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LotR Fanfiction *Later in the Story*Authors Comments: Read, Rate, Comment, and Enjoy!
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 Created on 8-15-08
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It began to rain. A heavy curtain of gray-green descended upon the travelers, and a light fog swirled and glimmered in the soft indents of grass. Theo shuddered in the sudden wetness and cold, and drew his hood. The water that gathered in it sloshed icily down his back, and he groaned.
“Ooh, perfect,” murmured Gimli angrily, behind Legolas. “Not only do we have to ride on these infernal beasts, but now it’s raining…”
“Hold your tongue, Master Dwarf,” answered Legolas. “If you have naught to say but bitter complaints. As for the horses, would you prefer to walk to Edoras?”
Gimli muttered something unintelligible in response, and Legolas grinned.
“Don’t worry,” called Aisling, in front. “We’re nearly there. Only a few more miles left.” She patted Hadrim, and the tawny horse snorted and shook his head, scattering droplets from his dark mane.
Failariël brushed wet strands of hair from her eyes, and watched her breath steam in the chilly air. She glanced over at her companions; Wilson and Theo riding on a tired-looking Bill the Pony, Legolas and Gimli on Sáralondë, Aisling and Merry on Hadrim, Estel and Pippin on Carnesîr, and Danny sitting behind her. Theo was nodding off, and occasionally Wilson would slap him into wakefulness. Failariël marveled at how he managed to fall asleep in the frigid weather.
Something flickered in the brush alongside them; she caught the slight movement out of the corner of her eye. It was hard to hear in the pounding of the rain, but the leaves rustled slightly, and the sound of snapping twigs broke the silence of the forest.
Alassë whinnied nervously – she had sensed the mysterious danger too. Failariël stroked the mare’s soft, dark neck in reassurance, though she was ill at ease herself.
“Legolas?” she called quietly. He was by her side in an instant, steady and silent on Sáralönde.
“What’s – “ Gimli started to ask, but Legolas quieted him with a look.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low. He knew her expression too well.
“In the bushes,” she spoke in a voice little more than a whisper, not wanting to alarm the others. He simply nodded, and steered his dappled stallion towards the clustered undergrowth. In one fluid movement, he had an arrow nocked, and his bowstring was taut. Gimli fingered his heavy axe.
Sáralönde paced within an inch of the quivering bush. Legolas peered down with a critical eye. Then he moved so swiftly that she would have missed it if she blinked. He loosed an arrow with a twang! And drew another.
There was a loud, gurgling yell from the bush, and Sáralönde nearly reared in panic. A thin, dark body tumbled from the undergrowth with an arrow in its throat.
“Southerlings!” bellowed Legolas, seizing the reins and wheeling Sáralönde to face the forest. Tension built; Failariël felt it tremble in the icy air.
With a series of screams and shouts, Southerlings, tall, fierce and ugly Men, erupted from the trees, brandishing cruel swords and daggers, spears and bows.
Wilson shrieked, and clutched Theo’s hood in terror. Theo gagged, and hot fear bubbled sickeningly in his stomach. Merry had jumped down from Hadrim, and now he ran over to the younger hobbits.
“Get over there!” he hissed, pointing to the outcropping of rock. “Get over there, they won’t see you… Find the others and HIDE! QUICK!”
His face was stern and fierce, and Theo nearly quailed under the gaze. He seized Wilson by the back of his cloak and dragged him to the outcropping. Wilson was trembling and whimpering, and the two hastily scrambled under the low crop of rock, huddling together and shivering like shipwreck survivors on a desolate coast.
“Where’s Danny?” squeaked Theo, teeth chattering.
“I dunno,” Wilson hugged his knees to his chest, and rocked back and fourth on his heels, shaking. “Don’t care too much, either…”
Estel had drawn Anduril, and the great blade glittered mightily in the pouring rain. With a bloodcurdling cry of “Elendil!” he sprang into the oncoming crowd of Southerlings, sweeping and striking and stabbing. He smote down five of the great brutes, and still they came. Explosions of arrows were volleyed by the two Elves as more of the Southerlings attacked. Several collapsed in the first round. Legolas’s bow was singing, and Failariël downed a whole wave of the wild men with her rapid fire.
