without you poking my head," he said with an easy smile. He knew exactly what Legolas was thinking, seeing as it was also running through his mind. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, when something like this became so normal to them they no longer thought much of it.
Legolas smiled, a brief thank you, before looking over his shoulder at Faramir. "How many do we have?" he asked.
"Forty three," replied Faramir, coming over to them. "But these aren't the only men around Ithilien, we think. Seventeen are dead. Twelve are badly injured, the rest only with minor. None of ours are too badly hurt, though there are some that should get back to Minas Tirith sooner rather than later."
Belhadron glanced over at Legolas, and switched into Silvan. "That includes you," he said, looking pointedly at the blond elf's leg. "I am guessing that wound is deeper than it looks. And I know how you get after a few hours when you have lost too much blood. Aragorn can put up with that once we are in Minas Tirith, not me."
Legolas chuckled. "I will not argue with you," he said, still in Silvan. His speech was becoming ever so slightly slurred, only Belhadron able to notice it, but it was there nonetheless.
Belhadron turned to Faramir, who was speaking with Mablung and Beregond. Their eyes kept darting to the twenty six prisoners they had tied up, a few men moving amongst them, tending to the injuries. Some of the least injured prisoners were already digging graves, under the supervision of armed Rangers. Belhadron had no idea where the small shovels had come from, but apparently someone had had them.
He caught Faramir's gaze. "How soon can some of us journey back to Minas Tirith?" he asked swiftly. "We should return the injured to the city."
Faramir looked at him blankly, and then Belhadron suddenly realised he had asked the entire question in Silvan. His mind blanked, and for the life of him he could not remember the words in Westron.
Legolas, as a Prince, had been taught the language at a young age. Belhadron had not. All he knew he had picked up from Dale, mainly during and after the whole thing with the dragon. When Estel had showed up in Mirkwood some time ago, he had made a little more of an effort, and over the past year had been trying to learn some, but things always got in the way. He still had to translate everything in his head.
Belhadron cursed under his breath, pulling words from his head and trying to fit them together. He suspected the head injury was not helping anything.
"When…will we go to Minas Tirith?" he asked, his accent heavier than it was before.
Faramir, to his credit, didn't react other than to shrug. "We will treat the wounds as best as we can here, and then head back," he said. Luckily, Belhadron was better at understanding Westron than speaking it. A Ranger called out to him, and he turned away, heading across to them.
Belhadron turned to Legolas. "Sit down," he said, switching back to Silvan. "Because if you don't, you are going to fall over soon." He was right, he knew that. He could see the small signs in Legolas that he was close to exhaustion, the blood loss beginning to get to him.
Legolas shook his head. "I am fine," he said, looking around him at the aftermath of the battle. A few Rangers were on the floor, others around them, and Legolas could hear the rip of fabric as cloaks were torn up and pressed into use as bandages.
"You will forgive me if I don't believe you," said Belhadron. The dark-haired elf pushed on Legolas' shoulders, attempting to get him to sit. "It is hard to take your word for it when I can see the blood staining your leg."
Legolas smiled wryly. "Not my best attempt at fooling you," he murmured, and he finally gave in to Belhadron, allowing himself to sink to the floor and prop his injured leg out in front of him. Belhadron began to carefully explore the wound, his fingers gently pulling the gash apart to see how deep it went.
Legolas hissed, and Belhadron pulled a face at hearing the sound, but said nothing. He glanced up briefly, looking around the clearing at where some Rangers were crouched down beside others, beginning to clean and bandage wounds. He caught Faramir's eye, and the man moved away from speaking to another Ranger to come over to them.
"I am fine," said Legolas with a small smile as Faramir approached.
Belhadron snorted, switching into Westron. "You would be more good…"
"Better," prompted Legolas.
"Better, if you sat down before," said Belhadron, with a smile at Faramir and a fake glare at Legolas.
"If I had sat down before," said Legolas with a smile. Belhadron huffed exasperatedly under his breath, and muttered a string of Silvan at Legolas.
Legolas merely grinned, and Faramir smiled back from where he was crouched down beside Legolas and Belhadron. "I see what Lord Aragorn has said is true," he said with a small smile. "You do not take much notice of injuries, do you?"
Belhadron laughed out loud, throwing his head back, his dark hair falling back from his face. Legolas had the good grace to duck his head and look a little embarrassed.
