Chapter Text
The skiff cut through the heavy, dark waters with ease. The ships sped gracefully forward, racing upriver towards Harlond. Legolas was perched on the ladder, only a few inches above deck – where he had descended so as not to overstretch Gimli's nerves – looking across at Aragorn's ship so close to theirs. Over there, at the prow, stood his friend, his head held high. His handsome profile was set against the background of faraway grey clouds, dense and yet penetrated by beams of orange and gold morning light, catching on the star upon his brow. To Legolas, he looked nothing less than the King that he was.
The gulls wheeled in the sky above them, following their journey. They called and beckoned, but in that moment, Legolas paid them no attention. The sweet call of the Undying Lands in his heart had ceased and time slowed, halted almost, for he was full of love and pride for Aragorn. – I will follow you…wherever your path may lead…to the end…. – His own words echoed silently within him, the soft notes entwining with the song in his heart in a beloved, familiar melody. Legolas had never been more certain about their meaning.
He became aware of Leyth's stare. He stole a glance at the young man who stood, tense and uncertain, in the ominous atmosphere, his large eyes fixed on Legolas.
"Who is he?" Leyth asked with a tremor in his voice, as he redirected his stare upon Aragorn.
Legolas followed the youngster's gaze and, even before he spoke, his heart swelled: "He is Elessar, the King of Men by lineage and destiny. Estel, born to be the hope of Middle-Earth. Aragorn, Chief of the Dúnedain, Ranger of the North, who serves his people with great courage, and who has fought against the darkness ever since the time he could wield a weapon. But under his many names and above all, he is my dear friend and brother in heart."
"Oh!..." he heard Leyth utter in awe. No more words came from the boy then, and his full lips were parted in wonder.
As they neared the Pelennor, Legolas perceived the vibrations of the battle raging on the fields, even on their ship upon the river. It resonated in his chest and quavered his breathing. The horns of the Rohirrim blew in the distance, calling out in despair, followed by the profound bellows of the Mûmakil. Legolas knew, then, that Théoden and Éomer with their men were out there, in the midst of the bloodshed. He hoped with all his heart that they were still among the living. The air shook with the booming rumble of destruction, battering the gates of the city. The fires loomed from over the city, red flames against the brightening sky. The thunder of hooves roared in the air. The commotion penetrated Legolas' skin and pounded through his veins. The sounds of war encompassed the fleet, the flames mirrored in Leyth's black eyes; a flare too hard in a face soft with youth. Legolas' heart constricted in compassion.
Aragorn's dark hair was bound at the back of his head, kept out of his face despite the wind. Only a few strands had come loose and fluttered across his brow, but he didn't lift his hand to brush it out of the way as he turned towards Legolas, seeking out his gaze. He stood still and strong like the great King he was. His eyes were wide, pooling with anxiety as they met Legolas'. Legolas did not shift but solemnly brought his right hand to his chest. Tightly fisted, he pressed it against his heart, holding the man's gaze with firm reassurance. He mouthed the words in silence: "I am with you, my friend!"
Legolas did not know whether Aragorn had read the words on his lips, but he had clearly perceived the gesture for his shoulders slowly rose and fell, and he closed his eyes briefly before nodding in acknowledgement. His fist reached his chest and rested over his heart as he looked straight at Legolas, his gaze softening with gratefulness. Legolas sensed a warmness overwhelm him, and he took a deep breath, feeling the energy spread inside him.
And then, Aragorn gazed ahead once more, and to Legolas, it seemed like he had grown even taller, broader, and the star upon his brow glowed brighter than the stars in the night sky.
"Come Halbarad. Let us bring hope to Gondor!" Aragorn called out. Halbarad strode forward and clasped Aragorn's shoulder. With a grim smile, he unfurled the great banner, which immediately caught and snapped, streaming in the wind. There flowered the White Tree and Seven Stars were about it, and a high crown above it; the signs of Elendil that no lord had borne for years beyond count.*
The orcs at the harbour cheered and stamped and lifted their crude spears, swords and scimitars, clashing them against their shields in triumph at the sight of the approaching ships, thinking that it was the Corsairs coming to their aid, joining in to besiege Minas Tirith.
