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Twilight Tales - Sacred Bond	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 12116 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Advent
- 2-Bridging
- 3-Pledges
- 4-Serendipity
- 5-Deepening
- 6-Request
- 7-Bedfellows
- 8-Liaison
- 9-Catalyst
- 10-Tidings
- 11-Profession
- 12-Rift
- 13-Seeking
- 14-Confluence
- 15-Oneness
- 16-Assignation
- 17-Covenant
- 18-Gambit
- 19-Recovery
- 20-Bond
- 17
- 18
- 19
Chapter XVIII: Gambit

The hordes of Mordor broke upon the Men of the West like a black tidal wave. In moments, it appeared that none of the valorous foes of the Dark Lord would live to tell the tale of this last horrific battle. In this hour, Sauron was swollen with malicious mirth as he watched his forces all but engulf the army that had dared brave his wrath.

As he parried, ducked and stabbed, Legolas thought that, compared to this, the Battle of the Hornburg was naught but a skirmish, the desperate fight on the fields of the Pelennor little more than a minor altercation. This was brutal and soul rending. This was ultimately hopeless.

It was all a gamble. The greatest, most improbable gamble in all history. And one where the victor would most likely find only wrack and ruin in his wake. For they were the price to be paid in this critical venture. Their certain deaths the means by which to buy yet another hour, another minute, another precious moment for two weary hobbits trudging across the smoking wasteland that was Mordor.

He gutted an Orc, decapitated another and dealt a third a crippling kick in the groin. He managed a glance over his shoulder. There stood Elrohir, holding his ground against a half dozen Goblins, his sword flashing in the weak sunlight, pewter eyes so fell and fierce that they could cow his foes almost as much as the wicked blade he wielded.

A little further on, Elladan plowed into a knot of Orcs as they sought to bring Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth down. Legolas had a few seconds to wonder about his law-brother’s sudden protectiveness of the Belfalas lord before seeing once more to the business of surviving this hellish onslaught.

Through the corner of his eye he saw Aragorn standing fast beneath his standard, his face grim with fatalistic determination. Legolas could guess what fair thoughts passed through the Ranger’s mind, buttressing his spirit. On the low hill behind him stood Gandalf, a shining, unblemished figure in this land of darkness. The shadow retreated before him. Men took heart when faltering just by laying their eyes upon the White Rider.

A bloodcurdling shriek from above nearly sent the soldiers about him to their knees in terror. The Nazgûl swooped down from up on high, the wings of their hideous steeds blotting out what light there was, adding to the torment of the men below, sowing fear and despair wherever they hovered. Even with the loss of their king they were still a potent source of dread.

He saw Éomer’s warhorse go down, its belly ripped open by a Haradin sword. The beast’s entrails spilled out even as the young king leaped free of his dying steed. His assailant made the fatal mistake of slipping on the horse’s gory bowels. Éomer lopped off his head with one swing. A Rider came to his side and hurriedly dismounted.

“Up, my lord! Up!” Legolas heard the warrior shout to his king before plunging once more into the fray. Éomer vaulted into the saddle and was instantly back in the thick of the fighting.

Fending off yet another strike at his fair head, Legolas glanced once more at his mate. He scowled with consternation when he saw how far Elrohir had moved from his former position. The reason soon became apparent. The Elf-knight stood astride the form of Elphir, Imrahil’s eldest son and heir. The man lay crumpled on the riven ground, a deep dent in his helm evidence of a ferocious buffet to his head. Only Elrohir warded off the killing blows that would have hurtled Dol Amroth’s crown prince into permanent oblivion.

Legolas started to move toward him intending to lend him aid. But he suddenly heard Elrohir’s warning cry in his mind.

To Estel, Legolas! To Estel!

He swung around and gasped in dismay. The Ranger was beset by a huge Troll armed with a club. Aragorn was quick and agile and evaded the brute’s vicious assault for the most part. But the press of bodies around him was too close and he could not remain beyond the beast’s reach for long.

Legolas plunged toward the beleaguered man. If Aragorn fell, his army would lose all heart and scatter before Sauron’s forces. Even did the Ring-bearer fulfill his Quest, the Men of Gondor would be doomed to stagnation and mayhap even oblivion without their king to lead them. So much would be in vain even did they accomplish the near impossible and emerge victorious over the Dark Lord.

But try as he might, he could not break through the mass of mingled friends and foes. Before his horrified eyes, Aragorn stumbled before the Troll. And all the while the Nazgûl roamed the skies above.

“The eagles are coming! The eagles are coming!”***

Pippin took up Gandalf’s cry. Legolas barely heard the hobbit’s high voice above the din.

He looked up in time to descry the dark plumage of one of the most majestic creatures of the air that he had ever seen. Swift Gwaihir beat off one of the Wraiths, forcing it to forsake its harassment of the Rohirrim. With his brother Landroval and their many vassals, the mighty eagle gained some measure of respite for the embattled men from the unrelenting terror of the skies.

