Chapter Twelve

***

Legolas stood and looked around him. The battle had ended yesterday morning, clean up had gone on until all hours last night and still the ground was scattered with corpses. The women and children had been taken back to Edoras, the remaining men not wanting them to have to see the bodies of the martyrs.

But a lot of work had been done. Practically every orc body was gone, having been piled and burned; indeed, smoke still rose from the side of the plain. Most of the Men had even now been buried in the long field outside of the fortress. But what was to be done with the Elves, no one knew.

A number had already been buried. However, roughly halfway through the disposal process the burial crew had decided that laying Elves to rest in a mass grave without consent from an Elven leader was wrong. Now the remaining Elven shells still scattered the ground. Nobody even wanted to touch them; they were simply too unreal, too extraordinary. But despite the fact that the burial crew had reservations about burying the remaining bodies, they complained tirelessly about wanting them gone.

It seemed to Legolas that the bodies of the elves symbolized much more than simply casualties of battle; they were creatures that had given up immortality for a cause they were not even a part of. The sacrifice burned a hole in the Rohirrims’ hearts, and they did not like to see such blatant examples of it lying on the cold ground.

Legolas took a step to the body of an Elf. He bent down and put a hand to the forehead. He recited a soft prayer, sadness falling over him like a shroud. No Elf deserved death.

He felt the presence of someone behind him and turned. It was Éomer, the leader of the Riders of Rohan.

“You are the only Elf I have ever known personally,” the man said, looking at Legolas gruffly, “but if your kind were willing to come and sacrifice themselves for my people, then perhaps I wasted much of my life by not knowing any more.”

Legolas stood. He knew that what Éomer had just spoken was his way of apologizing for the loss.

“How many survive?” he asked, quietly surveying the body Legolas had been sitting by.

“Only about sixty are for the most part unwounded, ten are slightly and twenty are badly so, which leaves around one hundred who perished.”

The Third Marshall of the Mark bowed his head.

Suddenly, Gimli burst onto the flat, his chest heaving. “Legolas, Éomer” he said, “You must come out immediately! We have a visitor arriving!”

Legolas glanced at Éomer, who shrugged. With a sigh, the elf began to walk towards the gate.

Aragorn burst in a moment later, looking ill. “Legolas, it is Corwyn,” he said, his eyes wide.

The elf felt a sick feeling in his stomach. He did not fancy having to tell Corwyn that Haldir had died… but all the same, he picked up a run.

***

Corwyn could see the towering walls of Helm’s Deep ahead. She pushed the little horse with her legs, urging for his last bit of energy as she entered the long, rocky field leading up to the fortress.

He complied, though he was exhausted, and picked up a long, flat gallop. Corwyn held on, the wind whipping around her fiercely.

As she got closer, she could see a band of individuals standing in front of the wall, staring out at her. She couldn’t make out any specific people, but the number was dishearteningly small, and the wall bore a massive opening, as though it had been broken apart. Distress grabbed at her heart as she closed in on the fortress.

The bay horse came to a screeching halt right before the group, and immediately a man dressed in chain mail and armor bearing the seal of Rohan stepped up and grabbed the horse’s mane to steady it while Corwyn jumped off.

He was clearly taken aback that it was an elf, much more a female elf, riding the horse, but didn’t say a word. Corwyn’s eyes searched the group. They were mostly the riders of Rohan, but some were Elves, though Corwyn only recognized a few of them as those of Lorien. Gimli stood there as well, and his color drained upon recognizing Corwyn.

Corwyn jerked her head to the side as Aragorn came bursting from the broken wall of the stronghold. Legolas and another Rider quickly followed.

For a moment they all just stood and stared at one another. Neither Aragorn nor Legolas knew what to say, and Corwyn, who still held onto a shred of hope, did not want to hear bad tidings spoken.

Finally, she felt she had to say something. “Haldir…” she whispered softly, hopefully.

