Among the Lost

Chapter 1

Please review! I really want your thoughts on things!

A strangled and gut wrenching silence had been cast over the stronghold of Helms Deep. The towering stone walls were lined with elven soldiers from Lothlorien, the few remaining soldiers of Rohan, and the untrained, terrified, and hopeless men and boys.

The last minute recruits were clad with armor that barely fit, weapons that were old hat and rusted, and helmets that covered their frightened eyes. They all were glancing around nervously, observing the familiar faces of their fathers and friends for one last time. Although none of them wanted to believe it, all of them had that sinking fear in the pit of their stomachs. All of them knew that the chances of them surviving the upcoming battle were slim to none at best.

The trained soldiers were scattered among the crowds of worried men and boys, trying to calm their kin and themselves. However, the calm facade they were putting forward was in direct contrast with their true feelings. They were all gripping their swords a little tighter, keeping their eyesight a little sharper, and testing their reflexes a little longer. All were standing on the edge of a cliff and the slightest breeze would blow them over.

Then there were the elves.

The otherworldly beings were standing stock still, their pale faces set, and their weapons raised and ready to kill. Their keen eyes were scanning the vast land in front of them, waiting cautiously. All were equipped with a delicately crafted long bow and a quiver filled to the brim with arrows. Slung across their backs were single blades of shining metal. All of the elven soldiers stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder. They were standing in perfectly straight lines, unmoving. Their faces were calm and their breath was slow. Occasionally their heightened senses would focus in on their leader, Haldir, the marchwarden of Lorien, to make sure there were no changes in the battle strategy.

Above the swarms of waiting soldiers stood Théoden, king of Rohan, watching the makeshift army below him. The king sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that things could be different. As he scanned the men, elves, and boys he felt a horrible pang of guilt stab him in the chest. He knew that at his word all of these beings, well maybe not the elves, would fall on their own swords. All of them here knew that they were probably going to die before dawn came, yet they fought. The elves were immortal, they weren't supposed to die. They could remain in their strongholds and wait out the war, or sail to the undying lands and live out their lives happily.

He opened his eyes and exhaled sharply when the horrific images of upcoming war assaulted him again. He drew his gaze away from the jittery soldiers and looked to the group of three standing in front of the elves. They were a rag tag team at best, but they were a team none the less. He smiled lightly as he recalled the time that he had spent with the three. Théoden jerked out of his reverie as loud crashes of thunder echoed throughout the area. Lightning lit up the darkened sky and then the rain began to fall. It poured down on the soon to be battle field, and turned the dry grasses and dirt into a muddy mess. The downpour soaked through the soldiers and caused them to shiver involuntarily at the cold. The king inhaled deeply and held for several seconds, before letting it go and returning his line of vision to rolling hills ahead.

Three figures stood quietly, waiting and watching for movement. The shortest one was leaning against a heavy and expertly carved axe. His thick red hair had been woven into several warrior braids, and it now hung loosely down his back. His equally bushy beard had been gathered into neat rows and braids by light metal rings. His stout body was clad in heavy chain link and dark leather clothing pieces, such as thick trousers, long tunic, and lightweight jerkin on top. His head was covered with a protective metal helmet. The flaps on the sides hung down over his ears and the buckles on the ends hung open. It helped slightly with the rain but not enough to keep him from being weighed down by the wet substance as it soaked through his armor and clothing.

Standing to his left was a muscular man of average height. He was clad in a dark overcoat that reached down below his knees, a tunic and light trousers over leggings. He wore bulky black boots, covered in a mass of buckles. Around his waist was a worn leather belt that had a sword attached at his right hip. His hair was dirty, straggled, and hung loosely around his face. His chin and cheeks were covered in light stubble. His eyes were sparkling silver and they stood out among his slightly fallen features. He was a ranger of the north with overwhelming potential.

Next to him was a slender and tall figure. His shining blonde hair stood out among the graying atmosphere. It fell down his back and over his shoulders easily. His pointed ears stuck out from underneath his warrior braids and twitched whenever noise hit them. His muscled and lithe body was clothed in light leggings of dark greenish gray, a tunic that fell to his mid thigh of silvery blue, and a jerkin of patchwork greens, browns, and other earthy colors. His feet were covered by light gray boots that concealed two small daggers. Much like the other elves around him, he carried a white longbow with the delicate carvings of Lothlorien. Across his back was a quiver of arrows that he had crafted himself. On either side of the quiver were perfectly crafted blades from Mirkwood. The handles were crafted from polished wood and the blades were made from white bone. The blades had intricate carvings along the sides of the blades and the bottom of the handles.

His feet shifted lightly as he felt the hand of the ranger reach up and grasp his shoulder. He turned his head and looked into the ranger's concerned gaze. The elf sighed when he saw the worry in the man's eyes and turned his head back to the fields ahead.

He squinted through the sheets of rain as he detected slight movement. He quickly looked to the rest of his kin. Almost all of them were muttering lightly and shifting nervously. He exhaled sharply, they had seen it as well.

"They are here."

He spoke simply and he felt the ranger tense.

"Your friends are with you Aragorn."

The man sighed and dropped his head from the elf's shoulder. However, a deep baritone chuckle drew the gazes of the two over to the dwarf.

"Let's hope they survive."

The dwarf shifted nervously and the elf shook his head. Aragorn chuckled lightly before becoming solemn again.

Suddenly a blast of lightning lit up the sky and the battle field was revealed. Aragorn groaned and the dwarf swore lightly under his breath. The elf stiffened and his breath caught in his throat.

Standing before them was the entirety of Isengard. There stood an army of ten-thousand Uruk-hai and orcs, and all they had was laughable three hundred.

All were clad in outrageous amounts of armor and weapons. They were taunting the warriors on the walls with insults and battle cries.

Neither side dared to move as the rain continued to fall.

Then the order was given. The elves, including Legolas, raised their bows, and the men followed suit. All held their position. Arrows ready to fly as soon as the command was given. And then, without warning, an elderly man let his bow-string slip from his grasp, and his arrow embedded itself deeply into the closest orc.

Legolas sighed and closed his eyes as the orcs shouted at the soldiers. Almost immediately all hell broke loose. Arrows were fired rapidly as the orcs returned the gesture with archers of their own.

As Legolas drew another arrow of his own, he looked to his friends, who had already become immersed in battle, and muttered under his breath.

"A i auth an Ennor herio." (And the battle for Middle Earth begins.)

Please review! Next chapter will hopefully be up tomorrow. My week is gong to be pretty busy, so no guarantees, but I will try!

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