Chapter Text
Her expression was grim, her pain obvious, as Aragorn looked in her direction. Seated on one of the many carts of the people of Rohan, she had been unable to ride a horse, she was forced to travel with the sick and injured mortals, who too occupied the carts. Each of them either shooting her a look of suspicion, due to the death of Grima Wormtongue, or a look of sympathy at the sight of her many injuries. Her hand was still bandaged, her eye less swollen but still blackened, and her posture stiff from her bruised ribs. Not to mention the recent injuries suffered at the hands of the mortals themselves.
Not certain whether to feel grief or relief at the sight of Legolas following closely behind, whispering assurances that they would soon be there, Aragorn was left on his horse to take in the sight.
Ahead of him Gimli had taken to entertaining Lady Eowyn with tales of his people, and in truth with his loud voice, any who walked near them. As Lady Eowyn burst into laughter at something he had said, it briefly made Nillendil raise her head in their direction. Just in time to see Gimli’s horse, far too large for him to handle on his own, take off and dropping him as hard as any stone as it ran further ahead, only stopped by the young Haleth who grabbed the reins.
Nillendil smiled briefly, a look of amusement on her face, before it disappeared just as quickly. A slight groan seemed to escape her, as it looked like her silent laughter had caused her pain. Legolas instantly moved closer, eagerly offering assurances, a concerned look on his face.
Unable to stay away any longer, Aragorn rejoined with both Nillendil and Legolas, as the travelling group settled down for the night. Hearing Gimli follow close on his steps, as he neared the two elves. Legolas helping Nillendil down from the cart, a painful expression flushed on her face at the movement.
“How are you?”
Aragorn asked, his concern was obvious.
“What do you think?”
She hissed in reply. Aragorn did not blame her, but still wondered at her sharp tone, not one she easily took with him. Taking a knee in front of her, he took her injuries in. Truly there was nothing he could do for her, her wounds needing to heal on their own, but still he felt concern looming over him. Wishing he somehow had the ability to heal her injuries instantly.
“Settle down for the night. Rest if you can. A meal would only do you good.”
Aragorn spoke, spotting Eowyn in the distance, a caldron in hand as she offered a portion to any who would wish it. Oddly enough, few, if any accepted. He still, however, waved her over.
“It’s not much, but it’s warm.”
She promised, filling a bowl for Nillendil, before handing it over. Aragorn shot Nillendil a glare, when she made no move to grab the bowl. With a displeased hiss, she finally took it and brought it to her mouth. Taking a few sips, before gently coughing.
“Lacks salt. But otherwise quite good.”
She complimented, making Eowyn smile with glee, as Nillendil took another sip. Encouraged by her reaction, Aragorn and Gimli too accepted a bowl, but Legolas waved it off.
Each of the two had barely managed a drink of the broth, before having to bite down hard to not spit it out immediately.
“It’s good, yes?”
Nillendil asked them with a teasing tone in her voice, though her face revealed nothing. Aragorn forced himself to swallow, and nodded at Eowyn, who turned to walk away. An extra spring in her step at the compliments of her stew.
Immediately, Gimli spat it out with all the might of his lungs. About to do the same, Aragorn just barely caught sight of Eowyn turning back to look at them with a curious expression, forcing him to swallow the sour food instead.
“You know… my uncle said the strangest thing…”
She began with a look of wonder. Looking to both Aragorn and Nillendil, before settling on Nillendil, who groaned in annoyance.
“But I believe I remember you myself, though being nothing more than a child. A warrior in her own right, as powerful as the mightiest shieldmaiden, though it was her aid to our ailing horses that forged an unbreakable friendship. It was seeing you wield your sword, practicing your blows and stand, that encouraged me to become a shieldmaiden myself.”
Eowyn blushed red at her admission, while Nillendil nodded, confirming it was in fact her that the mortal woman remembered.
“I know it is a thing for your people to not age, but to see it myself… You have not aged a day, your clothes even much the same.”
Eowyn admitted.
“I have dresses that are older than you.”
Nillendil commented, though Aragorn could not make out if it was a tease or statement. Likely a truthful statement, as she had not been home in many years and even then, Arwen had often gifted her adopted sister most of Nillendil’s wardrobe.
“And you… my uncle claims to remember you riding to battle with my grandfather.”
Eowyn’s curious expression slipped over to Aragorn, who has slightly uncomfortable with the attention now on him.
“Théoden has good memory. He was but a small child at the time.”
Aragorn confirmed, managing to put away his bowl of ill food, Eowyn none the wiser.
“How is that…”
Eowyn began, but was cut off by Nillendil, that now wore a bored expression on her face.
“He is Dünedain. 87 years, not even half through his expected lifetime.”
She summarized. Eowyn shot her a look of wonder and curiosity.
“But that is so old!”
It flew out of Eowyn, before she managed to slam her lips together with a look of embarrassment on her face. Shooting Aragorn an apologetic look for her words, he waved her off. It was a common reaction amongst the mortals, and the very reason he often did not reveal his age in their company.
“Still, compared to me. He is but an infant. I have in fact fostered him, from before he barely reached my hip.”
