Fan Fiction ❯ Helm's Deep ❯ Helm's Deep ( Chapter 1 )

1

My heart is pumping. The black line is slowly growing, moving towards us. They are like swarming ants. I despise them all.

Aragorn is shouting orders to a small band of the Rohan. Éomer stands next to him on a white horse. He watches my friend like a hawk. But I can tell that something is blooming between them.

I tighten by bowstring. I glance down at the dwarf going on about the quality of rock and such things. "Give me a year and a hundred of my kin and I would make this a place that armies would break upon like water!" he boasts. I roll my eyes. Not again, I sigh to myself.

As with Aragorn, I have learned to simply go along, perhaps to make a small argument. My companions are intimidated by me. The tensions drive me mad. I swallow my good will and spit out my elvish pride.

"I do not doubt it. But you are a dwarf, and dwarves are strange folk. I do not like this place, and I shall like it no more by the light of day. But you comfort me, Gimli, and I am glad to have you standing nigh with your stout legs are your hard axe. I wish there were more of your kin among us. But even more would I give for a hundred good archers of Mirkwood. We shall need them. The Rohirrim have good bowmen after their fashion, but there are too few here, too few."

Gimli snorts. "Wise Ass! It is too dark for archery. Indeed it is time for sleep. Sleep! I feel the need of it, as never I thought any dwarf could. Riding is tiring work. Yet my axe feels restless in my hand. Give me a row of orc-necks and room to swing and all weariness will fall from me"

I leap down lightly from the parapet I had been sitting upon. Gently laughing, I glance out at the oncoming orcs. They are fast approaching and time soon shall come to bend my bow. I turn back towards the proud dwarf.

"Then I shall challenge you to a duel," I smirk. The smile fell off of his face quickly.

"Right now? Before a battle?"

"During it. I bet that I shall kill more orcs than you."

He laughs heartily, with a touch of nervousness. "So that is what you mean? And I bet that you shall not." His stout legs bend and he swings his buttocks from side to side. His axe circles about. The sight is so comical I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

The hills grow black with the enemies. "My god, I am sickened," I cry. "There are so many!" Gimli pats my back. I glance at him.

"You shall live to see Nevlothiel, so do not worry."

I shake my head. "I do not fear for myself. They just are so vile and the brave Rohirrim shall fall like flies! I cannot bear to watch." I turn away.

"Wimp! The battle has yet to start!"

Sometimes I just want to kill that dwarf.

2

I mount my horse. Éomer is watching me again. I feel a tad uncomfortable about him, as though he was looking at my body and not me. I simply must try to concentrate on the oncoming orcs. They have been driven into the dike, but not for long, I can see.

It is late. I feel tired and restless in the same. Suddenly, lightning strikes overhead. For a moment, a frightened, girlish look spreads across Éomer's face. He regains himself quickly and continues to look at me. Yes, he definitely worries me sometimes.

In the lightning, I can see thousands of orcs swarming about the dike. "Great," I sigh to myself. A drop of rain falls upon my hand. Immediately, an ocean drops upon us.

Arrows from every direction come raining down as my men scurry about. I cry to them to not fight back, and surprisingly enough, they listen. I look up at the wall and see Legolas picking up a few of the arrows and placing them in his quiver. His long hair is plastered to his back and the side of his face.

"Not so clean now, eh Legolas?" I shout up to him. He sticks out his tongue. I glance back at the orcs. They are screaming and waving weapons about. In the lighting, I can see their many rings glistening on thousands of orc-ears.

Trumpets are blaring. The orcs take the signal and advance farther upon us. Éomer waves his hand and the archers upon the wall, including dear Legolas, bend their bows to them. They scatter like mice and charge again. They repeated this several times.

A group of larger enemies moved forward. They hold a battering ram. Our gates were pounded upon. Splinters flew high into the air.

"We should not ride into battle. Our men shall go on foot," I tell Éomer. He nods in agreement. We dismount and I turn to him again. "Come! This is the hour we draw swords together.

We break into a fast run. Several swordsmen join us, taking up the rear. We head straight for the gate, growing speed with every stride. Our swords draw at the same time.

