AN: Just in case there are people who read the ending I first posted the last chapter with, and not the correction, go on back and read the corrected ending! It's way better! (This is what happens when you're too bitter and self-conscious to have a beta reader, folks.)
Also, I'm using the Mellon Chronicles by Siobhan and Cassia as a background for Legolas and Aragorn since there are lots of gaps in canon during their youths. No need to read them to understand but if you're down for the super angsty, graphically violent adventures of Aragorn and Legolas before Lord of the Rings, definitely give them a try. Big CW for torture in the series, of both the characters and your tear glands, but I'd personally say it's worth that and well written.
I've finally finished moving house, so there's more time to write now. Whether that results in more chapters, I'm not sure. Now that all the business is done with, onward!
Chapter 41: The Long March
The inhabitants of Edoras began to evacuate a few hours before noon, forming a long, winding column down the path from the gates that must have been at least a mile long. The king's escort rode and walked near the middle to be easily available in any direction, with riders trotting up and down the line in a constantly moving guard.
At first the tension was palpable, half expecting to be attacked as soon as they left the gates. The civilians relaxed after a lunch break came without any threats; the rest of us stayed vigilant.
Even with a broken leg Godiva was a decent rider, just as any of the Rohirrim should be. In front of her she held her younger child while the older one trotted along beside the horse under her husband's thoughtful gaze. Much of the morning was spent sharing news and almost all of it was bad on her end. A good deal of what I'd seen since we last saw each other was beyond her belief, especially Lothlorien; her children were enthralled.
Despite the enchanting company, my nerves were on edge and I found myself glancing around every few minutes. I tried to not make it obvious but eventually anyone would catch on. "Is something wrong?" Godiva's husband asked as he scooped up their tired child off his feet to be carried.
"I don't like being so exposed," I muttered.
Yet again I glanced further up the column where Boromir and Aragorn rode with King Theoden, all on high alert. Sometimes Boromir would even glance back, smiling a little when I would wave at him with a big, silly old grin.
Beside me, Mackey scoffed. Her own two boys sat in the saddle of the horse she led, while Andy rode with us and had Godric in front of her. The children were oblivious but the twins exchanged dark looks that none of us dared put into words.
The first day of travel went without incident, crossing mile after mile of open plain and camping once deep twilight set in. Many small fires were set up to cook over and give some kind of comfort in the uncertainty of the night, voices quiet but hopeful.
It sort of tickled me that King Theoden had a whole tent with him despite his own orders to travel light. Maybe his old bones just couldn't take the ground anymore. As a matter of propriety Eowyn, Andy, and Mackey retired to a separate section of the tent for the night.
Meanwhile I got to find a soft but not boggy piece of ground nearby, among the remaining members of the Fellowship. It made me giggle to myself when I realized that we were keeping to the pattern we had formed while running: Legolas sits up looking wide awake in his elvish daydreams beside Aragorn, who used to be a buffer between Legolas and Gimli but now was in the middle of all the inside jokes. A few feet away on Gimli's other side I always wiggled up to Boromir, usually back to back. Every single noise and movement inside the camp jerked me into wakefulness but at least it was some kind of rest.
The second day passed much as the first, chatting with my sisters and Godiva while the men discussed important manly things. The evening was a bit different.
We had made camp and I was checking the perimeter when Eowyn joined me, stiff upper lip still in place but troubled. The tension in her mouth only got deeper as she thought and we strolled. At first I thought to let her speak first, but when it looked like she wasn't going to say anything, I opened my mouth.
Thankfully Eowyn beat me to the punch. "Pardon my curiosity, but have you known Lord Aragorn long?" she finally asked.
"Eh?" I craned my neck to peer at her; where had this come from? "Coming up on six years," I replied, "What's up?"
Were her cheeks turning pink? And was that a look of-
Oh dear, I thought as I watched Eowyn struggle with words. This wasn't going to end well. "You like him, don't you? Like, romantically?" I hoped I was wrong.
The pink in Eowyn's pale face only brightened. "Is there something wrong with that?" she snapped defensively.
