CHAPTER 6: SHADOWS FROM THE EAST
Arwen and Eldarion had not moved from the corner after Legolas left. They sat hunched in fear, listening to the rain. Their fear was made even more acute because they knew not what was happening below. They gasped when a form suddenly appeared at the door of the talan, dripping with rain. But they breathed when they saw it was an elf, Galean, followed immediately by another elf. The other elf knelt by the door, peering out into the night, while Galean approached the two huddled figures and spoke quietly to them.
“Do not fear. The prince wants us to stay here with you,” he informed them and moved to join his friend, but Arwen caught his arm. She spoke in Sindarin, hoping that Eldarion’s own halting knowledge of the language would filter much of the information from him, in case it was too frightening.
“What is happening?” she whispered.
“The shadows we saw, they are here. Many men.”
“Who are they?”
“They came from the east.”
“Where is Legolas? Is he all right?”
“The fighting has not begun. He leads us.”
There was nothing more he could tell her. He spun around and joined his friend at the door, whispering in hushed voices barely audible above the rain. Eldarion turned to her with frightened eyes as if to ask what was happening, and she whispered words of comfort to him, trying not to show her own fear. “Legolas is taking care of the problem, my darling, we must wait here. Be brave.”
During the wait, Arwen’s thoughts raced. She had heard the voice of Lishian earlier as he told Legolas: “They surrounded us, asking for the son of the king.” She began to talk to herself: why did they want Eldarion? How did they know he was there? They must have been following his movements and her own. Minas Tirith was too difficult to infiltrate; they must have waited, biding their time. And their visit to Ithilien, with its open spaces, provided that opportunity. But why did they want him? For ransom? As leverage, to force the King into doing something he would not otherwise condone? She could find no answers. But her thoughts went to Aragron, wishing he were here. A tear streaked down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away.
After what seemed ages to Arwen and Eldarion, the rain began to lighten. And still they waited, clutching each other.
Then, as if, an order had been given to break the silence, they heard yells and sounds of fighting a short distance away. The fair voices of the elves were hardly audible, but there were other blood-curdling yells as metal clashed against metal, and bows sang. The two elves in the talan stood, looking in the direction of the sounds. One had moved to the wall opposite while one guarded the door. Arwen could sense the tension in their slender bodies and the anxiety in their faces as they looked into the darkness. She knew they would have wished to be fighting alongside Legolas, but she was glad of their presence here, for she had a young son to protect. She knew the elves would die before they even thought of disobeying Legolas’ orders and leaving them. And she would die before she allowed anyone to take her son.
After many minutes, there seemed to be fighting in two places – in the distance, the fighting seemed less intense, but there were also sounds getting closer. A shout, like a question, was heard from below – was it from Legolas? – and Galean replied, “Yes, my lord, they are safe.” Then the elf shouted a warning to Legolas: “They come after you! Lishian, draw your bow!”
“No!” Arwen heard Legolas shout in Sindarin a little distance from the tree. “Stay hidden!” And she understood that he did not want the attackers to know that they were in the talan. She stifled a sob of fear as she heard the clash of knives below, then a cry of pain in an Elvish voice, and her heart missed a beat. Eldarion whimpered, tears running down his cheeks.
Galean uttered an Elvish curse and pulled his friend down so that they would not be seen. “So many, so many,” he mumbled in anguish. Then he turned to the two figures in the corner and gave an order in a hushed voice: “Stay in front of them!” Lishian immediately moved to position himself in front of the two figures in the corner, while Galean remained at the door.
Suddenly, Galean stood and ran to the low wall. Without a sound, he fitted an arrow and drew his bow in one smooth motion and fired at something below. There was a horrible cry as something died. Eldarion screamed and placed his hands over his ears.
The next series of events took place very quickly, almost in a blur in the dark.
