Thank you to everyone who pointed out that my spell check had automatically changed ERESTOR to erector in the last chapter. How embarrassing! It was very intrusive.
Chapter 7: Hunting Orcs
Ahead of them black shapes scuttled against the yellow-brown grass, dried and scorched and drowned all at once, for this was Dagorlad and ahead were the Dead Marshes. The orcs, strung out like lines of marching ants, hoped to reach the marshes where the horses could not go and they could pick off the pursuing Men more easily than turn and fight a pitched battle. Legolas had hoped not to go there but he would not back away from pursuit of the shuffling orcs as they fled north. He felt Gimli hands stuck in his belt, clinging tightly and Arod's muscles bunched and stretched as he charged amongst the Dunedain and Rohirrim.
Beside him Eomer's chestnut stallion, Firefoot, galloped, his long tail lifted high and floating behind him. His master's plume pulled at the same angle and the weak sunlight glinted on Eomer's drawn sword. The Orcs that Eomer had been hunting in the East of Mordor had turned north and fled through the gaping ruin of the Morannon and into Dagorlad where Legolas and Gimli hunted with the remains of Aragorn's Dunedain.
Legolas was trapped under Eomer's hurt and accusing gaze every time they paused or the orcs turned for a final desperate stand. But for now, they were fighting and that suited both of them.
'Forth Eorlingas!' Eomer's cry and Arod, horse of Rohan lifted his tail and sped after Firefoot. Legolas reached behind him for arrows and shot over Eomer's head towards the orcs. Black shapes fell ahead of them and then swiftly, they were among the orcs.
Legolas pulled Arod up momentarily for Gimli to slide down and then was off again, galloping in a wide circle with other archers around the orcs. Legolas leaned down and fired one arrow after another. Arrows whizzed into the pack of orcs and their panicked faces turned briefly towards the archers of Rohan before they returned fire. A horse stumbled ahead of Legolas and he felt a moment of fear for it was a bright chestnut and he thought it might have been Eomer's Firefoot but at that same moment, Eomer's voice carried over the noise away to the left. Legolas emptied his quiver sooner than the other archers and leapt from Arod into the fray, knives drawn and heart pounding with excitement. He saw the glint of Gimli's axe in a sweep upwards, spattered in blood and strung with black gore.
An ululating cry broke from his own lips and he cast himself into the horde, whipping his knives over throats and faces so they split in a horrible grin that showed teeth and bone. Thick blood gushed and spattered over everything. He turned to smash the pommel of his knife into a face, ground it like jelly and with a cry of anguish, the orc fell onto its knees. He whirled about and kicked it hard in the gut so it fell and as it did, he slowed and drew his long white knife across its throat so its clumsy hands clutched at the red line that burbled from its throat.
Legolas reached down and shoved his fingers into the gap that had opened and groped for the long tubes and strings. He found them, and twisted. He tilted his head slightly as the orc's eyes widened, its mouth opened and gasped, and fell at his feet.
He turned to catch Gimli's eyes upon him.
Legolas strode past him, knives gleaming wet and still hungry. 'For Anglach,' he said briefly as he passed. Gimli watched him with no understanding but Legolas did not care. It was Anglach he saw before him; laughing, sweetly smiling as he delivered some barb that was only ever meant in affection.
Ahead of him an orc ran and he nodded to himself. This one would pay as well. Every orc he killed now was for Anglach. And Naurion whom he could not save from the Nazgûl when orcs attacked Smeagol's guards and released the evil creature. He leapt in front of the orc; it was already wounded but its fierce, ugly face snarled when it saw Legolas and it turned to face him. In one hand a crude iron sabre, in the other a round iron buckler spiked and sharp-edged.
'So it is true! An elf of Mirkwood!' it snarled and twirled its iron sabre.
Legolas snarled right on back and hefted his knives in each hand. Suddenly he sprang at the orc. It met both knives with the sabre and then swung the buckler into Legolas' shoulder. He leapt away but too late for the buckler caught his shoulder and hurled him off balance and Legolas thumped down onto the hard ground with the orc snarling and teeth bared above him. Then came a mighty punch in his gut from the orc's knee as it crunched down upon him, bellowing rage. Legolas swung with his knife but the Orc bashed his hand back and ground it against a stone. The small bones in Legolas' hand cracked and he cried out in pain, the nerves froze and the knife flew from his hand.
