An Ode for Cruelty

The road to Helm’s Deep was long and hard. The Rohirrim Children and elderly near-overflowed from the few carts as they tried desperately to catch their breath. Faelwen walked alongside Gimli, her own horse having been donated to a struggling woman who was with child. Faelwen stared intently at the back of a particular golden head, it’s owner busying himself at the front of the line. She stared; and for a brief second, her expression betrayed her, the depth of her longing spreading behind her eyes. And it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Something troubling you, Lass?” Gimli’s gruff voice broke the rhythmic drumming of hooves on dirt, startling Faelwen from her daze.
She turned to the Dwarf, noting the mischievous glint in his eyes, “Whatever would make you think that, my dear friend?”
“You boring holes into someone’s head might just make me think that,” He replied nonchalantly.
“Perhaps you would prefer that I stare at you, Master Dwarf?” Faelwen’s voice rang with strained humour.
Gimli laughed, drawing the eyes around them, “Who wouldn’t want a beautiful woman looking their way?” He paused, his tone dropping the humorous air in exchange for one more serious, “I can certainly think of one lad that would like your eyes pointing his way. I’m even more sure that he’d like to know that it’s happening.”
Faelwen let loose a nervous chuckle, a quiet sigh following shortly after, “This is not a matter of what either of us wants…”
Gimli looked away as Eowyn came to join them, “We’ll see about that, Lass.”

Legolas patrolled the front of the rag-tag travelling company, straining ear and eyes in an attempt to locate and hidden threat. He tried with all his might to concentrate on the task at hand; tried with all his might to forgo any thoughts of long white hair between his fingers or of pale pink eyes looking up at him past heavy lids. Most of all, he tried to forsake the thought of rose-tinted lips and how well they would fit against his. Legolas strained his eyes and ears, trying in vain to forget what lay in his heart.
“Mallen-finnel)Golden-braids),” His heart skipped a beat as his unwitting temptress’ voice chimed nearby, “How goes your scouting?”
He regained his wits, raising an eyebrow at Faelwen, “Well, I’m sure you can see for yourself, nibin (petty[a name for troublesome elflings]). There’s no blood on the ground just yet.”
Faelwen chuckled, “Yes, well, Gimli’s jokes were growing tired and I needed to talk to someone with at least half a brain.”
“When exactly were Gimli’s stories not tired?” Legolas smiled, his eyes still trained into the distance.
Faelwen laughed, her voice like bells in the breeze as it washed over Legolas’ senses.
“Mallen-finnel, ha pleda ennin gerin imrad o pent gelir (It feels like many years since we spoke happily),” she sighed, “Im gerin ind ned adran algelir(I have a thought that this is an age of no happiness).”
“Nautha, gedgeril min adran pain garind(Perhaps[conceivably] finding happiness in this age is all that has meaning),” He finally looked over to her, finding her pale pink orbs staring straight back at him.
“Perhaps,” She smiled faintly, her eyes lighting up, leaving Legolas lost for words.
Suddenly Faelwen’s eyes narrowed, the brief joy becoming lost as her head snapped around.
“Pen deri nain dol. Im thost erin gwelwen (Somebody waits ahead. I smell it on the air),” She placed her hand on the blonde’s shoulder before slowing to join the travelling company behind them, “Garterith, nin pin cuan (Have vigilance, my little prince).”

Within but a few miles, two soldiers of Rohan rode forward. Faelwen moved to warn them, earning a disgusted glare from Theoden King. She could hear their horses worry as they shook their heads, stamping their tired hooves. And then it came, the piercing shriek of another festering Orc, a low growl and the pained, fearful screams of the soldiers. Legolas ran forward to survey the damage. He was greeted with none other than 2 dead men and their dying horses being savagely ripped and torn by a large warg.
He fired quickly, 2 arrows alone being enough for the expert marksman to eliminate the monster and it’s rider. The warg thrashed, earning an arrow to its eye. Legolas moved to study the wolf and rider.
Alarmed by the light leathers and few weapons, he turned and yelled, hoping his voice reached to Aragorn, “A scout!”