"Not wrong, this just isn't going to happen with him," I said bluntly, "I know, he's tall, dark, and handsome, and he's strong but he's got that gentle side. And he's already engaged." I sent up a prayer that I was doing the right thing; I didn't want her to get her hopes up then see them dashed.
That at least snapped Eowyn to attention. "Engaged?" she questioned.
"Engaged for longer than the two of us have been alive," I confirmed, then added thoughtfully, "Maybe longer than we've both been alive put together." One day I had to ask for that story and what Lord Elrond's reaction was like when he found out. It was put on my list of things to do if we survived the war.
A look of despondency flashed across Eowyn's face before she rallied. "Who is she?" she asked.
I wondered if she was just curious, or if she was comparing herself to this mysterious woman. It took me a few minutes to come up with words to describe Arwen beyond 'hot as hell' and I hoped to the valar that I was doing more good than harm. "Her dad's Lord Elrond of Rivendell and his dad is apparently Earendil. As in the star Earendil." That had thrown me for a loop when I heard it and from how Eowyn's eyebrows shot up, she was no less shocked.
"Her grandma is the Lady of Lothlorien and beyond description," I continued to try and beat it into Eowyn's head that it was useless to compare herself here, "Arwen herself is honest-to-god the most beautiful woman in the world, she's nice, and she's willing to tell her super-powerful dad to sod off in order to marry Aragorn once the war is over. They've been waiting for each other for decades now, and I don't think anything will change that."
Then I just had to add, "You won't get what you need there. Though if rangers are your type, I have someone I can introduce you to." I grinned and winked, half joking about Faramir.
"That's quite enough," Eowyn snapped, eyes bright in the flickering campfire that popped several feet away.
I raised my hands in surrender. "Sorry, that was a bit much," I replied with a grimace, "I'm pretty sure the other guy's gay anyways." Or was I mixing Faramir up with someone else Boromir told me about?
It didn't matter at all, though Eowyn gave a wet snort of rude, bitter laughter. "Thank you for answering my questions, though I like not the answers you give me," she said, always so polite even when she obviously wanted to cry her reddening eyes out.
"Anytime," I answered, making a face as I wondered if I should have said that.
For a long moment I watched her walk away into the dimness between the campfires. It was better to stop this all before tragedy struck, but was that really my place? Or was Cressie right again about me sticking my nose in everywhere? I sighed, rolled my shoulders, and kept my route around the puddle of refugees in the shallow basin chosen for the night's stay.
In the morning Eowyn's eyes were red, and she avoided me, but at least there wasn't the same kind of adoration when she looked at Aragorn. Of course she still wanted to be around him- who doesn't these days? But she also seemed to find a great deal of ways to stay away from him, like guiding the horse who patiently carried an uneasy Gimli and satisfying an apparently bursting curiosity about dwarves.
Around lunch time Eowyn tried putting together a stew and the poor girl had no idea what she was doing. I didn't know anything was wrong until I saw Aragorn subtly spilling his bowl once her back was turned, only to wince and get his hands covered in the stuff when she unexpectedly turned around. If Aragorn wouldn't eat it (and I've seen him eat some objectionable things in the past few months) then it must be practically toxic. With that reasoning I found Boromir sitting uncomfortably on a stone and leaned down to whisper, "Whatever you do, don't eat Eowyn's soup. Not even Aragorn can handle it."
Boromir let out a groan. "Too late," he mumbled and held his stomach.
"Suddenly I really miss Sam," I said, sighing as I daydreamed of his camp food. Or his regular food, which he was kind enough to prepare several times in Lothlorien.
As always at the mention of the hobbits, Boromir's expression darkened a little. "Yes, Sam would be most welcome," he said, "He may have even been able to repair the damage to that poor soup." He gave a chuckle that couldn't quite hide the self-loathing in every syllable.
Oh dear, not yet another highly charged and emotional discussion. At this rate, everyone in the fellowship would have some kind of crisis by the time we got to Helm's Deep.
"You know, when I think about it, you falling to Sauron's will might have actually saved the quest," I told him, if nothing else to shock him out of his justified but useless self-hatred.
He jerked up to face me, but then made a face of pain and bent back over with a miserable groan. "What?" he mumbled.