"You speak truth," said Belhadron, still chuckling to himself. "He does not pay attention to his…" He cast around in his head for the right word. "Wounds."
Faramir briefly glanced at the gash in Legolas' leg, and glanced up at the two elves. "Eowyn is learning the healing arts, and I have picked up a little, I guess." He smiled fondly at the memories of Eowyn making him sit there as she practiced bandaging properly on him. "It will need stitches, and it's going to be painful, but it's not actually too bad."
Legolas glanced pointedly at Belhadron, and then looked over at Faramir. "No fatalities," he said, a statement rather than a question.
Faramir shook his head. "A few bad injuries, but nothing incapacitating. We should get those injured back to Minas Tirith as soon as we can, though, Luckily we still have all the horses." Looking back on it now, he had known as soon as the fighting had stopped whether or not anybody had been killed. Having spent so long fighting with the soldiers of Gondor, he could now easily sense the strange heaviness that settled in the air when someone's life had been lost. It was almost infectious, spreading through everyone, even if they fortunately didn't realise what it was.
Faramir had been fighting for a little too long now, had been in charge of men for too long now, to be naïve enough to ignore that feeling.
Belhadron looked up. "My horse did not run?" he asked, sounding mildly surprised as he began to bandage up Legolas' leg with a spare bit of cloth he had found from somewhere. "He will do it sometimes."
Faramir chuckled, and shook his head. "Hasn't left Arod's side," he said. "He seems impatient, though."
Legolas shook his head with a chuckle. "Of course he is. I named him Ascar when he was a foal. It means impetuous." The stallion had attempted to jump out of a small paddock they had put him in when he was a colt, knocking over the fence in the process and causing general mayhem before they had managed to catch him. Legolas had promptly suggested Belhadron take him on.
Belhadron smiled, and merely continued to wrap the bandage tightly around Legolas' leg. "There," he said, tying it off. "Done."
Legolas stretched out his leg with a small grimace, and then held out a hand. Belhadron stood and pulled Legolas up with him, propping the blond elf up as he stood so Legolas didn't have to put as much weight on the injured leg. Legolas stumbled anyway, and Faramir put out a hand to keep him upright.
"He will be fine for the time," said Belhadron, grimacing as he tripped up a little over the Westron words. Legolas had one hand on Belhadron's shoulder, using the dark-haired elf to keep himself upright, and Faramir took his hand from Legolas' other arm slowly, checking the blond elf would stay vertical.
"Are you alright?" he asked Belhadron, his eyes flitting over the tear in the arm of his tunic, the gash in his temple and the dried blood covering his forehead and one side of his face.
Belhadron shrugged. "I am well," he said, beginning to walk Legolas slowly over to where the horses were being brought through. Faramir walked beside him, keeping match to Legolas' limping pace. "The wounds are not too bad. How many are hurt?"
Faramir's eyes flickered over to where a few men were lying on the ground, with some others crouched beside them. "Six are badly hurt enough to return now," he said. "I will ride back with them, and the rest of the men will remain to bring the captured Easterlings back. We have twenty six men still alive, some badly hurt. Their companions will bear the stretchers for them on the way back." It was a good way to ensure their cooperation. Faramir knew these men were probably close, given that they had survived together for all this time since the War. Making the men carry the stretchers bearing their hurt friends could stop them from trying to attack or escape, as could the promise of medical care.
Belhadron nodded, adjusting the arm he had around Legolas' waist as the blond elf stumbled on the wounded leg. The gash was nasty, deep enough to make it rather difficult to walk, and Faramir was actually surprised that Legolas was not limping any more than he was at the moment.
The Rangers wounded badly enough to return to Minas Tirith were already with the horses, and after a brief argument between the two elves, Belhadron whistled and called over Arod and Ascar.
Legolas winced as Belhadron boosted him up onto Arod, and then held back a sigh of relief as the weight left his leg and the throbbing ceased. He looked over at Faramir, who was heading for his own horse.
"We can both take one of the injured back," he said, his gaze drifting to the Rangers either lying or sitting down nearby. There were six of them, with a collection of bandages or splints. Two were unconscious, the other four barely holding on.