Legolas turned his efforts back to aiding Aragorn. And still he was hindered. He could only watch helplessly as the Troll repeatedly brought its club down upon the Ranger. Aragorn dodged it as well as he could but he was at a disadvantage, trapped as he was beneath the creature’s hulking form. Sooner or late, one of those blows would find its mark and that would be the end of the line of the Kings.

Suddenly, the Nazgûl abandoned the field, speeding almost frantically toward Orodruin in the distance. The Troll above Aragorn halted in its attack and looked around in confusion. All about the Orcs faltered and fell back in bewilderment. Legolas sensed it then. The lifting of the shadow. The redirection of the malevolent will that had guided the Black Army thus far.

What was happening?

The Troll stumbled away in fear. The Orcs began to scatter. Heartened the Captains of the West rallied their battered forces and pressed forward. Legolas hastened to help Aragorn to his feet.

“Stand, Men of the West!” Gandalf’s clear voice rang out. “Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom.”***

Legolas and Aragorn had but a moment to stare in wonder at the wizard before the very earth trembled beneath their feet. They swung around and saw the Morannon crumble, the ramparts fall, the Towers of the Teeth collapse like piles of children’s playing blocks. Dense clouds of smoke issued from far beyond and a deafening rumble drowned out all other sounds.

He started when Gandalf suddenly came to stand between him and Aragorn. “The realm of Sauron is ended,” he said, his eyes shining. “The Ring-bearer has fulfilled his Quest.”***

All around them, the Dark Lord’s creatures were fleeing. Or falling before the swords and spears of the valiant warriors of the West. But the Men of the South did not give way at once. They were a proud and fierce people and would not readily surrender. Aragorn did not linger long but turned his attention to this still present threat.

Gandalf looked away to steadily belching Orodruin. “I must find Frodo and Sam,” he told Legolas. “Gwaihir will help me.”

He strode away swiftly. Legolas watched him as he spoke to the great eagle. A few moments later, Gwaihir leaped up into the smoky skies, Gandalf upon his back. With them went Landroval and one of their vassals, fleet Meneldor. They disappeared into the darkened horizon. Legolas whispered a silent entreaty that they would locate the indomitable hobbits in time.

With a sigh, he looked back to where he had last seen Elrohir. He frowned when he could see no sign of his mate then almost jumped when a hand clapped down on his shoulder. He turned and met Elladan’s anxious eyes.

“I cannot find Elrohir,” the older twin tightly said.

Legolas stared at him, his fear rising to choke him. “Last I saw him, he was defending Elphir,” he replied, moving in that direction.

Elladan shook his head. “Nay, Imrahil found his son and Elrohir was not with him.” He could not keep his own fear from his voice.

Legolas began to run, eyes darting about, looking for his darkling spouse. He reached to the very center of his being, seeking the assurance of the bond that held them together. Surely he would know if Elrohir had… He shook the thought away vehemently. No! He could not accept such a thing. Not when they had come through the impossible into the hope of a new era.

Tears began to gather in his eyes as he and Elladan searched the prone figures amidst the slag heaps. He shuddered at the sight of headless corpses and bodiless heads, disemboweled men and beasts, shattered forms and mutilated faces. Valar! They had the victory but at what price!

He prayed as he had never prayed before. Mighty Eru spare him the horror and grief of finding his Elf-knight amongst the dead. He did not think he could live without Elrohir. He had known the twin’s presence since infancy. How could he face eternity shorn of his love, of his loving?

As his search wore on, he no longer paid attention to the happenings around him. Took no notice of the surrender of the Haradin to Aragorn. Or the winding down of the slaughter of whatever remained of Sauron’s minions. Tears slid down his pale cheeks as he began to think his hope in vain.

Binding-mates always knew each other’s presence. Even death did not sever that connection. The Halls of Awaiting harbored the souls of the dead but did not hinder the flow of feeling the marriage bond engendered. He did not know if he would actually sense the change in that connection should Elrohir be taken from him – he’d never thought to inquire about the matter before. Was it possible that the Elf-knight had already passed beyond his grasp into the timeless halls?

He looked at Elladan imploringly but the older twin evaded his gaze, guessing his question. Legolas knew the answer then. He still felt their bond but it was indeed possible that Elrohir was no longer with them. A sob escaped him as he contemplated centuries, even millennia of life without his Elf-knight’s inimitable regard to warm and succor him.

“Elladan,” he hoarsely whispered, reaching out a shaking hand to his law-brother. Elladan was at his side in an instant, throwing a supporting arm around his shoulders.

“Do not lose hope, gwanur”—kinsman—he said though his own voice quavered with suppressed grief. “We will find him.”

They bent their minds once more to their task. More sobs began to shake the archer’s slender frame as he turned over already cold bodies and pushed back blood-matted hair from dead faces. His cheeks were now wet with unrestrained tears.

It was then, when he was nigh on the edge of despair, that he heard Imrahil hailing Elladan.

“He is here!” the Dol Amroth prince shouted. “We have found him!”