"Gưthwinë!" cries Éomer. "Gưthwinë for the Mark!"

"AndÆ°ril!" I scream. "AndÆ°ril for the DÆ°nedain!"

A clear voice meets my ears over the battle. I recognize it as Legolas'. I quickly glance up and see him standing on a parapet. He sings loudly and boldly.

The field runs red with blood

A feeling sprouts, unknown

The men of Rohan battle on

The guests feel at home

The taste of blood rests in our mouths

The enemy we fight

Raise your swords, Men!

Battle for what is right!

It is in us all, the will to rule

Surges through our veins

We shall fight! We shall win!

Despite the pounding rains

For the sword which once is broken

Has now been forged again

So woe to all the enemies

At his feet you shall be slain

Feel your wrath!

Taste blood a little more!

Let it pound within your heart!

Rohan goes to war!

A cry rises among the men as he finishes his song. One shouts, "AndÆ°ril! AndÆ°ril goes to war! The blade that was broken shines again!" I feel a new life surge through me. I work faster and full of newfound energy.

It is good to be king.

3

There's no one there. This is certainly strange. The front gate is badly hewed by the battering rams. The gate opens. We gaze at each other a moment.

"Questionable," Aragorn mutters. The arrows still come, but the orcs have certainly run. "We did not come too soon," he comments, waving his hand towards the gate. A clap of thunder came extremely loudly at that moment.

Legolas, on the tower, sighs loudly. His song had been in vain. I want to laugh at the look on his face. Instead, he continues to shoot at orcs that only his elf eyes could clearly see.

Suddenly, at the stream, they are visible to me. "We cannot stay behind the walls to defend them. Look!" I cry. Thousands of orcs and the wild men are forming at the stream. "Come! We must get back inside and bar the doors with stone and beam. Come now!"

We turn as a group and make for the courtyard. I hear the sound of light pursuing feet. Suddenly, something grabs my ankle and I fall. I can feel the weight of two orcs on top of me.

Oh god! They are indeed going to kill me! Aragorn turns to watch me crying. Bastard! He's going to observe my death!

I feel them falling off. I spring to my feet and gaze at the headless orcs. A small figure on my right smiles up at me. Now, Aragorn comes over to me and dust me off. "What took you?" I ask him smartly.

We flew back inside and immediately behind us the gates close. They are quickly barred and stones are piled against them. I turn to the dwarf beside me. He is still creepily grinning.

"I thank you, Gimli son of Gloin," I start. I did not know you were with the sortie."

"I followed to ward off sleep. But I looked on the hill-men and they were too large for me. So I sat and watched your sword play on a nearby stone."

"I shan't find it easy to repay you."

"There may be many opportunities to repay me before the night is over. But I am content," the dwarf laughs. "I have hewn nothing but Legolas' pride and wood since Moria."

Legolas' fair face stares at him, a look of disgust. Then he glances out at the orcs. "Ladders are coming!" he cries. "Prepare your swords, Aragorn!"

At last they are upon us. The gates once again open. We run along, cutting ladders. We run to the Deeping wall and prepare to slay them.

I stab two orcs. They fall quickly to the ground as I raise my blade again. Aragorn covers my back. I can feel his muscles moving against it as his arms rise and fall. He is really toned quite nicely.

That elf can get annoying. I didn't like those two from the start, but Aragorn has always been there. But what they say of the elves is true indeed. He is the fairest creature I have ever met.

A scimitar clinks against my mail. I have to concentrate once again or I shall surely be killed. The orc hisses at me and aims at my head. I duck to dodge it. It hits the back of Aragorn's helm and he turns towards me.

"Are you completely useless!" he cries. "Trying to kill the man who backs you?"

"I am sorry, Aragorn!"

"Concentrate!" he turns backs and stabs a tall one through the stomach fully. It cries shrilly and falls to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Legolas letting his bow sing again and again. His speed and aim is incredible to watch, but I must work on my own slaying.

The orc looses an arm to Gưthwinë. Another quickly takes his place. My arms are beginning to become weary. But I must do my job right.

I wonder how Théoden is doing? My poor uncle just hasn't been himself. I have not fully forgiven him for tossing me into jail the other day, but still, he said that if he dies, I should be king. That just sounds scary. I'd be thrilled to be king, but I am certainly scared as well.