Legolas felt Leyth flinch beside him. The boy stared ahead at the ugly, howling beasts, and their contorted visages. Their noise over the background of battle was earsplitting, horrific. Legolas knew Leyth had seen violence and misery before, in his home and on his sailings with the Corsairs. But the dismay he saw in the youth's eyes told him that it had never reached a battle of this extent.
From somewhere in the distance the cry of a gull sounded. Legolas lifted his eyes towards the sky to seek it out and rest his sight on the seabird which had followed them so far, as it wheeled off and away from the fleet, catching the light of the rising sun upon its white wings. For a moment Legolas felt stretched with longing, pulled between the place where he stood and the height of the bird and the beckoning promise it carried. And, as it disappeared in the distance, a sadness almost tore him apart.
But then, he heard shouts of men, shouts of greeting and relief. And they snatched him back to the battle on land before him. Their allies had recognized the sign of Elessar, and their fight was rekindled with renewed hope and vigour.
The stars on the black fabric flamed bright in the sunlight. The white tree moved in their glow as if the wind trailed through its branches, reflecting the starlight, and shining upon Aragorn's stern, handsome features. His beloved Arwen, the Evenstar, had crafted the standard with all her dedication and heart, wringing it with precious gems, gold and mithril.
Legolas turned to gaze at the Elrondion twins, and saw tears of pride and sorrow glinting in their eyes as they stood, looking upon their foster brother; but their features were set, as if worked out of marble, stern and impenetrable.
Beside him, Gimli held his axe hefted with both hands. He nodded at Legolas, narrowing his eyes. "Let's skewer these orcs and see who got the most in the end!"
Aragorn unsheathed Andúril, and lifted it high with a cry of war. It flashed bright red with the flames of the burning city. And then he led his men down into the fray of battle.
At that, Legolas reached into the quiver on his back to grab three arrows. He fired them into the mass of orcs, where each hit its mark. And so he went on, tearing holes into the enemy, supporting and covering Aragorn's assault.
The Orcs screamed in horror as they realized that these were not reinforcements reaching them, but death in the person of their enemies. From Legolas' bow the arrows flew: two, three at a time, and the holes in the black mass grew wider. Gimli gave a satisfied grunt.
Men leapt from the ships. Most were hardened warriors, experienced and skilled, plunging into battle as if they knew nothing else in their lives since they came of age. Like a storm they raged, reinforcing their allies on land.
For a breath, Legolas paused to look back one last time at Leyth and Wali. The man held his arm protectively around his young friend's shoulders. Nodding at them in respect, Legolas saw Gimli squeeze Wali's arm at the same time, in farewell and friendship. They were leaving the two men behind. Legolas knew it was the only thing they could do to protect that youngling from his own reckless euphory. The discussion against his will of joining the battle had not been easy, but with the combined vehemence of elf, dwarf and man, Leyth had finally acquiesced.
After biding his farewell, Gimli charged with stomping feet towards the border of the ship where Elladan was calling to him, while Elrohir took off, leaping from the balustrade. Elladan lent Gimli a helping knee to climb up on his own, but then, for the sake of speed, hauled the dwarf over the railing. Unsteady and half hanging down on the other side Gimli glanced back at Legolas, flaring his nostrils and then squeezed his eyes closed, pushing away from the ship and releasing his grip on the railing. He disappeared with a deep, guttural growl, like a rock rolling down a slope, to where Elrohir must have been waiting to catch him. Elladan followed with contrasting grace, all but flying over the railing.
Legolas darted towards the spot they had left, still firing arrows, covering his friends from above. With satisfaction he beheld the twins' powerful charge, and that Gimli was keeping up count against his own initial advance in number of kills. Just as he took off from the planks to follow his friends into the fray, he heard Wali's deep voice crying out in alarm, and from the corner of his eyes, caught sight of Leyth breaking away from the man's side.
Even as he flew Legolas let out a harsh scream of dismay, "No! Stay, you fool!" And, right after, landed two shots to fell the orcs who had meant to impale him upon his landing. He saw nothing again of the man and the youngling; anger and anxiety about the boy's reckless stunt, deliberately disregarding all orders they had given him, almost broke him.
