Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 33
- 34
- 35
Chapter 34 – Helm’s Deep

They rode along at a determined pace, Legolas, Calariel, Rúmil, and the gift of a small army. The horses were their only reason for the rest. The elves could go for days without it, especially when time was of the essence. It was as good a spot as any. There was a small stream where the horses could drink, and the elves could replenish their water skins. As it was early afternoon, Legolas decided they would stay until sundown, and then be on their way. He had spoken to Rúmil about the Rohirrim, the layout of Helm’s Deep, and what they might find upon arrival. Supplies would be scarce, but he hoped weapons would be plentiful. After all, Gríma had sent all the blacksmiths to the Hornburg as part of his plan to disarm and weaken Edoras. Fool, Legolas thought to himself, for thinking Rohan would not take refuge at the Deep.
Legolas told Rúmil about coming across Aragorn and Gimli on the open plains of the Riddermark, and of how he went with them to Fangorn Forest.
“You have met Estel … Aragorn as you call him?” Rúmil said excited with curiosity.
“Yes, and he should be at Helm’s Deep with the others by now,” Legolas answered. There was an obvious concern for this man. “You know him too, it seems.”
“He lived in Lothlórien for a season. It was then that he pledged his love for Lady Galadriel’s granddaughter, Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond of Rivendell.”
Legolas immediately thought of Eowyn and her infatuation with Aragorn. He hoped she would not be too disappointed to learn of this betrothal, and wished that he could be there to give Eowyn any comfort she might need. “He is a good man, your friend Estel, and an important one.”
“Very important,” Rúmil responded quietly.
“He told us of his heritage and his right to take up the crown of Gondor. I knew him only briefly, but I saw his devotion to those who trust him and would follow him,” Legolas said, and he started to hand Rúmil a cup of fresh brewed tea.
Just then, Calariel came and joined them. Rúmil refused the tea, “Perhaps the lady would prefer it. I have a few things I must attend to. Calariel, take my spot by the fire.” Rúmil stood from the fallen log that he and Legolas were using as a seat and gestured for Calariel to sit.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Rúmil smiled and bowed, “By all means, my lady.” He went to join his men as they checked over the horses, making sure they were ready for the remainder of their travels.
Legolas thought Rúmil left rather abruptly, and he wondered if Calariel had something to do with it. No matter, he was glad for her company. He handed her the tea and she thanked him. She took a sip and paused. Legolas laughed, “You have obviously never tasted Rohirric tea before.”
“No, I think I would have remembered such a … strong flavor,” she answered, and she sniffed at the steam rising from the cup. “What is in it?”
“Pine needles from a White cedar tree. I found a stand of them not too far back, and I scooped up a handful as we passed,” Legolas said and took another sip. “It would be better if we had some honey.”
“I’m not so sure honey would do much to make it better,” she said wrinkling her nose.
“It’s an acquired taste, and when you are out on patrol, it’s better than nothing. Wintergreen is another one. You might have liked that better, but I did not see any shrubs in this area. They are not as common as other plants and trees.”
“You know a lot about living off the land,” she inquired, setting the cup on the ground.
“Don’t you?” he asked, “I mean, as a member of the army, you go out on patrol.”
“Yes, but we have barracks scattered around the outermost areas. Well, they are more like small huts, but they give us shelter and keep our food supply dry. I guess the Rohirrim are a bit more … rustic in their methods.”
“To be sure, we don’t have the luxury of huts, though now that I think about it that would be much better. Camping out in the open with a group of men is not exactly an ideal situation. For one, they are loud, even in their sleep. And they are smelly,” he said making a face. This made Calariel laugh, and Legolas noticed how lovely it sounded.
“I would think growing up around men, you would get used to it,” she chuckled.
“There are some things that no elf should have to get used to,” he remarked with a warm smile.
For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Legolas held her there, but as he blinked, he turned his head to the side, breaking the contact. He remembered the way Haldir looked at her, how she reacted to him as she gently touched him. But something wasn’t quite right, and Legolas wondered what their relationship was. He found himself continually growing interested in Calariel, but not if she was promised to the marchwarden. Now, to start a simple conversation and find out more about them.