An orc just dented my armor! The audacity of some creatures! I repay him by slicing off his head. I simply must concentrate on this battle. So much depends on me!

Aragorn cries. "Have you been wounded?" I turn to him. The man next to him had fallen and lay headless at his feet. "Disgusting…" I whine.

I can see Legolas glancing about for arrows and Gimli approaching him out of my eye. Aragorn cries, "Pay attention!" I snap back to the orcs. The press has become much.

I must kill.

4

"Two."

He lets out a laugh in his gentle voice. "Two? Just two?" His fair face glows and his eyes smile. He has not looked so pleased since Lorien.

"I have done better, but now I must grope for more arrows; all mine are gone. Yet I make my tale twenty at the least. Yet that is only a few leaves in the forest." He turns and glances at the battle just outside the wall. The arrows are shooting about viciously. Occasionally, he moves his body to dodge one or his hand leaps up to catch and place in his quiver.

He is indeed a beautiful creature. It is strange, for he is not handsome like Éomer, Aragorn, or Boromir. He is just beautiful. I suppose it is the same for all elves; for Celeborn was fair, Elrond was fair, and Haldir was fair. But there is something about Legolas. Everyone can sense it.

Our friendship is a mystery to all. He and I are the first elf and dwarf friendship existing since Durin's day. But there are a few things about him I do not understand. They are:

Why does he never sleep?

How can he, when he does, sleep with his eyes open?

Why is he always so full of heart?

Does he never tire?

It takes me much time to prepare for the day. He readies in seconds.

Why does he never get dirty?

How can he find humor in battle?

Why is he so fast?

He rarely eats- how can he keep so much energy?

The list may go on and on, but I have just become aware that this is too much work for men. Why am I conversing with an elf when I could be hewing orcs? I feel restless and leap down from the wall. I land on a pair of shoulders and grab at the slimy flesh.

The orc whines and tries to tear me off. I swing my axe, which cuts clear through the skull. "Three," I mutter under my breath. I can sense Legolas' eyes pouring into my head.

"KHAZAD! KHAZAD!" I cry. "Ai-Oi! The orcs are behind the wall!" I shout with realization. "Ai-Oi! Come, Legolas of Mirkwood! There are enough for us both. KHAZAD AI-MENU!"

I can hear him laugh loudly and I see him leap into the orcs, his knife shining. I ignore it and continue chopping at the orcs, silently counting. "Six… Seven… Eight…" I wonder how many Legolas is at. I swing my axe from left to right, confident that it shall hit many targets.

I hew a two-handed stroke and lay an orc at my feet. "Wow…" I mutter. "Twenty-One." I turn to Gamling the Old. "Twenty-One!" I cry. "Now my count passes Master Legolas again!"

The wizened old man watched the orcs pouring into the caves of the fort. "We must stop this rat-hole," he croaks. "Dwarves are said to be cunning folk with stone. Lend us your aid, Master Gimli."

God, this man truly must be senile. How does he think halls are formed? "We do not shape stone with battle-axes, nor our fingernails. But I shall help as I may."

"Let us stack the stones against them, close the mines," he grumbles.

"Let it be."

Many men come to us. I direct them to pick up the stones and boulders at hand and lay them as a barricade. All listen and before we know, all is well. The rain and mountain streams chill my bones. "It is drier above," I cry to the ancient. "Come, Gamling, let us see how things go on the wall!"

I climb up swiftly. A golden glint amongst the rain catches my eye. I turn to it and see Legolas, his hair flying about as he spins this way and that, whetting with his knife. Aragorn and Éomer back him and each other. I go to him.

"Twenty-One!" I cry.

He suddenly notices me. "Good!" he calls. "But my count is now two dozen. It has been knife-work up here!" To prove his point, he slits an orc's throat. It gurgles and falls to his feet. "Twenty-Five," he smiles.

He places his hair behind an ear. "Let us rest a moment, friend Gimli." We flee the scene, hewing the orcs in our way. We sit upon a stone and he turns to me. Surprisingly, he is not dirty one bit. "How are you always clean?" I ask. He laughs. "And you always laugh so perfectly at everything."

