1. Elven Wrath Part One
Summary: Legolas dies at the Black Gate. AU. Several people remember things he has done, both sweet and brave. Basically a collection of ficlets that wouldn't leave me alone.
*Chapter One: Elven Wrath Part I*
*Six. Six days.*
He felt it in his heart, in his soul. It would be the end, for him to return no more. It would be his turn to fade, as countless numbers had before him. To depart these forsaken lands for the world of Light and the Absense of Darkness. To follow his fore- fathers to where he once believed impossible in his long-ago childhood days.
In just six days.
It had been plauging him, haunting his dreams, changing the way he saw the world. It would be the end, for him to return no more. Never to do anything monumentous. Ever again.
It wasn't as though this was a new feeling. He had been feeling this shadow since...when had he first felt it? It felt like years, centuries ago that he had found out. But in reality it was only a few months. Ever since this fool's quest had begun. But now...this very day...it was different. It was an exact time, an exact date. So obvious that he could not believe no one else noticed. So subtle he did not know how he had come to realize it himself.
He stared out of the window into the setting sun. It would have been a stunning sight, full of life and colour, but the shadow that plagued the land obscured the magnifisence of it. He could barely feel the stars, the cover of darkness was so thick. He looked down into the gardens below. They were full of dark plants, dark flowers. Dark everything. His friends had thought that they were being considerate, giving him the room with the best view of the plants and trees in the palace gardens. But it was more of a saddening experience, for the plants craved the light, and the trees called out their mourning to him, lamenting the loss of their greatest friend, the Sun, the Creater, the Life-Giver.
He turned away from the window and walked to the centre of the room, dulling Arda's song with the thick white walls of the Keep. He
stared around the room, memorizing the patterns on the walls. Green leaves. How ironic. The walls were white, bordered with the leaves. The ceiling was stunning, an intricate pattern of trees and flowers that would look out of place anywhere else, yet fit here perfectly. It reminded him of a scene from Imladris, the view from the balconies of the eastern edge of the Ford. The bed was high, with cream-coloured sheets and a wooden headboard, styled in the ways of man. Such a pity that he'd only slept in it for one night. It felt like sleeping on the clouds...
*He would die.* It broke through his thought like a stroke of lightning. How foolish of him, to only now realize what he had been thinking of for the last few hours. He braced himsef for an onslaught of fear, anger, and other terrible emotions. But nothing came. No shock. No fear. No, no fear was present at the thought of disappearing. Just...an odd curiosity. A morbid feeling that was mearly questioning, heedless of the fact he would die. A wanting to know *why*, why he had to be the one to fall, and not one of the others. Battles and skirmishes are not normally choosy about who dies and who lives. Why him? Why now, and not in Pelennor Fields, or Moria? What purpose could there be in dying in a distraction?
And why did he feel, as certain as he felt it would come in six days, that Aragorn would somehow bring about his end?
It was a haunting thought. One of his greatest friends, his killer. *But*, he reminded himself, *it cannot be intentional. Aragorn would not do that.* Or would he? Was the man truly his friend? They had known each other for most of Aragorn's life, and yet here he would kill him. Maybe he was not so true a friend. Maybe he had been used all these years, only to become needless now and be destroyed. Maybe he did not fit in with the King's future plans, and must be disposed of...
He felt his cheeks heat up, mortified by shame. How could he suspect such things? Aragorn had been with him through good, evil
and everything in between. He dishonoured himself by thinking such vile thoughts.
No matter the cause, however, he would still have to deal with the effect as soon as possible. He wished for no sorrow, no mourning. Sadness is a great foe, and he was sure that they would cry for him as he would for any one of them. That he could not live with, or die with, as it were. Gimli, at least would understand why he did what he did, after a time and with the proper preparations. The Dwarf was a warrior to the end, and would know why he would not stay back from a battle. A least, he hopedhe would. Perhapes he over-estimated Gimli.
He would not stay behind from Mordor, from the battle that would decide the fate of Middle-Earth. No matter where he was, he would still fall, whether in a battle or a cart accident. In battle he could give himself a name in history, a reason to be remembered in the songs of time. To fall by any other means would be an unnoble, unworthy deed. He would fall for his country, his people, his world. It seemed petty, to crave remembrance in a time of such shadow, but he did so without shame.