“So, why do you think Haldir helped us?” he asked, “He’s taken a big risk in sending these men. It could end up costing him everything.”
“Haldir has always helped. That’s just who he is. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s been there.”
“And you don’t think it’s because of his affection for you?” Legolas asked, feeling as though he might be too pushy.
“Haldir … interested in me? Don’t be foolish,” she countered.
“Only a fool could miss the telltale signs, the way his eyes shine in your presence or the softness in his voice when he speaks to you.” Instantly, he regretted his words. “I … I didn’t mean to say you were a fool,” he stammered.
Calariel bowed her head, looking down into the abandoned cup at her feet, “No, you are right. I’ve known for a while about his pining. I’ve just tried to ignore it.”
“So you don’t return the same feelings then?” Legolas asked hopeful.
“I like Haldir very much,” she said defensively, “He has been there for me more than anyone. If not for Haldir, I would never have joined the army. You see, when my mother followed the calling and sailed, my father became very overprotective of me. He had a much different idea of what my future would be like, and being a soldier definitely was not part of it. But ever since I could remember, I’ve always had an interest in weapons and strategies for fighting. When I finally built up the courage to tell my father what I wanted to become, he just laughed and said what a ridiculous notion it was, that I would one day make some lucky ellon the happiest elf in Middle-earth, bare his children and be the most wonderful mother.”
“The good little elleth, safe and sound,” Legolas laughed, repeating her words from an earlier conversation. “And I suppose Haldir talked your father into believing he would be that lucky ellon.”
His comment seemed to anger her, as tension built between them. She gave him a hard look before answering, “It was nothing like that at all. Haldir saw my potential and became my mentor. He took it upon himself to train me, and when he felt I was ready, I went back to my father to prove to him that I could be a good soldier. When my father still would not listen, it was Haldir who convinced him to let me become a member of the Galadhrim army. I owe a lot to him.” She stopped and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “I owe him a lot, but the one thing he seeks, I cannot give him. We’ve never spoken of it, but I know of his feelings for me, and I think he knows that I could never be more than a friend to him.”
Legolas could sense the difficulty that she must have had to endure. He found himself feeling sorry for Haldir, his heart trapped in love for someone he could never have, “Haldir is a good ellon. He has a good heart, and something like that does not go unnoticed. I’m sure he will find the right person someday.”
Calariel gave Legolas a small smile in appreciation for his understanding. Then she reached down for the cup and brought it up to her nose once more. It still had no appeal and she seemed disgusted by the wild tea, “Uh, do you mind if—”
“No, of course not. You won’t hurt my feelings, if that’s what you mean. Just toss it,” he said giving her permission to dispose of the rest of the drink.
Calariel twisted at the waist and poured the remainder of the tea behind the log they sat upon. When she came back around, she started in with her own line of questioning, “What about you? Is there someone special in your life?”
Legolas took another sip of his own tea. Maybe she was right. It definitely had a much fouler taste than he’d remembered. He used the moment to think about his answer, “There was someone a long time ago but . . .” His words trailed off. He never liked revisiting his ghosts, and Lúta was one that made regular stops.
“Was she human?” Calariel asked.
“Yes, and that was part of the reason why it did not work out well for us. We were both very young too, and I hadn’t considered what it would mean to attach myself to a mortal. I’d never given much thought to my immortality, not while growing up around others who were my own age.”
“That must have been very difficult for you, being raised amongst the human race,” she wondered.
“Well, it was all that I had ever known, and they always accepted me as one of them. I never thought of it as being difficult. It’s just the way things were … are.” He finished off the last of his tea, abandoning the last swallow where bits of pine needles had come to rest, and continued. “Actually, you were the first elf I’d come upon since leaving Mirkwood with my uncle.”
“I remember you telling me about that time, when we first met in Fangorn Forest.” Calariel regretted bringing up the time of her injury.