He dusts himself off. "Elves believe that cleanliness is purifying to the skin and the soul. We also have great heart in everything. And you think I laugh well?" I nod. "I laugh like an old goat next to the laugh of my father."

"I would much like to meet your father."

"Really?" he asks, suddenly excited. "You most certainly can someday. I would love for you to meet my kin!"

"If they are half as interesting as you, I would still be ensnared by them."

He crosses his left leg over his right. "I am probably the dullest of them."

"How's that possible?"

"Well… I suppose after this journey, no one will ever find any of us dull. But, oh! The elves of Mirkwood are so energetic and gay!"

I stand up. "Then let me travel with you to Mirkwood someday."

"Agreed." He glances north. "And we shall go to it through Lothlorien."

I wink at him. "In that case, everyone should travel to Lorien one last time. For your wedding, that is."

He smiles.

5

The ground is so red with blood I can barely see the grass. It is so black I can make out my enemies only by lines and flashes of lightning. I am drenched with rain and weary at heart, body, and mind. I can tell that the battle is nearly over. But the winner has not yet been chosen.

I wonder where the dwarf and elf have gone. They have followed us from Rohan and have fought very well. Now, suddenly, they are not here. Perhaps they've gone to rest. I shall join them.

Sure enough, they are sitting on a rock. The elf looks up at me and says, "Weary? Give your name and you shall join us."

"I am gracious for your offer, master elf. I am Déonar, son of Sonéol."

"Greetings, Déonar. You may call me Gimli," says the stout dwarf.

"And I am Legolas, son of Thranduir, king elf of Mirkwood," the elf informs, getting up and bowing.

I joined them on the rock. After a moment of silence, I asked, "Why did you come with us?"

"Our captain, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, insisted that we come along. We did not need bribing. We also are here to represent our races," Legolas tells me.

"We have come from Rivendell on a quest," Gimli adds.

"Rivendell?" I ask. "I have not heard of Rivendell."

They glance at each other. "It is far, far away. It is only about, say, a days ride from Mirkwood," Legolas says.

"I understand. Tell me of your quest."

"We cannot speak of what it was, for it is indeed too important. But I can say that our company was Gandalf the Greyhame…"

"Erkanbrand?" I interrupt. He nods.

"Then there was 4 hobbits, or halflings…"

"I have not heard of those."

"Many in your land have not. But they are short, merry, and many who know of their kind enjoy their company," Gimli says.

"There was also Aragorn, whom you have met." I nod. "Then myself and Master Gimli." Legolas paused. "And Boromir, son of Denethor."

"I know Boromir well."

"Have you heard, then?"

"Heard what news?" My heart gave a leap. This did not sound good. I had traveled to Minas Tirith few times in the past, each time greeted by him. I had met him on my first journey to Gondor, for my mother was ill and had gone to live with her sister, who married a guard of the steward's. He happened to be passing through the plain at the time, trying to find shelter for an oncoming storm.

He was a very interesting young man. Well learned, he was, in ancient lore. We discussed our lands histories late into the night and indeed were glad of each other in the morning. He stayed at my house many months ago on his way to Rhuóür, where Rivendell, which I assume Legolas and Gimli speak of, must be. His mission was secret. Yet despite his heir of mystique, we talked liked we had of old. I miss him dearly.

His fair face looks troubled. "Boromir is…"

"Is what? Captured?"

"Dead."

My eyes open wide. My heart begins to pump slower. "Dead?" I ask, unable to believe. Visions of Boromir, eyes closed, mouth shut forever, ran through my head. How cheerful he had used to be. I had only met him a few times, but we were close indeed. I cannot accept it! "Dead?"

"Afraid so," Gimli sighs.

"How?" I cry.

"Orcs greeted us at Amon Hen," Legolas starts. "Gimli and I were on the shore, fighting when we heard the horn." He glances away, remembering. "We ran to it, and found Aragorn holding him. There had to be twenty slain. His sword and horn were at his breast. We placed him in a boat and let him sail over the Anduin."

