Creation Song of Ilúvatar
Chapter 26: Navaer- Farewell
A/N: This chapter is rated R for graphic violence. Please do not read if graphic violence is not your cup of tea. I do not think it is superfluous violence. The violence depicted here illustrates the brutality of war and the havoc which hate engenders. In my mind, our wood Elves were painfully aware of such realities and had to suffer through the onslaught of Shadow.
Somewhere deep in the darker parts of the forest, where foul things crept and slithered, lay a life, who was gasping for the bit of breath his lungs could hold. The Elf opened his eyes and tried to raise his head from the ground, but hard as he try he could not get the muscles in his neck to respond. Instead, the blood pounded in his head more fiercely, causing his head to ache as if tiny daggers were deeply imbedded in his temples. Again, the Elf tried to move his head and this time he managed to turn his head to one side. As he rolled his head on the ground, blood began trickling on the dirt beneath him. The injured Elf squinted his eyes, trying to scan the earth beside him. What he beheld caused his stomach to lurch violently. There beside him lay the bodies of many Elven warriors, strewn about, clearly dead. Some had arrows protruding from their bodies, whilst others limbs had been ripped messily from them. Not only had the attack come upon them suddenly, their aggressors were also cruel and sadistic.
The injured Elf peered further into the dense night and caught the eyes of another who was looking his way. ‘Twas a young Elf, who was on his first mission so far south. The two Elves locked eyes, finding some comfort in the fact that they drew breath together. The injured Elf also dared not stare at the younger Elf’s injuries for they would bring more tears to his eyes.
The young Elf grasped an object in his hands that he clutched onto dearly, afraid that if he let it go, he would let go of all that he knew. So tight was his hold on this object that the blood had drained from the young Elf’s hand. He was grasping what was left of his life.
The young Elf managed to whisper words to his fallen captain, “ú-aníron, ú-aníron [ I don’t want (it), I don’t want (it)]…”
The injured Elf responded, his voice rasping the words, “Not wanting, do you seek mercy then?”
The young Elf mustered more strength to speak, “Ai, mercy indeed. I do not want what is left of this life.”
The injured captain looked at his young warrior, forcing the wind to travel through his throat, “If you seek me to dissuade you from the Halls of Mandos-- I, I could not, and will not do that. That is your choice alone to bear.”
“My captain,” the young Elf smiled weakly, “my life has been given for life. I can seek no better peace.” The young Elf gasped sharply, as an intense pain coursed through his body.
The injured captain wanted to reach out to console the young warrior, but he found his limbs did not respond. They lay limp at his side, as if rooted to the earth.
The young warrior gifted his captain with a sorrowful smile, “Navaer [farewell] my good captain. I have given of this life all that I can to middle earth and our people, and now I seek to walk in the Halls of Mandos.”
“Go well my young warrior. May Elbereth shine a bright path for you. Your life may come to an end on these lands, but your path looms always onward. Until the end of the world…”
And with these words the young warrior relaxed his grip and let out his last breath, turning his eyes towards the stars that seemed to have mercifully appeared above them.
The injured captain turned to look at the object that fell from his warrior’s hand, and upon seeing it fall on the earth, unfettered tears streamed down his face. Seeing it laying there, bloody and lifeless, the captain could not help but relive the last moments he and his warrior had lived together in defense of their beloved forest home.
Flashback
The young warrior caught the ferocity of the orc’s punishment swiftly across his leg. The orc mercilessly swung his crude sword with such force that the blade sliced into the Elf’s knee, causing him to collapse. As he fell, young Linwe caught a glimpse of an orc that was going to burry it’s sword in his captain’s back. From centuries of practice, an arrow flew truly from Linwe’s bow and imbedded itself squarely between the eyes of the creature.
The Elven captain, whirled around, only to find the orc that would have swiftly ended his life, laying behind him, but what truly caught his attention was the young warrior who now kneeled upon his good knee. The young warrior was dragging his injured leg beside him, fighting the orcs that descended upon him. It was as if these foul creatures wanted to drive him into the ground.