He refocused in the task at hand: saying farewell without anyone catching on. As he looked around his room, a gift from the king-to-be, he noticed a finely crafted desk along the wall opposite the bed. White and gilded gold, it was. An exquisite, expensive piece of work. Elvish by the looks of the patterns on it. No self-respecting Dwarf could make such realistic leaves and stars as those. He walked over and pulled out the chair.
As he sat down, he saw for the fist time the parchment and quill on top of the desk. Aragorn had clearly meant for him to write his father, to assure him that his son was alive and well. The woodland king would get his message, but it would be different than intended. He dipped the quill into an inkpot, and his hand was poised over the page, ready to write.
What should I say? His mind froze. How do you say goodbye for eternity? How do you simply leave everyone and everything you love with nothing but a few words in a letter? Sure, he and his father might, might meet again in the Undying Lands, unless the stubborn Elf refused to acknowloge the sea-longing and became mortal, which was unlikely. But his friends--would he see them in Mando's Halls? Would they, the mortals who saved the world, be allowed access? He now fiercly did not want to die. He wanted to live, to see the Hobbits get married, to visit the Shire, and even tour the Glittering caves with the rock-loving dwarf. He did not want to disappear!
His musings had taken so long that a big, back bolb of ink had fallen on to the pristine whiteness of the parchment and the rest of the ink had dried in the quill. He crumpled the piece into a ball in his fist, and tossed it into a wastebasket and trimmed the end off the quill with his pocket knife. He again stared at the new parchement, which had been beneath the old one. This time, he waited until he knew what to say before he dipped the tip of the quill into the ink pot.
No, no! That was not right at all. He could at least give his father an Elvish address in his final words from his son! He tossed out
this page as well.
Better. Much less formal.
I am so sorry. It may come as a shock, but I am sorry. I never meant to die.
I know when I will fall, that cannot be helped, but I do not know where or how. That I can control, and will try to make my
passing worthy of your notice. I will fall with my friends, facing the shadow with the light of Men and Hobbits.
Should you ever meet any of my comrades, I wish for you to treat them with the same respect and friendship you would give.
an Elf. Even the Dwarf, who has become one of my dearest friends. I call him Elvellon, we have become so close.
I hope to meet you again in Valinor, but even if I do not, you have my love for now and always,
He read over the completed work and nodded with satisfaction. That would suffice for his father, but his fellowship would be far more
He pulled out a new parchement, this time not thinking of what to say, simply knowing. As he wrote, he smiled grimly. It was a queer feeling, saying goodbye to people who do not know you are leaving. They all flashed in his mind, friends speaking to him of secrets, of personal matters, and just fooling around. Pippin, tripping over a rock and pulling Merry down with him. Aragorn playing the part of a royal Ranger to perfection, then slipping into a carefree mood while
throwing mud at a cursing Gimli, who seemed like a stiffnecked dwarf, until he threw that first mud glob at Aragorn's back and pointed at Legolas when the Ranger looked back questioningly.
He finished, carefully reading and rereading his letters. As he was sprinkling sand on them and folding them into addressed envelopes, there was a loud knock at the door. Legolas' head jerked up and his
body went stiff, thinking it was a servent or other bothersome busybody who wanted to see the strange, beautiful elf-thing that the King had brought home with him. He had already had to send away a maid who had brought with her an artist from the city, a horse -boy,
and a bodyguard of the late Steward. When he heard two familier voices outside the door, he relaxed.
"Legolas! Are you coming?"
"If you keep us waiting, Elf..."
"I am rather more worried that getting a certain dwarf onto a horse
being the delay," Legolas called back as he pushed open his door and went out to meet Aragorn and Gimli.
The march to Mordor took six days. It was now definite; he would die at the Battle of Cirith Gorgor.
The sixth morning dawned brighter and clearer than the passed days. The closer to Mordor the army went, the brighter it got in the mornings and the darker it became in the afternoon. It was strange to wake up to the sun, only to have it covered as if it had never been a few hours later. The strain of living without light was beginning to show on the plants and trees they had passed on the road to Mordor.Though only Legolas could here their pleas for light after midday when the sky went dark, everyone noticed their plight. The trees were limp, leaves hanging near the ground, and all edible plants had little taste or life left in them.
