Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 26
- 27
- 28
Chapter 27 – A Horn Shall Sound

The smell of orcs burning was something one only had to experience once, for the stench was like no other, and it was burned into memory. It left an oily aftertaste in the mouth, and made one’s throat constrict with every breath of its foulness. Legolas’ stomach clenched as he watched a growing pyre of flames in the distance, the thick, black smoke billowing into the sky.
He stood with Eomer next to another burial spot, this one a final resting place for the men and horses who did not survive the night’s battles. The mound was encircled with fifteen spears, the weapons of the fallen. The remaining riders sat upon horseback, surrounding the gravesite, each man in silent prayer. Legolas prayed in his own language along with the others. This was not the first time he had participated in such a ceremony, but it never got any easier to see a life extinguished. It was a solid reminder that even an immortal such as himself could die.
Legolas peered out from beneath the hood of his cloak, trying to find the missing faces amongst the company. He had known all of the men, some better than others, and some of those most familiar were not here now.
Eomer affixed his helm back on his head. The rest of him men did the same and awaited orders. “Prepare to ride, Eorlingas!” he commanded, and they readied themselves for the journey to Isen. Eomer glanced over his shoulder to the burning orcs, and spat. As he turned back around, he noticed Legolas did not ride with a saddle, and raised a curious brow, “Forget something?”
“There was no time, and besides, I think Arod is stealthier this way. You know, Eomer, the elves do not burden their mounts with all of this confining equipment,” Legolas informed.
“Yes, but you represent Rohan, and that is a Rohirric horse you ride. I suggest that you find another saddle and implement the proper gear, as soon as possible,” Eomer reprimanded, and then smiled, “Welcome back, soldier.”
Someone tossed the elf a silver helm, and Legolas pulled it down onto his head in response to Eomer’s remarks. He sometimes forgot that Eomer was a commander. Not only that, but a Marshal of the Mark.
The men had gathered around as Eomer explained the route they would take, and what to expect when they got there, when someone interrupted, saying that a rider approached. The men grasped their weapons in response. Legolas peered through the thick smoke as he tried to see who it was. All he could make out was the silhouette of a lone rider carrying a flag. “It’s a messenger,” he notified.
Eomer sat upon Firefoot next to Legolas, removed his helm once again, and looked out until the figure came closer, “A green flag … He’s from Théodred’s company.”
Legolas’ heart pounded. What information would he have for them? Perhaps the Fords of Isen were secured, and Eomer and his men were not needed.
Eomer’s messenger rode out to meet the other, flying the colors of the Third Marshal, a black flag with a white horse rearing on two legs, its mane flowing out behind it. The men stopped, their horses greeting each other, and exchanged words. Then they both turned and came to where Eomer awaited news.
Legolas watched the horses puff their white breath in the briskness of a still morning air, winded from the excursion of their run. He shivered suddenly; a bad omen, he thought, for elves did not feel the cold.
“He has a message for you, my lord,” said Eomer’s messenger, “from Elfhelm.”
Eomer dismounted and approached the young man. Legolas slid down from Arod and followed.
“Go on then,” instructed Eomer.
The youth, a boy no more than fourteen, wrung his hands together, unprepared to give such an important message, “My lord, I’m afraid the Fords of Isen have been taken. The Rohirrim no longer control the Gap of Rohan, and the Prince,” he paused and swallowed hard, “Théodred … he has … perished, my lord. I am sorry.”
Legolas’ heart froze at the words. Théodred … dead? This couldn’t be right. He looked at Eomer and found the same confusion upon his friend’s countenance.
“I want to know the whole story,” Eomer demanded. The boy handed him a folded but unsealed parchment. The paper was smudged with dirt and stains. Was it from sweat or tears, Legolas wondered?
“It’s from Elfhelm,” Eomer told Legolas, and he started to read the letter aloud.