The combat was hard and close, the slightest hesitation costing one dearly. Many fell, men and orcs alike. Blood, black and red, spurted from their torn flesh and splattered the fighters' armour. Somewhere to Legolas' left fought Elrohir and Elladan, their swords like blurred, bright lights cutting through the dull, murky mass of the enemy. Just like Aragorn, they fought with stars bound to their brows. Fair they were, and valiant. The men followed their assault, taking down reemerging and regrouping orcs. Among them, Legolas caught sight of Wali and Leyth. His heart briefly fell with relief that for now, they were alive, but he could not quench his anxiety laden with sorrow.
In that instant, he heard a cry; a roar, deep and familiar, peaked with urgency, so sharp that it could have rendered stone. Legolas spun around and saw what was coming towards him. He plunged one knife into the chest of an orc while the other drew a spurt of black blood from another opponent's now gaping throat. Another huge beast towered right in front of him, yellow eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation, a fanged maw contorted in a snarl of malice. A crude scimitar swished in the air, about to plunge into Legolas' unprotected side.
Many thoughts shot through his mind as Legolas acquired the certitude of an inexorable impact. How could he have gotten so distracted? The sincere worry about a boy and a man he had saved had rendered him too vulnerable.
A gull called sadly in the distance, black eyes filled with the pearly shine of tears appeared in its wail…Aragorn standing on the prow of the black ship under the white tree, hand held to his heart, looking at him almost pleadingly.
This was the end….
And then Gimli's brown eyes, the colour of earth, the colour of a broad tree trunk on a massive mountain…wide, unbelieving….
They were real…!
Legolas imagined – anticipated – the pain tearing into his side, the agony of the crude weapon slicing through muscle and bone….
The rumbling cry repeated. A guttural, thundering roar like a rockslide, so very familiar….
The huge mound before him crashed to his feet. Its heavy scimitar chopped a gaping gash into the earth. And Gimli appeared behind, yanking his axe from the back of the beast it nearly had split in two.
Legolas had forgotten to breathe; his eyes must have been wide with shock, staring at his friend.
"This is not the time to lose your head in the clouds, elf!" the dwarf growled. His eyes were hard, unforgiving. "Watch your back! I might not be right behind you next time. Keep your count up!" And then he grunted, "This one would count for at least three by its size alone, but I'll be fair and keep it at one."
Gimli swung his axe. An orc's head rolled to the ground, followed by its collapsed body.
"Gratitude…." Legolas finally breathed, then focused again and bolted around, orcs shrieking as they tried to flee his swirling knives. He realized that without one another, neither he nor Gimli would have been alive by now. This was not the time to let worry overwhelm him! It would not keep them alive. This was the time to fight and kill! It was what he was good at, what he had done since the youthful days of his life…what he had been trained for. And between the screams and shrieks of the dying orcs, Legolas hissed at his friend: "It does not qualify you to change the rules, dwarf! One point per kill, and one only." He narrowed his eyes in challenge, which Gimli answered with a similar mimic and another prompt kill.
In the chaos of battle, there was no way to find Wali and Leyth again, less even to reach them. Legolas hardened his heart, shielding it from the thoughts concerning the man and the youngling. He thought it better that Gimli was oblivious of it all as they rejoined their allies, like a tide sweeping North, razing down the host of Mordor.*
Leyth's knees were weak, his breath came short, cold fear running down his spine. Above the noise of battle, the familiar clank of masts from the ships sounded behind him. Smoke burned his eyes and the mass of monsters before him blurred, their contorted faces twisted further into grotesque grimaces as they snarled and screeched all around him.
The handle of the sword felt slick in his sweating hand. He had removed the weapon from the armoury earlier when nobody had paid attention to him, for all had been busy with the sailing and the preparation for what was awaiting them upon their landing. Well hidden under some rags he had used to clean the deck with when Bashir had still been in command, the sword had been ready by the railing just to be snatched on his precipitated descent. But it was heavy and hard to hold now in his cold, clammy hand.
Leyth had never seen a battle of this extent, never heard the deafening roars of mass destruction, or smelled the acrid scent of smoke and death, so heavily damping the air he felt he would be crushed. In the distance, Legolas was firing arrows at dizzying speed, the white flashes of his blades intermingling, whirling around his bright, dynamic form. But then he halted and turned around, seeking something. Leyth realized it was him, and when their eyes met for the briefest of instants, he saw in the features of the elf helpless despair.