“Oh yes, I had to do a lot of the talking then. Sorry if I bored you with all my one sided conversations, you know, since you could not speak,” he said with an accusatory tone.
“I couldn’t, not at first,” she convinced. Then her eyes turned to the ground and her cheeks tinged pink, “And then when the poison finally wore off, and I began to make the connection with you and the sketch of your mother, I … well, I just couldn’t … I—”
Legolas laughed to himself. He’d made her suffer enough, “It’s alright. I’m not upset. I would have done the same thing, I think. And it was kind of nice getting to know you the way we did, despite your injuries and all.”
“Yes, it was nice,” she said softly, meeting his eyes once more.
The connection seemed to fuse their attention to one another, and they felt themselves drawing in towards each other. Legolas thought she was very lovely, with her brown waves cascading over her shoulders, and her full lips that were now parting. He wondered if those lips were as soft as they looked, and when she leaned towards him, he thought he might finally get his answer. She was so close now, close enough that she started to close her eyes in anticipation of the kiss that was to come. And just as they were about to find out something new about each other, Rúmil came running up, calling out to Legolas, a sense of urgency in his voice. The spontaneity of the moment was gone, ruined and never to be found again, at least not this day. The elves sat up straight, each in their own personal space again, as Rúmil approached. Legolas could tell right away that something was amiss.
“Our scouts have spotted a very large army, Rohirrim by the looks of their armor,” Rúmil said.
Legolas was instantly on his feet, “Where?”
“Riding south on the other side of the plain. They head in the same direction as us.”
“It’s Gandalf!” Legolas called out, “He’s found Erkenbrand and is bringing the army to Helm’s Deep.”
“Should we follow them?” Rúmil asked.
Legolas gave him a wide grin, “Follow? Ha, no! We will join them. Everyone gather your things. We’re going in with the Rohirrim.”
Scouts rode ahead to catch the Rohirrim army before they got too far, so they could tell them about the elves wishing to join the cause. Legolas and Rúmil rode out front of the others, sparing nothing as they sped out over the plains. While the others rode only because of their orders, Legolas rode as if he were going home. What a great joy it would be to be amongst the soldiers of the Riddermark, especially after his awkward reception in Lothlórien. Funny, he thought to himself, that even after quickly earning the trust and respect of a few Galadhrim, it was still the humans who made him feel most comfortable. Even the thought of seeing Gimli was more welcoming than meeting with Lord Celeborn again. He was sure that after the war, he would have to confront the Lord of Lórien again, perhaps explain why he allowed this group of rogue elves to ride with him into danger. “Béma willing, that there should be some amongst us to return to their golden woods,” he prayed as the group of elves slowed their horses. The Rohirrim had obviously received word from the scouts, as it seemed the elves were closing the distance. While deep in thought and prayer, Legolas hadn’t noticed Calariel riding next to him.
“This is not the first time that I have heard you speak to Oromë. You even call him by the name that the Northmen gave him,” she commented.
“And why shouldn’t I? The Valar are known by many names … by many different races, but they all speak to the same being,” he said defensively.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just my observation. It’s part of what makes you so different from any elf that I’ve ever met.” She paused, trying to hide a smile that escaped the corner of her mouth, but Legolas had already seen it. Instead, she owned up to her feelings and added, “I like that.” Without waiting for a response, Calariel slowed her horse and fell back with the other elves, knowing Legolas could not follow her. He must ride out front with Rúmil, and be the first to meet with the Rohirrim army.
His luminous glow could not be mistaken for anyone other than Gandalf. Though he did not know the wizard well, Legolas could not help but feel relief at seeing him. As he approached, Legolas’ smile widened. Now, Erkenbrand had seen who rode towards him and he broke away from his army to personally welcome the elf.
Both elf and man dismounted and embraced, as was common amongst the soldiers. Then Erkenbrand held him at arms-length and checked him over with a curious eye, “Traded in your armor for elvish clothes, I see.”
“Still a Rohir in my heart, though,” Legolas smiled in return. “It is so good to see you. Gandalf has told you?”