Elfhelm received the summons that Eomer sent, and instantly gathered an army. He picked up men along the way as he rushed to Isen, and eventually rallied four companies to answer the call. He had planned to stay the night at Helm’s Deep, knowing his men would need to be refreshed for whatever they came upon at the Fords, but scouts reported seeing Wolfriders on the plains. Elfhelm sensed something was amiss, and pushed his companies on without stopping. When they reached Isen, he ordered the troops to split up in different directions, pursuing the fleeing orcs. Elfhelm took his own company to the eyot where Théodred fought. There he found Grimbold fighting against two great enemies, and the lifeless body of the Prince lying on the ground. Seeing that Grimbold was almost overtaken, Elfhelm rushed to him and slew one of the fiends, while Grimbold neutralized the other. Once they caught their breath, they went to retrieve Théodred’s body, and found that he still lived, but barely. He spoke only briefly before he passed away.
“. . . his last words were to Eomer. ‘Take my place, Cousin, and save the King,’” Eomer read. He let the letter slip from his fingers as he finished.
Théodred’s messenger took a step forward and bowed his head, “I heard the horn sound, my lord, and knew the Prince had fallen. All was silent after that. The remaining orcs had slipped away, and the battle had ceased. Elfhelm and Grimbold are on their way back to Edoras with the Prince’s body. I rode ahead, hoping to find you. There is still time, my lord, before the funeral. I know you will want to be there.” The boy waited for instructions, but when none came he asked, “Shall I ride on to Edoras, and let them know you are coming?”
Eomer, in shock, could not think straight enough to answer him. Someone told the boy to give him a moment while the news sunk in. Legolas was quite in shock himself, but the thought of going to Edoras announced seemed like a bad idea. Grima would be expecting this, and there was still the matter of the warrant. Taking over briefly for his friend, Legolas addressed the boy, “I think you should travel with us. They will not lay Théodred to rest without Eomer being there, and we will arrive soon enough.”
Eomer seemed to surface from his daze, and searched Legolas’ face for a reason. Legolas laid his hand firmly on Eomer’s shoulder, “Grima will be expecting you as it is. Let’s not give him an appointment.”
“We shall ride in hard through the gates, and not stop until we reach the steps of Meduseld. I want answers for this insolence. Grima … Saruman … they will pay dearly for this tragedy.” Eomer turned to his company, standing tall with his spear gripped firmly in his hand. He replaced his helm, mounted Firefoot and called to his men. “Riders of the Mark, let us return to our Prince. To Edoras with all haste!”
* * *
Legolas had time to think along the way. This was all part of Grima and Saruman’s plan. Grima kept the king in a suspended state while Saruman deployed his orcs and Uruks. The letter stating that Théodred remain at the Fords while Eomer stayed at Aldburg was all a ploy to keep them separated. The orders not to attack the orcs unless provoked allowed the enemy passage deep into the Riddermark. And the warrant against Eomer guaranteed his arrest if he came back to Edoras, thus keeping both Théodred and Eomer out of the way. Saruman had wanted them dead, and he succeeded with Théodred. Now Legolas feared for Eomer’s safety. He had been accused of treason, punishable by death, should the King order it, and Grima was controlling Théoden’s mind. Death could very easily be the outcome for his adopted brother.
Legolas, too, had been set up to ensure his own death. Grima knew this was the only way to get rid of the elf, for he would come back … and Grima was right about that. Legolas was going with Eomer, back to the city. Let Eomer deal with the spies and freeing the King, Grima belonged to Legolas. And if they captured him after he ripped the worm’s cold heart from his chest, so be it. Théo’s death would be avenged.
“I just pray to Béma that Eowyn has not come to harm,” Eomer said as they rode along the plains.
“I regret not being able to watch over her, but after what happened, I could not stay in the city, and Eowyn would not leave your uncle to Grima,” Legolas admitted. He gave a brief thought of her standing in full Rohirric gear, and smiled to himself. Dernhelm she had called herself, an alias name should she need one. “She is stronger than you know, Eomer. She has been taught well. Eowyn can fend off Grima’s advances. He would be smart to stay clear of that particular Shieldmaiden.”