'You think you have won, Azgarâzir-vak, [' it sneered. 'But you should see Mirkwood. We have slain your brother and raped his woman.'
A flash of an image before him…yellow smoke, a body hoisted high, twitched and gave a low groan...
Cold fury flooded him. He bunched his muscles and gave a huge buck, unseating the Orc so it crashed sideways. Instantly he was on his feet and kicked the Orc in the chin so it flew backwards. Violence possessed him. Rage that he had never known. It was as if something inside him had unfrozen and kindled and now ran like fire in his veins, some revenge for the savagery done to Anglach, for the terrible threat and fear for Laersul.
He knocked the orc to the ground and jabbed his broken fingers in its eyes, uncaring of the pain, using it to fill him with rage. Twisted and dug so it screamed and tore at his face. He crushed its arm with his knee and with one hand digging into its eye sockets, with his free hand he grasped its throat and squeezed with all his might. Red flooded his vision and he saw the Orc's mouth open gasping. The jelly of its eyeballs slid beneath his fingers and he gouged it out, squeezed and the roar of blood in his ears drowned out the screaming of the orc, the shouting. He lifted his hand from the orc's throat, his fingers still grasped about its windpipe and ripped, so that the tubes and strings of its throat came away in his hand and the burbling rattle of the orc finally stilled.
When he shoved himself to his feet, looking around wildly for the next orc, he saw only the shocked faces of the Rohirrim. Slowly, his breathing calmed and the roar of blood in his ears stopped pounding. He felt a heavy, square hand on his shoulder and turned his face, blinking and stunned, towards Gimli. The dwarf's face was sober and kindly.
'Stop now, Legolas. You have done enough.'
He looked down to see black fluid stained his fingernails and bits of jelly and skin flecked his tunic, his hands. There was a taste of iron on his lips.
'They have killed Laersul,' he said dully. 'They have killed my brother.' And Theliel…It was all true. Saruman had not lied.
0o0o0o
Gimli wrote in his careful, neat hand. Pen scratched on the parchment. He was meticulous in his reports to Aragorn and detailed the route taken by the Orcs, how many had been killed and a brief description of any common features, such as the Eye or other insignia. These had a strange emblem on their coarse bucklers, a sign that resembled the Khazad cuneiform letter K, but it was strange and he had never seen it before.
I am also worried about Legolas, he added as a postscript. It seems an orc goaded him with more lies about Mirkwood, the Wood. It told Legolas his brother had been killed and Legolas has taken it to mean that those lies Saruman sent him all that time ago in Orthanc are true and that he saw what had been done to his brother. I beg you, Aragorn, send urgent messages to Thranduil that will belie these falsehoods and give him peace. The long war and the effect perhaps of his injury, the sea longing and other events have begun to take their toll upon him.
Gimli chewed the end of his pen and frowned. He was not the only one to witness Legolas' violence against the orc; it was reminiscent of Elrohir's cruelty to the orc all those months ago when they searched the banks of the Bruinen and Elrohir had impaled the beast still alive, its cries of agony disturbing every one of them with the cruelty and inhumanity of the deed. And Legolas had ended it.
The same Legolas who had gouged the eyes of an orc and ripped out its throat, who looked about to reach into its chest and eat its heart for the wild savagery in the elf's face, a savagery that Gimli had never seen before in the elf. Only in Orcs. And in Elrohir.
He sighed and looked down at the message but how could he put into words what he felt, what he had seen and now he dreaded? Perhaps now, with the Quest over and Sauron destroyed, Legolas thought to be revenged for his childhood friend that Gimli knew had been savagely slaughtered in order that Smeagol escaped? Perhaps the elf had just seen too much? Perhaps he was just war-weary. Gimli felt it himself, the Ring had worn them thin, their kindness even with each other by the end, exhausted, their tolerance and sense of justice long gone maybe in the depths of war. These are only orcs, Gimli told himself. These are not Men. As if that justified the savagery. There was the severed head of an orc stuck on a lance a way off. It had been put there by one of the Rohirrim.