Gimli had leaped off Sáralönde with a gleeful yell. He swung his axe in a broad arc, cleaving the heads and other limbs off the Southerlings. The sharp blade sliced through flesh as if it were soft cheese.
“Five now, Legolas!” he roared happily.
“I’m at seventeen!” shouted the Elf in reply, beaming. Gimli scowled, and hacked with an even greater conviction. Merry and Pippin had their own little swords drawn, but most of the Southerlings got shot before they could reach them.
Danny rolled around in the mud, dazed and afraid. He had been thrown to the ground when Alassë reared, and he felt like a coward, horrified and useless. Something whizzed by his ear, and he jumped – a black-shafted arrow was jutting from the ground where his hand had been moments before. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, and he was too frightened to cry out or yell.
Suddenly, there was a wild screech above him, and he whirled around… Something hard smashed into his face, and he was hurled backwards from the impact. Something dark and wet clouded his vision, and his mind went blank with pain for a second. He shook his head frantically, well aware that any moment could be his last. He rubbed his eyes, and turned on his back. He saw something that made his already-pounding heart skip a beat.
A massive Southerling was bearing down on him with a great scimitar, its hideous face twisted in a malicious grin. Danny whimpered, and screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the worst…
Nothing happened. The curved sword fell with a dull thud beside him, while the Southerling, gasping like a beached fish, toppled to the ground, an arrow protruding from its chest.
“Danny!” a familiar voice cried, and Failariël was suddenly beside him, firing arrow after arrow.
Danny could only blink, and then realized that the dark stuff trickling into his eyes was not rain. He touched his forehead to find a great gash there, and his fingers sticky and warm with blood. He stared, too numb to feel anything.
“Are you alright?” asked Failariël, sounding a little breathless. “You scared me there – I thought he had you.”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m okay.”
What else could he say? He staggered to his feet, while she continued to aim and shoot.
“Where’s Theo?” he asked. Failariël gave him a blank look.
“I think he and Wilson are over there somewhere,” she said, nodding towards the rocks. “LEGOLAS! Quick, get over and guard the hobbits!”
A small group of Southerlings had discovered Theo and Wilson crouched under the outcrop.
“Run, Danny.” Failariël nudged him away, and sprinted for the outcropping. Danny watched her, and then darted after.
She was running, and then…
… black-shafted arrow, its tip glistening with venom…
…time seemed to slow down as the poisoned arrow sped, a swift, barely visible assassin…
…found its mark…
…The arrow sank deep into the space between Failariël’s chest and shoulder. The force of it sent her lurching. She nearly crumpled, falling to her knees. Her face was drawn and pale…
…another arrow, speeding, speeding…
…thudding hard into her arm… She reeled in agony, blood blossoming across her chest.
Legolas’s face was a combination of shock and fury, and as hard as he tried to, he could not reach her in time. Danny watched in horror. Another arrow was shot, and this one narrowly missed her head.
Somehow, in some powerful act of will, she stumbled to her feet, and continued to fire her bow. Blood dripped steadily from her wound, and soon her whole tunic was sodden. Her face was a stiff mask of determination and pain, and she was fading, he could see that.
He found his voice, and gave a strangled cry. Someone was shouting his voice, over and over, but he didn’t know who it was. His mind was writhing with the sudden violence, and he felt sick and his limbs felt weak.
Estel, Aisling, Gimli, Merry and Pippin managed to drive off the rest of the villains. Theo and Wilson were unscathed, but thoroughly shook from the encounter. Legolas was kneeling beside Failariël, his face hard. She lay motionless on the blood-drenched grass, her breast rising and falling slowly. Legolas looked up as the rest of the party approached, and his face was contorted in worry and subtle fear.
“We need to get her to Edoras,” he said gruffly. “Now.”
Aisling, plucking her long-shafted spear from the corpse of a Southerling, nodded grimly.
“I agree. Those arrows were poisoned. We are little more than an hour’s ride away. We should reach the Golden Hall soon.”
“But – but – she won’t die, will she?” cried out Theo. “She’s an Elf! Elves don’t die, do they?”
Legolas gave him a long and sad look before answering.
“Elves do die, little one,” he said. “They die of no natural causes, but of two occasions. Death is possible through a fierce battle…”
He paused, gazing at Failariël’s white face.