“Not if he has drawn up papers and forced her into a marriage,” said Eomer, gravely. “I would not put it past Wormtongue to make his move while no one is there to help her.”
Legolas’ heart sunk at the thought of it. He suddenly had a vision of Eowyn standing upon the altar, Grima’s bony hands intertwined with hers. Her face was pale and her eyes sunken and dark, not unlike Théoden. Legolas remembered the grotesque talisman found in Grima’s room and the knife with the odd runes upon the blade, the very knife that Róta had been ordered to forge. A ceremonial blade, Legolas wondered? A chill broke out on his skin. The sooner they got to Edoras, the better.
The company had just passed another rocky outcrop, when Eomer and Legolas heard someone cry out, “Aye, Riders of the Mark!”
Legolas turned and looked back, seeing a tall man with a head of dark hair stepping out from behind a bolder, waving his arm to draw them over, “Who might that be?” he asked Eomer.
“I don’t know, but we are finding out right now.” Eomer raised his spear and shouted to his men. The entire company turned and galloped back to the rock formation.
Standing alone in the open plain was a man and, much to Legolas’ surprise, a dwarf. At least he thought it was a dwarf, for he had never seen one in person. Elhadron had spoken of the dwarves also. They were said to be concerned with the riches of the earth rather than making alliances with other races. They kept to themselves, digging deep in their caverns for gold and jewels, but they were mostly known for their hot tempers and dislike of elves. Already, Legolas felt animosity for this being, “Seems a peculiar thing, don’t you think?” he asked Eomer before they were upon the strangers.
“Indeed,” Eomer answered warily, “Legolas, ready your bow and keep your eyes upon them. I suspect some kind of trickery.”
The company surrounded the two strangers, closing in on them, and trapping them inside a circle of men on horseback. Legolas rode next to Eomer, his bow in one hand, and an arrow in the other, resting at his side. No one was quicker at nocking an arrow than Legolas. One wrong move, one flash of a blade, and the strangers would find out just how quick an elf really was.
Eomer demanded to know what their business was, and where they had come from. The blacked haired man stepped forward and spoke. They had traveled far apparently, originating from Rivendell. Many of their company they had been lost along the way, one of them being Gandalf the Grey. Théodred had told Legolas about the old grey wizard and his visits to Rohan. He had been a friend of Théoden’s, but so had Saruman, Legolas reminded himself.
The strangers had also traveled into Lothlórien, and Legolas’ ear perked up at this bit of news. He wondered if they had met Calariel while they were there, wondered if they had seen her since. His curiosity was quashed when the man said they had not been to Fangorn.
Eomer seemed unsatisfied with their story and questioned their visit to Lothlórien, for the men of Rohan were superstitious about that part of the world. They thought of the Lady of Light as a very powerful and dangerous enchantress who could cast spells and weaken men’s hearts and minds. They believed that any man who entered the Golden Wood, would never be seen again, or if he was, he would not be the same person.
Legolas thought that this man—though he was quite disheveled, unclean and unshaven—seemed to be in control of his own thoughts and words. He seemed set on a mission of some sort, and a very important one by the look of him.
Throughout the interrogation, Legolas couldn’t help notice that the dwarf said nothing, but kept a wary eye on the elf, while the man spoke for them both. Eomer noticed too, for he abandoned his attention from the dark haired man and brought his line of site to the dwarf, “You … you let your companion do all the talking. A little too quite if you ask me. Perhaps Lorien’s sorceress has cast a spell on you, silencing your tongue,” Eomer accused, “Can you not even give me your name, Master Dwarf?”
Legolas moved the hand with the arrow closer to the bow, ready for whatever might transpire. The tension between these two was thick as fog.
The dwarf’s eyes narrowed as he positioned himself, legs spread and feet securely placed upon the dirt. He carried an ax, which he now leaned on as he glared up at Eomer, “Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine, and more besides,”* he said.