The Elven captain had never witnessed such a gruesome battle. Orcs were foul creatures but what they did this night was completely devoid of respect for life. Around him Elves cried out as orcs overpowered them and proceeded to viciously rip their limbs from their bodies. As if it was not cruel enough to inflict such malice, the offending orcs would toss whatever they had ripped into the injured Elf’s body, leaving the Elf to die a slow but certain death.
The captain ran to aid the young warrior named Linwe. He would not allow them to pummel him into the ground, even if it cost him his life. After all, his own life, the captain understood, was already spent on this eve. The Elven captain managed to run over to Linwe’s side, despite his many injuries, and with a ferocity akin to Mother Nature inflicting her terrible wrath, the captain poured out his own fury upon the offending orcs.
The young warrior, witnessing his captain’s bravery conjured up his strength and rose to stand and fight next to his captain. They stood, back to back, hacking and blocking any black thing that came their way. Around them Elves were falling, and the sounds of their anguish were slowly fading, until the two Elves heard no Elven voice cry out. They were the last Elves standing.
“We die this night, my captain!”
“Then let us die on our feet Linwe- together!”
The two warriors leaned against each other as they bore the brunt of orc blows, but the orc blows died down, and the two Elves realized that most of the orcs were gone. A small group of orcs remained and they looked upon the tired and injured Elves with perverse delight. The orcs spoke not a word, but it seemed they needed none as they were agreed upon their vile course of action.
Suddenly the orcs sprang upon the Elves, and began forcing them apart. One large orc separated Linwe from his captain and with one swift movement, the orc grabbed Linwe and tossed him across the small field the battle had taken place on. Linwe landed hard on the ground. As he struggled to regain his feet, Linwe realized that not only was his knee injured, he had incurred a deep sword wound on his side and it was bleeding profusely.
The Elven captain looked in horror as his young warrior was thrown. He tried to run to aid Linwe, but was caught in the dagger of an orc. The captain looked into the gleaming eyes of his attacker, and the orc’s eyes danced with rapture as he pushed and turned the dagger in the Elf’s stomach. The orc then pushed the captain’s body from his dagger, and as the Elf stumbled backwards a sharp pain seared in his back and ripped through his shoulder. As he was stumbling back, he looked down and saw an arrow protruding. He had been shot from the back with such force that the arrow made its way through his shoulder.
Linwe looked on in dismay as the orcs played with his captain’s life. They were laughing, toying with the Elf who refused to fall. Linwe mustered what remained of his strength and raised his bow. An arrow flew from the fallen Linwe and hit the orc who was firing arrows into his captain, but the shot was not strong enough to render the creature dead. The enraged creature walked over to Linwe and raised his dark sword high over head and swung down with a force that cleanly severed the Elf’s shooting arm.
Linwe fell backwards from his kneeling position, and with a dull thud felt the earth meet him. Linwe looked up at the orc, his eyes wide with shock.
The orc took the severed arm and threw it at the young Elf, “A wood Elf you ain’t no more.” The orc laughed ravenously and his companions joined him.
Another orc grumbled, “Leave that one here to die. Let that other one watch.” The orc then turned to the Elven captain, “So you wanted to die together. Sorry to disappoint you pretty one. You we leave to live and watch this young one die.”
The orcs howled out in perverse pleasure and trotted off into the night, leaving their devastation behind.
Linwe looked numbly at the limb that had been dumped on his body. Blood was spilling from his wound at an alarming rate. He could barely hear his captain’s words.
“Linwe, you bleed profusely. You must do something to try to stop the bleeding or you will surely die,” the Elven captain cried out, desperation clinging to his voice.
Linwe looked up slowly to his captain, and back to the limb on his body. The loss of blood was rapid, but slowly the young Elf managed to wrap his tattered tunic on his wound. Linwe used one of his leather belts to tighten around the gaping wound in the manner of a tourniquet. Being utterly spent, Linwe fell onto his back once more and stared up into the starless night sky, clutching the arm he had lost to his chest. He held onto it tightly, as if afraid that if he lost it, he would loose his path on the way to death.
The Elven captain too lay on the ground, the arrows in his body now a numb pain, and as he looked up into the night skies, he found no stars to comfort him. Soon he was lost in his own delirium, and wondered if he was ever to open his eyes again and witness the silver of Elbereth.