“Or through a broken heart.” He finished heavily, suddenly looking much older.
“Well, we must hurry!” interrupted Estel. “Before any more of those abominations return. Come, Legolas, you must bear her.”
Soon, the group was off on horseback again, thundering across the plain. Legolas rode ahead with
Failariël, on Alassë. They moved swifter than anyone else, and quickly were far ahead. Alassë seemed to understand the urgency, and galloped furiously without slowing. Her mistress’s life depended on it.
They sped past the great, grassy plains of Rohan, and the wind whipped about them. The rain was dwindling, but the cold hung heavily in the air. Failariël had begun to shiver violently, and Legolas wrapped an arm around her slumping shoulders, pressing her tightly to him, trying to transfer some of his warmth to her wet, cold body. Her tunic was stained with blood, and the wound still seeped through the fabric. No one had dared take the arrows out, for fear of drawing even more blood.
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud… Alassë”s thundering hooves pounded a rhythm into the drenched earth.
“No, no…” Failariël moaned into Legolas’s chest, shuddering.
“Failariël?” Legolas glanced down at her, muttering in her unconsciousness.
“No…” her head jerked upright, and with a sharp gasp of pain, she drooped back. “No! Stop them, stop them…No! No! Watch out…”
“Failariël, the Southerlings are gone…”
“No! Stop…The Halflings! They’re going to…going to…” Her body trembled. “Stop, stop…”
Her hair lie damp across her forehead, and her breath came in great heaving gasps. Legolas shifted his position to cradle her in his arms, but she twisted in her agony. He murmured softly to her in Elvish, and eventually she was soothed. They made it to Edoras just as the sun began to peer from behind the clouds.
Alassë was exhausted by the long, hard run to Edoras, and she was hot and sweaty, steaming in the bitter cold lingering after the rain. Legolas drove her directly to the Golden Hall of Edoras, sweeping Failariël up in his arms and carrying her limp form to the door. She was so light that he hardly noticed her weight, but his heart was heavy with worry for her.
He pounded on the great carved door. It swung open almost immediately, and the King Eomèr stood tall and prominent in the threshold. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair as he stared at the two Elves dripping in his doorway. His stern, prudent gaze swept over them, radiating surprise.
“Come in, come in! Where are the others?”
“Still a ways back,” answered Legolas. “We had to hurry. My comrade was sorely wounded in an ambush.”
“We shall have her tended to at once.” Eomèr clapped his hands, and three servants came scurrying to him, bowing and quietly greeting Legolas.
“Have the Healers take care of the injured one,” commanded Eomèr. Legolas watched him with respect; here was a King, a true ruler of his people, confident and powerful. Soon, a group of nurses came, ushering Legolas to a small, clean room. There was a tidy little cot in the center of the room, and Legolas gently laid Failariël on the white linen. She looked so vulnerable and pale that he felt the urge to remain in the room, but the Healers needed him to leave. So reluctantly he left.
“Walk with me,” Eomèr led Legolas outside, to the overlook that delivered a magnificent view of the Great Plains of Rohan. “Tell me everything, friend.”
And so Legolas began. He started at Rivendell, never faltering, never leaving out a single detail. Eomèr was an avid listener, nodding, and his gaze intense. He never interrupted. Finally, Legolas came to the Southerling attack, and he felt strangely weary. He became aware of Eomèr’s hand on his shoulder.
“I am sorry,” the King said quietly. “I will make sure that the Healers do everything within their power to cure her.” He paused, and then said, “I shall wait for Aisling. She knows this land better than anyone else, and I have not a doubt that she will lead the rest of your company safely to Edoras. If you should like, you may stay with Failariël.”
Legolas sighed. “No. It is my duty to wait for the others. I will remain by the gates of the village to greet them. I don’t want to get in the way of the Healers.”
So he paced down to the gates, glancing at the clearing sky and at the architecture of Edoras. He found horse-head carvings decorating almost every post and threshold – this was truly the land of the Horse Lords. The waiting was a torment; the minutes ticked by so slowly that it seemed like days to him. A thought nagged at him, playing over and over in his mind, and making him pace restlessly. It was Theo’s question: the one that concerned the death of an Elf. Legolas never, ever thought of Failariël getting injured, let alone dying of a poisoned arrow. The horrible scene was reenacted in his minds eye repeatedly until he felt sick.