That is why no one truly noticed the only elf in the company grow quieter and quieter the closer they came to the accursed land of Sauron. Most thought that elves were so closely tuned to Arda's creatures that this death and destruction was like a blow to the head. They were not far off, Legolas did feel hurt for the plants, but that was not the cause. The remains of the Fellowship, who were close enough to Legolas to know that something else was bothering him, attributed his silence to the sea-longing he had been infected with less than a week back. Gimli was always trying to distract him from the calls of the sea with jesting insults and conversation, and everyone else tried to prevent him from staring off into the West for too long.
But none guessed that the silence was due too a certain knowlage of Legolas' doom. It weighed down on him like a fog, constantly
reminding him of what was to come and never giving a moment's relief from it's message. Legolas tried hard to act as if nothing at all
was bothering by retreating to the Elvish way of things; *say nothing, all's well.* That did not work so well either, because everyone just thought whatever was bothinering him had grown worse, but then no one asked what the matter was anymore. They thought he would not answer, so what was the point? He appreciated the help that they attempted to give him, but refused to tell anyone, even Gandalf, what was coming. They would send him home, to Minas Tirith, or worse, all the way to Eryn Lasgalen. He promised himself to act natural, as if nothing was wrong, on the fifth night. The next morning will be difficult, or so he thought.
The sixth day dawned as clear as the rest, and as clear as those that would come after it. Legolas had lain near the fire all night, between Gimli and young Pippin, who had chattered nervously for a time, until Merry had thrown a rock at him and moaned from somewhere in his blanket for Pippin to "shut up or face the consiquences." He had not slept, even after Pippin ceased to talk.
He had thought that getting up off the ground, talking to his friends, acting normal, would be hard, but it wasn't. It was as though Legolas lived in a different world, one where he was not going to die, where he would be frozen in this place forever, eternally on the morn of a huge battle, but never fighting.
Everyone was nervous. They made small jokes and smiled, but it was painfully obvious how frightened everyone was. The stress of knowing that what you are doing only serves the purpose of a distraction, and that you most likely will not live to see the next day would tell on anyone's nerves.
Legolas walked through the camp, a small bundle of bags in his hands, searching for his friends who had gone their separate ways
after gathering their belongings. Pippin was with the other soilders of Gondor, and Gandalf was talking of reworking the stone of Minas Tirith with Gimli and Aragorn, which Legolas thought was a strange thing for a Wizard to. *Who knows, though, what an Istar thinks?* he said to himself. But he was not looking for anyone that he actually knew where they were, no, he had to be searching for one little hobbit in this proverbial sea of Men! Loud, obnoxious Men. He sighed, wishing he was with his own, silent folk.
He winced as a chorus of shouts rang out from the picketing lines for the horses. High-pitched whinnies soon followed, the sound of
terrified horses. Many of the men were good soilders, trained to fight, but many more of them had no idea how to properly care for a war horse. He resisted the urge to go and calm the poor beasts, who were so frightened of being close to Mordor that they turned on their own masters. He could sympathize with the creatures, forced to go to the last place on Arda they wanted to be, and taken care of by inept Men with good intentions.
Legolas walked away from the picketings, leaving Men to sort out their own horse problems. Maybe a few of the remaining soilders from Rohan could help them. He had to go and find Merry. The Brandybuck had disappeared only a few minutes ago, right when the whole of the camp was mounting up.
Where would he have gone?
He tried to put himself in Merry's position: a young thing getting ready for one of his first battles after being injured in the last one. Then it came to him. If you weren't with your friends, you would be with the thing you trust second-most in the world. He turned around and headed back to the horse shelters.
He walked around the back, as to not pass through the frightened groups of horses. Standing off to the side, out of the way of the Big People, was Meriadoc Brandybuck, grooming his horse. Or pony, actually. The horses were too big for the Hobbits, and they had not wished to ride behind a larger person like luggage. Legolas just stood there watching for a bit, waiting for Merry to acknowlage his presence.
The hobbit was oblivious to the world, focusing only on cleaning his pony.
