Legolas ar Yende Beriorgano

Chapter 2 ~ Helm’s Deep



Legolas was standing outside the Golden Hall early next morning. The elf had his hood up, covering his ears, and a cloth around his neck so that none might see his injuries. The morning was clear, if cold, and he could feel the wind whipping against his legs. All around Edoras there was movement. Men saddling their horses, women watching anxiously, boys playing with their fathers swords.

Aragorn and Gimli were deep in conversation next to him and did not notice the young woman run out from the buildings where they had spent the night. Legolas watched as she disappeared from view, only to appear some minutes later with a horse. She disappeared once more, returning with a saddle and bridle and began to ready the animal, a brown mare from what he could tell.

His gaze could not move from her, as she worked frantically and with haste. He could tell she had been crying. He could hear, even in the wind, her choked sobs as she worked. He could guess what had happened, and it pained him. He felt the anger and bile build within him. The indignity and shame he had been put to were bad enough without this woman, who had shown him such kindness, being made to suffer too.

Aragorn was talking to him, and he had little option but to turn and respond, though he did so distractedly. When he was next able to turn back, she was gone once more, though the horse was now fully saddled. She returned soon enough, carrying a bundle with her, which she tied on to the back of the horse.

It was only as she then mounted, turned the horse and headed down the hill that Legolas realised what was happening.

Before he could move, a young man came running out of the buildings to his right, chasing after the retreating figure of the horse and the young woman now halfway down the hill of Edoras and nearing the gate. The man was shouting her name and then, when she failed to stop, ran cursing back up the hill.

Aragorn and Gimli now turned to see what was happening. Hama came forward, and ran down the steps towards the young man. “Túveren, what has happened? Was that your sister?”

The young man, already dressed in his armour ready for their leaving, was moving off towards the stables at full speed. He led a horse out, already saddled, and mounted it swiftly. As he turned the head of the animal to face downhill, Legolas could hear him shout towards Hama, “I’m going after her!”

Hama nodded, and with that the man was gone, galloping full tilt down the hill after his sister, people having to move swiftly out of the way of the horse as he rode it like a man possessed.

Legolas’s face was grim. Hama came slowly up the steps towards them shaking his head and chuckling. At Aragorn’s questioning gaze he said, “Do not ask me, I have no idea. That was Túveren. His mother was Rohirrim, but his father from the North.”

Aragorn looked surprised, then concerned, “I knew his father. He was of my people, the Dúnedain. Túveren, and a younger daughter he had, whose name I now forget.”

Hama nodded, “Yes, Fuineth. It was she who rode off first, and whom Túveren is now chasing. She is one of Eowyn’s ladies-in-waiting.”

Legolas caught his breath.


She could hear him calling, but did not stop. She could barely see her tears blinded her so. She wanted to keep riding and riding, full pelt, to ease the rage she could feel within her.

“Fuineth! Fuineth! Sister! I know you can hear me! Stop! Fuineth!”

He was getting closer. His horse was faster than hers, and he rode like a maniac as it was, so she slowed, and let him catch up with her.

He drew alongside her, turning to her with his eyes blazing. “What is wrong with you?! What on earth are you doing?!” Then he saw her tears, and the fury and distress in her eyes. “What is it? What has happened?”

She shook her head.

Their horses now stopped, he reached over to take her hand, his brow knitted together in concern. “Fuineth?”

The tears flowed hot and fast now, but still she shook her head. “I cannot... I have been told to leave. I have offended the Lady Eowyn.” She looked up at his intake of breath, “I cannot say what has occurred, it would offend her further. But please know, dear brother, that I have done nothing wrong. That is all I can say to you. Know also that even if I had not been dismissed from her side I would not wish to stay.”

He looked at her sharply, hearing the disgust and loathing in her voice: a tone that he had never heard his sister use before, and he could not keep the shock from his face.

She looked into his eyes. “Do not ask, brother. Do not ask, for I will not, nor will I ever, relate what has occurred.”

Something in her tone, and in her glance told him she was resolute. He nodded. What more could he do? “But you cannot leave. Where will you go? You cannot travel alone and even if I come with you it is too dangerous in these times. We are to ride to war, Fuineth.”

“I will head North, to our father’s country. It may be I can find a place there to stay...,” her voice trailed away, uncertain.

“You cannot. Not now. Fuineth, to do so would take you past Isengard... and the voyage is a treacherous one even in safe times.”

“Well what would you have me do?” she spat at him. “I cannot stay, nor will I stay willingly after what has occurred. I must go, though I know not where.”

“Come with me, back to Edoras. Maybe we can speak to Theoden King, ask him to speak to his sister-daughter, ask her to reconsider.”