End Flashback
The Elven captain remembered some of the last words he shared with his young warrior, “Then let us die on our feet Linwe- together!”
“I die on my back,” the captain whispered hoarsely, “and I die alone. All my warriors gone before me- what a cruel fate. May they find peace in death for their passing to Mandos was not as it should have been, so cruel.”
The captain grew silent, and as the silence of the forest filled his thoughts, images of those he loved danced before him.
“Valar hear me,” the lone captain pleaded, “let her find happiness. Let her know the kind of love I held in my heart but dared not whisper in her ears. Let her see the light of your lands.”
The captain looked unto the stars and closed his eyes, images of his love burning brightly in his heart, comforting his visions.
****
As Legolas rushed through the treetops, tears were flowing from his eyes and trailing into the forest night. Each tree he touched feverishly whispered of lost lives, of terrible pain, and as he traveled further and further south, the voices of the trees grew more despondent.
Though he mourned, his senses were sharp, attuned to all that flew by him, and as he furthered his journey the Blackness of the night grew more dense and sinister. Legolas could hear the Shadow’s breath laughing as it rustled the leaves of the forest.
His pace grew tenfold, and to those who followed him, it seemed that Legolas was indeed flying though the trees. Elladan and Elrohir followed some distance behind. Legolas was not within their visual range but thankfully the trees seemed to open up the path their beloved wood Elf had taken. They too wanted Legolas to be safe.
Glorfindel noted, somewhat wearily that when he and Elrond’s sons departed after Legolas, they had not replenished their supplies, but Glorfindel trusted that Legolas knew what he did. It was obvious that the well traveled Elladan and Elrohir trusted to follow the wood Elf as they were, leaving Glorfindel little choice but to follow as he was.
Glorfindel positioned himself between the twins and Legolas, but even he had trouble keeping up with Legolas’ feverish pace. He noted that Legolas was taking a round about trail headed in a steady southerly direction. Legolas’ path would not take them through the Mirkwood Mountains, but East in the direction of Rhosgobel. This probably had something to do with the messenger birds that frequented the wood Elf and perched on his shoulder to chirp what information they had gathered.
Legolas tread this path to avoid the encroaching Black Breath that slowly made its way in a northeasterly direction. Rhosgobel was fifty leagues from Thranduil’s palace in the hill, and they covered close to this distance in record time. In ten hours they had covered thirty leagues.
Elladan was now running swiftly besides Glorfindel, and as if reading the Balrog Slayers mind, Elladan whispered, “It appears Legolas aims to circle around the Shadow that threatens Thranduil’s kingdom.”
Glorfindel replied, his voice un-winded from the pressing pace they kept up, “I sense the same.” But what Glorfindel did not speak aloud was his worry that the Shadow was allowing Legolas and his companions to circle around it unharmed, unchallenged. “There is a reason for this madness,” Glorfindel murmured to the trees. Elladan caught his words but did not answer, his mouth set in a grim line as he pursued his sworn brother through the trees of Mirkwood.
Fifteen leagues west of Rhosgobel, their trail again plunged South, and their pace slowed to a crawl as they approached the Old Forest Road. It appeared that not many had taken the road of late. Legolas was not surprised as the trail was now a dangerous path, but the trees spoke of hidden walkers whom had passed with their consent.
The trees spoke of the Elven companies that had crossed to the South. There were not many to cross the old road at this point so far east, but there presence was whispered by the trees nonetheless. Legolas’ mind was formulating the numbers of units that were currently on dispatch in the South. A bird arrived to bid his lord tidings and landed lightly on Legolas’ shoulder. It chirped and whistled softly into the wood Elf’s ear. Legolas listened intently and nodded his head on occasion. Legolas spoke a few phrases in Silvan and the bird was off again, flying northeasterly on his appointed task.
Elladan could not contain the smirk that illuminated his face as he turned to talk to Glorfindel, “You may have slain a Balrog, but you dear Lord of the House of the Golden Flower cannot claim that birds whisper tidings in your ears.
Glorfindel’s smile grew wide as he looked towards Thranduil’s son, “Nay, little birds do not whisper in my ear. Tell me Elrondion, have you learned this bit of wood magic for yourself?”