"Merry," Legolas said. The hobbit did not look up from grooming his pony. He was clearly distracted, for he had been brushing for quarter of a hour, and the small army of Gondor was ready to leave. Or would be, if the horses could be controlled and mounted. "Merry!"
"What? Who--oh, what, Legolas?" Merry said, as if he had been woken up from a dream. He stopped brushing and turned around.
"If you look around you will notice that we are all mounting our horses and moving out."
'Oh," Merry looked around, embarassed. The he turned back to Legolas, face stricken. "My packs! I haven't even rolled up my--"
Legolas cut him off, handing the bags he had been carrying around to the flustered Hobbit. " Next time, however much your pony here likes to be brushed, pack your stuff before we have to move out."
Merry took the bags and looked down, almost seeming shy, "Thank you, Legolas. I don't know what we'd do without you." He looked back up to Legolas, eyes full of gratitude. It hurt, how much Merry said with that one look. He believed that Legolas would be around forever. Foolish, young hobbit. However much Legolas wanted to always be around to pick up the forgotten packs, Merry would have to use another immortal as a reminder to do the things he always seemed to forget.
There was something else in the hobbit's eyes...fear. That was understandable, but Legolas thought it was best to ask what the
problem was anyway. Perhaps he could ease Merry's fear as he could not his own.
"What is bothering you, Merry?" he asked, crouching so he could look directly into Merry's eyes. Merry opened his mouth to protest that nothing was wrong, but Legolas cut him off. "You stood brushing old Fern," that was the pony's name,"for a quarter of an hour, where as you always tried to make Pippin do your turns at grooming Bill back in Dunland."
"I-" Merry stopped and looked away, ashamed of his fear, then looked back and started again. "I am worried that this will have no purpose."
"What do you mean?" Legolas questioned, even though he knew exactly what Merry meant.
"I am worried that Frodo and Sam are already d-dead," he stumbled over the word. Now that it was out in the open, the poor lad looked terrified., "and that this battle will be pointless, and all these men will die for nothing," He paused, then finished in a whisper, "And I'm scared that I will die with them."
Legolas sighed. "Frodo and Sam were seen by Faramir not a fortnight ago. And, though that may seem long, I assure that we would all know if the Ring had been taken. Gondor would have fallen, even with the Dead to help us. The shadow would have spread through the land, and Lorien would have faded with Rivendell and Eryn Lasgalen." He stopped here, to let this sink in. "No, Merry, this battle will not be in vain. And though many good, strong men will fall, I feel that much good will come of this." How mad it was that he, who did not know whether this battle was worth it either, could ramble on about hope?
"Listen to me. I sound like and old Istar." Legolas smiled and clapped Merry on the shoulders as he stood up. "But I do promise that, unless the Valar are against me, you will not die, Tithen er." (little one). Now it was Merry's turn to smile. The hobbit tied his bags to his saddle and climbed on. Fern let Legolas lead him by the reins to Arod, who was tied only a few meters away.
Merry looked at the silent Legolas, noticing how pale the Elf seemed as he led the pony. Was it possible for elves to be sick? Merry could not remember, but he thought that Aragorn had mentioned how strange it was, being the only ill creature in Rivendell when he had a cold as a child. Well, if Legolas was not sick, what could be bothering him so much that he had circles under his eyes? They were barely noticable, but there were faint, dark smudges under Legolas' piercing blue eyes.
"Legolas?" Merry began. He did not like the thought that anything could bother the Immortal friend he had made on the road over
Legolas anticipated the question and turned around, untying Arod's hitchings without looking. He looked staight into Merry's brown eyes with his blue ones. "I am well, young one. Just this blighted land gives me the Elvish equivilent of nightmares." Merry believed him, for those hypnotizing blue eyes would not lie. So bright, so endless, full of the age that Legolas had lived. And full of Elven spirit, untamable and kind.
Legolas hated lying to Merry, but he could not possibly tell that he was going to die within the next--he looked at the sun and judged the time--twelve hours in a pointless battle.
"Elves can have nightmares?" Merry asked, tearing his gaze away at last.
