The Ring will come to Gondor
by Varda
Chapter Fifty-six: Courage is the Best Defence
Faramir turned away from Eowyn, rose to his feet and walked
across the polished marble floor to the high window. The room was in
the upper levels of the Citadel and looked out over Minas Tirith and
the wide expanse of the Pelennor Fields beyond. On the plain, like some
dark horde of insects at rest, the army of Sauron waited....
Just now the orcs made no attempt to attack the city. They were
motionless, still held immobile by the temporary loss of power of their
dark master. But Faramir knew that this would not last. The shock
Sauron had received through the Palantir would wear off, and when it
did all the soldiers lining the walls of Minas Tirith would not be
enough to withstand the tide that would come against it. If Faramir had
ten times the warriors he had, still he would not have enough to save
Minas Tirith. He turned to Eowyn…..
‘My Lady…’ he said in a low voice, and Eowyn could see there were tears
in his eyes, and his shoulders seemed to sag and his face grow suddenly
older.
‘Lady Eowyn, I have no army to give you….’
As night deepened beyond the Western Sea, fingers of mist reached out
to cover the Elf sitting unmoving on the stony shore. But above the fog
the sky was clear, and Varda painted it with stars….
‘Who wishes to go to the halls of the Sea?’
Legolas woke from his dark dream with a start, jumped up and turned
round; just behind him, on the stony beach over which he had walked
without disturbing a single pebble, stood a tall Elf clad in a long
silver-embroidered cloak of deep sea-blue.
Legolas walked over to him, thinking at first that this was another
stranger wandering lost on the shore. Under the starlight his dark
cloak was stained with sea spray and dried brine, and long streamers of
seaweed had been blown onto the material by the West wind, and made a
pattern of green and amber. Under the hood the Elf’s hair was golden
threaded with silver, and the face that turned towards Legolas was fair
but weary and lined with age. The eyes, however, were neither old nor
young, just unblinking like those of a hawk and deep blue like a great
wave far out on the ocean. When he fixed his piercing gaze on Legolas
the cold shore and desolate Northern sea seemed to overwhelm the Elf.
Then the stranger smiled and the spell was broken.
‘Who are you?’ asked Legolas ‘And what are you doing here? It is dangerous to wander here after dark….’
The Elf laughed, a sound like the sea rushing over rocks as the tide came in.
‘I fear nothing, Legolas Greenleaf!’ he said. ‘I am Ossë, Lord of
the Sea under the kingshop of Ulmo. I am rather feared than fearing,
Forest-Elf. ..’
With these words he cast aside the dark blue cloak and Legolas saw that
he was clad from shoulder to ankle in mail of finely wrought
blue-silver plates no bigger than a thumbnail, cleaving to his tall
slender frame like the scales of a fish.
Legolas stared, unable to speak. Ossë stopped laughing then and
held up a sword. It was dark on the shore but the sky was a field of
stars and by their light Legolas could see that the long blade was
slightly curved and wrought of white steel. The handle, under
Ossë’s pale fingers, was banded with the ridged black shell of
some sea-beast and inset with pearls and red coral. A sash and tassel,
gleaming with seed pearls, hung from the hilt. Ossë threw the
sword down at Legolas’s feet where it slithered across the stones of
the beach with a ringing sound. The Elf looked down at it in
bewilderment, then up at Ossë,
His face was stern and Legolas saw for the first time that he too bore
a sword, in a scabbard of blue and pearl hanging at his side from a
silver belt. This he now drew, and holding it out he advanced on
Legolas, who backed away. Ossë raised the sword as if to strike,
and in desperation Legolas snatched up the blade lying at his feet. At
this Ossë lowered his sword and smiled and said;
‘You said you wanted to die, Forest-Elf. But it seems you are not yet ready for death….’
‘I don’t want to be slain twice!’ replied Legolas with spirit. ‘Neither
do I want to follow my kind into the West. There is nothing for me
there. All I love is on earth, and those I love….’