Faelwen moved to run forward, to stand beside the blonde man that was always slightly out of her reach.
“Where are you going?” Theoden’s voice seemed to echo around her, inside her head.
“I’m going to join the battle; to stand beside my companions,” She didn’t turn to face him.
“You will go with Eowyn,” Faelwen glared at the ground, unable to get a word in before the arrogant man spoke again, “I am king here and you will do as I say, Woman.”
Faelwen’s face twisted in disgust as she gave a mocking bow, “As you wish, King.”
Legolas watched after her as she huffed away. His chest ached as he, again, watched her narrow frame grow smaller. Frowning he spun fluidly, running toward the hills that would carry today’s foe to his arrow-heads. He paused atop a large boulder, knocking the first arrow he was to fire. He heard his name, as if it were carried faintly, spoken by the very air itself as it seemed to circle around his head, tickling the tips of his ears.
“Legolas,” He knew that voice; that bell-like, wind chime voice. Feminine and strong.
He could feel her eyes, spreading warmth around him as if he were sitting by a fire’s hearth in the dead of winter.
“Legolas,” She whispered again, “Adartha ah enni band(Reunite with me safely).”
A faint smile graced his fine features as he let his arrow loose. Only a single thought crossed his mind; 5 short words the he knew Faelwen could hear.
“Im na ah le thenet (I’ll be with you soon).”

Faelwen walked through the narrow, stone-smothered paths of Heml’s Deep. She watched the people of Rohan as the panicked; as they hoped; as they cried; as they prayed. How many of these women had already lost their husbands? Their sons? And yet, here they were, doing everything they could in preparations for war, aiding whatever men remained in throwing down their lives. War. Such an unnecessary and hateful thing. She scoffed out loud, drawing the gaze of those still unsure as to whether she was friend or foe. She looked around, seeing the bleak outcome of the upcoming battle near written on the ‘strongholds’ walls. Few rations, blunt weapons and terrified citizens. Rohan was condemned to fall in this siege. Faelwen closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she steadily made her way toward the keep. She refused to take up the fear and hopelessness that surrounded her. She breathed deeply, trying to allow herself to be a pool of serenity amidst the chaos, knowing just how long the coming nights were sure to be.

It was nearing nightfall when the aching, wounded bodies of the men finally returned to be greeted by the excited, grateful and pained cries of the Rohirrim women. Legolas tightly clutched Aragorn’s necklace, squeezing it in his fist tightly in hopes that it too, wouldn’t disappear. He walked quickly; his head and shoulders slumped low, nearly pushing his way past Lady Eowyn. He needed Faelwen; her arms, her pale skin, her soft lips and gentle hands. He needed it all. Desperately.
He felt as though he’d walked for a millennia before a voice stopped him dead in is tracks, “Legolas..?”
She questioned so gently that he couldn’t help but lift his head to meet her gaze. As he watched her eyes soften and fill with concern, he knew he looked like a broken man. She raised her arms, extending her hands toward him and spoke so softly that Legolas might’ve thought he’d dreamt it, if not for the ache in his heart.
“Tolsi, Mallen-finnel (come here),” Faelwen let a gentle, sad smile fall across her lips as she spoke, “Nin ranc garhelch, alinpin gerin ti le am si (My arms are cold, nevertheless, let them warm you for now).”
Legolas moved before his mind could catch up to his actions. His arms enveloped Faelwen as her’s wrapped around him. His shoulders stooped and his back curled as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, not caring how childish he looked. He ignored the intense cold of her body, nuzzling into her further and tightening his grip. His emotions caught up with him, his breathe becoming ragged and his eyes watering.
“Ha illis na brand, Legolas (It will be fine),” Faelwen cooed softly, a hand mindlessly stroking his soft blonde head, “Ha illis pain na brand (It will all be fine).”
Minutes passed like hours as the pair stood holding each other, Faelwen trying desperately to ease the younger Elf’s suffering, even if only a little.
Finally, Legolas spoke, his voice cracking as he croaked the short sentence into the beautiful maiden’s shoulder, “Aragorn fell.”

He felt her nod, her hands hesitating before continuing the loop they had been placed on, rubbing smooth circles on his shoulder and stroking his hair.
“I see,” She tucked her fingers gently under his chin, lifting his gaze to hers.
Legolas breathe fell short as he looked into her eyes. His hands moved on their own, threading across he lower back, caressing her hip.
“Narante enni, Legolas (Tell me),” She hesitated, as if she was unsure of the words he was about to speak, “Narante enni, pain in nad im agor le naeg(Tell me all the things I can do for your pain).”