Aragorn looked away, Gimli coughed into his hand, but Legolas met her gaze for a moment. Her green eyes bored into him questioningly. He could not stop his own from filling with sorrow before he shifted his gaze to the ground. He could not do it, he could not tell her.

“Where is Haldir?” Corwyn cried, emotion rising into her voice. “W-where i-i-i—” her voice cracked, and she could not say anymore, lest she would burst into tears.

None of the fellowship answered. But one of the Men, a redhead with a muttonchop beard stepped forward. “Lady, I am Gamling of Rohan. I do not know with any certainty of who you speak, but there was an Elf, he led the others of his kind…”

“That’s him!” Corwyn said with hope evident in her voice. “Where is he?”

The man glanced at Aragorn nervously, as though he didn’t know if he should be saying any of this. Aragorn nodded and turned away, trudging over to where a bit of scraggly grass began to grow out of the dirt.

“So many died, my Lady. So many…” he paused, gathering his words. “The one you seek fell. I am sorry.”

Even those who did not know the consequence of those words turned their eyes to Corwyn. She looked at Aragorn. With a calm voice, but the pieces of a shattered world falling around her, she spoke. “Thank you, Gamling of Rohan, for telling me the truth, as it is evident some could not do so.”

She turned and walked a little bit away, but before she could remove herself from sight, she felt her knees buckle. A huge sob was working its way into her throat. Though she did not want to cry in front of the group, she knew she didn’t have a choice. She barely had time to turn her back to the assemblage before the tears began to run down her cheeks, spattering onto the bloodstained dirt. She sobbed uncontrollably, but as she did so she put a hand to her golden flowered necklace.

With one strong tug she ripped it off and let it waft slowly to the ground.

***

Legolas stood quietly and watched as Corwyn cried. He felt like comforting her, but knew it was impossible to do so. He merely had to wait until her weeping subsided. The two were alone now, the men having had turned away, busying themselves with more burials, unable to take the grief expressed by her cries.

When she finally regained control over herself, Corwyn looked at Legolas. His blue eyes were carefully controlled to show no emotion.

“Where is he?” she asked, pushing her tears away, willing herself to go on. “Where is he, then?”

“Corwyn, no,” Legolas said forcefully. He did not want her to see Haldir’s body; it could only weigh more upon her.

But Corwyn’s mind was made up. “You will show me or I will seek it out, but I will not leave without seeing him again.”

“Many were buried,” Legolas said gently. “His body was one of them.”

“You lie.” Corwyn responded, her eyes clouding over with anger. “And so I will find him myself.” She gathered her dress up a bit and marched forward, stepping lightly through the rubble and pushing her way past anyone in her way.

***

“Corwyn?” A voice called. “Corwyn, the light is fading, you must come in.”

Corwyn ignored the voice, which sounded frustratingly like that of Legolas. Instead, she submersed herself more deeply in sorting through the bodies. Her hand wavered as she closed the eyes of yet another fallen warrior. If her heart had not been aching so she would have felt sick to her stomach at the sight of the Elven bodies scattered carelessly about. But her sense of loss and grief controlled her mind.

It was slow work, hers, as she could not pass up a single body. As much as she wanted to find Haldir, she forced herself to say a prayer over every slain warrior… it just seemed proper.

“Corwyn?”

Good. Legolas’s voice was hesitant, showing signs of giving up. And the sooner he gave up looking after her, the sooner she could engross herself in her misery once more.

She bent down to another body and put her hand against the cold forehead. Then, with a practiced tongue, she recited a soft lament. But there was something about this elf… she turned the body over carefully. The face was recognized at once. Eewyn. One tear slipped out from the corner of her eye as she turned the cadaver of Haldir’s friend back over. She couldn’t stand it. This was not right. Perhaps she should give up, go in.

No, she commanded herself. One more, just do one more.

And so she moved on.

Night was beginning to descend, but it would have taken more than fading light to disguise the next body from Corwyn’s eyes. Haldir. She fell again to her knees, putting a hand on his armored chest.