‘Your place is not among mortals’ said Ossë, regarding him
thoughtfully. ‘Neither is it your destiny to die the death of men. Why
do you want to go into the darkness that is their fate? You can have
the Western home of the Elves…’
‘I don’t want the home of the Elves!’ cried Legolas, thinking of the calm harbour and the singing that echoed over the water.
‘I want to go back to the land of men!’
Ossë was silent then, studying Legolas with a serious expression.
At last he raised his sword. Legolas raised his too, in desperate
defiance. Ossë said;
‘If you want the impossible, you must do the impossible. No being of
any race since the creation of the world has defeated me in combat. If
you can best me with the sword, you can return to your mortal friends.
If not, you will die neither the death of the Elves nor of Men, but be
lost for all time in the abyss. Do you consent to the trial under these
terms?’
Legolas thought quickly; better to end this hopeless exile now than wander like a lost soul in these bleak lands for evermore…
‘I consent!’ he said.
‘Very well, Forest-elf’ said Ossë ’Prepare yourself for combat…’
Ossë raised his blade and saluted Legolas, bowed then without
further hesitation advanced swiftly, his curved sword pointed at the
Elf’s heart.
Legolas backed away, his feet slipping on the wet, treacherous stones.
‘I must find firm ground to fight on!’ he thought, and turning he ran
up the shore to where low dunes covered with long grass like young
barley gave better footing. Here he stopped and held out his sword on
guard, and waited for Ossë as he loped quickly up the beach after
him…
‘You Forest Elves never fight with the sword..’ observed Aragorn,
sitting at the campfire rubbing his sharpening stone along the blade of
his broadsword. He carefully tipped a drop of oil from a tiny horn
flask onto the shining metal.
Legolas smiled.
‘We would feel like blacksmiths, just hacking away with a length of
iron. The bow, or the long-bladed knife are our weapons of choice…’
‘Don’t underestimate blacksmiths..’growled Gimli from the other side of the fire.
‘Aulë was a blacksmith, and every Dwarf born, from the greatest
warrior kings to the lowliest mine-dwellers, were at heart blacksmiths…’
‘I’m sure they were…’ mumbled Legolas with a frown.
Aragorn smiled and got to his feet and said;
‘Remember, Legolas….’he balanced his sword in his hand. The firelight
ran on the blade like molten lava. ‘…sometimes the foe is too close for
the bow, but too far away for the knife. You should bear a sword as
well….’
Legolas sighed and stood up.
‘We’ve had this discussion before….’ he began but before he could say
any more Aragorn had tossed him his sword, hilt first, and Legolas
deftly caught it. He made a face.
’It weighs a ton…’ he complained but then jumped back quickly as
Aragorn attacked him with a burning brand from the fire. Legolas
parried the blow in a shower of sparks. He darted to one side. Aragorn
retreated, but then attacked again.
‘Keep your guard up, Elf!’ he shouted sternly, clipping the sword with the log in another spray of bright sparks.
‘I was taught swordcraft long before you were born!’ answered Legolas tetchily.
‘Then use what you were taught!’ cried Aragorn, feinting and forcing
the sword blade to the ground. He brushed Legolas’s silver grey velvet
tunic with the burnt end of the log, leaving a black smear…
Legolas sighed and stood back, brushing the mark from the fine fabric. Aragorn shook his head.
‘If I had been a real enemy…he said quietly ‘you would be dead, Legolas…’
With a speed neither human nor Elvish, not even of this world,
Ossë leaped on Legolas and brought down his long curved silver
blade. As it arced through the air it flashed like lightning on a
summer evening and dazzled Legolas. He closed his eyes for a moment and
blindly brought up his own blade to parry. There was a clash of swords
and Legolas felt a charge run up the steel and his hands went numb. He
retreated.
