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"Legolas, what are you doing?!"
Andris shouted at the elf, who stood unmoving at the edge of the gaping pit beside which they had just run. With orcs on their heels they could not afford to linger even a moment; the rangers needed to either find the other half of their party or a more advantageous space in which to fight. All of them had crossed the walkway beside the chasm to the opening of the passage on the other side, except for Legolas. He paused in the darkness, his piercing blue eyes staring deep into the shadows as though fixed on something only he could see.
"Legolas!"
The first of the new wave of orcs came roiling out of the tunnel behind them, brandishing their crude knives and axes with an air of desperation. The creatures knew they were on their last legs in this place, but would fight to the death now that they had been attacked in their own lair.
As if waking from a dream, Legolas only just then seemed to remember himself and where he was. With almost surprising slowness from the elf with near unnatural dexterity, he reached for his knives with numbed fingers. The orcs were in no such way slowed though, and they bore down on the lone elf with weapons raised.
Beringil was faster though. With speed that disproved his older age, the captain met steel with steel. Barreling down the ledge and past the stricken elf, he had practically tackled the nearest orc. Even with blood streaming down his back from the arrow wound in his shoulder, Andris wasn't far behind, and Kaylen and the rest of the rangers joined in the fight less than a pace after.
The ringing of blades and the cries of both humans and orcs alike brought Legolas back to himself. Truly, he had not known if he actually expected to find his mother inside this mountain stronghold. It was as though the light illuminating the far passageway had called him to this spot as surely as it had called the elf queen. He was here and now though, and his friends needed him. Drawing his twin knives from their sheaths with a hissing ring, he threw himself into the melee with abandon.
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel!"
A shout in elvish came ringing down the passageway from where the pale sunlight shone. The fair cry was mirrored a moment later, or perhaps did it echo along the stones? Burying his knife up to the hilt in the chest of an orc, Legolas turned to gaze in near disbelief. Shadows fell across the light in the tunnel...and a second later the twin sons of Elrond leapt out onto the causeway with their naked swords gleaming. At their backs came Asvard, Issiril and the rest of the rangers whom they had sent into Mount Gundabad.
Their numbers now doubled, the Dunedain rallied against the remnants of the orcs who until now had lurked in the shadows of the mountain. The creatures numbered perhaps more than fifty and less than seventy; firm odds for twenty five rangers...but perhaps less firm with three elves considered. Blood was shed by both forces, but in the end when the clamor of battle at last died away the causeway was littered with orc corpses.
The price of victory had to be paid by someone though. In the dim torchlight, they picked their way through the bodies and found four of their own lying among the slain. Beringil they found last, still alive but not for long.
Kneeling at the captain's side, Legolas bowed his head. "I...I have much to thank you for, Beringil." He said softly, gazing without flinching at the ugly bleeding wound on the man's head. It was a mortal blow for certain; the blood leaking out of Beringil's ears left no doubt of that.
He was still conscious though. With something that might have been an attempt at a smile, Beringil grimaced up at them.
"W...Why? Just did...what any good servant...of Isildur's line should..."
"...Isildur?"
That was the name, the single word that Legolas had been missing throughout the months he had spent in Fornost. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place within his mind, completing the mystery of the man who was Strider.
"The descendants of the line of Elros, the first king of Numenor..." Legolas spoke almost without knowing what he said, the veil of memory finally broken. He recalled now the few lessons he had in fact received as an elfling on the history of Men, although he had been young and barely paying attention at the time. "...ancestors of Beren and Luthien Tinuviel, through the line of the kings of Men." Then, he remembered the conversation he had 'almost' had with Asvard, Issiril and Andris in the cave some days ago. "And bearers of the ring of Barahir, token of friendship from the hand of Finrod Felagund himself."
Beringil really did smile this time, his teeth stained red and his eyes nearly half-closed. "Now...you've got it...elf. T...Took you...long enough."
Elrohir and Elladan knelt on either side of the dying man, sorrow plain for all to see on their handsome faces.
"Take ease, Beringil. You have brought honor to your people." Elladan said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.
"W...Watch over the lad for me...will you?" Beringil's voice was fading fast, little more than a murmur now.
"We always have, mellon." Elrohir's dark grey eyes were sorrowful in the darkness. "Estel will see his destiny fulfilled, trust us...and him."
Beringil suddenly squeezed his eyes shut in apparent pain, his breath coming in short violent gasps. "Aaaah...never had...a hangover to match this..."
Someone sniffled behind Legolas's shoulder, he didn't know whom. The rangers stood silently around, a single torch held aloft in the gloom over their fallen captain.
Leaning over, Elrohir placed a kiss upon the man's bloodied brow. "Rest then, ranger. And may you be blessed, as Elf-friend and brave descendant of Numenor."
Legolas was not in the slightest surprised that the son of Elrond would choose to bestow such a title upon the ranger in his dying hour. In his opinion it was an honor well earned. Beringil seemed to think as much, and with the slightest nod he closed his eyes. One breath, two...and then the captain of the Dunedain breathed no more.
They remained as they were for a long moment, silent in the darkness. Then, Legolas rose and went to stand once again at the edge of the pit. No doubt he would have suffered serious injury or worse if Beringil had not thrown himself headlong against the orcs when he had. He owed the ranger a debt that he could never repay. Somehow the shadows of the well did not seem so deep and impenetrable now though. She was there, lying in wait for those who loved her best to bring her back into the light once more. Legolas no longer feared what he would find when he climbed down a rope into that silent place. She was there, but not truly. In truth, his mother was beyond these shores, safe from all harm and sorrow now. And so was Beringil, even further beyond the world in the manner of mortals. It mattered not; they were at peace.
They buried the queen on a hilltop a league or so from Mount Gundabad. It was just a mountain now, no worse or better than any other. With the orcs routed from its tunnels and the armies of evil disbanded in this part of the world, perhaps one day the lands of Angmar might at last forget their days of darkness. Then again perhaps one day the forces of evil might once more rise in the north, but for now they would have peace.
Beringil was buried a few paces away at the queen's side. As Elf-friend and having saved her son's life, Legolas felt it was somewhat fitting that it should be so. With four brave rangers and one elf queen buried on that smooth hilltop, none of their bones should ever be alone nor forgotten.
Rising from where he had been kneeling at his mother's graveside, Legolas felt the cool metal of the ring in his hand press against his palm. The twin to the one his father always wore, he would bring it back to Thranduil in the Woodland Realm. Legolas hoped that his father would feel even a part of the sense of peace that even now was spreading throughout his soul. Before that though, he had unfinished business in Fornost.
Turning around, Legolas surveyed the group that stood upon the hillside at the gravesites. Andris's arm was bound up in a sling, Kaylen at his side. The young ranger was carefully keeping his eyes averted beneath his nut brown curls, but Legolas could tell he wanted to be looking at the woman beside him instead of respectfully at Beringil's grave. Elladan and Elrohir stood side-by-side, their identical faces illuminated by the tentative rays of sunlight as it tried to break through the clouds. Issiril, Asvard and the others all stood in silence, paying their respects to the fallen.
Meeting the eyes of his friends, Legolas smiled and shouldered his bow.
"Let's go home."
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