"Of a kind." Legolas said as he finished releasing his horse with a final yank."It is more of a dark feeling that follows us as we dream,
like a black cloud turning the surface of a lake dark." He held Arod
and Fern's reins in his hands and started into the mess of horses trying to be mounted.
"What's wrong with them?" Merry asked, refering to the horses. He was staring after a man who was chasing his mount around.
"They are frightened of the shadow." Legolas answered, his voice strained. The high-pitched whinnies and screams of horses were
giving him a headache. He stopped suddenly to let a rocketing horse pass, then continued forward, rubbing his head with his free hand. What an irony that the one most in tune with beasts should be the one getting a headache off of their natural sounds.
The hitchings were a mess of horses and men, the men chasing the horses and the horses running. They all were heading in the same direction: away from Mordor. Several times Legolas had to quickly sidestep to avoid being trod on, and he couldn't get around to mount Arod without being crushed.
He now wondered why he had not just left the way he had come and gone around the horses. He did not want to die in a pit of horses if one accidentally slammed into him, not guessing how fragile bodies are.
As he was thinking this, a huge black stallion was breaking free from from it's post as it's master tried to calm it down. The strong beast just gave a final toss of his head, and the reins came free. He spun around in a tight circle, searching for a way to escape the
darkness and fire of Mordor. He turned and charged into the fray. This would not have been a big problem, for one horse would not have made a difference, but this giant charged straight in the direction of Legolas and Merry.
Legolas was looking to the left, towards an opening to the rest of the camp, when Merry behind him gave a cry and pointed forwards,eyes wide with horror. Legolas turned to see what the Hobbit was staring of and was taken completely by surprise.
A bolting horse came stampeding into his path, a black missile
charging in his direction. Legolas did not even have time to shout.
The horse's eyes were rolled back into it's head, only the whites showing. Legolas waited for the crushing blow which he knew would
*A freak horse accident. Most undignified.*
Then, the beast stopped just short of Legolas and reared up into the air right in front of the Elf, with braying sound more heard in donkies than in noble stallions of Gondor. His hooves flew in the air, narrowly missing Legolas' face, who threw up his empty hand to shield himself. This started Fern, who tried to shy away from the huge
stallion and get out of Legolas' grasp. He had to hold tightly to keep both Arod and Fern from bolting while ducking ducking flying horse feet. Merry could only watch in horror, for he had lost all control over Fern and Legolas' hand was the only thing keeping him from being dragged off by his once-faithful pony.
Legolas ducked the rearing stallion and could only think of Merry, who was defencless on top of Fern, who was still tugging on the lead ropes to escape. He did not want to think of what a giant horse could do to a hobbit. If Merry got hurt, just minutes after Legolas had promised to protect him, somebody would pay. He did not know who, but *somebody* would.
The blasted horse above him was not coming down. He just stayed in the air...somehow...kicking his hooves at anything around him. If only Legolas could get away, he could calm this black tsunami and get on with this day.
Legolas started to back up away from the horse, pushing Fern and Arod backwards behind him. If he could get out of the horse's range, they would be safe. As he took a second slow step backwards, a hoof collided with his left forerm, the one holding the riens.He cried out in pain as his arm lit on fire. It raced up his arm, making his shoulder go numb. He knew from experience that it was not broken, but would turn several colours in the morning. He cradled it against his chest for a moment, until the severity of what he had just thought struck him.
In the morning.
He would not see the dawn again, and here he was fighting with this fool horse to get out of a corale! It seemed so pointless. It was the horse's fault that Legolas had been hit, and here he was, still trying to calm it! He tried to move his hand, to work some feeling back into his fingers, then realized he still had the reins to Arod and Fern in his fist. It was amazing that he had not dropped them long ago. Another wave of pain came as Legolas lifted up him arm to examine the fingers. He had to stop before the arm was fully raised. The numbing sensation had disappeared, and now he wished for it to come back. Legolas winced as he lowered his arm back down and continued moving backwards.
Merry stared at the black creature in front of him, standing on it's back legs and kicking like a cornered beast. Seconds ago, it had charged at Legolas and had hit him hard in the arm. Even from hisperspective, above everyone else, it looked painful.