Ossë’s face was blank, with a stiff smile on his lips. He brought
his sword down in long, powerful strokes far beyond the strength of the
Elf to resist. Again and again Legolas’s sword was driven lower, to the
stones or pushed back against his leg or side. Only his agility saved
him. But he knew he could not dodge Ossë’s powerful, well-aimed
blows forever…
‘When all else fails, Legolas..’ said Aragorn, catching his breath ‘Do the unexpected..’
He smiled.
‘..don’t be an Elf, be a man…’
‘..or a Dwarf…’ added Gimli with a wink ‘…and fight like a blacksmith…’
Something brushed Legolas’s back and he realised he was pushed up
against the bank of a sand dune. He coud retreat no further. A green
light shone in Ossë’s eyes;
‘I have you now, Elf….’ He said. He paused in his advance and raised his sword and kissed the blade. Then he said to Legolas;
‘You are the bravest of all the Elves and I salute you. No other of the
First Folk ever dared me in battle, but you have. But my duty is
determined, as is yours, and I cannot allow you to wander here, nor to
return to Middle Earth.
I must kill you…..’
And raising his great sword he brought it down on Legolas and broke the
blade as the Elf strove to parry him. Legolas was left with only the
handle and a sliver of steel, sharp as a dagger and gleaming in the
starlight like a silver jewel lost on the sand of the sea bed. Legolas
looked down at it in dismay even as Ossë raised his blade for the
kill….
As he did so Legolas threw himself on him with all his weight, aiming
his shoulder at Ossë’s stomach like he had seen Gimli do with
taller foes. It was a wrestler’s move, a peasant way of fighting and it
caught Ossë off guard. He lowered his sword and in that heartbeat
of time Legolas drove the broken shard of his blade into the gleaming
mail, aiming for the heart. The Elf felt the tip strike, and sink
through the metal plates. They buckled under his desperate strength and
gave way…
Suddenly Legolas pitched forward onto his face; all at once the figure
vanished, removing all resistance and the Elf followed his own stroke
down to the stones, landing flat on the ground….
For a moment Legolas lay winded, then he looked up; the figure, or
spirit or whatever it was, had disappeared and he was alone on the
shore. He looked down and the shard of steel and the tasselled,
coral-inlaid hilt had vanished from his grasp. He could hear no sound
but the slow, steady surge and draw of the tide on the beach. But in
the noise of the waves, Legolas thought he could hear laughter and
faintly, he could hear words…
‘Go back to your world, Legolas. You don’t belong in this one….’
Eowyn could no longer meet Faramir’s gaze; her desperate errand to
Minas Tirith had failed. Wounded and unable to move, she could only
look down the days to come and see an ignominious return to Edoras with
a gloating Wormtongue waiting to welcome her back. Or a long, pampered
imprisonment in the beleaguered city then a bitter death at the end
when its defences finally crumbled.
But as Eowyn struggled with the despair that threatened to engulf her,
Faramir spoke again, and there was a faint smile on his face;
‘My lady, I cannot give you an army. But I can give you something better than an army, to take back to Edoras …’
Eowyn stared at him; was this some trick? But when Faramir spoke again his voice was stern and solemn;
‘My lady, I will give you my brother, Boromir….’
For a long moment Eowyn did not speak. Then she blurted out;
‘Can you do that?’
Faramir laughed.
‘I can do anything!’ he said ‘I am the Steward of Gondor…’
Eowyn’s face darkened; she thought he was making fun of her. Seeing this, Faramir said quickly;
‘I mean what I say, my lady; I make no jest. When I permitted Boromir
to enter Minas Tirith once more, I effectively lifted his banishment.
The people know this. He is once again the Marshal of Gondor, free to
take on any duty I see fit to lay upon him. …’
‘….and a warrior worth many soldiers…’ said Eowyn to herself softly. Faramir nodded and said;
‘Lord Boromir will go with you to Edoras, my lady…..’