“No! You must speak of this to no-one, understand me?” He looked at her, stunned. “I mean it, Túveren! No-one.” She looked into his eyes pleadingly.

He nodded, mute. “Very well,” he said at last. “I will ask if you can accompany the few women who will come with us to Helm’s Deep. I will explain our intention is to leave Rohan once battle is won. But you needs must return, Fuineth, till we set off.” She nodded, reluctantly, and spoke no more.


Legolas could just seem them over the high wall, some way into the valley: the young man speaking urgently to his sister, his hand in hers. He was relieved when he saw them turn at last and head back towards Edoras. After some time the young man trotted his horse to the top of the hill once more, though his sister was not with him. Clearly she had stayed near the gate. The young man leapt from his horse, took it to the stables and then made to climb up the stairs towards the Golden Hall. Legolas felt apprehensive, wondering if she had been able to keep her promise to him under her brother’s questioning, but the young man did not even turn to look at him as he came towards them.

“Túveren?” Aragorn was moving towards him.

The young man started at hearing his name. “Yes?” he stopped and looked puzzled. Then he smiled, “You are the Dúnedan from the North. Mae govannen, my lord.”

Aragorn smiled in return, “Mae govannen indeed. It is strange to hear the elvish tongue from the lips of a mortal in Rohan, is it not Legolas?”

He turned towards the elf, who could not help himself but smile, if thinly, at the use of Sindarin in this place of the Rohirrim. “Indeed, Aragorn. Something to be marvelled at, no doubt.”

“Ah, but this is not an ordinary Rohirrim, Legolas.” Aragorn smiled towards the now bewildered Túveren. “I knew Beriorgan, your father. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood.”

Túveren bowed low, “I am honoured.”

“Is everything well? With your sister?” Aragorn asked, as gently as he could.

The young man stiffened slightly. “Thankyou, my lord, but she has returned. I am about to ask if she can accompany us to Helm’s Deep.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

“We are to head North to your country as soon as we are able and do not intend to return to Edoras.” Aragorn was clearly surprised, though he said nothing. Legolas could feel his blood boil, though he maintained his composure.

Aragorn spoke. “If you would receive council, Túveren, it would be best that your sister stay with the other women and children. A battle, and one as difficult as this may yet prove to be, is no place for her. Your father is dead. You are responsible for her now.”

Túveren’s eyes flashed, but he sounded calm. “I know full well my responsibilities, my lord, I thank you. My sister, for reasons she will not tell me, cannot stay nor wishes to. I cannot persuade her otherwise. If I do not take her with me she is resolved to travel north alone, nor will she be deterred. There is little I can do, my lord. Besides there are caves near there where many of the folk of the Westfold will take their women and children: they will have nowhere else to run. She may stay with them.”

Aragorn nodded. He was not going to press the matter further. They were young, and would not be advised, that much was clear.

As the young man headed towards the doors of the Hall, Legolas could not bear it and turned away. His rage was such he could feel himself shaking, and he did not want the others to see him in such a state.

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When they came to leave Lady Eowyn was there. She seemed so cool and calm it made Legolas near sick to his stomach to see it. He would not avoid her gaze, but looked at her with undisguised loathing. She did have the grace to look away and flush slightly. He could see Túveren somewhere near the middle of the eored, though there was no sign of his sister. No doubt travelling with the boys and few women who were with the loaded wagons of armoury and supplies.

The eored halted at dusk to set up camp. Legolas and Gimli were talking quietly together while Aragorn smoked a pipe. They looked up as they heard someone approach.

“Forgive me, my lords but we have some broth here, if you would like it.” She indicated to her left where a woman was busy ladelling liquid from a cauldron into waiting bowls.

Legolas looked at her. She had not seen him. Aragorn murmured, a “Thank you, my lady,” and she went to fetch it for them.

She returned with one bowl and three spoons. “We do not have enough bowls. You will have to share,” she apologised.

“It is of no consequence,” Aragorn reassured her, “Thank you.”

She smiled and then made to go when for the first time she noticed the elf, regarding her calmly from where he sat. Still smiling, she nodded, almost imperceptibly, and he, acknowledging her greeting, inclined his head and smiled also. Then she was gone.

After some time she returned to collect the bowl, by which time Gandalf had joined them. She was apologetic on seeing him, thinking perhaps she had not noticed him there before. “Have you had some broth? Would you like something to eat?”

Gandalf smiled his thanks, and Legolas watched her disappear and reappear once more. He stayed in the shadows, away from the firelight, but he could tell that she was aware of his presence. Just once, not that anyone would notice, her eyes flicked up towards him.

When she returned again for Gandalf’s bowl this time she stopped, turning to Aragorn. “Forgive me, my lord ...” she spoke hesitantly, and Legolas, though trying to listen to Gandalf’s tale, felt himself straining to hear her voice over Gimli’s laughter.