As soon as Eldarion screamed, Lishian whipped around and Arwen closed her hand over her son’s mouth. A footstep landed on the floor of the talan to their left, and Arwen swung around, grasping the small knife at her side and swinging it in arc as she did so. Her forearm was quickly stayed by a strong wet hand: Legolas’. Arwen sobbed in relief. She saw the blood on his tunic, streaming slowly from what must have been a deep gash on his shoulder, and the long knife in his other hand, dripping with rainwater and blood. At the sight of the blood, Eldarion gave a loud whimper of fear, but Arwen had no time to react to it herself, for Legolas pushed her and Eldarion even further back into the corner. He then ran back to the door and pulled up the rope ladder swiftly before returning to crouch in front of them alongside Lishian. He was breathing heavily. “Where is he!” a rough yell came from the ground below. “Elbereth!” an Elvish voice cried, before it ended in a loud, pitiful cry of pain.
At the cry, Eldarion screamed again. Then a second later, the rough voice shouted, “Up! Up!” Galean cried, “They hear!” and drew his bow again, aiming now at things moving up the tree. He shot and drew and shot again. Lishian ran to his side at the low wall, and his bow sang with Galean’s. The two elves furiously fired arrow after arrow while dodging arrows being fired at them as well. Lishian gave a cry as an arrow pierced deep into his shoulder and he dropped his bow before he staggered back against the wooden wall to the right. Legolas immediately dropped his knife and dashed to pick up the bow, pulling the two remaining arrows from the quiver strapped to Lishian’s back.
But instead of firing in the direction Galean was facing, he turned toward the door and shot at the first of the tall, foul-looking men who had managed to climb the tree even without the ladder. The man dropped but another, who had been behind him, jumped over the body to land near Arwen. Arwen cried out and pulled Eldarion to her as he screamed again. Peering around him in the dim light, he seemed undecided as to whom to lunge for, but as he took a hesitant step towards the sound of Arwen’s cry, the mother, with a fierce yell, suddenly swung her arm at him, holding him at bay with the small knife. Legolas, a hiss of pain escaping his lips as he drew his bow, immediately shot the last arrow, which sank into the man’s bicep as he twisted to dodge it, and in the next instant, the elf dived back toward his knife at Arwen’s feet. In one smooth motion, he had righted himself on one knee, his knife in his hands. He lunged at the man again, slashing deep into his thigh. The man gave a roar of pain and fell back, clutching at the wound. Before the elf could move to finish him off, Galean gave a cry and fell backward from an arrow in his chest. A black shape came over the low wall, a raised arm clutching a knife, and rushed at Legolas. Legolas plunged his knife into his chest but was knocked over himself, falling right in front of Eldarion, who was crying loudly in his mother’s shivering arms. Another dark shape climbed over the low wall and made to lunge at the three figures on the floor with a long knife and a loud yell, but another voice – Legolas could not tell from where – shouted:
“The king’s son! Take him alive!”
As he was turning, he saw another dark shape emerge over the low wall, with a long object in its mouth, aimed directly at them. Legolas widened his eyes in horror and twisted to place his body around Eldarion’s. He heard two a sharp exhalation as something – a dart? – hit the wall where he had been before he moved. A second exhalation quickly following the first, and a dart flew from the long object and found the space between Legolas’ arm and his torso, ripping through part of his tunic before lodging into soft, young flesh.
In the immediate confusion that followed, more footsteps were heard approaching the talan. Another yell came, this time from an Elvish voice, as elves from Pelargir and South Ithilien poured into the tree-house, slashing at the man who had sent the dart and at other dark shapes that rushed to climb back over the wall. Legolas saw an arrow drawn and pointed at the fallen man with the wounded thigh, accompanied by a harsh command to stay still. “Keep him alive!” Legolas commanded. Someone called “My lord!” and rushed to Legolas’ side, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his shoulder and frantically searching him for other injuries, and others crouched over the still forms of Lishian and Galean.