He and Elladan raced toward the prince where he and a few men were heaving the carcasses of almost a dozen Orcs off something. He saw an out flung hand beneath the pile still grasping a sword. Sweet Eru! Elrohir’s sword.

They arrived just as Imrahil hauled off the last Goblin to reveal the Elf-knight’s still form. Both of them dropped to their knees. Elladan at once reached for his brother’s wrist and sought the beating of his pulse however faint.

“Elbereth be praised,” Elladan whispered. “He is alive!”

Barely stopping himself from embracing his mate, Legolas helped Elladan strip his twin of his mail. He then lifted Elrohir’s head onto his lap whilst Elladan hurriedly checked his brother’s body for injuries. He was covered in blood but what was his and what was his foes’ could not be discerned. Elladan sighed in relief and looked up at the archer.

“There is no internal bleeding,” he said as he loosened Elrohir’s collar. “But his shoulder is dislocated, there is a terrible bruise on his side and I do not like the look of that gash on his forehead. Still, I daresay it is only a flesh wound.”

“But why is he unconscious?” Legolas asked anxiously, hands caressing the warrior’s hair, bending to press tender kisses to Elrohir’s cheeks.

“He was under that noisome pile for a long while,” Elladan said. “His injuries prevented him from freeing himself. I wager he passed out from lack of air.”

Imrahil turned back to them after sending his men away. He had noted Legolas’ loving ministrations and thought to shield the Elven prince from the curious and perhaps disapproving stares of his soldiers.

He now informed them: “My men say he was surrounded by Orcs. The last they recall is the whole lot leaping upon him. Doubtless they hoped to bring him down through the sheer weight of their combined bulks.” He looked at the Goblin carcasses, wonder on his handsome face. “And still he killed them all,” he remarked admiringly. “You Elves are as formidable as you are fair. I am not ashamed to admit that I am relieved we did not have to face foes such as you in this battle.”

After the Elves smiled in acknowledgement of his praise, Imrahil bit his lip then gestured with his head to where his son lay a few yards away, tended by his men. “I am most grateful to your brother,” he said to Elladan. “He defended Elphir even though he scarcely knew him.

Elladan managed a grin. “My brother did it for your sake, my prince,” he lightly replied. “And therefore mine.”

His and Imrahil’s gazes met. To Legolas’ puzzlement, the prince suddenly flushed and averted his eyes. Elladan’s grin widened. When he turned his attention back to Elrohir, Legolas saw that his eyes were aglitter with a hint of mischief.

Elrohir suddenly drew in a wheezing breath then moaned, his head moving feebly on Legolas’ lap.

“Elladan, he is coming awake,” the archer said elatedly.

“Aye,” the older twin agreed. “But hold him fast. Best I set that shoulder before he is fully conscious. It will be quite painful.”

Legolas obeyed and tightened his hold on his mate. He watched with a grimace while Elladan manipulated Elrohir’s left arm. There was a faint pop as the joint suddenly slid back into its socket. It was accompanied by a sudden cry from Elrohir. The younger twin’s eyes snapped open, glazed with pain.

It took him several moments to comprehend what was happening and Elladan took advantage of his disoriented state to quickly secure his left arm to his body to keep his shoulder still. He tore his cloak into long thick strips and wound them around before his brother finally realized where he was.

He looked up into Legolas’ smiling face then at his brother and on to Imrahil who stood just behind Elladan. He let out a sigh. “Elbereth, I thought that was the end of me,” he whispered. “I could not push them off to breathe.”

“We know, gwanneth”—younger twin—Elladan said as he tended to the cut on his brother’s forehead. “Your shoulder was injured and you have a nasty bruise in your side.”

“Ah, so that is why you have trussed me up like a side of meat ready for the pot,” Elrohir groaned. He looked up at Legolas then frowned. He raised his free hand and brushed the moisture from his mate’s cheek with his fingers. “Legolas, why do you weep?” he murmured.

The archer caught him to himself. “I thought I had lost you!” he gasped. “Ai, Elrohir, you scared me! I have never known such fear before!”

He forgot all propriety. Forgot they were on a war-torn field surrounded by men. He sealed his lips to Elrohir’s and kissed him hungrily, plunging his tongue into the warm confines of the warrior’s mouth to taste the sweetness within that he had thought lost to him. True to his Peredhil blood, Elrohir swiftly responded in kind, heedless of his injuries and exhaustion.

Elladan grabbed a startled Imrahil by the hem of his tunic and yanked him into place before the couple. And when Gimli came to them bearing a begrimed and groggy Pippin, he, too, was drafted into forming a screen around the lovers. Which immediately put him in a stew for he did not wish to bear witness to maudlin displays especially when expressed in such a flagrantly scorching manner. And with a less than feather light hobbit resting in his arms to boot!

***********

***Passages taken from LoTR: Return of the King, Book VI, Chapter IV: The Field of Cormallen.

To be continued…
- 17
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- 19
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Twilight Tales - Sacred Bond