Merry looked at the stallion, and then back to Legolas, who appeared to not notice that reins that were so tightly clenched in his fist that the knuckles had turned white. The Elf's pale face had and expression of pain and...something else. Something unidentifiable that scared Merry more than the raging beast before him. He wondered what the Elf knew that would make him look like that.
Legolas could feel the anger beginning to bubble in his chest. These Men could not control these beasts at all, and now he had a spooked stallion rearing up in front of him and nearly bashing his head in while he tried to hold onto Merry's pony and his own horse while the stallion's owner tried to calm his horse with shouts of "Stop, Colbolt, stop!" and the rest of the fool men werechasing their own horses around the camp. His arm burned,and he actually wished for moment that Aragorn would come running with one of his disgustng salves.
He had had enough of this.
"*Daro!" He roared. He reflected for a moment on how much he had began to sound like his father. "Diiin! Daro (this) (now)!" The horse-yard fell silent, and the majority of the horses stopped moving. Colbolt was not one of them.
Legolas roughly grabbed at the stallion's reins, which were flying through the air as Colbolt's head tossed back and forth, with his
good hand. Legolas pulled down hard, and all four of the horses' hooves touched the ground. He leaned forward to whisper in
Colbolt's ear, "Dinen, roch rauko. Dinen." The beast quieted, even though Legolas' words weren't particulary calming. The Elf shoved
Colbolt's reins roughly into it's master's hands and walked forward. The second he made as though to leave, horses tossed thier
heads into the air and their riens flew out of thier unsuspecting master's hands.
The horses began to turn back to the east, and stare towards the flaming top of Mt.Doom, and the fear returned. One horse started to scream again, and then another. Legolas knew that the whole camp would be screaming if this kept up. He felt like screaming
himself. All pity he had every had for the horses disappeared in an instant, and he just wanted to get out of this camping site and--he
could not believe this himself--on to Mordor. He did not want to spend his last hours taming horses.
"**Diiin!" He roared again. Anyone who knew the Elf relized how uncharacteristic this was. Legolas never had yelled at them before, and certainly not at horses. "Diiin." he said more quietly. "Ai, man na en? Ruin? Gurth?" He was being harsh; he knew it. But this foolishness had to end. They had to move on closer to Mordor. They had to have the horses to get there, and if yelling would silence them and easy his frustration, so be it. "Amin feuya ten'lle."
He turned and left, still nursing his bruised arm and leading Arod and Fern, with a silent Merry on top, wondering what exactly his Elvish friend had said. Merry turned back, and saw that every beast was standing quietly or being mounted, staring after the Elf's receeding back. The Men did not know what was said either; few had ever had the chance to learn Elvish, but they were grateful that they could finally get on with the march.
And still unhappy, for Legolas had willingly brought them closer to what could be their doom.
Once out of hearshot of the men, Legolas spoke softly. It sounded a strange compared to the tone of voice he had used earlier, but
all the anger he had felt had disappeared. "What did you think of that, Tithen er?" He stared straight ahead, and was leading the horses to the head of the colomns which were forming out of the finally-mounted riders of Gondor. Rohan's forces were already prepared, and several of the soilders smirked at the straggling Gondorian troops. Aragorn's men just glared back, and whispered amongst themselves. Legolas could have listened in and heard every word if he tried, but he was not interested in the daily gossip.
After several moments pause and and he had considered a few different answers, Merry said, "I think that I have never seen you
Legolas laughed musically."Angry? That was just a little frusterated. You are lucky that you have only seen one angry elf in your life, for things sometimes get," He paused to search for the right words," Get a little out of hand." he concluded
Merry actually had to think about the last Elf he had seen angry. It seemed so long ago that he, Pippin and Sam, with Aragorn, who
had still been known as Strider, he crossed the Ford at Rivendell. There they had seen Glorfondel unleash the strange Elven wrath on the Nazgul who had survived the flood. It had been awe-inspiring, even though the great Elf lord had needed help to get to Rivendell after he had spent all his strength slaying the Nazgul's mounts and forcing the dark servents to be swept up into the water.
"And how many have you seen?" Merry asked softly as they arrived at the head of the colomn.