Even so, Gimli was not the only one who was disturbed by Legolas' violence. Eomer was here and kept glancing over towards Legolas, the concern and yearning clear. The firelight flickered over his face now and he flung a stick onto the fire and looked away.
Gimli harrumphed into his beard and chewed the end of pen again. It had frayed slightly and he shook the bitter taste from his mouth.
Apart from that, this particular band of orcs is scattered and headed north. But many have been killed or are lost in the marshes. Eomer has ordered us back, he wrote but he did not say that Legolas had looked at Eomer when he gave the order to decease pursuit as though he might kill the Rohan King. He did not say that Legolas had thrown down his knives in disgust at the Rohan King's feet and all but spat at him, turning away in disgust to watch those orcs that escaped across the Dead Marshes. He had shouted something after them in his own language but Gimli could not recognize any of the words. But he was sure it was a curse.
Gimli however, was not the only one relieved to turn back and not brave the Marshes. Gimli glanced away towards the northern edge of the camp. He could see the elf's outline lit dimly by stars, his face turned away towards the edge of the great forest that was just out of distance, out of reach. And he understood. For his own home lay that way and how easy would it be to call to Legolas and the pair of them mount Arod and just ride away, on and on until they came to the brown lands of Rhovanion and its rolling hills and grasslands. From there they would trek along the edge of the Great Wood and far north until they came to Sigin- zâram, the Long Lake…and there….
Gimli paused for a moment.
There they would part company.
Aye. There's the rub, he thought. He was not quite ready for that. He was not quite ready to part company with the Hobbits, and Aragorn and Gandalf and the son of Thranduil. He smiled to himself. Indeed, he was not. And that meant putting this nonsense out of Legolas' head and getting some dwarvish good sense in there instead.
He humphed, and scribbled another line, then blew on the ink and folded the parchment. He did not bother with wax or even string for he had written in Khuzdul, knowing that Aragon had quite a good understanding of runes, shocked though he was to begin with that a Man could read the secrets of the Khazad, but Gandalf could help with anything he did not know. And there was always Elrohir, whose knowledge of khuzdul and the khazadmêk, was both a comfort to him that there was someone else who understood, and a terror to Gimli that someone outside Erebor knew so much.
He pushed himself to his feet with grunt, for he was stiff as an elf's neck and had a slight injury besides.
'Do not stray too far, Master Gimli,' Eomer looked up as he spoke. The firelight gilded his skin and hair so he looked made of copper and bronze. But his words were not really for Gimli, they both knew. For Legolas stood at the very edge of the firelight, straining forwards as if he might take flight and soar into the night sky and head unerringly for home.
Gimli nodded at Eomer. 'My thanks for your concern. But I have my own and I know how to keep my head.'
Eomer shrugged and stared morosely into the fire. He had become quieter and more miserable the longer he was in Legolas' company, Gimli thought as he picked his way between the other small fires that marked their camp. Arod snorted softly to him as he passed, and he fished about in his pocket, brought out the stump of a carrot and gave it to the horse, which took it gently. Its soft thick lips nibbled at his fingers delicately and he rubbed its forehead. 'Great thick beast,' he said fondly. He turned towards Legolas then and approached the elf slowly.
'It is quiet now,' he said by way of conversation. Legolas slid a look towards him but did not speak.
They stood together but Gimli did not feel it was companionable; it was like the beginning of the quest once more when he found the elf cold and aloof. It was as if he did not know him at all.
'That orc…' he began.
'I know what you would say,' Legolas interrupted immediately. 'Do not.'
'…lies,' Gimli finished nonetheless. 'As did Saruman. We found him out in Orthanc. He lied about everything.' He remembered well standing at the foot of the tower of Orthanc, and Saruman coming to the narrow balcony to speak to the assembled Men. Like Gandalf he had seemed at first and yet unlike, but he met them courteously and as one aggrieved.
