Eomer and Legolas
by Peregrine
Chapter 29
With
a roar the entire army of Men leaped forward and ran towards the sea of
orcs ringing them in. The ground seemed to shake below thousands of
footfalls and the air quivered with their cries.
Eomer ran side by side with Legolas, his sword brandished, his voice raised
among the others. The Elf was already firing arrows into the crowd
before them, but before long he tucked it behind him--while
running--and tore his ivory-hilted knives free. The fight ahead of them
was not a place where arrows and long bows could readily be used. But
still they had to be weary. Eomer noticed that atop the Black Gates
guarding the fell realm of Mordor, there were archers.
But Eomer had no more time to consider that. With a howl of rage and
challange, he and every other Man--or Elf or Dwarf or Hobbit--smashed
into the black ranks of orcs. Blood was spilt readily, knives and
swords already swinging, people already dying.
The battle waged before the walls of Minas Tirith had been a bloody,
awful battle. But there had been room there. Now, they had none.
Everywhere you turned there was another body pressing close, blocking
your vision of whatever lay beyond. Bodies were everywhere, and they
fought like caged animals. Kicking, biting, tearing, hacking, slicing,
slashing--it was a gory, painful war they fought. They could not hope
to win it, but they fought nonetheless.
Eomer screamed his rage, a wordless cry torn from his throat, and he
thrust his sword through the air, tearing through throats and chests
and stomachs, killing anything orcish in front of him. Everything
around him seemed caught up in a wirlwind--everything was moving.
Everything was blurred, fighting. There was no sense of space or time.
There was only the now, and yourself with a bloodied sword hacking at
whatever came near, running forward, trying not to fall. It was a world
of terror and bloodshed, and Eomer was a part of it.
He looked over towards Legolas but the Elf was gone from his side. He
knew he would be. The first press of bodies had thrust them apart and
now they were alone, fighting among a sea of viloent attackers, trying
to live. Trying to kill.
Eomer ran and slashed his mighty sword through the air. Orcs fell back
before him, but there were always more. Always there were more. Some
had spears--long and hooked and evil looking. Others had crooked
swords, others bloody axes and others simply clawed with tooth and
nail, doing as much damage as anyone else.
Eomer found himself beset on all sides by killers. Faces, glaring,
sneering, everywhere, trying to bring him down--trying to kill him. He
swung his sword and he saw--distantly, as if in a dream--an ugly head
go flying from the shoulders of an uglier body. The force of his swing
spun him around and there, near him and yet too far away for him to do
anything, was Legolas. And he was in trouble.
As soon as he had set aside his bow, they had been upon him. They
recognized him for what he was--an Elf. A hated, feared, despised Elf
from the deep woods somewhere beyond their mountain walls. The moment
they had laid eyes on him, they were screaming for blood. And all he
had were two long knives.
"Legolas!" Eomer screamed, seeing the Elf swept up by a blood-thirsty
mob. The Elf whirled and twisted and slashed out with his knives, but
there were too many for him.
"Legolas!" Eomer screamed again, fighting to reach his friend. But it
was no good. He was pushed further and further away from his friend
until he was lost beyond a moving wall of fighting bodies. Weeping with
rage and pain, Eomer turned and he fought. Oh, how he fought. He fought
for Legolas, he fought for his people, he fought for his life. And all
the while he wept and screamed, swinging his bloodied blade through the
black tumult.
***
Legolas was a fine warrior. Though he was better with a bow in his
hands, he was not lacking in skill when it came to knives. He had been
in rough spots before--many times before. But never had he been set
before such a screaming mob, all crying for his blood. Legolas should
have been afraid--any man in his right mind would have been afraid. But
Legolas was no Man.
Gritting his teeth, the Elf turned and twisted and whirled back and
forth with dizzying speed. Orcs fell under his fine-bladed knives. But
there were so many--many more than he should have been able to
handle--and they were all swarming upon him, screaming for his blood.
But he fought back. He was not going to be killed by such rabble. Not
now. Not when Eomer and the others were out there, still, fighting for his own life.
Legolas heard a roar behind him and he twisted around to see a massive,
twisted orc rear up above the sea of gnarled bodies. Legolas paused,
taken aback by such a gruesome figure. Blood dripped from tusks
protruding from his mouth, dripped from his cracked finger nails. His
head was naked of any hair and his eyes glowed a fierce red. He saw the
Elf and he roared--his breath was like a dying animal and Legolas
staggered back in revulsion--and the orc leapt at him, tossing his own
companions aside in his need to reach the bloody Elf before him.
Legolas did not fall back. He lifted his wicked knives and cut down any
orcs around him, ready to fight. The orc came on--he was almost a
Troll, he was so big--and Legolas gave a cry and slashed at him with
his knives, slicing his stomach open. The orc screamed in fury, but he
was not mortally wounded. Crying out his wrath, he violently
back-handed the Elf and sent him flying. He crashed into the earth, his
head spinning, trampling feet all around him. He was dazed, could not
move. His knives were somewhere...
He heard pounding footsteps behind him. He tried to get up. Could not move...
"Legolas!" a voice screamed behind him. Legolas tried to get up. Could not. Had to move...
And then there was a terrible screaming from behind. Legolas managed to
finally roll onto his back just in time to see Eomer leap up and slam a
long, wicked orc-spear through the orc from behind, the tip of it
erupting forth through its chest. The orc roared, gurgled, fell.
Eomer, bloody and sweaty, ran over to the Elf and heaved him to his
feet. Legolas quickly took up his fallen knives and looked at his
friend--his brother.