"Many times, but only in a handful Elves." Legolas said, leading Arod around several riders while looking straight ahead, "My father is very quick to anger. I've had to drag him away from a fight by force
countless times." The had arrived at the head of the army, where Aragorn, Gandalf and Pippin sat mounted, buy there was no sign of Gimli. Legolas realized too late that he was still holding his arm like it was wounded, and Aragorn was staring straight at him. He sighed, knowing it would take some serious distracting for the Man to forget this.
"What's this?" Aragorn asked. He stared at Merry's awed expression, and Legolas cradling his arm. He sighed. "Can I not leave you alone for a moment, Legolas? What have you done to yourself now?"
"Nothing at all." Legolas easily got into the saddle one handed. He could not believe he had actually wanted Aragorn to look at his arm only moments before! He must have forgotten how hen-like Aragorn could get, so protective and thinking that everyone is one of his
chicks. "Where is Gimli?" He looked around for the dwarf.
"Here! Don't even think of moving a muscle, Elf. It's hard enough to go through these horses without you making me chase after that mount of yours." Gimli came out of the crowd and stood next to Arod. Legolas offered his good arm, and Gimli grabbed it to pull himself up behind Legolas.
"The only time Arod moves when you are trying to mount him is when you push him, as you may have found out." Legolas said.
Aragorn yelled out for the army to march. In past days, the soilders had quickly fallen out of ranks and mixed amoung each other. Today, they stayed in perfect lines. Maybe it was because of the nearness to battle. Maybe the army felt that if they acted professional, they just might survive.
Legolas let Arod fall back, so that Aragorn and Gandalf were in the lead and he and Gimli could talk to Merry and Pippin. Aragorn followed him, so that he was riding on Legolas' left side.
"Show me your arm, Legolas." the King demanded cooly. He was used to Legolas hiding his wounds. The Elf was so stubborn that
he did not ever need help, even when he was bleeding to death. But now, Aragorn had no time to trick a fool Elf to let himself be treated. He was on the eve of a great battle for all Middle-Earth, and needed every solider, including Legolas, to be in peak phsyical condition. And if Legolas was hiding his arm, it was ten to one odds that it was hurt in someway.
Legolas simply said, "It's fine. I just banged it on Arod's hitching post." He pulled his arm as far away from Aragorn as it could go.
"Legolas. Show me your arm and tell me what happened, or I will be forced to get it from Merry." Poor Merry turned white. Aragornhad his no-nonsense voice, the one that said 'do as I say, or you will wish you had never been born' while still sounding considerate and kingly that left Legolas bemused. *How does he do that?*
Legolas looked at Merry, then reluctantly handed over his arm. It was a strange position, to have Aragorn rolling up his sleeve while riding a horse in front of several hundred men. Gimli must have also thought it strange as well, because he held tighter to Legolas' waist. "Imagine, me being ordered around by someone who I am several mellenia older than," Legolas sighed, hoping to get that serious expression of Aragorn's face. Aragorn just snorted and pulled gently on Legolas' sleeve.
When Aragorn carefully rolled his sleeve over his elbow, Legolas could not supress a hiss of pain. Aragorn looked worriedly at the Elf, then back to the arm and soon found the cause for Legolas' discomfort.
Legolas' arm was a wonderful mix of colours that should never appear on a body, such as black, purple and red. He had only been
hit moments ago, and he looked like a living rainbow already! If he could wake up the next morning, it would be very sore and very black. Gimli sat up to look past Legolas' shoulder at the arm. Aragorn winced at the sight of it, and continued rolling back the sleeve.
Gimli made a sympathetic noise, and said, "How did you come by
this, lad?" Aragorn looked up at Legolas, who had a slight blush on his cheeks. It was clear he was not going to,answer any questions by the way he stared straight ahead. Typical elven pride.
"Merry?" Aragorn turned half around to look at the hobbit. "Were you there when this happened?" Merry looked with distress at Legolas who shook his head slightly and mouthed the word 'no'. "Merry?" Aragorn said. Merry's eyes jerked back to him. Aragorn raised and eyebrow. The hobbit looked flustered, then decided that King of Gondor outranked Prince of Mirkwood.
"I was there." Merry said sullenly. He looked down at the ground. Aragorn waited for a pause, then said "and," and guestured with his free hand for Merry to continue as he pulled a long strip of white cloth and a small tin from his saddle bags.