I picture him floating along the lonely river. My heart jerks at me and I feel very small. "He fought bravely. He was an amazing man," he says quickly. The corners of my eyes grow wetter. A surge of rage flows through me.

"Why? Why, Damn it!"

"Déonar…"

"Everything I love is taken away from me… Damn this war! Damn the orcs! Damn Mordor!"

"It will help naught to complain," Gimli starts.

"I do not care!" I cry. The pain of loss rushes through my veins. "Boromir… where art thou?"

"We have already explained. He is dead," the dwarf says, not understanding.

"Gimli… Give him time. He cannot accept it," Legolas says slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

I feel moisture that is not rain roll down my face. "I cannot accept for I know that you lie! He is not dead! There is nothing that could stop him."

"We have all lost many friends. Boromir's death is painful to us too," the elf remarks.

I suddenly feel very cruel towards these creatures. I place my hand on the hilt of my sword and feel my fingers curl around it. My face is red hot with anger. Thoughts of revenge fly through my mind.

"Orcs- you say?"

"Yes." He sighs deeply.

"I must avenge Boromir!" I leapt to my feet, boiling over with pain, blinded by tears. I do not care or wipe them away. Madness drives me towards the field. "GONDOR AND BOROMIR!" I scream.

"Déonar! Wait!" I hear his voice, but do not process the words.

I run towards the army of orcs, slaying all that get in my path. I dodge Aragorn, who is fighting back-to-back with Éomer. I swing my sword blindly about. I lose count of the ones I kill quickly.

Obscenities fly from my lips. I parry their black scimitars and dig into their flesh. I keep picturing my friend lying dead with arrows in his chest, his dark hair wet from rain. My own blond tresses fly about and stick to my face. I must kill all their kind! All the orcs can do is cause destruction.

A sudden pain shoots down my back. I drop my sword in the attack. I touch my back and feel the wetness of my blood. I hear Legolas' soft shoes pad up to me.

"Déonar!" he cries softly. I feel his hands, long and firm, slip under my shoulders. I am dragged from the battle scene. The tip of the arrow touches the ground and I shudder from the pain.

The pain! It seems too immense to bear! I cannot stand it. I close my eyes and cringe. I feel the brush of stone on my arm. "Oh Déonar!" he moans as he observes my back.

"It hurts…" I whine.

I feel a sudden jolt of immense capacity as he jerks out the arrow. "Damn!" He tosses it to the ground. He sits down and gently massages his brow, thinking. Finally, he leans in towards me. I see his mist colored eyes clearly. "You are dying," he says frankly.

"I… I am what?" I groan.

He places a hand to my face, its touch warm in the cold winter night. "You are dying, Déonar. This was no orc-arrow. It was that of the Wild men, who use strong poison."

"Just like Boromir…" I remember.

He embraces me and rocks me like a child. The pain is not as bad now. It is going away fast. I did not think that my end would be met this way, being held by an elf on the rim of a battle. I suddenly remember my beautiful wife, pregnant with our first child.

"Legolas!" I cry with the realization and urgency.

"Yes, friend?"

"Is there no cure? I must live!"

His eyes grow wide with understanding. He glances towards the fighting men. "ARAGORN!" he cries with sudden haste. He rubs his eyes and a speck of my blood transfers from his hand to his cheekbone. "My god…Does he have anything? Oh!" he wails. "ARAGORN!"

I shut my eyes and sigh. "No," I shake my head at him. "He must fight."

His lower lip trembles slightly, but his quickly regains his power. He turns from me. "My father was right," he mutters. "I am weak. I am no better than my sisters."

"Legolas?"

He faces me again. "Yes? But what can I do? You need medicine. The only medicine I know is song and love." A smile creeps across his face, despite his clear despair. "I fear that there is nothing I can do but stay by you."

"Then do what you must."

"Can I get you anything?"

I touch my throat. "I thirst a bit."

Immediately, his hand flies to his canteen. He sets me against the stone, careful not to touch my wound. The rough metal touches my lips and I feel the cool liquid run down my throat. "Better?" he asks, taking a seat on his hip. He screws the cap back on.

"A bit." I raise a hand to wipe my mouth, but his fingers instead clean it.

