Chapter 17; The Last Union

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"Release us." The king of the dead army demands after the battle ends.

"Bad idea. Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead." Gimli murmurs.

"You gave us your word."

"I hold your oath fulfilled. Go. Be at peace." Aragorn nodded and there was an audible sigh leaving the king's ghostly mouth.

"Come now. Gandalf is calling us to the main hall in the city." Gilan says as he hears the wizard in the distance calling out to him.

***

"Frodo has passed beyond my sight. The darkness is deepening." Gandalf tells them once they gather at the steward's throne.

"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it." Aragorn says.

"It's only a matter of time. He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping."

"Let him stay there. Let him rot! Why should we care?" Speaks Gimli, sitting on the steward's throne, smoking from his pipe.

"Because ten thousand Orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom. I've sent him to his death."

"No, there has to be a way to clear up the path for him." Protested Gilan, Aragorn nodding along.

"Gilan's right. There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?"

"Draw out Sauron's armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate." Gimli chokes on the smoke in surprise.

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms." Éomer sighs.

"Not for ourselves. But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's Eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves."

"A diversion." Legolas hums and nods his head.

"Certainty of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?" Gimli said and Gilan smirked.

***

Gilan was, once again, battling with his arm guards. He does not want to repeat his injury at the Battle of Helm's Deep, when the poorly tied piece of tough leather slipped off. Gentle hands wrap around his own and help him. Gilan smiles as the elf's calm heartbeat floods his ears.

"Holds well?" Legolas asks and lightly tugs at the arm guard.

"Mm-hm." Sighs Gilan. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Legolas and Gilan both laugh.

"No, no. I have to repay you somehow." Legolas lifts his eyebrows in surprise as Gilan clears his throat. The short poem is spoken in elvish.

"In fields of gold, where sunlight weaves,

A man of grace, his mane achieves,

His hair, a cascade of celestial light,

In every sway, a story taking flight.

With every breeze, they dance and sway,

A golden halo in the day,

Majestic as a lion's mane,

In hues of sun, they gently reign.

A surfer of the wind, he roams,

Through valleys, woods, and seaside foams,

Out of Sight, Out of Mind//LegolasWhere stories live. Discover now