Legolas had heard enough. Quick as a flint strike, he nocked his arrow and drew on the string, aiming it directly between the dwarf’s eyes. The rest of the men, though their reaction was delayed, brought the points of their spears down to the two travelers, ready to skewer them at a moment’s notice.
“You dare to speak to my captain with such disrespect? Choose your words more carefully, Dwarf,” Legolas warned.
Eomer, being a fair-minded leader of men, laid a hand on Legolas’ arm and pushed it down. Legolas loosened the tension on the string, but kept his arrow upon the rest. Eomer slid from his horse, his tall muscular form towering above the dwarf as he regarded him, “As for that, the stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am named Eomer son of Eomund, and am called Third Marshal of the Riddermark.”*
The dwarf gave his name as Gimli son of Gloin, and then proceeded to accuse Eomer of being thick-headed and foolish for not being able to see the Lady Galadriel as anything but fair beyond his simple thoughts. Legolas watched Eomer’s fingers curl into fists as he stood and accepted this abuse. Then he placed one hand upon the hilt of his sword, and through clenched teeth said, “I would cut off your head, beard, and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.”*
Gimli shifted, and the head of his ax left the ground. Legolas aimed his bow once again. He was finished with this unruly talk. After all that he and Eomer had been through, the last thing they needed was to deal with a foolish dwarf who didn’t know when to hold his tongue. “Lift that ax another hair’s width, Gimli son of Gloin, and you shall find my arrow planted between your eyes.”
The dwarf made a grumbling noise in his throat, and opened his mouth to respond to these threats, when the man he was with clapped a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, steadying him from making any wrong moves. “You have not yet asked for my name, so I will tell you and hopefully put an end to your suspicions. I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur,” he declared, “And this is Andúril.” Aragorn grasped the hilt of his sword. The Riders edged their spearheads closer to Aragorn, but Eomer threw a hand up in the air, stopping them from any further movement. Only then did Aragorn unsheathe his sword, showing it to Eomer as proof of his credentials.
Eomer gazed upon the sword flashing in the sun, “It is indeed Narsil remade. You are the true heir to the throne of Gondor,” he said in amazement.
“I have not yet claimed that title, nor shall I until my mission is complete.” Aragorn told Eomer of their pursuit of a group of Uruk-hai who had kidnapped two of their traveling companions. Hobbits, he had called them, small like children, yet quick of mind and wit. They had been tracking the enemy on foot for days, and thought they were gaining on them, but lost sight of them.
Eomer raised a challenging brow, “You keep strange companions, Aragorn, but to answer your question, we came upon a group of orcs and Uruk-hai a few days ago. We slew them all, and burned the bodies.”
For the first time, the dwarf showed an emotion other than anger, “Did you happen to see our friends among them? They might have been bound and kept outside of their camp.” His voice was desperate for information.
Eomer looked at Legolas, but the elf slowly shook his head. Then Eomer turned back to Gimli, “I am sorry, but we were so engaged in battle, we did not see any hobbits. Perhaps they escaped before the orcs made camp.”
“Can you tell us where you fought?” Gimli asked, “We would like to see for ourselves whether our friends were there or not, no matter what the outcome.”
Eomer pointed in the direction from which they traveled, “At the edge of the forest, but you would be wise not to enter that wood. It’s been said that a stranger walks beneath its leaves, apparition or flesh, I could not say.”
“Fangorn?” Gimli responded with hesitancy.
Legolas could sense the dwarf’s extreme concern for these hobbits, and his fear of the forest. Serve him right to get knocked on the head by one of the trees as he tried to enter, the elf thought wickedly.
“Legolas, a word with you?” Eomer asked, bringing the elf from his thoughts. They left the circle of men to talk in private. Eomer crossed his arms and glanced off towards the forest, “I think you should go with them.”