"You are weakening," he observes. Indeed, I can feel the poison working on the inside of me. My stomach lurches fiercely and I lean forward to relieve it. Legolas pulls back my hair as the bile leaves my mouth. He picks me back up and pulls out a dry cloth to wipe my face.

I shiver and my eyes start to blur. "I can feel it working faster now," I whine. His brow wrinkles in worry. Leaning next to me on the stone now, he gives a great sigh.

"Oh, Déonar… Why did it have to end this way for you? You are a strong man, worthy of life. Bold you are." I feel my neck relaxing and I roll my head forward involuntarily. He acts faster than an arrow and pulls me into his arms.

"Please, Legolas… Please, Legolas…" I cry with no meaning.

"Oh what! Oh what?" he moans. "Anything! Not yet!"

Then it hits me like no pain I have ever felt before. It sends me flying up with the force of an army. But when I fall back down, I feel nothing. Just need to rest. My eyes start to droop.

"Oh!" I hear him exclaim.

I feel cold, like going into the snow many hours with no cloak. The only thing keeping me conscious is his pleas. Not a thing is clear. The darkness is enclosing. The cries of battle grow fainter.

"I am so tired…" I manage to say. He gives a shuddering sigh, realizing the time had at last come.

"Then close your eyes," Legolas whispers.

I do. I feel a sudden peace. The pain is gone. "I don't feel anything."

"Do not speak, Déonar."

I feel the trickle of a tear run down my face. I realize it is not my own, but Legolas'. It is warm and soothes me. It touches my lips and I taste its saltiness. I begin to shake uncontrollably.

Through the blackness of my closed eyes, I can see Legolas, standing in a white robe. Next to him is a tall, immensely beautiful woman. His eyes are as blue as the ocean; their happiness catches my attention. I feel at peace with myself and everything in the world. Everything makes sense to me.

"We will win the battle," I whisper.

Through everything, I can hear the voice of an angel. I listen to the voice and realize that Legolas and the female elf are the ones singing. They sing in their language, but it is so beautiful and clear, I can almost understand. The last thing I hear is their song.

Ai! Laurië lantar lassi sưrinen,

Yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!

Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier

Mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva

Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar

Nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni

Ã"maryo airetári-lírinen.

Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?

An si Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo

Ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,

Ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;

Ar sindanóriello caita mornië

I falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië

Untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.

Si vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!

Narámië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.

Nai elyë hiruva. Narámië!

6

I lay his body against the stone and place his sword upon his breast. Why I care so much for this one man, I do not know. Perhaps it was simply the fact that he was dying. Maybe that he was friends with Boromir.

I wipe his blood from my hands. I pray that he died peacefully. I glance back at the battle scene. Gimli will be far above my count by now. I must get back. No one shall know.

I place the arrows that killed him into my quiver. I leapt up upon the rock and aim at an orc. I let it sing and watch him fall. Twenty-nine. I killed a few making my way to Déonar. I go to rummage through my victim's quiver and find three arrows.

I spend the next few minutes slaying, not thinking. When my count is thirty-seven, I shall go and find Gimli and Aragorn. It is currently thirty-five. I see Théoden riding towards the dike. A red dawn is rising. My heart feels trouble, but I can see the battle. The rain has stopped.

Concentrate, I tell myself.

A few more arrows spent and my count in thirty-seven. I see Aragorn and Éomer still battling by each other's side. I make my way down to them, cutting if I must at orcs. Another falls, stabbed in the back by my knife. I go to my captain.

He rushes away and I follow. I see the stairs. Aragorn stands at the bottom of the stair, holding back the orcs. I kneel on the top step, staring down at them. I reach back. My hand touches but one arrow. I pull it out and recognize the one that killed Déonar. I string it no matter.

Bow bent, I peer down at the writhing beasts. Most men have gotten inside the walls. We must climb soon. The last soldier brushes past me. I change my focus to the stairs. I aim down at the first orc who dare come after.

"All who can have got safe within, Aragorn," I call. "Come back!" He glances up at me and with amazing speed, runs up the stairs. Éomer came to my side and pulled him to safety. The orcs take their chances. I shoot the foremost, but the uncaring enemy runs over him. I turn and flee. A giant boulder is rolled down the stair just as Aragorn's hands pull me behind the wall. He slams the door.