"It was a horse." Merry admitted. Legolas looked down. He would be blessed indeed if the hobbit would stop there. But the Valar must have thought that an Elf who was going to die anyway was not a good one to strike a bargain with, for Merry continued.
"It was a big horse, and the whole of the picketings was a big mess of people trying to get on the horses. You should have seen this stallion, it was huge! And it charged at us after breaking loose from it's master and Legolas, who was leading Fern and Arod, was right in front of it. So the horse reared up and hit Legolas' arm with his hoof," Merry paused after this rush for a breath. Pippin was staring at him, as was everyone within hearing distance except Legolas.
Merry continued, "But Legolas still held on to the reins and he
grabbed the beast's bridle and pulled down and the horse crashed
down. He whispered something to it and then yelled at the whole horse-yard in Elvish and everyone stopped, and the next thing you know, the horses were mounted and,well, here we are." He finished even faster than he started, in a blur of words that you had to concentrate on to understand.
He looked apologetically at Legolas and shrugged with a half smile, "Sorry." he said, "they got it out of me." Legolas just rolled his
eyes and looked back at Aragorn.
"Do not put anything on it," he said, pulling his arm away, "I have to be able to move quickly to use my knives."
Aragorn pulled Legolas' arm back. "I will put anything I deem
necessary on it." He stared at Legolas, who stared back. Gimli just
looked up at the both of them, silently guessing who would win this contest of wills. He would have bet gold on Aragorn, and was
shocked when the king looked away first.
"Fine," Aragorn said. Legolas smiled. "But at least let me give you something for the pain." Legolas nodded suspiciously, knowing that nothing of Aragorn's concoction could ever taste good. But his arm did hurt quite a bit, and was difficult to move, even without bandages. He accepted the small container of liquid that Aragorn handed to him slowly then unscrewed the lid, never once taking his eyes off of the smiling healer. Legolas brought the container to his mouth, and took a warily small sip.
His eyes widened and he coughed as he handed the bottle back. "That tastes like old boot polish," he choked out. His eyes watered and he blinked to clear them. "No, wait. It tastes more like the cleaner they use on horse's tack." Aragorn was now grinning.
Legolas took a swipe at his face with his good arm and missed, leaning far to the side. When he got his hands on that blasted ranger...
"Legolas! Would you kindly remain on the horse." Gimli said,
struggling to stay on, "Or if you must kill Aragorn, let me off this
"Arod," Legolas sat up straight, "It not a thing. He is a war horse of Rohan, and wants you to remember that." The pain in his arm had dulled to a slight ache, and Legolas felt that it soon would be barely a twinge. *Even if they do taste bad, all of Aragorn's messes
work,* he thought fondly, thinking of the time when a young Estel would run through Rivendell's gardens, plucking leaves, flowers and the occasional whole plant and mixing them up in an imitaion
of 'Ada's medicine,' as Estel had called it.
"There you go again, acting as if Arod speakes to you! Well, Master Elf, if this horse is such a talkitive creature, why has he never taken the time to properly introduce himself to me?" Gimli presses.
"He does not want to ruin his reputation by associating with Dwarves."
"Of all the nerve!" He looked at Arod beneath him. "Maybe I do not want to ruin my reputation by accosiating with him." He mumbled something under his breath at horse that none but the Elf could hear. Legolas just laughed again, the musical, eternal laugh of the Firstborn that seemed to continue even when the sound has stopped passing through he Elf's lips. Gimli glared at Legolas, which made him laugh all the harder.
Translations: *Stop! Stop this now! Silent, horse demon, silent.
:**Silence! Silence. What is it? Red flames? Death? You disgust me.
Duh duhduhduh! End of the first chapter. Okay, the first half of the first chapter. I don't know how long this will turn out when posted, but I think it is long enough for now. After editing, who knows?
Please leave a review before you go, and have a nice day! (you know you wanna)
That's all, folks!
P.S ; Sorry how lame the Elvish is. If anyone can recommend a good site for translations, please please tell me so I will not have to
submit you more if this grammatical and just-plain-being-unable-to-find-the-right-words nightmare.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.