Nillendil drew Eowyn’s attention. Aragorn could already read the questions in her eyes, before she could speak them.
“But… then how old are you?”
Eowyn asked. When Nillendil offered no answer, Gimli came to the rescue.
“Old, my lady. Even compared to my age.”
He said.
“Then how old are you master dwarf?”
Eowyn eagerly asked.
“140 years, his day of birth has just passed but a few weeks ago.
Nillendil offered up, taking another sip of her stew to Aragorn’s amazement. Finding Eowyn’s eyes on him next, Legolas offered a smirk.
“All of you are but children to me.”
He declared but revealed nothing of his age. Grunting, displeased with his tease, Nillendil spoke next.
“He is 2931 years old. His birthday falls in spring, when Mirkwood’s trees grow their first green leaves, from which his name is inspired by.”
Nillendil summed up with surprising accuracy. Aragorn shot the mentioned elf a glare. Often, he tried to guess at the elf’s age. But whenever asked directly, Legolas had given nothing but a foolish answer. Sometimes saying his age was only 87, which did not make sense, as the elf would not be fully grown. Other times he claimed to be even older than Elrond, much to Aragorn’s protest. The air surrounding the elf spoke far too much of mischief to share his foster father age, rather it had reminded him of the twins. But whenever he had asked them, they had revealed nothing and if not for already knowing their age, would likely have joined Legolas in his prank. Even laughing to themselves, when Aragorn had mentioned Legolas had spoken about having no idea what his age was to begin with, with what at the time had seemed a convincing facial expression.
“Green leaf?”
Eowyn asked, the curious look still in her eyes.
“Indeed.”
Nillendil confirmed that the mortal had more or less gotten the translating of Legolas’s name correct.
“She is only one sixth of my age.”
Legolas revealed, his head tilting in Nillendil’s direction. A look came over Nillendil, that Aragorn did not understand, before it was interrupted by Eowyn’s next question.
“Is that not quite the age difference for a married couple?”
Nillendil choked on her mouthful of stew, making Aragorn slam his hand against her back to clear the food from her throat. Legolas looked like a bucket of cold water had been dropped over him, frozen into place.
“Actually, age matters not for elves as they do not age. They are considered fully grown and matured by the age of 100 years, beyond that, their age matters truly little.”
Aragorn explained, a smirk on his lips as it had gone much like he had hoped and the mortals around them believed Legolas and Nillendil to be married. A belief he was not eager to correct.
Eowyn opened her mouth, another question lingered on her tongue but interrupted when Théoden called for her. Not eager to leave his niece out of his sight, when travelling on the dangerous roads to Helm’s Deep.
“You.”
Nillendil hissed in a low voice in Aragorn’s ear. The dwarf, claiming Legolas’s attention, fell back with laughter at the expression he had made. The laughter in his voice offering enough insult, that Legolas had stirred to life with a displeased look at the continued laughter.
“I have not spoken any such statement.”
Aragorn could honestly say.
“Nor have you denied it.”
She shot him with an accusing stare, before taking another mouthful of stew. Much to Aragorn’s continued amazement.
“How can you eat it? It’s horrible.”
Aragorn asked, refusing to touch his own bowl. The smell of it had likely alerted Legolas to its sourness, and was what had made him decline.
“It is warm, is it not? And had you not said I needed to eat to regain my strength?”
Nillendil pointed out, though still Aragorn could not understand how she could eat it with no hesitation in her movements. Had she no taste left in her mouth?
The following morning, as the sun rose, they all continued their journey towards Helm’s Deep. Nillendil back on the cart, whoever Legolas was not to be found by her side, whatsoever. Aragorn briefly wondered if his actions had something to do with it, but finding Legolas by Gimli’s side, helping the dwarf to stay seated in his horse’s saddle. He soon realized that Nillendil was pushing Legolas away again. With her strength returning, and perhaps because of the misunderstanding the mortals believed in, she preferred her own company.
“Have they argued?”
Eowyn asked by Aragorn’s side. He was not certain what to answer and settled for shrugging. In truth it was an argument, a disagreement, though not shared by the elves, rather an ongoing, internal battle within each of them. Nillendil’s one of continued denial and Legolas’s one of continued blindness. Though he would catch Legolas from time to time, casting a glance in Nillendil’s direction, a look of wonder and question, that made the elf seem uncertain of himself. And that in of itself was a rare sight for Aragorn to see and made him have some small hope that Legolas was finally realizing his own feelings.
Suddenly Legolas took off, far into the distance, scouting ahead. His attention only briefly grabbed by two of Théoden’s own men, eager to assert they were just as useful as the elf, as they stormed passed him. Aragorn shook his head. Though he understood why most mortals were suspicious about the elves, in truth he did not understand the cause of it.
“Something bothers you.”
Eowyn stated, calling for Aragorn’s attention.
“Is it the wizard?”
She asked. Aragorn shook his head at that. Gandalf had promised his return, bringing Eomer and his men with him. He did not doubt the wizard’s words nor that he would break his promise. He had after all returned to them, through fire and darkness, slaying a Balrog to do so.