“About everything,” Erkenbrand answered without waiting. “Have you heard anything from Eomer?”
“I’ve received no word,” Legolas said. The fact that Erkenbrand was asking meant that he’d not heard anything either. “I just hope they made it to the stronghold in time.”
“Gandalf feels very confident that they did, and he is a wizard.” A bit of humor coated Erkenbrand’s words, “So what’s not to believe, huh?”
“What about Saruman or his orc army?” Legolas asked reluctantly.
Erkenbrand was silent too long before he answered. The humor left his tone. “We have seen signs of their advancement, though we have not seen the orcs themselves, a wake of destruction scattered here and there. I fear Helm’s Deep is already under attack.”
“All the more reason for our haste,” Gandalf broke in. Then he looked at Legolas and the group of elves waiting in the distance, a smile growing on his old weathered face, “I see you have been to Lothlórien. Making new friends, are we?”
“You could say that, though not all were as welcoming as I would have thought them to be,” Legolas said, and Gandalf seemed to know what he meant by that statement.
“All in good time, Master Elf,” said Gandalf, and his tone was comforting.
Rúmil and Legolas spoke briefly with Erkenbrand. The details of their attack were shared with the rest of the Lórien elves. It was safe to say that Helm’s Deep was already under siege, but that the war certainly would not be over so quickly. They held out hope that what manpower they had had kept the enemy at bay. Erkenbrand’s men would attack from behind the orc army, and cut their way through until they reached the main gates. The Lórien elves were a welcomed site to the Rohirrim. Their skilled archers would give them some advantage as they approached the enemy. Once a plan was in place, they set off once more, riding swiftly into the night, towards Helm’s Deep.
* * *
There they stood, at the edge of a steep slope. Dawn was fast approaching, as the stars flickered and went out one by one. The sky began to lighten in the east, a slow glow over the distant horizon. And then the first sign, a speck of fire that rose until the curve of the sun was recognizable. The first rays of daylight would be their cover.
The scene below was enough to make every heart in the army stop beating briefly. The valley was a sea of black, alive and moving … orcs. The smell of smoke and blood rose on the air. Fires burned here and there. A cacophony of orc’s grunts and human voices produced the song of this battle. And the last vestiges of night gave way to the day, making the scene below become clearer to everyone’s eyes.
“Look,” someone yelled, “The Deeping Wall has been breached.” There was a huge piece of the wall missing, and people fought in the stream that flowed into the stronghold. Legolas trained his hearing onto that one particular place, and could have sworn he heard the grumbling curses of a dwarf.
“And the main doors have been attacked. The orcs have penetrated the outer courtyard,” informed another man. A massive battering ram sat abandoned at the broken doors.
“They will have taken refuge in the Keep,” Erkenbrand said to no one in particular, “We’ve come just in time.”
Legolas looked to Gandalf, finding him watching the sunrise instead of looking out over the valley below. He was waiting … waiting for something to happen. Meanwhile, the men were waiting to see what the wizard would command.
“Gandalf?” Legolas whispered as he came to stand next to him.
Gandalf turned to Legolas, and with a smile spoke as though repeating something he’d said before, “On the first light of the fifth day, at dawn.”
Just then, a beam of light broke over the edge of the drop where they all stood. It touched the top of the great tower, and suddenly the deep bellowing of a horn could be heard. There was a new disturbance at the main gate, and along the causeway that wound its way to the fortress. Orcs were falling from the stone road as someone or something parted its way through the sea of creatures. Sunlight had now illuminated all of Helm’s Deep, and it was beginning to spread its way across the valley. That’s when Legolas recognized who it was that fought out of the fortress. King Théoden riding out to meet the enemy, along with Eomer and Aragorn, were cutting through the orcs, making their way down the causeway.
“Rohirrim!” Gandalf commanded, his voice ringing out for all to hear, “Go to your king!”
“To the king! To Théoden! Ride Eorlingas!” Erkenbrand called, and the army charged down into the valley below.