They had stood before Orthanc like vagabonds and thieves, for that is how they felt, every last man of them. Gimli though was stalwart and on his guard against the tall stately man who stood, leaning slightly on his staff, for he appeared old and perhaps frail. His face was gentle and his eyes mild, like a gentler Gandalf.
'Remember how Saruman told us that he was glad to see Gandalf hale? That he regretted the way they parted?' His voice had been resonant, mellow and compelling, Gimli remembered; the words he spoke had sunk into each of their consciousnesses, so they believed what he said, wanted to trust him. 'He said to Theoden that he was bewitched by you, by the Lady. That the Shadow of the Wood might well be at Rohan's door next,' Gimli reminded Legolas. 'Remember how he seemed? How reasonable he was, how he made it seem that we were the aggressors?'
'If this is lies, how is it an Orc from Mordor says the same as an Orc in Rohan or a wizard in Orthanc?' Legolas demanded. 'If it is lies, why do they all say this?'
'I said then and I say now,' Gimli growled and he stamped first one foot, then the other in the iglishmêk, sign for unmoving though there were none who would recognize it for what it truly was. 'The words of Saruman stand on their heads. Deceiver and Liar!'
Legolas' eyes were fixed upon him, urgent and demanding but desperate for Legolas looked to him for his steadfastness
Gimli breathed in deeply.. 'I do not believe any of them. Your father met with Lord Celeborn under the trees. You have a letter written in your father's hand. He told you that he was well. He is alive.'
Legolas bowed his head and the deepest sigh came from his lips, as though misery was in his very soul. 'It is not only my father for whom I fear…My brother, Laersul…He is very like…And they hate him as much as they hate my father. He leads our men…'
Gimli could say nothing. He shook his head slowly and merely caught Legolas' hand in his own square, capable hands and squeezed. 'It faces us all but that is no comfort.' He wavered himself then for he had not been immune to the lies told either, for there was truth within the fabric of sorcery conjured by Saruman; the Mountain was beset. His people were under attack. Some would die.
He looked north and stood with Legolas under the cold bright stars that were in unfamiliar places but still shone on his own Mountain.
'Shall we mount Arod and just head North, Legolas?' he murmured. 'For my people suffer too. And likely my own kin have died. Shall we abandon Aragorn and the Hobbits and head home?'
Legolas did not speak but his head was high and his shoulders tight and tense. He shifted forwards on the balls of his feet and for a moment seemed like he would just stretch out his arms and leapt into the air as if the wind could take him north. He was poised like this for a moment and then slowly, he took a breath, and lowered his head and the wired tension that had strung him left, his shoulders slumped, head bowed.
'We will stay. You are right. Lies and more lies from the Deceiver.' He turned to Gimli and his eyes were bright. 'You are my rock, my steadfast friend.' His hand was warm on Gimli's shoulder. 'Saruman wove those visions to unsettle us and revenge himself upon me. I have let him beguile me. But no longer. I will listen to you for your words and I will stay true to Aragorn as I have for all the journey. This I swear to you, Elvellon. Whatever, we will stay true to Aragorn.' He did not smile and his words wound tightly about Gimli's heart so he had to press his lips together to stop from bursting with love. For he did love Legolas, his comrade and brother. He patted Legolas' arm.
'Then come back to camp. They are anxious for you, my dear friend.'
This time he returned and threw himself beside the campfire. Eomer glanced up briefly, he could not help himself. Gimli saw how his gaze flickered over Legolas and then tore away back to the fire. But Legolas sat directly opposite him and Eomer frowned, trying to keep his gaze fixed on the fire.
Legolas flicked a twig into the fire and flames sputtered and hissed into the darkness. His long eyes were green and clear. Gimli shook his head and rubbed a hand over his own eyes.
'I am tired,' he confessed. 'Keeping your pointy-eared head on its shoulders is hard work.'
Legolas lifting his eyes to Gimli, found Eomer's instead and paused there, meeting the young Man's hurt and vulnerable gaze. The elf smiled tentatively and this time, despite himself, Eomer smiled back.
'My axe took the heads of more orcs than you were even aware of!' Gimli boasted loudly, knowing it was wanted, expected and seeing the thaw, took advantage and declared loudly, 'My count was twenty-three to your thirteen.'