Sobs choked her throat as she looked at him. His icy blue eyes were clouded slightly, and were sightless, staring into the black expanse of nothing. But strangely, his front was not injured at all. In fact, from a head-on view he looked as though he might spring back to life at any second, laughing at Corwyn’s worry and disbanding her suffering. But Corwyn wasn’t blind. She could see the dried pool of crimson blood that surrounded his head like a morbid halo. She could tell that he had been hit from behind, in his upper back or neck, and had probably died quickly from blood loss.

Snatches of her dream worked their way back to her. Rain was beating down and the smell of orc permeated the air, almost blocking out the smell of death, but not quite succeeding, for death overpowered everything. The clamor of everything was incredible: clashing blades, dying screams, thunder, and a voice yelling for everyone to head to the Keep. But Haldir hadn’t made it. For Corwyn now remembered the nearly dead orc taking a final swing, and hitting Haldir hard. She saw his knees buckle from surprise and pain, and then him falling…

Corwyn’s eyes let loose a stream of tears and wracking sobs as she scooped his cold, stiff body into her arms. She no longer cared about anything but her broken dreams. And so she sat there, holding Haldir’s lifeless form to her chest, crying uncontrollably. Broken and erratic strings of an elvish lament made their way from her mouth, but she barely noticed. She cried harder as she watched her tears sliding down Haldir’s pallid skin and matted hair.

“Haldir,” she sobbed, “Haldir you can’t do this! I need you! Amin mela lle!!”

She was aware that his blood, still somewhat liquid, was seeping onto her dress. But she didn’t care; it didn’t matter. What was blood to death?

Time went by unnoticed, and she didn’t know how long she sat there with Haldir, but Legolas eventually found her. He put a hand on her shoulder.

“Corwyn, get up. Leave him, please; he would not have wanted this. Come away from him. He is gone…”

Corwyn wrenched away. “No!” she cried, “I will not leave him!”

Legolas sighed. Corwyn didn’t notice Aragorn enter and walk up to her. “I am sorry, my Lady, Haldir was my friend as well,” he said, “But Legolas is right.” The Ranger put a strong hold on her shoulder, making her release Haldir. He then pulled her to her feet.

She was about to allow herself to be led away when she saw something. She turned her head, trying to pull of our Aragorn’s grip.

“Wait!” she whispered, emotion getting the best of her. “Oh, please, wait!”

Aragorn took one of his hands and by lightly grabbing Corwyn’s chin, turned her face to be opposite his. With a serious voice he said, “He is gone, Corwyn. Going back will not change anything.”

“But the flowers,” she said as she tried to control the wavering in her voice.

Aragorn’s memory flashed back. He remembered holding Haldir as the elf had died, and the flower wreath he had clutched at the end. She must have given them to him. With a sigh, he released Corwyn.

She scrambled back to Haldir’s body and began crying again when she saw that in his left hand, broken but tightly grasped, was his elanor necklace.

“I was with him when he died,” Aragorn said softly, “and he died holding that.”

Legolas put his hand out. “He loved you until the end, Corwyn, and I doubt he would want you here mourning in the cold. Come inside, tomorrow we can arrange burial.”

Corwyn gazed at Haldir longingly, but Legolas’s words did not fall upon deaf ears. She put one shaky hand out, allowing Legolas to grab it, and with the other she carefully shut Haldir’s eyes. Her hand lingered on his cold cheek for a moment before Legolas drew her away.

She felt as though she was in a dream, or, more aptly, a nightmare, as Legolas led her away from Haldir’s body. She kept trying to turn her head around and look at him, waiting for him to leap up, but he never did. She whimpered softly, but allowed Legolas to take her into the interior of Helm’s Deep, where some of the injured who had not been able to travel to Edoras were being treated and where the men who were cleaning up the bodies were staying. She managed to hold her tears only by keeping one hand entwined tightly with Legolas’s.

But when she heard a familiar voice behind her, she couldn’t help the tears that began to fall.