Legolas was about to charge with them, when he noticed the hesitation of the elves. These commands were for the men, but who would the elves ride to. And that’s when Legolas looked again and saw Aragorn riding at Théoden’s side. “We ride for mankind, but also for the one that will bring peace to all … to Estel,” Legolas called.
“We ride for the Prince,” Calariel answered, “And for the avengement of Mirkwood.”
Legolas was completely taken aback as the other elves called out in agreement with her. They were not here to fight for mankind. Men would carry on. These elves were here for Legolas, to right a wrong done to him and his people when Thranduil’s call for help was ignored. And so it had started, he thought to himself, the first stirrings of an army, of a rebirth of his home, and of his right to claim the throne of his abandoned home.
With bows at the ready and arrows finding their targets, the elves charged down into the valley, fighting alongside the Rohirrim, cutting their way onto the field of black, and leaving in their wake a trail of dead and dying orcs. The sun blinded the creatures, and those still able to run were fleeing towards a forest to the north end of the valley.
Legolas had never been to Helm’s Deep before, but he’d seen enough maps and layouts to know that there was no forest in this area. The closest trees would belong to Fangorn, but— and then it dawned, “Ents,” he said to himself.
The fighting was too close for his bow, so Legolas switched to his knives, hacking and cutting through the orcs. Arod was the perfect steed, crushing any who got under his feet. His sharp hooves cut many throats, spilling the black blood of their enemies before him. Soon, they found themselves in the company of Eomer and some of his men.
“You’ve made some new friends?” Eomer chaffed upon seeing his adopted brother again.
Legolas was so caught up in battle, he’d almost forgot that they followed him. He was used to fighting alone, not with an elvish army, and definitely not as a captain of sorts. The fighting seemed to be wavering off as more dead orcs littered the ground, giving Legolas a moment to make introductions, “Calariel, Rúmil, this is Eomer son of Eomund, sister-son of King Théoden, and a Marshal of the Riddermark.”
Eomer bowed to his new company, “We thank you for coming in our darkest hour, but I’m afraid we’re not out of danger yet.”
“What’s happened,” Legolas demanded.
“Eowyn and the other shieldmaidens are in the caves with the women and children. The enemy has broken through to that side of the fortress. We are on our way there now. Théoden has already gone, along with Grimbold and his men. We can’t let the enemy get into the caves. They’ll all be trapped.”
“Let’s go then,” Legolas agreed. “To the caves,” he called to his fellow elves.
The rubble in this area had left the ground too dangerous to navigate by horse, so they all dismounted and made their way by foot, going past the ruined place in the wall. “What made this?” Legolas asked.
“It was an explosion of some sort, like nothing I have ever seen before,” Eomer answered, “Some kind of dark magic conjured up by Saruman, no doubt.”
“Aye, ye big smelly beast. My ax between your eyes will be the last thing ya see,” shouted a familiar voice. Legolas looked towards the stream that flowed through the broken wall, and saw Gimli fighting with a particularly large Uruk hai, a creature bred for war, much more ferocious than any orc or goblin.
Legolas called to his company of elves, “Go with Eomer. I’ll be along in a moment.” Then he broke away from them, raised his bow and fired a single arrow into the creature’s neck just as Gimli’s ax embedded into its head. He wasn’t able to get out of the way in time, and the dead Uruk fell onto him, trapping the dwarf beneath its massive body as well as under water. Legolas ran to the dwarf’s aid, pushing the lifeless body off. Gimli lay in the water, arms and legs thrashing. The heavy mail he was wearing weighed him down so he couldn’t get up. Legolas reached out with his hand, and Gimli grabbed it before he even knew what or who he was grabbing. He calmed himself as he sat up, and looked up into the eyes of his new elvish friend. Gimli’s eyes flashed with relief and joy at the sight of him, then just as quickly they turned to scorn, “What are you trying to do, drown me?”
“I’m saving your life,” Legolas argued, though he could tell that Gimli was just as happy to see him as he was to see the dwarf.