"Well, I know I'd be useful in Emyn Muil and Aragorn would lead us surely through the bogs, but beyond that, we humans would have been worse than useless," I reasoned, "You know, poisonous fumes and all that. Plus there wouldn't be any food or even water available between the river and the mountain, and the whole time the ring would've been hooking its claws further into everyone." I paused, wondering if I wanted to go there, before I admitted, "It was getting to me really badly by the time we split; much more time and I probably would've tried taking it myself."
Much more carefully this time, Boromir turned his head to study my face. "You mask your troubles well," he said, "Perhaps too well."
I shrugged helplessly. It's just what you do in modern life- make a joke, laugh it off, and not let on that you're screaming on the inside. "Frodo and Sam would've ended up heading for Mt Doom alone eventually, you just saved us from slaughtering each other first," I said, "And they needed us here."
If we hadn't come, then would Gandalf still have broken the spell on King Theoden? Would Saruman have successfully claimed the throne of Rohan? Morbidly I wondered who would have died first had Boromir not been overtaken by Sauron.
That being said, Saruman had accidentally helped the whole thing along by sending his uruk-hai to kidnap the hobbits. And me apparently, which I wanted answers for.
"Are you alright?"
Legolas's voice jerked me from my thoughts and I automatically asked, "What?"
The itty bitty frown between his brows got a little deeper. "Are you both alright?" His eyes went from Boromir's pained, slightly bloated expression to me and I realized I must look terrible.
"Thinking deep thoughts and recovering from Eowyn's cooking," I answered succinctly.
"Ah." The elf nodded sagely. "I haven't come across such foul food in many years. If I did not know better, I would wonder if the Lady were an agent of the Witch-king."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you implying that you've had the Witch-king's cooking?" I had to ask, despite the absurd image of a nazgul in a pretty pink 'kiss the chef' apron. I wondered briefly if a kiss from one of them would steal one's soul.
A shadow of pain flashed through Legolas's eyes. "He does not eat, and so he does not cook or have cooks of his own, only those who feed his servants and his prisoners," he said quietly, as if still in some dark place, "When he does feed his prisoners."
Surprised, and increasingly horrified, I traded uneasy glances with Eowyn over his shoulder.
She pinked and offered someone on her other side some poison. I mean, soup.
"Dude. The more I get to know you, the more I realize I barely know you," I told Legolas, scrambling for words, "You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to." Especially when it was as painful as it seemed.
Awkwardly Boromir nodded. "What I'd like to know is how you knew that stew was poison!" He made a face.
Legolas smiled impishly and everything seemed to be right in the world again. He wasn't supposed to look his age with pain and anguish and fucking PTSD. "The smell alone was enough to warn me," he answered, "Elvish senses."
Because of course he can smell better than the rest of us mere mortals too. Though I reevaluated that when I finally caught a whiff of the soup and gagged, unable to hide it. "Sorry," I told Eowyn, cringing at her crestfallen face.
"What's wrong with it?" she asked, not insulted but desperate, "No one wants it and those who have it don't eat it!"
Bless Andy for coming over right then. Just… bless her. "Soup not a big hit?" she asked sympathetically, "Let's see if we can do something about that." She thankfully steered them back toward the cooking area while I got far away from that awful smell. Just thinking about it nearly made me revisit my breakfast.
The second I found Boromir, still in pain but walking, I shook my head at him. "How in the world the smell didn't warn you, I don't know," I told him bluntly.
He sent me a withering glare that I totally deserved.
The column began moving again and the rest of the day passed in peace. We were getting close enough to Helm's Deep that the whole procession cheered up, hoping that we would make it to the fortress unmolested. The atmosphere was infectious and I found myself entertaining the idea that this part of the journey just might go smoothly. The closer we get to Helm's Deep, the closer we get to Isengard, but just maybe…
The fourth day since we left Edoras was excited, tense, and anxious at once. We were so close to the end of this onerous travel and a place of (perceived) safety that the population on their own sped up. The guard patrolling the convoy was doubled as we approached the mountains where anything can hide, looking for hidden menaces.
Close to the middle of the group, I heard a scream and a warning shout, but wasn't sure what they were saying. War? Were Saruman's forces waiting for us?
