Building Ithilien [Legolas] LOTR

Promises Broken

Legolas looked as the dragon circled above him like a craven vulture winging a black wreath in the sky. "Anything," he murmured to himself, "anything, something must be done." He knew he must not give up hope. Why would the Valar spare their lives, only to let them meet death now? It did not make sense to Legolas, and he bit his lip in frustration. Tiny red beads began to draw above his collar, for Eledhel still pressed the sword firmly to the prince's neck. He did not feel the cut or pain from his other injuries of the previous night. Legolas' entire being focused on this desperate twist of events and how he might save himself, Eledhel, and Miredhel. "Miredhel," he whispered softly, and Eledhel gave him a sharp glance. Legolas repeated himself, "Miredhel!" Her head jerked up, and he knew that she had heard him. "Ride, Miredhel!" he shouted. "Go!"

She kicked in her heels, and Legolas sighed. At least she among them might be spared. Yet Legolas' relief was to be short-lived, for Miredhel upon Arod turned and rode toward the river. Legolas cursed her foolishness when he saw Miredhel take up her bow and fit an arrow. What made her think she could succeed where he had failed? Still, she was his only hope at the present, and all of Legolas' prayers went with her arrows, borrowed from his quiver, no less. "May they fly straighter and swifter than any shot I have ever made," he intoned.

Miredhel grasped her small bow as she lifted an arrow from her bag. She fired the first at the dragon to no avail. It struck his hard scales and skittered off; however, she did find success in drawing Anglachur's attention to her. He turned in an arc of smoke and brimstone to claim her, satisfied that the other two elves were appropriately distracted.

"Not again," Miredhel despaired as he raced toward her, and she pulled another arrow from her satchel. The arrow felt light in her hand, but warm to the touch. Silvery engravings and runes graced the shaft and arrow. "So beautiful," she whispered and looked up at the dragon, "so hideous." The air hummed around her as she fit it to the string with a melodious twang like lyre's song. She squinted in the sun and searched out the dragon's form as he flew. Her fingers deftly pulled the string taut and popped it, sending Legolas' arrow flashing across the sky.

Catching the dragon flush in the side, the arrow pierced the ebony scales in a silver streak. Anglachur had never met with such injury or pain in all his dreadful years. "Wretched elves!" he howled with rage. Pitching and twisting, he plunged in a downward, lopsided spiral into the deep chasm and the river far below the banks. His frenzied tail lashed at the world and finally struck the crumbling stone supports for the elven bridge. The current rushed around him, and Anglachur the Black vanished in a hiss of steam and the dark, swirling waters of the Great River.

At the dragon's first howl, Eledhel's sword arm fell loosely to his side, and the weapon clattered to the ground. Head bowed, he sunk to his knees. When at last he looked up at Legolas, his eyes were true and grey. Legolas offered him a hand up when the stone beneath their feet began to shake. The bridge groaned, and the elven statues dizzily swayed as if intoxicated by a heady Dorwinian vintage.

Eledhel looked confused, but Legolas did not have time to explain. He pulled his friend to his feet, and the two elves sprinted for solid ground. The middle section of stonework gave way first in a heave of rock and white curls of dust. Both Legolas and Eledhel dodged falling columns, only seconds later to find themselves leaping across gaps where chunks of the bridge had fallen away. The bridge had borne the weight of many: elves in grim armor on their way to battle, consorts riding afar on fair steeds, dwarves and men, and peaceful folk; but the dragon's passage cost too great a fare. The ancient stone wrought of old would not have it.

As Eledhel and Legolas reached Miredhel on the other side, they turned to watch the rest of the bridge collapse into the Anduin. The two carven elves, so faithful for untold millennia, wavered and were gone. As Miredhel watched them fall, a dull ache thudded in her chest, and she mourned them.