Elrohir interrupted the conversation, adding his own observations, “Ai, have we tried, but I am afraid it is something innate in a wood Elf.”
“No, the birds simply do not trust any Noldo.”
Glorfindel cocked his eyebrow and looked at the one who uttered the slight. Legolas too wore a smile, although it was somewhat forced.
Elrohir and Elladan stifled a small laugh, and slapped Legolas heartily on the back. With that the four were off again, gliding softly along the forest floor. Legolas would not risk them to fly through the branches of the trees as he knew that the Imladris Elves were not as accustomed to taking to the trees. He could not risk a sound, and so they swept silently over the ground.
***
It had been two days since Legolas had departed from Thranduil’s stronghold, and he had stopped only briefly, to eat, drink water, and rest briefly.
On this trek Glorfindel had learned more of Silvan ingenuity and craftiness in spite of the encroaching hold of Dol Guldur on Mirkwood. When Legolas would stop, he would scurry higher into the branches of a tree. As he climbed, the son of Thranduil would murmur some Silvan words to the tree. Glorfindel could not make out the words as he was unfamiliar with the little known and used Silvan tongue. Upon reaching the heights of the tree, the wood Elf would close his eyes and press his head against the tree. An ancient magic was at work as the tree would reveal a hidden nook in the tree which held skins stored with water, dried berries, and lembas. And in this manner the four travelers fed themselves and satiated their thirst.
As the sun stood high overhead on the second day of the trek, Legolas leapt into a large oak in a small clearing in the dense forest. He swiftly scaled to the top of the tree whispering words of greeting. As he reached his intended position, Legolas pressed his cheek gently against the tree, and Legolas smiled, as the tree shook with delight. Too long had the great oak gone without feeling the light of one of her wood Elves and in this moment she was delighted that not only was a wood Elf gracing her with his presence, the most brilliant light of all graced her on this shadowy afternoon. The oak gently lowered some branches revealing a tiny nook where the items of sustenance were stored. As Legolas took the proffered items he silently thanked the bearer tree for aiding him in his journey, rewarding the great oak with ancient words of friendship.
“How do others know that this tree no longer bears the water and food they seek,” Glorfindel asked Elladan, his neck arched upward, trying to catch a glimpse of Legolas.
“The trees let them know,” Elladan answered, offering Glorfindel a shrug, indicating his own wonderment with the craft of their Silvan kin.
Elrohir added, “Many of these trees that have been untainted by Shadow bear these needed items. It seems that there is an efficient system in place in how the water skins get refilled and the food replenished, so efficient it simply seems to happen-“
“As if by magic,” Glorfindel grinned, letting out an amused grunt.
Legolas landed softly besides the trio and offered them water and food which the other Elves quickly accepted. Their pace was tiring, even for Elves used to scouring the wilds of Middle Earth, and these moments of rest were much needed for soon enough they were running as always South.
***
Elrohir looked up into the darkening sky, trying to make out their position, but the skies above were devoid of the dim light of early rising stars. Nonetheless the capable scout in him allowed him to venture a good approximation, “We have traveled far these past three days, just over one hundred leagues.”
Legolas nodded, “Yes we near the narrow neck of the Southern woods. ‘Tis a dangerous place, and as far South as our units scout.”
“The narrowness of those woods is dangerous as it is so close to that accursed hill, yet it provides small companies the ease to assess the goings on does it not,” Glorfindel asked, his tactician’s hat on.
“Yes,” agreed Legolas, “This is the reason so few units approach the area.”
The tightness in Legolas’ voice betrayed his concern for his fellow warriors. No word had been received from them and Legolas feared the worst. If they had been caught unawares as happened to the units stationed further north, they would not have had a chance to escape such an attack as the woods here were darker, turned against what they once had loved in the fair wood Elves.
Legolas searched the trees in the starless night, approaching and touching the trunks, and then retreating with much sorrow on his face.
“They do not recognize my touch, they shun my words, so foul have they been turned, they ignore the touch of the Firstborn,” Legolas muttered as if to himself. Legolas then approached an old tree that seemed to be dying, and as he placed his hand on it, he felt a chill reverberate through his soul. The tree seemed to scream in pain as the Elf placed his hands on its body, but feeling the soothing fëa of his fair friend, the old tree surrendered to sorrow. This tree was not turned dark, and because of its plight, Shadow wreaked havoc on its living core.