Faramir nodded. "That would make things easier," he said. "Mablung, get them onto the horses and we'll head back." He mounted his own horse, and then moved him closer to the men. Mablung knelt and picked up one of those who were unconscious, one arm under the man's shoulders, another under his knees. Carefully he handed the man up to Faramir, who pulled him up in front of the saddle and put one arm around the man's waist. The man's head lolled back onto Faramir's shoulder.
Faramir adjusted his grip and gathered up the reins in one hand, the other pressing on a folded up torn cloak over the man's side. A torn piece of cloth was wrapped around the man's head. He sighed.
It wasn't meant to be like this anymore. He didn't want this to happen anymore. And though he had learnt long ago it was futile to wish for a change, he couldn't help but hope.
Upon first seeing the six men there, wounded and lying there in pain, he had thought that they had come away well. And then he had almost felt sick upon realising that he had thought that, that after so many years fighting he had reduced the men who were injured to odds, to a measure of how well they had come away from the battle. Faramir had seen Mablung thinking along the same lines, the same clinical look followed by the faint disgust at what he had just thought.
And before the War, Faramir would have accepted this, told himself that it was necessary for what they were doing, for what they giving up to try and defend Gondor. But it wasn't necessary, not anymore.
They were meant to have won.
He watched as Beregond pulled one of the slightly better off men to his feet and supported him as he stumbled over to Arod. Legolas held out a hand, and then Beregond boosted the man up to sit in front of the blond elf. The man had one arm bound tightly to his chest, and one leg was swathed in thick bandages and a splint.
Nearby, Belhadron was guiding one man towards his horse with Mablung. The Ranger, Faramir remembered, had taken a hard hit to the head, and was drifting in and out of consciousness. He seemed better, but then as Faramir watched the Ranger suddenly fell forwards, his eyes rolling up in his head.
Belhadron darted forwards and caught the Ranger's shoulders, coming to kneel in front of the man with his head on Belhadron's chest. Faramir, despite the situation, smiled softly at Belhadron's murmur to Mablung that made the man chuckle, and Belhadron grin. Between them the man and elf got the Ranger up and between them.
Belhadron whistled for Ascar to stand still, and then him and Mablung carefully put the unconscious Ranger up onto Ascar. With Mablung holding the man in place, Belhadron swiftly vaulted up and settled behind the man, one hand around the man's waist and the other tangled in Ascar's mane for balance. Faramir watched as he looked down and said something to Mablung, the seasoned Ranger grinning in response.
Soon the rest of the six men were seated in front of other riders, and two other Rangers were mounted to head back with them. Faramir nudged his horse around, steering with his legs. The Ranger in front of him shifted slightly, but his horse was well used to carrying two people and was not phased by the change in weight.
Mablung and Beregond came up beside him, and Faramir looked down. "Try and come back as soon as you can," he said. "I want both of you up at the Citadel as soon as you are back, and every man who was with you, Mablung, in with the healers."
"Shouldn't be hard, my Lord," said Mablung with a small smile. "They're all heading back with you now."
Faramir glanced at the assembled men. He hadn't noticed that before. "Good," he said. "But I still want anyone hurt, no matter how superficial it is, in the Houses of Healing the moment you get back in the city. Entrust the Easterlings to someone else. The healers can cope."
Both men nodded, and Faramir smiled grimly at them. "Don't let the men out of your sight, at all," he said. "Have as many as possible carry makeshift stretchers with their friends. That should stop them making any trouble."
"We know, my Lord," said Beregond with a small smile. "You told us already."
"Then indulge me," said Faramir with a smile that was more of a grimace. It soon faded. "Take care, both of you. I want to see both of you back in Minas Tirith before midday tomorrow."
Mablung nodded, and then another Ranger came over and muttered something. Mablung glanced up at Faramir, and at his nod, left. Beregond looked up at Faramir.
"Take care, my Lord," he said. Faramir smiled.
"I will," he said. With a touch of his heels to his horse's flanks, he moved his horse away, and the small party began the journey back to Minas Tirith.
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The ride back to Minas Tirith took, in Faramir's opinion, far too long. They could not travel any faster than a slow canter through Ithilien without risking the horses stumbling under the strange weight of two people on top of them. Each one of the injured men being carried was unconscious now, having given in as soon as they knew they were relatively safe.
Behind him rode Legolas, one arm wrapped securely around a young Ranger who Faramir remembered still as the overexcited soldier riding out to Ithilien with him years ago. He had actually been part of the party who had come across Frodo and Sam, and was a ferocious fighter for someone so young.