“Corwyn?”

She turned. “Rúmil!” she cried out, tearing away from Legolas and running to Haldir’s older brother.

She flung her arms about him and hugged him, tears streaming, before she realized he was wincing from pain. She immediately released him.

Rúmil shook his head. “It’s all right, Corwyn. Just some broken ribs from being trampled by a couple thousand orcs,” he gave her a sad smile. “Orophin is worse, he would have died, but for having been speared right in front of the Keep. We think he’ll recover now. But H-h—”

He cleared his throat and took deep breaths. Corwyn put a hand on his arm.

“I know, Rúmil. I know.”

Rúmil turned away, not able to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, Corwyn. I’m sorry that it wasn’t me, instead.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Corwyn responded, horrified. “Don’t you dare!”

“What are you going to… I mean, are you going to bury him… here?”

Corwyn shrugged softly. “I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll be able to get him back to Lorien. Perhaps here will have to do, though I do not wish it for him…”

Rúmil nodded and was about to reply when a Man, Corwyn did not know his name but recognized him as the one who had come out of the fortress with Legolas earlier in the day, interrupted.

“Excuse me, my lady, but I could not help overhearing. I am Éomer, son of Éomen and nephew Theoden. If you would allow it, I would be honored, the King would be honored, to have your husband buried at Edoras.” He shrugged. “It is but small compensation for your heartache, I know, but it would be suitable for a warrior and a leader, as this Haldir was.”

Corwyn didn’t even pick up that Éomer thought Haldir was her husband. “Thank you,

Éomer of Rohan. That would be… most welcome.”

Éomer bowed slightly. “It’s the least I can do,” he muttered.

Legolas took Corwyn’s arm again. “Come along, Corwyn. You’ll be staying with Éowyn tonight.”

Corwyn followed Legolas, still in a sort of daze, to a small, enclosed area with a few empty cots scattered about. A woman was sitting with her back turned to them, running a hand through her wavy straw colored hair.

“My Lady Éowyn,” Legolas said, making the woman turn around. Corwyn thought immediately that she was very pretty. “This is Corwyn.”

Éowyn smiled and rose, walking over Corwyn. “Hello,” she said softly.

Corwyn nodded at her. Legolas left then, leaving the two alone.

“Did you travel all the way from the Golden Wood by yourself?” Éowyn asked curiously.

“Yes,” Corwyn replied. “But it was all in vain. The one I came for is dead.”

Éowyn did not look taken aback or uncomfortable with the topic at hand. “There has been much death here, of late. I have lost my cousin, almost my uncle and brother, and countless friends.”

“Do you love anyone?” Corwyn asked.

Éowyn looked at her. “Yes.”

“Did he die?”

“No.”

“Then I’m sorry, but you do not understand.” Corwyn closed her eyes to block out the heartache. When she opened them she realized immediately that she had hurt the woman. She sighed. “Be glad you do not understand, Éowyn. And forgive me, I speak out of grief.”

Éowyn patted a nearby cot. “Of course you are forgiven. I do not hold anything against you. I once thought the one I loved had died, and it almost killed me. I cannot imagine actually losing him…” she paused. “Would telling me about this one you came for help? I would love to hear about him, if you are willing to speak.”

Corwyn sat on the cot and fingered her bloody dress. “And I would be pleased to tell you of him, though I am not sure if I can do such without crying. The pain is still ver-very n-near.” Even as she said that, her eyes began to fill with tears.

Éowyn smiled softly and sat down next to Corwyn, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Crying is fine.”

“Good, because I get the feeling I’ll run out of m-memories before I run out of tears…”

And so the two sat most of the night, Corwyn talking of Haldir and occasionally crying too hard to speak, and Éowyn listening, becoming misty eyed herself. Corwyn was just about to talk about leaving Lothlorien when she fell asleep. Éowyn smiled. It was good for the elven-maiden to get some sleep, she had a feeling tomorrow might not be the happiest of days.

***