In the next instant, those features hardened, sharpening at the deep, roaring cry behind him. Leyth saw a tumult of bodies and weapons, some slim, some heavy, swirling, and lashing, black blood spilling from falling, bulky bodies. To his relief, the elf and the dwarf reemerged between the felled beasts. Gimli swung the deadly weight of his axe through the air, striking foe after foe, while Legolas darted around like a wild predator. The masses of orcs thinned everywhere they passed. But the battle was dense; more orcs and men quickly filled the gaps. Leyth needed to keep his attention close about him and so, in the tumult, he soon lost sight of his friends.
The twin elves, with their gleaming armour and raven hair, seemed to be everywhere around them, their positions shifting constantly. Leyth could no more discern one from the other. Both had shot him furious glares, sharp silver flashes piercing him like daggers. They looked like high princes, both fair and dangerous, and killed with ease, their motions mighty and swift. Deadly beautiful, thought Leyth with awe. Beasts fell around them, and still more came. Leyth struck right and left at nearing orcs. He knew how to wield a sword, but a battle, he now realized, was much different from sparring with Wali. At any given moment he could be no more. But Wali was close beside him, solid and determined, brandishing his weapon, and many a well-aimed blow he landed, shielding Leyth. He had screamed in dismay and followed close on his heels when Leyth had run and leapt from the ship. Once they had reached the ground, there had been no time and no more sense for a proper scolding. It was all about staying alive.
Leyth did not know how much time had passed. He wearied easily, unused to anything like this. That was not what he had imagined when he had followed his determination to fight for freedom, disregarding the concerns and orders of all the elder beings around him.
His action had been pure madness. But now it was too late.
The beasts were many, their masses seeming never to diminish, and for each one that fell, another seemed to emerge. The sun slowly rose and peeked between the grey smoke and clouds. Gore-splattered armours gleamed, red- and black-smeared blades and spears glittering cruelly. Leyth had always thought that orcs could not stand the sunlight, but the beasts they fought were not cowed by its rays. Men and orcs both lay on the ground, twisted and broken, their blood staining the churned earth.
Leyth's foot caught on something heavy yet soft as he ran, keeping up with the battle. He tripped and went sprawling across the muddy ground. Lifting his head, he found the still face of a man staring at him with unseeing, glazed eyes. His throat was a gaping mess. Leyth's stomach cramped in horror and he scrambled in the mud to get back on his feet. He heard Wali shout out to him in urgency before a strong hand grabbed him and hauled him up. Leyth panted heavily as he glanced into the strained face of his dear friend. It was blood-smeared, but Leyth noticed with relief that the man seemed uninjured.
"Are you alright?" Wali asked, anxiety in his eyes as he quickly scanned Leyth up and down.
Leyth only nodded. There was no time for words, no break from the assaults.
He did not know how it had happened. He did not know where the snarling faces of the monsters to his left had come from. To his right, men charged at them; too many, a tide meaning to overrun them. Panic rose from his belly, a bubble that painfully soared to reach his throat. Leyth gasped. Blades and lunging bodies were all around him, battle cries, deep roaring, and the terrible screams of the dying. The men were close; their swords, glinting sharp, clashed with Wali's weapon beside him. Leyth saw their faces. He realized, from their tanned skin and their traits, that they were from the South, from his homeland. His kin. He felt sick. The faces blurred and muddled as Leyth tried to evade.
Where were the twin elves?! Had they been separated from them?
A blade sliced his side, and he writhed in agony. His shirt was quickly soaked in warm wetness. Leyth wanted to run but slipped on mud, and collided hard with the ground. A sharp pain shot through his head and he saw nothing more apart from a white, exploding and blinding light.
The army and artillery of the enemy was overwhelming. There were towering machines of mass destruction pulled by trolls, rolling on and on towards the city with threatening rumble. Huge Mûmakil ridden by entire battalions of Southrons trampled the earth, the dead and the living, crushing everything in their way. These huge beasts, despite their patient and steady nature, had been trained for war. They would follow and obey their masters with loyalty and trust to whatever end, be it doom and death.
Aragorn carried on. In his hand Narsil reforged become Andúril, Flame of the West, was like a fire rekindled, as deadly as in days of old. He had not kept count of his kills on this day, in this battle. He had fought his whole life, but this was the day they saved Minas Tirith from complete destruction. His brothers and rangers were with him. Many had already fallen, sacrificing their lives for a purpose, a dream they would never see; for a great realm to be restored and the lands to be cleansed from the Shadow. Aragorn thought of how they had come from the North to join him, to give him strength. He remembered how they had welcomed him in their midst, had followed him and served loyally their entire lives. Many were still fighting at his side, bold and valiant, as though there was only one outcome: to win or to die trying.