Faramir's gaze drifted to the splinted leg and bloody tunic, one arm heavily swathed in bandages and bound tightly to his chest to keep it still. Being a good fighter didn't necessarily guarantee you would walk away from a fight unharmed. He himself could attest to that.
Legolas caught his eye, and the two exchanged a tired smile. Arod pushed forwards, and Legolas came up to ride beside Faramir.
"How far out are we?" he asked, his voice soft so there was no chance of waking the man siting in front of him.
Faramir glanced at the surrounding forest. "We're close to Osgiliath now," he said. "And once there we can travel faster on the road." He looked over at Legolas, noticing how pale the blond elf was, and the blood slowly soaking through the bandage wrapped around his leg. "Your wound is bleeding again," he said.
Legolas glanced back to where Belhadron was riding more towards the back of the group. The Ranger he had in front of him had woken up rather violently at one point, and the elf had to pull Ascar back so one of the two Rangers riding alone could talk to the man and calm him down.
"I know," he murmured softly. He glanced down at his leg, at the bandage that was slowly turning red. "But there is nothing we can do right now."
"We could stop," suggested Faramir, but even as he said the words he knew they couldn't.
Legolas shook his head, and smiled wryly at Faramir. "Far better to wait until we get back to Minas Tirith for Belhadron to shout at me for ignoring it than letting him do it now."
Faramir chuckled. "I suppose," he said. He adjusted his grip on the man sitting in front of him and tried not to think of how Boromir used to do the same to him.
"We will have to send forces out into these woods," said Faramir, almost talking to himself. "Flush out the men. They have been in here far too long already." In his head, he was already hashing out a plan, and talking out loud was easier than having all the ideas circling through his mind again and again
Legolas nodded slightly as he listened, but really was having a hard enough time just focusing on Faramir's words. The loss of blood from his leg wound was starting to get to him, and a slight lightheaded feeling that was rather familiar was just beginning to coalesce at the edges of his mind. He didn't notice Faramir had stopped talking until a faint sound reached his ears, and then he turned to look at Faramir in surprise. "Are you humming?" he asked quietly, a smile appearing on his face.
Faramir blushed slightly and nodded. "He's beginning to stir, and too much movement will upset the balance," he said, nodding at the man sat in front of him. "A tune seems to still him. Sorry, I'll stop."
"No, don't," said Legolas. "But I recognise the tune. What is it?"
"Oh, it's the Lay of Leithian," said Faramir. He didn't know why his mind had dredged the tune up from old memories, but it had been the first thing he had thought of, and still he could remember the soft tune, even a few of the words.
Legolas turned to him, the surprise evident on his face. "How do you know that song?" he asked. He had known the song in his own tongue for a very long time, and had learnt the Westron version from Aragorn along with others, like the Lay of Nimrodel, decades ago, but had never met another mortal besides Aragorn and the Dunedain who knew it as well.
"Mithrandir," said Faramir. "I found a record of the tale in the archives of the city. As a boy, I got my hands on any of the old lore I could find in our archives. I found excerpts of the tale and notes of it being a song. When Mithrandir next visited, I begged him to teach me the song, and he obliged."
Legolas smiled softly. "It's a sad tale," he said softly.
Faramir shook his head. "Out of all of the lore I have found, their tale seems one of the only ones that ended remotely well."
Legolas didn't say anything for a moment, his gaze returning to the route ahead of them. The Ranger in Faramir's arms began to stir again, a muffled whimper forcing its way out of clenched teeth, and Faramir began to hum again, words soon finding their way out of his mouth as he sung the tune in a murmur.
"Have you ever heard the lay in Sindarin?" asked Legolas suddenly, his voice soft.
Faramir looked over at the blond elf. "No, I haven't," he said. He had tried translating a little of the tales with the Sindarin he had learnt from their archives and Mithrandir, but he had never known enough, and then his father had found out and stopped him. Well, Denethor had thought he had stopped him. Boromir had…liberated some of Faramir's more useful scrolls from the archives and had helped Faramir hide them in his room.
"The Westron translation is indeed good," said Legolas. "But the original was sung in Sindarin, and is more lovely than any song in Westron." He smiled. "Though I am biased in that matter."