"Things go ill, my friends," he sighs.

"Ill enough, but not yet hopeless," I tell him, remembering the words of the fallen Déonar. "But not yet hopeless, while you have us. Where is Gimli?"

"I do not know. I last saw him fighting on the ground behind the wall, but the enemy swept us apart."

Terror seizes my heart. It cannot be! Yet I must have hope. I picture my friend with blood-sprayed beard, lying with axe on chest. "Alas!" I cry. "That is evil news!"

A comforting hand brushes my back. "He is stout and strong. Let us hope he will escape back to the caves. There he would be safe for a while. Safer than we." The thought is comforting. "Such a refuge would be his liking."

"Then that must be my hope," I sigh. "But I wish he would come this way." With a smile, I add, "I desire to tell Master Gimli that my tale is thirty-nine."

He gives a hearty laugh. "If he wins his way back from the caves, he will pass your count again. Never have I seen an axe so wielded."

I think of my empty quiver. "I must go and seek some arrows. Would that this night end, I will have better light for shooting." He nods and I go off once more. My eyes see many strewn about. I pick up nearly four-dozen intact.

While bent down, I hear the conversations of Aragorn with some men. Apparently, Éomer has wound up in the Deep. One saw Gimli as well. The words fill my heart with hope. Théoden goes to him and places a hand on his shoulder.

They speak amongst themselves for a while. I dare not listen, for though I can hear, the business is that of army captains. Aragorn sighs and turns to me at long last. "All hope of winning is gone." I nod. "At dawn, we shall ride away from the battle we cannot win. Will you ride with us?"

"You know the answer already."

He smiles. "Let us lend aid to the men until that time."

We run through the chaos, cutting ropes and every attempt the orcs make towards us. At last, the dawn becomes noticeable even to the untrained eye. Aragorn glances at it, and then climbs the wall. "Aragron!" I whisper harshly. "What are you doing?"

He turns to the east. He raises an empty hand towards the orcs. They cry and cheer. Aragorn continues to threaten them, though the arrows grow thicker. Finally, he calls out final doom to them, using his regal voice that I know too well.

For a moment, the noise is lessened. I pull him down and we run hand in hand to the king's tower. Behind us, the gate smashes into oblivion with a blast of flame. Behind the building was the stable. He straddles Hasufel as I leap lightly upon the back of Arod, my old friend. "We must be ready and swift," I whisper to him in my tongue. He seems to listen and stands tall.

A horn blast is sounded. It sends a shiver through all who hear it. I think of Boromir immediately. The king moves between Aragorn and I, the lords of Éorl behind us. Another horn blast calls, echoing the first. Soon, the fort is filled with the music of it.

"HELM! HELM!" cry the Riders. "HELM HAS ARISEN AND COME BACK TO WAR! HELM FOR THÉODEN KING!!"

In the east, dawn breaks. With a cry, we move forth. The gates open and our bows, knives, swords, and axes are drawn upon the enemy. They all scattered like confused rats. Slaying our way, we at last reach the Dike.

Glancing down at the Deeping-Coomb, I realize that thousands of trees seem to have sprung up over night. It is indeed peculiar. Between the trees and us most of the army of Saruman lies, cowering. The rest of their kind lay dead. They are clearly trapped between King, Forest, and rocks to the East.

On the west, a figure clad in white is seated upon a large horse. About him are thousands of marching men, horns blowing within their crowd. The white rider thrusts a horn to his lips and blows. Where they have come from, I do not know.

O, but the relief I feel! No more of the good men must be slain. The riders cry, "Erkenbrand!" The orcs turn and run in cowardice. Through the forest.

"Behold the White Rider!" Aragorn cries at their fleeing. "Gandalf has indeed come again. He comes towards us on Shadowfax. I feel such immense joy! If I were one thousand years younger, I would embrace him, army watching or no.

"Mithrandir! O! Mithrandir!" I cry to him. "This is wizardry indeed! Come! I would look on this forest, ere the spell changes." He faces me and laughs. His arms open wide towards me and I forget all about. I suddenly remember I should not hug. I instead grip his fingers and say, "Thank you, dear Gandalf."