It was my fault, He thought wretchedly. I could have prevented this. I could have saved her…
“No!” he growled out loud. No one is going to die…
He spun on his heel and sat down, cross-legged. He watched a group of peasants lead Alassë to the stables. Then he heard a shout.
“Legolas! Legolas!”
It was Gimli, tottering unsteadily of the back of Sáralondë. Behind him was Aisling, trotting very closely in case the Dwarf took a sudden topple from the horse’s back. Everyone was still drenched from the rain. Three very sodden hobbits rode dejectedly behind the riders. Theo looked particularly miserable.
“It was horrible!” he babbled. “More Southerlings came, Legolas! They nearly killed – “
“Hush,” interrupted Estel. “Only five of the Southerlings remained behind, and we took care of them. No one got killed.”
“But- “
“I said no one got killed.” Growled Estel, glancing swiftly at Legolas. Legolas clenched his fists, and said in a taut voice, “Then where’s Merry? And Danny?”
Estel exhaled sharply.
“When the Southerlings came – “
“There were more than five!” cried Theo. “It was more like thirteen! No, twenty!”
“HUSH, Theo! As I was saying, when the Southerlings came, they nearly overcame Aisling and I. Gimli was faring very well, but he couldn’t fend for all the hobbits. He told Pippin and Merry to round up the young ones, but by that point it was too late. I didn’t see it happen, but Theo claims he saw a Southerling – “
“It bashed his head open!” wailed Theo. “It took its stupid big club and hit him – “
“Theo, in all due respect, SHUT UP.” Snapped Estel. The hobbit quieted.
“Some Southerling apparently dealt Danny a nice blow with its club and knocked him unconscious. Pippin was busy with Wilson and Theo, so Merry tried to help him out - you know how it works with hobbits,” Estel shrugged. “They probably would’ve been fine if they were three feet taller, but…”
“So,” began Legolas in an icy voice, barely concealing his sparking rage. “You’re telling me that Merry and Danny got taken by the Southerlings? And you did nothing about it?”
“They’re probably dead by now,” said Wilson in a flat tone. He was white and there was a strained look in his eyes. “Those Men probably smashed them dead.”
Theo moaned.
“Legolas,” Estel easily matched the Elf’s stance. “There was NOTHING we could have done. Merry’s clever and the younger fellow will follow him easily enough…”
“You don’t GET IT, do you?” yelped Theo. “I – I think Wilson is right. Danny looked really awful…”
“Don’t be stupid,” Came a voice quietly behind them. Pippin trailed behind on Bill, soaked and the picture of misery. “We’ll go back for them.”
“Yes, but – “ Estel looked wary.
“Shut up!” snarled Pippin. “I don’t care if you’re Aragorn’s son or not – you’ll never be your father.”
There was a heavy silence, so quiet it was deafening.
“Pippin…” warned Legolas.
“I said, shut up!” cried the hobbit. “It’s not right! We shouldn’t have left them, and you know it! His Lordship was too frightened to fight a few Wildmen, that’s what I think it is…”
Estel had gotten off his horse, and his face was pale and his eyes were sparking fire. But Pippin continued, too angry to interpret the signs.
“You’ve no idea!” he shouted. “Me and Merry have already been through this! Remember the Orcs? Nobody should have to got through that again!” Pippin cursed. “They probably are dead already! And you know why? Because no one had the guts to help! Failariël would have, but look at her now… Probably scared his Kingship!”
Estel stood and towered over the hobbit, and for a moment, looked like he was going to hit him. Pippin glared defiantly back, unafraid, too angry to care. Finally, Estel stepped back, tense and seething.
“If you were not the esteemed friend of my father’s,” he said in a low voice. “I would have had you tried for treason. I will not stand for it a second time
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On August 15th 2008 xHickChick789x Said : | |
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cool, this is awesome and I don't mind that it's longer |
| On August 15th 2008 rosiegirl24 Said : | |
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Yes, this is longer! My computer crashed and thankfully I sent this part to my friend and she sent it back. This is later in the story and I need to find a way to get the other chapters. Hope you enjoy this part |
