Chapter Nineteen: Contention Among Allies
With
rapid steps, Eomer again descended from the battlements. Round about below
him was a writhing horde of orcs, and what seemed to be an equal number
of men, engaged in mortal combat. He strained his eyes, but could not make
out what was happening where he had last left the Elven prince. “Oh, for
the sight of an Elf!” he spoke, morosely, then resigned himself to slashing
his way through the melee to find Legolas.
As
it turned out, he did not have far to go. The voice of the Elf reached
his ears over the tumult. “Eomer! Is she safe?”
The
horse-lord calmly beheaded an orc, and used the resulting moment of peace
to turn towards the voice. Legolas was bearing down upon him, and while
his garments were stained with blood, he certainly seemed to be all in
one piece, if one could judge by the skill with which he wielded his weapons.
Grudgingly Eomer admitted to himself that the Elf was indeed a superior
fighter. “I brought her within the fastness of the Hornburg and made her
swear that she would not leave.” He was forced to pause then in his speech
as he was set upon again. Once his attacker had been felled, he spoke again.
“She made me promise that I would see you safe, Elf. You must not fall,
or I fear that she will be forever blaming herself for your loss.”
By
that time Legolas had reached his side. The Elf and the horse-lord put
their backs together, and continued the battle. “You have done me a great
service, Man of Rohan. I am in your debt.”
“Nay,
consider it only payment for my earlier failure.”
Both
strong and fearsome in battle, the two fought valiantly, clearing a path
through toward the Gate, where they saw Gimli directing a crew of Rohirrim
in building a wall of stone to seal the breach in the defensive wall. Other
men followed along in their wake, and went to join the workers.
Gimli
spotted the two approaching and called out to Legolas, “Why are you not
atop the wall with your bow? Get back up there and kill the vermin which
keep trying to knock down my wall.”
“I
am on my way, friend Dwarf! Fear not!”
Eomer
decided then to accompany the Elf to the battlements, for he had sworn
to Nimoë that he would keep him from harm, although there did not
seem to be much chance that the Elf prince would falter. As they fought
their way back to the stairs, he called out over his shoulder, “Elf, do
you love her?”
Legolas’
blade slowed almost imperceptibly when he heard the question. “What do
you mean? She is my subject and my friend. Of course I love her.”
Legolas
started up the stairs first, clearing the way of those orcs which were
streaming up ahead of him. Eomer, keeping his back to the Elf, stepped
cautiously backward up the steps, while keeping at bay those who came from
below. “That is not what I meant, Elf. Are you in love with her?”
They
had then reached the relative safety of the ramparts and Legolas swung
around and regarded him fiercely. “This is not the time discuss matters
of love. What I feel or do not feel is none of your concern. I forgive
your for your earlier failure, and I am still in your debt for bringing
Nimoë to safety, but do not make the mistake of considering me your
friend.”
Eomer
regarded the fire dancing in the Elf’s eyes and knew that he had his answer,
whether Legolas was aware of it or not. He bowed his head in acknowledgement.
“While you may not consider me a friend, you are my ally. I will guard
your back while you eliminate the Dwarf’s difficulties.”
“As
you will.”
Within
the Hornburg, Nimoë laid claim to a room, and sent word out with a
passing fighter that the injured were to be brought to her within. Soon
a steady stream were being carried in, and once again she began the rounds
with her healing song. To the men whose souls she touched, she seemed to
glow like a radiant angel, peaceful and serene, with no blemish on her.
To
the eyes of Theoden, who stood outside the door watching her work, she
looked as if she should not be able to stand. Black and blue bruises marred
every inch of her, and he sorrowed when he realized that many of them had
been present before the battle, incurred by his own command. Blood flowed
freely from gashes on her cheek and her brow, and her tunic was soaked
with it, so much so that there must be other wounds where he could not
see.
Her
eyes did not seem able to focus, and she swayed often, almost as if she
could not keep herself conscious for another moment. Yet she pushed ever
onward, meeting each new man who was brought to her, and giving him her
life-saving song.
Theoden
turned when his name was called and saw Aragorn approaching him. “Theoden-King,
do you know where I would find Eomer? I promised him that we would draw
swords together this night, and I have not yet been able to fight at his
side.”
“Alas,
Aragorn, I know not. I have heard rumors of him both on the battlements
and below, although most recently I heard said that he was on the wall
with the Elf.”
Aragorn
nodded then, “I will look there for him.”
Nimoë’s
keen hearing had overheard the conversation and she stood up briefly from
her work. “If you find them, Lord Aragorn, please assure them that I have
obeyed their commands.” Tears filled her eyes then as she continued. “Tell
them that they have my love, and all of my hopes go with them.”
“I
will, Lady. It will lighten their hearts.” He turned then and ran out onto
the battlements.
Yet
another man was carried in then, and to Nimoë’s horror, he was riddled
with orc arrows. His brown hair and stern face brought back images of Boromir,
who had also been made a living pincushion. She knelt beside him and took
his hand, knowing as she did so that the number and extent of his injuries
put him beyond her ability to heal.
Through
gurgles and gasps he whispered, “Lady… help… me…” His eyes bored into hers
and he clutched at her with desperate intensity. His last word was so soft
that she could barely make it out. “Please…” Then he breathed no more,
and his body stiffened into death.
The
tears which she had been fighting for so long sprang forth with a wail
of anguish and she fell sobbing across his still form. “Why must I fail!
This is too much to bear! Why???!”
She
was startled to feel a frail hand laid gently on her back. “My Lady,” spoke
Theoden from where he knelt over her, “You have not failed. So many men
here owe you their lives. You must be strong now. Do not lose heart. There
are so many more who need your aid.”
Slowly
she raised her head off of the bloodied corpse and regarded the king, his
eyes wise and kindly. Ashamed then of her outburst, she dashed the tears
away from her face with the back of her hand, leaving a new trail of blood
upon her cheek. “You are right. Please, Theoden-King, do not let me falter.”
She
rose then and went to greet yet another man, who was brought to her side.
While her failure still galled her, she knew that she must not let it keep
her from doing all that she could, and she chided herself for her moment
of weakness.
Theoden
also rose and returned to his place in the doorway. His heart was troubled,
since in his old age, he could not fight, and he vowed to do all he could
to keep the Elf maiden going, to save as many of his men as could possibly
be saved. It was the only thing he could do towards the saving of his kingdom.