Legolas pressed his forehead against the old tree and began chanting words in the old Silvan tongue. His hands massaged the tree as if trying to work out the stress of living under such intense Shadow. The tree unburdened his soul and shared the horror of all he had witnessed. It shared with Legolas the joy of knowing that the Firstborn, although few, still frequented him, but it told Legolas of the pain that he had felt reverberate through his roots.
Legolas began to cry aloud as he urged the tree to share with him all that he had come to know of his companions. The grief soon overwhelmed the wood Elf and he fell, slumping at the base of the tree, his body shaking in sobs, yet he continued to embrace his wooded friend. The two mourned the loss of life and each in turn drew strength from each other. Such was the way of the wood Elves and such was the way of the forest, always together in symbiotic relationship.
Legolas slowly tore himself away from the aged tree. He had not allowed for his senses to open themselves up to the song of Elves as he came close to the South. He did so as a matter of sanity for if he was open to the song of the Firstborn he would also be open to the discordant song of Shadow.
The Greenleaf sang a sorrowful melody, allowing the notes to filter in the air, but all that returned to him was vast emptiness in a place where the melody should have returned to him.
****
The injured captain’s eyes fluttered open as he heard a melancholy voice drift into his dreams. It was only a dream, the captain chided himself. He closed his eyes hoping that the voice he heard would help him on his journey to Mandos. Again the sweet and sad melody reached his ears and he forced his eyes to open.
It was not in his dreams! Although faint, the song was alive. The badly injured Elf opened his mouth to answer, but the dryness in his throat impeded his voice to answer. The captain cursed his situation. His body refused to pass to death, lingering among the living. Yet solace had come to him, but he could not answer it. What a cruel fate indeed.
****
Legolas abruptly stopped the melody and turned his head in a southeasterly direction. “A light glimmers faintly. I feel its weak melody. Come we must make haste,” Legolas cried out. The four Elves ran quietly in direction of the faint melody. All could feel its song, but the notes were fading, and they feared if they tarried it would come to its end.
~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Ok I know the arm thing is quite graphic, but I hope its metaphorical value was not lost.
To my wonderful and very much appreciated reviewers:
Daw the Minstrel: Yes, Thranduil has gained and lost much, and as hard as he tries he cannot control what happens in his realm, nor clearly foresee what is to come. He has no *ring* no *mirror* to aid him, not that I dislike the others who do. It just makes me be more in awe of Thranduil’s character. It’s funny how each fanfic author has their take on things, and reads somebody else’s interpretation and thinks, wow that’s cool! Thanks for the kudos.
Simply Sara: I to like to balance out humor with angst. It makes my characters feel a little more developed if you will. I am afraid that without both, they tend to become one-dimensional. Gotta give our Leggie a chance to show all sides of himself ;-)
Mellon1: I am so glad you find my story awesome. I hope what I have done with my characters in this chapter works well and is not too much of a departure. Thanks again for your reviews, they feed my muse.
Rhiannon: I am so glad that you discovered my story and more pleased that you have read through it so quickly. Kudos to you! Ah yes, kids, I love them to death, although not a mom, I am always around my sisters’ children. Hope your husband was gratified by his meal. If not maybe a plate of Lembas would do next time And thank you so much for your flattering observations. My muses and I thank you profoundly.
Nilmandra: It must be so hard for Thranduil. He has to stay with his people and yet his children spread like dust in the wind (now I have that Kansas tune in my head). Glorfindel is a fine Elf in all senses of that word. I would like to explore him further, but am feeling him out in this story. Oh my, don’t let Glorfi read that, he might get the wrong idea. Quick change your passwords!
Hanya the Bloody Angel: Each time I write your penname I have to laugh quietly to myself- in a good way : ) I completely forget Aní’s full name as well and have to go back to find it when I use it. Glad I was able to be of service! Darn Shadow it just doesn’t work with you, comes to do what it wants, ai and the Black Breath, well me thinks some Nazguls need mints ;-)