Fan Fiction ❯ Vignettes and Sketches ❯ The Arrival of Elves at Helm's Deep ( Chapter 1 )

Name: Androgene

Website: http://www.angelfire.com/space/noir13

Email: androgene@lycos.com

Title: Vignettes and Sketches: The Arrival of Elves at Helm's Deep

Summary: A musing on the coming of Elves to Helm's Deep (movie-verse, TTT)

Date of Completion: 10 Feb 2003

Category: Drama

Rating: G

Warning: none

Author's Notes:

This clinches it. I swore to myself I would never, NEVER write a LOTR fan fiction. It's just too difficult and complex. Anyone who read Tolkien's books should know what I'm talking about. The styles of the books are not modern, but Victorian and almost quaint. And it's full of information; to stay even remotely historically accurate is a nightmare. It's nice to fantasize about Middle-Earth, but to capture the richness of the texts and doing them justice in the process is just plain arduous.

Then I watched The Two Towers. I felt sad every time I watched the Battle of Helm's Deep. I guess it was the Fall of Haldir that made me break my vow and write this. So here it is, my very first and totally unexpected LTOR fan fiction.

Disclaimer:

All Middle-Earth creations and LTOR belong to Tolkien estate. I made no money from this.

They came.

Marching out of the darkness, a broad ribbon of night blue cloaks, etched with the occasional glints of starlight off bright armor and crested helms. Their hands held elegantly crafted long Elven bows; their backs bore quivers of arrows and bright swords. Their steps were soundless, their walk gliding despite the brisk tempo of their march. Beneath their helms, their faces, though solemn and unsmiling, were fair and beautiful to behold.

They came, with the twilight at their side and the shadows trailing at their heels. Silent, graceful and unearthly fair, they were a sight never seen before in the living memory of Rohan. Yet spoken so often in tales and songs that not a single Rohirrim did not recognize what his eyes beheld.

One marched alone at the head of the column, clad not in night blue but a scarlet red cloak pushed back to reveal gleaming golden armor beneath. He wore no helm to conceal the gold fall of his hair, and carried his bow across his back and his sword at his hip. Neither young nor old, his expression was cool and his Elven gaze keen.

Awed silence descended among the Rohirrim as he led the Elven army into Helm's Deep. The guards fell back respectfully, allowing the column passage though no words were exchanged.

No words were needed.

Creatures so fair and armed as such could only have one purpose - to fight against the Shadow.

Their help was unexpected, unlooked for. It strengthened the tenuous thread of hope the mortals clung to desperately, lifted the darkness of hopelessness and fear somewhat. And they were thankful that the Elves remembered the ancient alliance that once existed between Men and Elves during the Second Age.

Yet, their renewed hope was touched by sorrow.

For Elves were meant to live ever after in the bliss and paradise of the Undying Lands. Such fairness and light were not meant to fall in the brutal, ugly cruelty of war.

How did they feel, many wondered. To choose to sacrifice their immortality for the sake of Men, how did they feel? They, the sole race on Middle-Earth among all creatures, who have the choice to leave behind the dangers and woes of this world, how did they feel?

Why did they come?

None dared to ask.

For the Elves moved with a stoic purpose and deadly efficiency, to take their positions along the Deepening Wall. Cloaks were pushed aside; golden armors gleamed under the weak moon. In the gloom of Helm's Deep, each Elf was a beacon of hope and courage tempered by dignity and saddened resolute, candle flames standing fast before the encroaching shadows.

They must know this would be a desperate battle; that few of them would survive to see the dawn. But they did not turn away; their gazes and hands remained steady.

Such sacrifice must be acknowledged; it compelled Men to give no less than the entirety of their strength to this last stand.

If Rohan survived the night, they would craft songs in memory of these fair beings - they who sacrificed the Gift of Elves for Men's survival.