Ignoring the pain from the wound in his shoulder, Legolas threw a quick question at one of the elves, who replied, “Most are dead, but we pursue the rest.” He took a few moments to grasp what else was happening before him, closing his eyes in sorrow at the sight of Galean and Lishian, before turning an anxious face back to Arwen and Eldarion. Arwen was crying openly now, holding on to her son, still in shock. The boy seemed to have quietened down. His head was half-hidden in his mother’s grasp, and he was whimpering softly. Legolas could see that his eyes were swollen from crying, his lids heavy.
“Eldarion?” Legolas called gently, seeking to comfort the child. “Eldarion, it’s me. It’s over now, you’re safe.” He took the boy’s hand and squeezed it. The only response from the boy was a weak whimper. “Eldarion?” he called again. He peered at the child’s eyes; they were closed. Legolas felt a sudden terrible sense of unease.
“Eldarion, speak to me!” he said louder. No response. “Arwen, is he hurt? Call him!” his voice was filled with a growing fear.
Arwen gasped and took her son’s face in her hands. “Eldarion, can you hear me? Eldarion!” The boy had gone limp and cold. She shook him gently, but he remained motionless. Arwen gave a cry of anguish, her eyes wide with fear. “Oh, dear Eru! No, no!”
“Light the candles!” Legolas yelled to the elves around him, and turned back to run his trembling hands over the limp body of the prince, saying a silent prayer. Someone brought a candle, then two more, and Legolas ordered them held so that he could examine Eldarion. Arwen looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. There was nothing on the boy’s arms and chest and abdomen, but as Legolas’ probing fingers reached the top of the little thigh, he froze. He found the long thin dart, half- embedded in the tender flesh, and his heart sank. Arwen gave a gasp of fear when she saw it, and felt her heart stop as Legolas grasped it firmly and pulled it out, leaving a tiny entrance wound. Legolas held the dart between his finger and sniffed. His lips pursed as he handed it to one of the elves and told him calmly and tersely, “Keep it safe for the healers.”
Then he closed the thumb and index fingers of both hands around the entrance wound and squeezed so that blood emerged from the puncture point. He had no certainty that he was doing the right thing, but he felt that if at all the dart was poisoned, he should try to remove as much as he could before the poison went further into the body. He prayed he was not causing Eldarion further harm. When he had squeezed out as much as he could, he placed his hand over Arwen’s and said gently, “Only half the dart went in, we must hope it did not do much damage, but we have to get him to the healers without delay.”
He turned to the elf holding the dart and said, “Get horses. Three ride to Minas Tirith with us.” He would leave the elves to determine which three. “Bring the injured who need the help of healers.” Looking with contempt in the direction of the man he had asked to keep alive, he added, “And bring him. Bind his wounds.”
Several elves moved off at once. Turning back to the queen, who was now almost hysterical, Legolas held her eyes as he spoke in a controlled voice, hoping his carefully chosen words held the truth. “Arwen, listen to me. I do not think the dart is poisoned, at least not enough to cause great harm.” He could hear her sharp intake of breath. “They wanted him alive. They would not have used a poisoned dart. I think… I think the dart was meant to make him fall asleep quickly.” Hope flooded Arwen’s expression at his words, and her crying grew less intense.
“He’s just a child,” she whispered, pouring the grief of a mother into those words.
Her words stabbed Legolas’ own heart, but consolation had to wait. His first priority was to get Eldarion to safety and healing. They needed to help the injured elves as well, and – and see to the ones who have been killed, he thought sadly. Only then could they attempt to understand what had happened, and why. He told an elf to help the queen and the young prince off the talan, then straightened himself and stood.
He was tired, but there were elves awaiting further orders at the foot of the tree. He took a deep breath, descended, and issued them.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That evening, the king of Gondor had fallen asleep early after another day’s hard ride on his way home. But hardly had the moon risen low in the sky before he awoke with a start, his heart thumping. Something was wrong back home.
Two minutes later, his surprised aides stood in front of their king and heard the order: “We ride for Minas Tirith now.”