“I can save my own life, thank you very much,” Gimli complained as he stood up. “I don’t need some pointy eared elf’s help.”
“Suit yourself, but it was my arrow that killed him,” said Legolas, kicking the dead Uruk.
“It was my ax buried in his skull that killed him,” Gimli retorted, “Just as it has killed every other foul thing that’s come at me tonight.” Gimli stopped and looked past Legolas, seeing the company of elves following Eomer, and recognized their Galadhrim uniforms instantly. “Ye rascal, you ran off without me.”
“I had to do this on my own. Besides, you would have only gotten in the way,” Legolas said with an arrogant smile.
“Only gotten in the—” Gimli repeated and shook his head to keep from tossing any insults at the elf. “And just what have you been doing while I’ve been here killing these blasted orcs?”
“I’ve been fighting my way through this mass of filth to see that you and the rest are still alive.”
“Do ye think I can’t defend myself?” Gimli argued, “Because I’m sure my list of kills is much longer than yours.”
“Is that some kind of challenge?”
“Call it evening the score for what you did to me back at the tavern. No one outdrinks a dwarf.” Gimli narrowed his eyes and glared at Legolas, “Whoever has the most kills from now until the end of this war wins.”
“Wins what?” Legolas asked.
“Wins the right to say he’s the winner.”
Just then, an orc ran out from behind a boulder of broken wall. Legolas nocked an arrow and shot before Gimli could turn his head to see what was happening. Then Legolas laughed and counted, “One to nothing, Master Dwarf. I’d say that’s a good start.”
Gimli made some kind of frustrated grunt that only a dwarf could make and slogged out of the filthy stream. He nodded in the direction that he’d seen Eomer leave, “Where are they going?”
“To the caves,” Legolas said, “Ready to start counting?”
Gimli didn’t answer, and instead gave a grunt of approval. But as they were about to leave, he stopped Legolas by grabbing his arm. The bantering turned to sincerity as he looked at the elf, “I’ve still got it you know, the book, safe and sound.”
Legolas had all but forgotten about that, with everything else that had happened. He bowed his head, turning it to the side, “I wouldn’t have left it if I didn’t think I could trust you to keep it. And I wanted you to know that I would return, that I was not abandoning anyone.”
“I know,” Gimli said so softly that Legolas almost couldn’t hear, “But you did not need to do that. I knew deep in my heart that you would be back.”

“Thank you … Gimli.” It had become their way, to call each other by name when they were being open and honest … and friends. “Now, let’s go kill some orcs.”
Gimli gave a thrilled laugh as they ran off to find the others at the far end of the Deeping Wall, arriving just in time to join the fight. Legolas had collected a fresh supply of arrows on his way there, and was now firing upon the orcs. Gimli’s ax had dismembered quite a few orcs, leaving a trail of body parts in his wake. He kept a running total, calling each kill’s number aloud so Legolas would know the constant tally. Legolas counted silently to himself, keeping up in numbers. They made a ferocious pair.
They had worked their way inside, close to the cave’s entrance. Legolas could see Eomer and a few of his men clearing orcs away, and then he heard the shrill war cry of a woman scorned, angry, and at the end of her patience … Eowyn. Legolas felt a brief moment of relief to know she was alive, but she was under heavy attack where the orcs were thick at the entranceway. Eomer was there a moment later, cleared a way and went into the caves to help her fight the few orcs who broke through.
Gimli’s short stature could not see as far, and he still counted as he continued fighting. Between firings, Legolas glanced around, looking for the Lothlórien elves. They were spread out along the ground, keeping any more orcs from climbing the stairways that led to the Deeping Wall, and therefore keeping a new wave of orcs from entering the caves.
“Gimli!” Legolas shouted, and pointed to over the wall to the ground.
“That’s where we’re needed then,” Gimli answered and sprinted off down the stone staircase.