About to ask another question, Eowyn was once again called back to her uncle’s side. Much to Aragorn’s relief. Eowyn had clung to him ever since morning, and it brought about a feeling Aragorn was not comfortable with. None the less her many questions.
Suddenly there were screams and growls in the distance, before Legolas rushed ahead and the sounds of battle erupted. Aragorn let the reins of his horse go, trusting it to not run away, as he rushed to Legolas’s aid. Which proved not needed.
“A scout!”
Legolas called back to Aragorn, as his knife ended the life of the last remaining warg rider. The wolves of Isengard were upon them. Immediately Aragorn turned around to rush towards an approaching Théoden.
“What is it? What do you see?”
The king of Rohan called out, his concern for his people obvious.
“Wargs! We are under attack!”
Aragorn called out, as he rushed towards his horse. Hearing the fearful cries of the people around him, he was determined to protect them and quickly mounted his horse.
“All riders to the head of the column.”
Théoden called out, seeing the women, wounded and children had already begun to flee for Helm’s Deep. Though not Nillendil, Aragorn noted. With a hardened expression she jumped of the cart, that was soon after abandoned by its owners, as they too took to running for safety.
Just barely catching the argument between uncle and niece who was ordered to lead the people to Helm’s Deep, Aragorn was soon focused on Nillendil jumping up on the back of his horse. A deadly look on her expression, as she drew both her sword and her dagger.
“Forward, follow me!”
Théoden called for all riders to join him in battle to protect the fleeing people. Aragorn and Nillendil took off immediately, though Gimli lacked behind at first. His inexperience with horse riding obvious.
“Protect him. I beg of you, descendant of Mearas.”
Nillendil whispered to the horse beneath them. Not able to spare her a glare, Aragorn was forced to shallow his frustration at her words begging for his protection but not her own.
Soon, all horses galloped ahead at great speed, catching up to Legolas, who stood firing his arrows at the incoming Wargs in the distance. Granting him the opportunity to join Gimli on his horse, as he swung himself around to be seated in front of the dwarf. Allowing him control of the reins, for a much-relieved Gimli’s sake.
Though, from the sudden sour expression on his face, he had noticed Nillendil at Aragorn’s back and was not fond of the idea of her going into battle, while wounded. Aragorn felt a protest building on his tongue, when Legolas shot him a displeased stare. Eager to deny his involvement, he was, however, denied as the Wargs and horses met in battle. Various battle cries sounding on either side, before weapons meet in open battle.
Aragorn spotted the first Rohan rider fall of his horse, and soon his life was lost. But not allowing himself to become distracted, he continued on to met his and Nillendil’s first opponent.
“Eru’s balls, Gimli!”
Nillendil hissed in frustration behind him, making him look up to see that in a moment of not paying attention, had Gimli falling off their shared horse. Leaving Legolas with no choice but to leave Gimli to fend for himself. Making said dwarf wasted no time, calling out a challenge for a nearby Warg.
“Spear!”
Aragorn called for Nillendil’s attention. She instantly caught up to what he wanted, and grabbed hold as Aragorn ordered their horse to gallop once more. Creating enough force behind Nillendil’s otherwise weakened throw, that the spear impaled the Warg deep enough to kill it instantly.
Catching Legolas in the corner of his eye, Aragorn saw him redirecting his bow to another target. Nillendil’s black arrowheads on his arrows, as he sent it flying, dropping another Warg dead that had been about to pounce on the dwarf. It would seem the dwarf had not been left quite on his own.
Still calling out threats and taunts, eager for any enemy to meet his axe in place, Aragorn and Nillendil soon moved on to their next target. Each slaying a Warg with their swords, as the horse continued fiercely ahead.
“Aragorn!”
Nillendil called in warning, seeing a Warg had come close enough to the Rohan king to earn itself a sword lodged deep in its mouth. Théoden’s arm dangerously close to its sharp teeth.
Turning the horse to offer aid, they were both however knocked from it, when two Wargs charged them. Rolling around in the grass, they were soon both upon their feet, just in time to see the Wargs with their riders headed straight for them.
Hearing Nillendil’s hurried, swallowed breathing, Aragorn became aware the knock of the horse had likely irritated her injuries. It made him step in front of her, eager to protect what remained of his family.
The Wargs charged them at full speed, not even stopping when Nillendil jumped into the air, as high as only an elf could manage. Throwing her dagger into the forehead of one Warg, killing it instantly with the strength of her throw buried the dagger to the hilt.
Aragorn, however, miscalculated his defense. Though cutting the rider from the Warg, the vile beast continued straight ahead and took Aragorn with it.
Nillendil ran after them, even throwing her sword in a desperate attempt to halt it. And despite the sword lodging itself deep within the Warg’s shoulder, it had missed the heart completely, making it able to continue despite its injury. She ran after it, launching herself atop it in a fruitless attempt to halt it. Her eyes spoke of pure panic, when upon realizing she had nothing left to end the Warg with, she knew she could not stop it.
“Nillendil!”
Aragorn screamed for her to let go of the Warg, but far too late, as next they were launched over the edge of the cliff. Plummeting to the waters below.
In the distance, Aragorn could swear he heard Legolas screaming Nillendil’s name in equal desperation.