“What?” said Legolas, “I think that is absurd. You know we must make for Edoras.”
“I must go, but you … Legolas, after what you told me, if you enter the city, you will be slain,” Eomer answered, “This has played upon my mind for the past few days now. I’ve already lost one brother. I’m not prepared to lose another.”
“And what about you?” Legolas retorted, “You are wanted for treason.”
“Yes, but they will not execute me, not without a trial. Worst thing that could happen would be to end up in the cells, but even then, I have my men who will stand up for me. Grima and his henchmen will not give you a choice. They’ll fire upon you before you reach the gates. No, Legolas, I think it is best that you do not return to Edoras … not yet. Besides, I think these two could use your skills. Help them find these hobbits, and then return to the city. By that time, I hope to have Grima thrown down from his mischief.”
Legolas bowed his head in thought. He had wanted to return to Fangorn and find Calariel again, but he had also sworn to protect King Théoden and Rohan. He knew Eomer spoke truthfully about returning to Edoras. He was an escaped prisoner, a criminal charged with a most heinous crime. There was no one to speak on his behalf, no witnesses. It was his word against Róta’s, and he had no doubt that her story would be believed.
With a heavy sigh, he agreed with Eomer. “Alright, I will take them to Fangorn, but if we do not find their friends or any sign of them, I must part company with them and come to Edoras. My duty lies with Rohan. You know this, Eomer, and if anything, Théodred would expect it of me.”
“Yes, but he also knew that you would leave someday, to return to your home, to find a way to cleanse it of evil. You mustn’t forget where you came from, Legolas. Rohan was never meant to be permanent. Perhaps returning to Fangorn and finding the elf woman will help you find your way.”
Legolas was about to retaliate, but Eomer stopped him, “Yes, I know what you will say, and Rohan still needs you. I need you, but not just yet. It’s too dangerous at this point. Go with Aragorn and Gimli, and then come to Edoras. Give me some time to clear the way for you.”
Legolas nodded, “Be careful of Grima. He plays with dark magic.”
“I will,” answered Eomer. The two friends grasped forearms and said their farewells before returning to the travelers. Eomer leapt upon Firefoot, and whistled loudly. One of the men led a riderless horse by the reins, bringing it to Aragorn. The horse was fixed with bags full of food and supplies. “This is Hasufel. May he be as loyal to you as he was his last rider. All I ask is that you release him when he has fulfilled his purpose to you. Tell him to return home. He will know the way.”
“I will deliver him in person,” Aragorn smiled.
Legolas edged forward on Arod and the dwarf glared up at him, “You’re not sending him with us, are you? We already have a scout. Aragorn is the best there is. He could track a white cat in a snowstorm.”
“He may be able to track your hobbit friends, but he cannot help you enter Fangorn,” Legolas answered, “For that you will need an elf.”
“Bah,” grumbled Gimli as he approached Aragorn, “And you approve of this?”
“I would be grateful to have Legolas join us,” Aragorn said to Gimli, patting the dwarf’s shoulder.
“Fine,” Gimli said reluctantly, “Well, help me up then so we can be on our way.” He stood next to Aragorn analyzing the horse.
“Um, Gimli … I’m afraid there is no room for you on Hasufel. You’ll have to ride with Legolas.”
Gimli turned around, glaring at the elf. Legolas gave him an arrogant smile, glad that the dwarf was feeling put out. Gimli pointed at the horse, “He rides without a saddle. How do you expect me to ride bareback?”
“You could walk if you like, though your stout size would make it very difficult to keep up,” Legolas jostled.
Gimli made a groan like a bear waking from hibernation, and rancorously allowed Legolas to help him onto Arod’s back. Once he was settled, Legolas looked over his shoulder to Eomer, who nodded.
“Na lû,” Legolas called.
“Until later,” answered Eomer, repeating in Westron.
*quotes from Eomer and Gimli, Lord of the Rings-The Two Towers
- 26
- 27
- 28
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Last Wood Elf