Aragorn looked up, his grey eyes shining in the firelight.

“My brother, Túveren ... he told that you knew my father.”

Aragorn nodded, smiling kindly now. “I did indeed, my child. Beriorgan was a good and kind man. I grieved long at his passing.”

She smiled, “It warms my heart to meet someone who knew him. We have long been separated from his people, though my brother has travelled north many times in the past, and told me much. Your kind words of my father move me much, my lord. Le hannon. It is an honour to meet you.” Aragorn nodded his head and she left.

She moved back to the cauldron and helped serve the last of the food. She thanked the Valar Theoden had let her travel with her brother without too much questioning.

She had not seen the elf at first round the fire with the Dúnedan. She so wanted to ask if he was alright, offer him athelas if he needed it, but she knew it was not possible nor proper for her to do so. He would not want to be reminded of it, nor did she wish to shame him by raising the memory of it once more.

She turned over in her mind the morning’s events: the rage and fury, the fell words and screaming. Her mistress had been sore wroth in her shame and ignominy and Fuineth had taken the full brunt. She had known it would happen. As soon as she had realised, as soon as she had gone to Eowyn’s chambers and found them empty, had taken the brick from where she had seen her mistress hide that book and found the entire pot emptied and felt her stomach turn, as soon as she had made that decision to put a stop to it if it wasn’t too late, she had known. Known that the humiliation her mistress would feel had having been discovered would be enough for her to feel the sharpness of her tongue, and the back of her hand.

Yet she had wept most for the humiliation the elf must feel and the thought of it had cut her to the core. She had been amazed, indeed pleased, that he had allowed her to help him, given the shame he must have felt to know she had seen him like that: helpless, raging, naked and abased.

She could feel the tears rising even now.

She huddled closer to her brother in the cold night air. No. She would not return to Edoras so long as *she* remained there. On that she was determined.

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Legolas only saw Fuineth briefly on the rest of the journey to Helm’s Deep. She did not have an opportunity to bring them their food again, nor indeed to come anywhere near him, but he saw her now and then moving through the camp tending to those who needed help and giving out food and water. He was touched by the gentleness he saw in her and the manner in which she treated everyone, no matter their station or age. When they reached Helm’s Deep itself she was sent to the caves with the women, children and old of the Westfold, as her brother directed, and Legolas saw no more of her again till it was all over.

As he and Aragorn headed back up the gorge to the Deeping Wall after the battle and rode through it with the Rohirrim, he saw her: kneeling with a water sac to the lips of a dying man.

He felt his throat tighten as he saw her face wet with tears as she wiped the hair from the man’s brow and murmured gently to him, no doubt trying to ease his last few moments on this earth. The man’s head fell back with a last long sigh, and she stayed still for a moment, her head bowed. Then she closed the man’s eyes, laid his head gently back to the floor, and moved on.

There was a groan and someone held out their hand toward her. She ran to them, kneeling next to them and bringing water to their lips. Legolas, still a little way off, could see her struggling to push the body of an Uruk off the injured man.

As they drew nearer she looked around her, calling to anyone who might listen, “Help me, please! I have not the strength. This man is wounded, he must be taken to the Burg and tended to.”

Aragorn stopped immediately on hearing her, and Legolas leapt down from his horse. Aragorn began directing the Rohirrim to start looking among the dead and dying for the injured, to tend to them and bring them to the keep. He moved towards Fuineth, as did Legolas, and between them they pulled the Uruk off the man. He had a serious shoulder wound.

She smiled gratefully at them. “Thankyou. Could you get someone to take him?”

“Of course, my lady,” Aragorn answered and, before Legolas could stop him, bent to lift the man, armour and all, into his arms.

The man groaned in pain but Fuineth held his hand briefly, saying, “Have no fear, my lord.”

As Aragorn staggered off with his burden, and a Rohirrim ran to help him, Legolas turned to her. His voice was gentle, “This is no place for you, my lady. There are sights here I would not have you see.”

She did not look at him, but murmured, “These are my mother’s people, lord elf, I must do what I may for them. I am no warrior like my brother and I could not serve them in battle, but I may at least bring some peace to the dying, or help the injured.”

He nodded. “Then give me one of the water sacs, my lady. Let me help you in this work.”

She smiled in gratitude, their eyes meeting briefly for one second as she handed one of the water sacs she was carrying to him. “Le hannon,” she murmured. Legolas nodded once more but said nothing.

They worked quickly and tirelessly. Every time Legolas glanced over to her he could see her murmuring words of comfort, calling for someone to carry the injured, or else saying prayers over those who died as she was with them.

Then he heard her cry out. He ran to her, “My lady?”