Some women screamed and panic began to rise.
I began to look for Boromir and Aragorn, only to curse that I was yet again walking and too short to see anything. "Can I borrow one of your horses?" I asked a groom who held the reins of two beautiful beasts, a grey and a pinto.
"Of course, my Lady," he replied automatically and gave me the pinto.
"Thanks," I said thoughtlessly, and breathlessly, before I rode up to where Andy and Mackey chivvied the civilians onward.
"What's happening?!" I shouted to them.
"Wargs!" Mackey shouted back, head on a swivel as she looked for anyone who had been left behind.
"What are wargs?!" I replied, but was drowned out by the king.
"All riders to the head of the column!" King Theoden ordered, rallying the few soldiers we had with us. They began the charge, but he stayed where he was for a brief moment to speak to Eowyn.
Already Boromir and Aragorn were cresting the hill, Gimli a bit behind them as he clung in terror to Arod's reins. There was no getting orders there, so I decided that I would be most useful helping my sisters herd and rear guard the civilians.
"Where are we going!" I called to Andy.
"The fortress is just over this ridge, downhill, and across a small valley," she answered, pointing west to an opening in the treacherous mountains.
It was only Andy, Mackey, Eowyn, and I with a few other women on horses to screen the fleeing refugees from potential danger. Godiva scouted behind us, bent low over the saddle and her toddler as she reported the danger level. Four passes went by before she shouted, "A few got past the men! Who's got a weapon!" She drew the sword half-hidden under my saddlebags and circled back to face the oncoming threat.
"Andy! Eowyn! You keep going!" Mackey barked at them, unsheathing a sword of her own, "Get them the rest of the way there! Cass, you're with me!" Before she could be argued with, she spurred her horse onward.
I shrugged at Andy and a visibly frustrated Eowyn, then removed my halberd from the straps that held it to my back. "Somebody's gotta be there in case the king croaks!" I advised as I turned my borrowed horse around, "See you at the fort!" I snapped the reins and finally saw what Godiva had reported.
A warg, it seemed, was a mutated hyena mixed with a rabid wolf, both apparently suffering giganticism, except that even that was a generous description. Its stench was nearly enough to knock me over even before I was close enough to swing at it.
Those jaws were powerful and its teeth were sharp as it snapped at my horse. But it had no concept of tactics or even timing, so I ended up (mostly by accident) killing it with a stab through the throat when it lunged, jaws wide open.
Not bad, I told myself. I was alive and that made it not bad. I tried not to think about how I've never fought mounted enemies before and that this was mostly luck.
A second warg was harassing Mackey, only this one had an orc astride it that kept her busy. I took the opportunity to spear the warg in the ribs, which made it throw its rider with a scream.
The orc was quickly despatched by one of the other women while Mackey took care of the warg. A third, fourth, and fifth warg came, some with riders and some without, but none got past the rear guard as they gradually retreated to the mouth of the valley.
A sixth warg came barreling across the plain, aiming for Mackey's horse with claws and jaws outstretched. Her eyes widened and she thrust her sword out, but even her reach was too short. She braced for impact.
I've never thrown my hammer before but with a four letter prayer I tried it then. It was only a few meters and the beast was too large to miss; the warg howled as its ribs were hit. The cry was cut short by an arrow to the base of the skull.
Even as it fell and tumbled to its final stop, my head jerked to see where the arrow came from. I grinned at the sight. "Way to save the day, Legolas!" I cheered, laughing in relief. I jumped down to retrieve my hammer and put it back on my belt, then decided I wasn't walking the rest of the way and got back in the saddle. Once comfortable I directed my steed to where he approached at the head of the riders.
Why was there no cheer or smile? They came back from a battle but this wasn't the atmosphere of a victorious army. Even Gimli was subdued as he rode Arod quietly, without complaint. Legolas wandered forward, not appearing to quite be here with the rest of us; he was in shock.
"Legolas?" I questioned sharply.
His bright blue eyes pierced through me. "Aragorn is gone," he said, voice empty, "He fell."
The breath caught in my throat. "What? Fell? Where's his body, then?" I demanded, "Or at least his ring and necklace. Those are important, right?" I looked to Boromir for answers, realizing that Legolas was in no state to give them.