Legolas remained on the wall, shooting orcs from above, and that’s when he spotted her, Calariel. She had gotten separated from the others, and was fighting two large Uruk hai alone. The beasts took turns swinging their scimitars at her, which she managed to dodge or deflect their blades. Legolas’ first instinct was to run to her, but he knew he had the better vantage point. Even from here, he could see the Uruks wore heavy armor, but as he’d learned earlier, they had a vulnerable spot at the neck. He fitted his arrow to the bow, pulled back the string and aimed. The arrow embedded deep into the Uruk hai neck, and the creature fell motionless to the ground. Calariel glanced up to see who it was, and found Legolas firing from the wall. Not to be outdone, and with one less fiend to fight, she spun, ducked and sliced her sword across the creature’s legs. The Uruk sunk to the ground, and she finished him by slicing his thick-skinned neck. All of this she accomplished before Legolas had a chance to line up a good shot. Then she smiled up at him, wiping her sleeve across her sweaty brow, letting him know that she could take care of herself.
Soon, the orcs were taken over and destroyed. The fighting in other areas had ended. The finishers moved in, those who killed any orcs injured and alive lying on the ground. Gimli went off to find Aragorn, but before he did, he checked in with Legolas for the final tally, “Forty two, Master Elf. What do you have to say to that?”
Legolas bowed graciously, hand on his heart, and a warm smile upon his lips, “It seems you have won, Master Dwarf, for I have only counted forty one.” He waited for Gimli’s bantering, but instead, the dwarf took off his helmet and bowed in dwarvish fashion to Legolas.
“You have proven twice that you are a worthy opponent, but from here on out, I will consider you my greatest ally,” Gimli said.
“I would like that just fine,” Legolas answered, and watched Gimli go off in search of Aragorn.
Legolas turned back to take a headcount, finding that all of the Lórien elves survived, though many suffered injuries, Calariel among them. He hadn’t known she was standing behind him while he was talking to Gimli. She had acquired a rather nasty cut across her cheek, but ignored it for the moment, “Did the dwarf really outnumber you?”
Legolas smiled sheepishly, and ran his hand over the top of his head, “Let’s just say it was close to call.”
She gave him a smug look, “It’s because you left him behind, isn’t it?”
Legolas had told Calariel about the drinking game and tricking Gimli. He hadn’t told her about leaving the book behind, “He won fairly, but this does seem to even things out.”
Rúmil ran up to them and started fussing over Calariel’s injury, “We need to get you to the healer right away.”
“I’m fine Rúmil. It’s just a cut,” she argued.
“No, no. It needs to be tended to. What will your father say when he sees it,” Rúmil countered.
Calariel was becoming agitated, so Legolas stepped in to ease Rúmil’s worry, “I’ll escort her to the Hornburg.”
She protested, but Legolas gave her a wink to let her know he was on her side of the argument. Calariel seemed to give in, relieving Rúmil, whose next task was to see to the other injuries of the Lórien elves.
Legolas and Calariel made their way along the ground towards the Keep. When they had passed the breeched section of the wall, they climbed the first stone staircase and headed towards the fortress. Their conversation consisted of the battle and their most memorable kills. There was something freeing about sharing this kind of information that only another soldier could understand, but especially sharing it with Calariel.
Once inside, they found the inner courtyard to be in an extremely busy and confusing rush. Soldiers, healers, families searching for loved ones, all were filling the place quickly. Legolas spotted a pile of clean rags, and healers dashing in to grab whatever they needed. He took one, as well as a small brown bottle that he assumed was medicine, and led Calariel out of the area, back to the outer courtyard and near the wall.
“I said I’d be fine,” she protested when he poured some of the yellow liquid onto the rag.
“It still needs to be cleansed,” he said and lifted the rag to her injury. The cut was deeper than he realized now that he could see it up close. Some of her hair had come loose from its braids, and he tucked it behind her ear, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing against her face. Her eyes turned towards his and locked, but Legolas looked away first. He touched the rag to the cut and she winced.
“Ouch!” she complained, but he ignored her. When he tried to bring the medicine to her injury again, she grabbed his wrist.
“I’m only trying to help,” he told her.
“Are you afraid of my father’s wrath also?” she said.