Faramir chuckled, and then fell silent. He wanted Legolas to sing the lay in his own tongue, his curiosity about elves and the language rising up again. But it wouldn't be right to ask outright, so he kept quiet and hoped, starting to sing under his breath again.
After a few moments, another voice joined his. Faramir risked a glance sideways to see Legolas singing softly, the Sindarin mingling with Faramir's Westron. Faramir eventually stopped and Legolas' voice was the only one heard as he sung.
Legolas had been right, thought Faramir as he listened. From the sudden silence behind him, he could tell the others were listening. The song, rising and falling with Legolas' lilting voice, was breathtakingly beautiful. Though Faramir couldn't understand the words, he didn't have to, for it was almost like the song managed to paint the image in his head, an ever shifting mirage of lands long lost, of pain and strength and hope and love, that Faramir hadn't realised were colours until now.
There was magic in the song. Faramir rather suspected that the Sindarin, the ancient language that it was, merely amplified the magic rather than adding anything new. It wasn't the conventional idea of magic, not anything similar to what most people thought of when the word was said. But there was a magic in the song nonetheless, just as there was magic in any song or tale. Faramir didn't know how it worked, or why it was there, but he couldn't argue with its presence, even if he ever wanted to.
Eventually the song finished and Legolas' voice faltered, before falling silent. To Faramir, it was like surfacing from the Anduin, on the very rare occasion he had swum in it out of necessity. Sounds that had been muffled by the song were now sharp again, the sound of birds in the trees or the muffled beats of the horse's hooves as they cantered slowly through the woods.
And then another voice picked up a song. This one was different, a different tune, and Faramir was pretty sure it was actually a different language to the Sindarin Legolas had been singing in. It was similar, definitely Elvish, but different, sounding almost more wild, more natural, and Faramir guessed it was Silvan.
Belhadron, of course, was singing it. His voice was just a little deeper than Legolas', almost a better singing voice, but none of that mattered because again they were all lost, whilst knowing exactly where they were at the same time.
Even Belhadron's voice trailed off after a while, and Faramir saw Legolas look back at him incredulously. Belhadron shrugged, a small smile on his face.
"I haven't heard you sing that song in years," murmured Legolas, switching back to Silvan.
Belhadron's expression didn't change. "I just forgot about it," he said softly. "I forgot." He had a wistful smile on his face, but Faramir thought his eyes looked a little darker, a little haunted, and he wondered where the song had come from, and what it meant.
After a few seconds Belhadron began humming under his breath, and then Legolas, picking up the tune, joined in. The rest of them rode in silence as they weaved through the forest.
It wasn't too long before they were back on the road and then in Osgiliath, and Faramir could feel the relief from the soldiers riding behind him. Within the city they stopped briefly, walking down the main road to give their horses a break, whilst a few of them tried to coax water into the men in front of them with waterskins offered by the men within the city. Only a few men were conscious enough to drink, though, and soon the party set off again, moving through Osgiliath as smoothly as possible, the horses remaining in slow canters interspersed with brief walks.
Faramir nearly collapsed in the saddle with relief when he saw the great gates of Minas Tirith come closer. Belhadron was still humming softly, the tune having finally settled on something Faramir remotely recognised, vaguely remembering Aragorn humming the tune at one point or another. Legolas had fallen silent.
The gates were open, as they always were now during the day, and Faramir only pulled his horse up slightly, slowing down to a more sedate canter as they approached. The guards spotted them and a cry rung out from the parapet above the gates.
"Make way!" he called. "Clear the courtyard!"
The people in the courtyard scattered as the horses came cantering in. Faramir caught the eye of the captain in charge and nodded at him reassuringly, at least letting him know that they were not carrying corpses, but barely slowed the pace and headed immediately for the wide street, the second level of the city, and ultimately the Houses of Healing.
To Be Continued...
Aaaand they're back in Minas Tirith! Again, this is not the end of the action- this story is about 65k long, so there's plenty more left to happen! On an aside note, it is never clarified what that song is that Belhadron is singing at one point. I of course have an idea in my head, but I couldn't find a good time to work it into the story, so I have left it up to your imagination. If you're really super duper curious what it is to me, then feel free to drop by and ask in the reviews :) Fair warning, though- once I start talking about lotr, I can be a bit difficult to stop.
Next chapter will be up on Friday, and I won't forget! As always, reviews make me very happy :)