Halbarad had been beside him. He had brought the standard with the white tree of Gondor and the shining stars of Elendil upon the crown. Sword hefted into his hand, he had not hesitated to charge at the enemy, spurring the Dúnedain ever on. He had been there with his force – always – courageous and capable. But in the uproar and violence of battle, even the best fell and died.
Aragorn would never forget how his companion, his mentor and protector was slain before his eyes. In that moment he had seen nothing else, had thought that this was the end…the end of everything. It was to him as if the ground had been pulled away from under his feet, and he had fallen to his knees.
Halbarad would never return to his beloved lands in the North. All Aragorn could do for this great man, who was so much more than a friend, had been to close his eyes for his last rest and whisper a prayer of peace and respect. And then he had returned to fight with raw and desperate power to carry out his destiny and pay honour to all who were still fighting for that purpose.
Aragorn's heart twinged at the heavy impacts of those losses. But then, between the dust and smog, reached a sound like a fresh gust of wind rustling through young, light-green leaves, and the sensation of sunbeams on his skin warmed him. Like a flash of gold cutting through it all, Legolas leapt into his vision. Not far behind followed Gimli, like a rumbling rock, his mighty axe clasped firmly in both hands. Aragorn's heart gave several leaping thumps as relief washed over him, and in his hand Andúril flashed bright with new hope.
Many emotions soared and collided inside him. Aragorn felt like he would burst as they swelled in his breast. He ached to close Legolas into an embrace, not letting him go again until the battle was over. Due to his duty to Middle-Earth and the weight of his destiny, Aragorn had repeatedly come close to losing his friend. The latest event on the ship, the elf's audacious rescue mission after the gull had released its fatal call, still chilled Aragorn's bones from within. So many things he wanted to say, but around them, the fight demanded their attention. Aragorn locked eyes with Legolas' briefly, wanting him to know, and Legolas nodded to him as if he knew it all, even as he drew his bow and shot into an approaching battalion of trolls and orcs. Aragorn caught Gimli's serious eyes and nodded to him in heartfelt apology and gratitude. He knew the dwarf had much to reproach him with. But instead, the short, squat being who was now his friend roared: "It has begun! Let us fight to the end!"
The dwarf's deep voice was joined by a rumble of thunder that came from the ground. It vibrated upwards through Aragorn's legs, resounding within him. His eyes widened in alarm as he beheld the colossal Mûmak rapidly gaining ground. The beast seemed mad and panicked, but still it followed its master's lead. Its massive trunk-legs crushed all on its way. From high upon its back dozens of Haradrim shooted down bolts and arrows, felling the fleeing soldiers.
For a moment Aragorn's mind remained sluggish, as though paralyzed. He stood in the way of the beast, aware of what was happening but unable to stop it. He saw Legolas stare at him. The elf's face hardened and his eyes narrowed to dark slits.
"Legolas!" Aragorn shouted over the Mûmak's bellow.
Legolas lunged at the beast. Aragorn and Gimli only barely managed to throw themselves out of the way, diving one left, one right, just before the giant's broad feet hit the ground where they had stood mere seconds before. Aragorn rolled, catching himself on his hands and knees. The ground shook as he stared at the beast thundering past. Legolas' sleek form was already halfway up the beast's leg, using the arrows protruding from the animal's thick skin as handholds, swinging and climbing ever upwards. The elf looked small and insignificant on the huge moving mound.
Yet the battle was far from its ending. Aragorn leapt to his feet in time to parry the assault of a group of Uruk-hai. He slashed out with Andúril, blocking the thrusts of their spears and driving off the knives aimed at him. He hacked at them and pierced them through their mouths, throats, eyes…any part Andúril found became a kill. Somewhere behind him, he heard a deep howl, like a Mûmak screaming in pain. He whipped around to see the stumbling fall of the huge beast in the distance.
'Legolas!...' he screamed in thought and, from deep within his wildly hammering heart, he hoped that the Valar would allow him to hold his dear friend in his arms once more.