Boromir rode close and urged me gently to turn around. "He got tangled in a warg's saddle straps and they both went off a cliff," he said heavily, "We have his necklace to send to Lady Arwen but no time to look for his body."
For how I lost my breath, he may as well have punched me in the chest. Wordlessly I opened my hand for the necklace.
"Legolas has it," Boromir said, tilting his head toward the elf, "It seemed to bring him comfort."
I sucked air in between my front teeth. "He's not going to die or something, is he?" I hissed, remembering all the sad stories I'd heard in Rivendell.
With an odd look at me, Boromir thankfully said, "I shouldn't think so." He let out a hard sigh and shook his head.
The horses began to carefully go down a steep hill and there was silence as we negotiated our way to the plain several meters below. I spent the time having a shit fit. There was no way in hell Aragorn could be dead. After Weathertop and Moria and Amon Hen, he died in an appetizer of a battle before the main? I couldn't accept that.
An image flashed in front of my eyes and I jerked up in the saddle. Aragorn, stumbling in an unfamiliar gate, wondrously alive at the head of four men. For once in my life, I took my dreams seriously and grinned.
"Cass?" Boromir called, concerned.
"He's not dead, and there'll be a few other men with him when he meets us at Helm's Deep," I told him, mentally kicking myself for not telling Aragorn. Habitually I'd not mentioned that dream to anyone after Legolas, too aware that the information would be useless. Except that now when I really thought about it, of course someone should know that more people were coming from home, and of course Aragorn would get himself into some kind of life-threatening scrape.
Boromir frowned. "Of course he's dead. No one could have survived that fall," he reasoned, pity starting in his eyes.
I rolled my eyes because pity was the last thing I needed. "No, really. The night before we left, I had this dream," I insisted and told him all about it, detailing that there were two torches on each side of the archway the gate was in and that I've never in my life been here, thank you very much.
Though doubtful, Boromir at least listened and didn't call me crazy. "Perhaps you are right, which would be a joyous occasion indeed, but until we know, we must assume that Aragorn is gone," he decided with an unhappy huff, "Where the great fall, the lesser must lead, indeed."
Hadn't Aragorn said something like that after Moria? And look how that turned out, I joked.
Now that we grew close to Helm's Deep, I finally looked at it and found myself impressed. Now there was a fortress, I thought approvingly as I surveyed the long, high wall that extended from the main castle outward across the head of the valley. The ramp to the gates was relatively thin with several arches and I felt a physical longing for explosives to scuttle it ahead of the upcoming battle. The gates were opened reverentially for the king, whose retinue trotted in before Boromir and I entered.
There were two torches on either side of the thick stone archway.
I gulped down the excited nerves that started in my stomach. If this dream was true, then… What would I say to them? Murphy, York, and Martin? And the poor guy who got dragged into this insanity?
"Where's the groom?" I asked a soldier I recognized from the convoy, "I need to return this horse."
The man grimaced. "He fell," he answered, "I'll take this one to the stable." He took the reins and once I gave the horse's nose a good stroke, took it away.
"Cass!" Aunt Libby's voice shouted from the other side of the entry courtyard, "Cass, is that you?"
I gave Boromir a delighted smile before I rushed to join my aunt by the outer wall. Was that even more grey in her hair? The shadows under her eyes were deeper and her shoulders carried tension when she squeezed me tightly in greeting. "Auntie! What are you doing here?" I questioned, unable to believe my eyes.
She flipped the ends of my french braids, which were much longer than when we last saw each other. "We were on the trade route when we were told to come here," she answered, gesturing vaguely behind her, "It's Electra and me."
"Cassie!" Electra squealed and we hugged fairly aggressively.
"I heard there's a battle coming," Aunt Libby interrupted, voice low, "What do you know?"
"I know that you're a queen and can ask King Theoden what he knows," I offered, "There was just a small battle and there's definitely a battle coming, we just don't know when. He probably knows more."
My aunt, sister, and I traded dark looks.
"Come on, let's crash their planning session," I urged.
We started walking up the winding stone street toward the castle further inside the fortress.