I can see two orcs lagging behind the rest in the wood. I grab two arrows and slay them both. "Forty-one." I am content now. Not many an axe could hew that number.

7

Éomer and I walk next to each other. We enter the dike and survey the looks of the astounded men. I can make out Legolas' face high above, staring down at me. We make eye contact and he gives out another beautiful laugh.

He comes to the edge and slides down to me. He still remains clean after that horrid rain. But the light shines now, showing signs of weariness that I have never seen on him. He looks about to embrace me, but then stops himself and shakes my hand.

Gently, he touches my forehead, where a white linen bandage lay. "Gimli…" he mutters. `What indeed happened?"

I smile. "Forty-two, master Legolas. But, Alas! My sword is notched! The forty-second wore a metal collar. How is it with you?"

"You have passed my score by one," he answers. But so glad am I to see you on your legs! I do not grudge your score." He winks at me, his blue-gray eyes glimmering. He pats my back. "You are the winner."

Éomer moves to Aragorn. They exchange greetings, news, and other important, manly information. Théoden moves forth and embraces his nephew. Legolas turns to me. "Let us walk."

His long hand rests on my shoulder. "Do you remember Déonar?"

"Of course. Tall blonde rider. Came and sat with us. Got up to battle more right before I left."

He gives me a troubled look. "And died as soon as you did."

My mouth drops open. "The poor lad!"

"Damn those orcs!"

"Indeed he was a lively man. `Tis a pity, no doubt."

Legolas removes his hand from where it rested. "Yes. And we killed him."

"WE?"

"We. The news of Boromir was too much. He was driven near mad with anger!"

I sigh. "I see that perhaps you have a point."

"But his last few moments were calm. It was a poisoned arrow. He felt nothing within a few moments."

"Were you his battlefield angel?"

He nods. "Pulled him to safety and the arrow out." He stood still a moment, as though remembering. "Perhaps he had wife and children. Who now shall care for them?"

"I do not know. Did he mention any?"

"Certainly not, but his mind may have been on other things." Another pause. "He had promised me that we would win. I did not believe such until this moment."

"Peculiar."

"Sometimes I wonder what mortality is like. I have never seen the death of an elf, for I do not travel often with my own breed. Many times, though, a man is lost in my presence. I do not understand! I have traveled with Aragorn for many summers. I still cannot tell you the first thing about their race."

"Nor can I," I respond. "They indeed are secretive."

"Much too hasty as well," he adds. We veer around and head towards the riders again.

"I thought you did not like Aragorn much."

He laughs. "Indeed I like him! He is like a brother to me!"

I feel puzzled. "Then why are you two always arguing?"

"We must keep traditions. Brothers brawl, do not forget."

I feel as though I shall burst with laughter. "Something tells me that your own brothers are bullies."

He sticks out his tongue immaturely at me. "I wish not to discuss those paramecium," he pouts. He winks again. "I have only sisters," he smiles.

"That explains a lot of your behavior," I mock.

His mouth falls open. "You are no better than Aragorn!"

"What about me?" he says, popping out from behind us.

Legolas covers his mouth in shock. "WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THAT?" he cries.

"How long have you followed us?" I ask.

"Just right now." He cleans his fingernails with his teeth.

"Is there not dried blood between your fingernails?" Legolas winces.

"Delicious," Aragorn replies with a grin.

My companion turns the color of his clothing. "You sick man!" he screams.

Elendil just smiles. "We are going to Isenguard when the unwounded have rested."

Legolas smiles. "Quit sucking on the blood of your enemies and I may travel with you."

He removes his fingers from his mouth and grins broadly. "Do I have anything in my teeth?" he asks mockingly.

"Yes. But you have done what I ask. Let us ride after a long rest."

"And I shall come as well," I offer.

"I would be glad of your company, but what of your head wound?"

"Such an orc-scratch could not hold me back."

Aragorn smiles. He places an arm around Legolas and I. "Gimli son of Gloin, Legolas son of Thrandir, and Aragorn son of Arathorn. Three companions to the end."

Legolas cries, "To Isengard!"

To Isengard.