“I’ve never met your father, but Haldir had a few choice words with me before we left, and I think the marchwarden is not one to contend with,” he said facetiously.
Calariel held still and let Legolas clean and treat her injured cheek in silence. When he was almost through, he remarked, “He cares a great deal for you, Haldir does.”
“He always has, but I told you, it isn’t like that between us. He’s just a friend,” she countered.
“I know, it’s just … I can’t help feeling like I’m crossing into—” His words were cut off when Calariel unexpectedly kissed Legolas. It happened so fast, he didn’t have time to register the feel of her lips or the smell of her delicate skin before she was pulling away from him, leaving him stunned into silence.
Calariel’s eyes slowly came up, gazing through her long dark lashes, steadying her look upon him, “It’s not like that with him,” she insisted, emphasizing her words slowly.
“Are you saying it is like that with me?” he asked.
“It could be,” she answered, the corner of her mouth curling mischievously.
“It’s not because I’ve treated your wounds twice and you feel you owe me a debt,” he teased.
“It could be, but in that case I’d have to—” This time Calariel was cut off when Legolas captured her mouth with a blazing kiss. Now he would draw into memory all of the sensations he’d missed the first time, and make sure she could do the same.
They parted, eyes locked upon each other, in a drunken stupor of new emotions and experiences. This seemed like more than a kiss. It was a connection, one Legolas had never felt before, but then everything with Calariel felt that way. He thought it was because she was an elf, and he’d spent most of his life not knowing another of his own kind. It was more than that though, whatever it was, and his heart jumped at the thought of figuring it all out.
“What now?” she asked.
Dangerous question, answered the old Legolas in the back of his mind, the one who acted before thinking, the one that got him in trouble with the blacksmith. He thought he’d only felt that in his head, but something in his expression must have slipped through, because she arched a brow and regarded him questioningly.
“I mean about the war,” she corrected herself. “What will we do next?”
Legolas hadn’t had time to give it much thought. He’d been a soldier all this time, taking his orders and going wherever he was sent. But these thirty elves looked to him as their leader, their captain, and that was something he’d never done before.
“Well,” he started, hoping the plan would form quickly. Of course, he would need to speak to Théoden and Eomer, but there was still unfinished business of his own to attend to. There was one person who hadn’t answered for his crimes, and while Théoden would be out for Saruman’s head, Legolas had another in mind, someone who’d had a hand in all of this. But this was personal. The Lórien elves had no claim to the man who made life difficult for him, who’d set him up, who’d beaten him and ordered his death.
“Legolas?” Calariel called when he didn’t answer, his thoughts taking him a thousand leagues from here.
He brought himself back to reality, but his demeanor had changed, anger tingeing his thoughts, “I must meet with King Théoden. I am still under his command and Eomer’s for that matter. The Battle of the Hornburg has been won, but the war is not over.”
She seemed to become angry at his words, “You forget that you are a prince, that you could rightfully claim Mirkwood as your own. You should not have to answer to anyone.”
“No, not as long as Rohan is still in danger. I am a Rohir until these people are safe from the enemy. Saruman must answer for these crimes, and those who sided with him must answer also. Until then, I am not a prince or an heir to an empty throne.” He turned from her, unable to withstand the disappointment in her eyes, “Perhaps you have called upon me too soon, Calariel. You have heard the stories and seen the drawings. In some ways, I think you know more about me than I do. That is what I still must discover for myself. It’s still difficult for me to think of my father as the king. To me he still seems like that unwavering guard laying his life down for his king.”
“He sacrificed himself so that you could still have a chance of being the king,” she said, “Do you want to keep his last dream from becoming reality?” Calariel moved towards him and laid a hand upon his shoulder, “You must make that choice soon, Laiqalassë Thranduilion.”
Legolas sighed and reached up for her hand, “I know, but not yet. Not until I repay my debt to my adopted people, and not until he is dead.”
“Who?” Calariel asked.
“Gríma Wormtongue,” he answered with vengeance.
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The Last Wood Elf