"Are you okay, Elf?" Eomer gasped. Legolas nodded, could think of nothing to say...
"Then let's fight!" Eomer grinned and hefted his sword--the very tip of
it had been broken off and now it gleamed evilly in the weak sunlight,
black gore staining its length. Legolas grinned and together, howling,
they raced back into the fray, slicing and fighting and whirling and
kicking and killing. Legolas flashed his knives back and forth, turning
and twisting. His face ached and blood ran down his cheek where the
giant orc had back-handed him. There were other hurts all over him--a
long cut was bleedy along his side, another along the back of his
shoulder and another along his arm. But he did not stop to feel the
pain. He could not. He fought, staying always near Eomer. They could
protect each other.
And they did. But then they heard a sound that chilled even Legolas's
blood. A blood-curdling scream. The Elf and the man looked up to see
long, reptilian things with bat-like wings come swooping down out of
the sky. Black Riders were upon their shoulders and the creatures--like
dragons they were--swooped down to begin their slaughter. But they
never had the chance. A voice raised clear above the roar of battle, a
voice all heard.
"The Eagles are coming!" Pippin cried. And there they were. One of the
fell beasts swooped, but even before it could an Eagle appeared below
it, twisted around, and sank its beak and talons into the things
breast. The beast roared and they fell, twisting through the air, the
Eagle pushing away at the last minute. More came and soon the Nazgul
were preoccupied, and the war waged on below them.
Violence, everywhere. Legolas twisted about, fighting wildly with his
keen knives, cutting down enemies. And then, from somewhere behind him,
he heard a roar. Like the orc it sounded, but when he twisted around,
he saw there a giant Troll bearing a wicked sword--the blade nearly as
long as a Man. And it was after Aragorn, alone among a sea of fallen
bodies.
"Aragorn!" Legolas screamed. Eomer turned in time to see the Elf go
running through the crowd. His knives, still in hand, were forgotten
and he simply pushed whatever got in his way aside. Eomer ran after
him, his sword killing any who would take the Elf from behind. And all
the while Legolas ran, pushing everyone violently aside, struggling to
reach Aragorn.
He was on the ground now, the Troll set on crushing him with his foot.
Aragorn stabbed him with his own Elven blade and the Troll roared in
pain, but he did not yeild. He raised his sword to strike and Legolas
screamed at it, fighting his way towards his fallen comrade.
And then the Troll, his sword raised to slice Aragorn's head clean off,
stopped. He looked back over his shoulder in alarm and then, with a
roar of terror, he turned and ran off. And even as Aragorn got to his
feet, Legolas turned towards the black tower in the distance, upon
which a great eye sat, evil and glaring. Legolas felt his blood run
chill even as the shrieks of Nazgul sounded above, mingled with the
terrible screams of the mighty Eagles.
And then a great scream, one that seemed to silence all others, though
it was utterly silent, filled the air. Legolas felt it rip through his
head. The Elf screamed in pain, and he fell to his knees, his hands
covering his ears, trying to block out a sound he could not. Others
around him fell to the ground, weeping and cowering below the evil
sound.
Eomer, too, fell to the ground as the terrible screaming filled his
head, but he looked up, and there he saw the Eye. And it was dying. It
was a ball of black and red flames, writhing as if in pain. And then
the tower began to crumble.
"Look!" Merry cried and Legolas, still upon his knees, looked up to see
the dreadful tower crack. Crumble. Fall into ruin. And the Eye shrivled
up into nothing... and then it exploded outward. A great wave was
thrown outward and the ground where it passed began to sink and
collapse. Mordor was falling into ruin. Sauron was destroyed. Frodo had
destroyed the Ring.
"Frodo!" Merry cried, lifting his sword in triumph. "Frodo!"
Aragorn got to his feet, Eomer helped Legolas to his own. And they
stared in wonder as the Black Gate itself began to collapse, the ground
below it buckling and crashing in on itself. Orcs fled, but many fell
into the black chasms opening up below them. The world shook, men
screamed in terror. But no one ran. The earth below their feet was
stable, and they stared in amazement at where the tower once had been.
"Frodo!" others took up the cry, though few knew who the Hobbit was.
But all cheering ceased when Mount Doom, in one last attempt at a firy
glory, erupted into a great cascade of molton flames. The mountain
exploded.
Merry stopped in mid-cry. Legolas stared in wordless grief at the
volcano, Aragorn was stunned. Pippin fell to his knees and wept. Men
didn't know what to do.
But Gandalf never paused. Legolas heard him shout a name and three of
the Great Eagles swooped down to the earth. Gandalf climbed onto the
neck of one.
"Away, Gwaihir!" the Elf heard him shout. "We must be swift!"
And the three Eagles lifted away and flew for the dying mountain. And
all others were left upon the field of strewn dead. There was nothing
more they could do. They could not weep. They could not cheer. They
could do nothing.
But they wanted to go home. And slowly, casting grieving glances
towards the firy mountain and the Eagles flying away towards it, they
made their way from Mordor, away towards green Ithilien. Legolas and
Aragorn, Gimli and the Hobbits--Eomer, as well, did not move. They
could only stare. And they were yet standing there when they saw the
Eagles fly back.
And two bore tiny bodies in their talons. The Eagles flew away for
Ithilien and then did the warriors follow. The war was done. The
fighting was over.
They left Mordor behind, weary and heart-sore with grief and wonder. And hope that the two wee Hobbits yet lived.