She was ashen, shaking. He crouched down on the other side of the prone figure she was kneeling next to. She was wiping the hair from the figure’s face, and murmuring his name over and again. She looked pleadingly at Legolas. She was struggling to raise the man’s head to get him to drink something, and as she did so Legolas could see that it was Túveren and he was pale and breathing shallowly.

“Let me,” he said as he placed his right arm under Túveren’s head and raised it so she could get the water to his lips.

“Túveren? Try to drink something.” Legolas could hear the tremor in her voice.

Túveren moaned slightly, and his eyes slowly opened. “Fuineth?”

“Shh. Don’t try and speak. Here, drink.” She poured water between his lips and he managed to swallow with some difficulty.

She was undoing his belt and jerkin now, trying to see if she could remove them to see how badly he had been hurt. Legolas stopped her, his hand over hers. “Don’t. Not here. We must get him inside first.”

She nodded, dumb, her tears rolling silently down her face, too shocked to even react to the elf’s touching her. She hadn’t even noticed it.

“Aragorn! Aragorn, come quick!” The elf was on his feet now.

Aragorn, not far away, and bending over another injured man, stood and came quickly. Two other Rohirrim, hearing Legolas’s cries came too. Fuineth stood back as they lifted him as gently as they could and took him inside.

For a brief moment she felt her knees buckle, and she might have fallen had the elf not caught her arm and steadied her. Legolas watched her as she moved to follow them. “I will come and visit him. He is strong, he will heal quickly,” he said as she passed him.

She stopped, looking him full in the face for the first time. “Thank you,” she murmured. He smiled kindly, released her arm and let her go.

Once all the injured had been taken from the battlefield, Legolas went inside to see if there was anything he could do. Aragorn and Gandalf were moving amongst the wounded directing and administering medical care as it was needed. Some were clearly too badly injured and would not survive the night. Others, though out of the war, would at least survive to see another day. Legolas helped as best he could, using what skills and elvish powers he had to heal those he was able to.

At one end of the long room he could see her sat beside her brother who was laid out on the floor. She had his hand in hers and was busy wiping and smoothing his brow.

As he neared her he could hear she was singing in a voice so low hardly anyone would have heard it. He knew the song. It was a Sindarin lullaby. His eyes filled with tears.

He knelt on the floor beside Túveren. His breathing was less shallow and ragged than it had been before, which was a good sign, but he had been badly injured. She stopped her song and looked at him.

“He is getting better, I can see that,” he told her, trying to reassure her.

She smiled gratefully, but he could still see the concern in her eyes. “The athelas has helped him a little, I think, though I did not have much to use for the many here. He seems calmer, more sleeping than unconscious now.”

Legolas nodded. “Where was he hurt?” She pulled back the sheet. He could see the bandage on his chest, already blood seeping through it. “I will do what I can,” he said.

As she looked at him, with surprise in her eyes, he smiled, “Do not be alarmed, my lady, you must know of the healing powers of elves.”

She nodded, “It’s just ... you are the first elf I have met ... or remember meeting. I have heard of such things, of course ...” then her voice trailed away, remembering his savage grasp of Eowyn that night and the ‘healing’ he had performed on her. Suddenly she could not look in his eye. Legolas sensed what it was she had remembered and his face became grim.

He laid his hand on the bloodstain and murmured words that she did not understand. He remained like that for some minutes. Perhaps she imagined it, but when he had finished she thought there seemed to be more colour in her brother’s face, and his breathing was more controlled and relaxed than before.

Legolas sat back. “There. That will help and speed things up, if Eru wills.”

She pulled the sheet back up, and looked at him, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you for your kindness, my lord,” she whispered.

He smiled, held her gaze for the briefest of moments and then turned and left.

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Fuineth came out with the people to see Theoden King and his men ride to Isengard. Her eyes scanned over the riders, tall, proud warriors all, as she joined in the victory song with the rest. She could see the elf with the dwarf sat behind him and smiled at the strange friendship clearly held between these two. The elf was deep in conversation as he rode beside Eomer, not noticing the crowds that had come out to see them off as they rode down towards the strange trees that had appeared. The singing voices faltered as the men came near to them, a fear gripping the people of what their minds could not comprehend. Yet as the trees parted and a way was made for the riders Fuineth felt her heart lift somehow to see such wonders, and such wonders work for them rather than against, and she felt then that there was hope.

As she watched the last of the riders disappear into the shadows of the trees she thought she saw the blond head of the tall elf turn, looking back over his shoulder towards the assembled people; and it seemed to her, though she could not be sure, he was looking for someone: a comrade in arms from the battle, no doubt.

She turned as they disappeared from view, to go back to her brother’s bedside.



Mae govannen = well met
Le hannon = I thank thee