True to form, Legolas was completely distracted by the outrageous boast. 'Thirteen?' he exclaimed. 'I have never heard it said of a dwarf that he had lost his ability to count! That many alone I took before ever even getting down from Arod!'
'Exactly. So they count as Arod's score and not yours. You cannot have those.' Gimli made sure he looked properly affronted.
Before long, they were in full scale bicker and Gimli was delighted that Eomer was joining in and laughing.
By the time the fire had dwindled and only cinders glowed in amongst the ash, Eomer was relaxed and Legolas had shuffled closer to him. The two were talking quietly, but companionably and that dreadful hurt tension between them had eased, for now at least.
Tomorrow they returned to Cormallen, thought Gimli. They would be there by midday if they rose with the sun. He pulled his blanket and cloak over his shoulder and with a faint grin to himself, he lay his head on his pack as a hard pillow and immediately fell asleep.
0o0o
Eomer smiled at Legolas, hearing the dwarf immediately begin to snore softly. He felt the heat from Legolas' body close to him, the familiar flare of lust in his belly, the heat pooling in his groin. This was his last chance, he knew. By the afternoon they would be back with the King, and Legolas would have returned to Elrohir.
But Legolas seemed unaware, leaning back on one elbow and his long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankle. Firelight gleamed on his long, long hair like wintergrass on the plains and Eomer thought of those nights where he had stretched out similarly but his skin bare and gleaming in firelight, the wild colour over his shoulder and torso and curling about his lean hips, his strong thigh…Eomer closed his eyes for a moment, pressed his mouth closed to stop the words escaping.
'Remember Helm's Deep?' he said helplessly.
Legolas lifted his long green eyes to Eomer, his full lips moved slightly, parted and for a moment he seemed about to speak but then he looked away again, his gaze slipping back to the fire. But his long fingers twitched.
'How could I not?' Legolas said at last.
Eomer held his breath; did he hear rightly? Legolas could not forget either? Hope broke in his chest and he leaned forwards remembering the breathless affirmation of life after that battle where hope seemed so lost and all believed they would die. The small dusty room, Legolas stretched out like he was now, firelight flickering over him.
The flames reflected in his eyes and he looked otherworldly, strange. As he had when Eomer first met the elf.
'I told you,' Legolas said quietly, but so factually. 'I will never forget. You will live on in my memory long after and in all my days, I will keep that memory precious as it is to me.'
Eomer heart thumped in his chest. 'Then…what does that mean?' he asked with wild hope fluttering in his chest.
Opposite him, Legolas raised his head and met Eomer's hopeful gaze. But his face was serious and his eyes were too kind to bear. 'Ah, Eomer. You are the King. You must find yourself a wife, from a suitable House, have children. Heirs. Neither of us can give the other what he needs.'
'And what do you need?' Eomer could not help the bitterness in his voice.
Legolas' face softened and he looked back into the fire. 'I am cold,' he said. 'Elrohir is fire. He warms me.'
Eomer felt the bitterness in his heart then, and jealousy of Elrohir that he thought he had conquered. But it was still there; even though he knew what he had with Legolas was fleeting. The Elf had been honest with him, he knew. He remembered what he had said to Legolas on the edges of Rohan before they parted at the Paths of the Dead, It is what it is, that he understood, he had meant it. He had meant it then, but now, he wondered if his heart would ever recover.
Eomer struggled to his feet and moved away from the warmth of the fire, feeling the cold wind around his legs. He stumbled away from the fire and pulling his thick cloak about him, went over to his sentry who turned as if he had no idea what had passed.
'Go and sleep,' he told him. 'I cannot and the one of us at least may rest.'
The Man nodded thankfully, stifling a yawn and stumbled off to join the huddled groups of Men and Eomer turned towards the East, wishing for dawn as he had at Helm's Deep.
He turned his head briefly and saw the silhouette of Legolas against the fire. He was very still, head slightly bent and long legs still stretched out, leaning on one elbow. And he was still there when the sun cracked a long line of daylight over the horizon.
o0o0o