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
- 39
- 40
- 41
Chapter 40 – Blood Offerings

“Who are you?” Calariel demanded, having no idea who this woman was.
“I’m an old friend, wouldn’t you say so, Legolas,” she said with a smile of malcontent. “Or should I say, King Laiqalassë.”
“Róta,” Legolas seethed, her name bitter on his tongue. “What are you doing here?”
“And how did you find your way in?” Calariel asked. The woman’s name was familiar to her. Legolas had spoken briefly of the blacksmith who accused him of a crime that no elf could commit. She started towards the woman, but Legolas called out to her.
“Stay away from her, Calariel.”
“Yes,” Róta hissed, “You should listen to him or you might regret your decision.”
Calariel moved with grace and speed as she released her bow from her back and nocked an arrow, stretching the bowstring taut. “I think you are the only one here that should be regretful.”
She loosed her arrow, but Róta perceived what she was about to do, and ducked out of the way. The woman pulled a pair of throwing knives from her boot and skillfully threw one at Calariel. It went into Calariel’s thigh, and she cried out in pain as she fell to one knee.
Legolas reached for his bow, and then realized that he’d shed his weapons when he entered the chamber. They were lying on a bench across the room. Then he remembered his father’s sword lying on the floor. While Róta was watching to see what Calariel would do, he tried to get to the weapon, but one of Róta’s knives hit him in the shoulder, and he fell backwards.
“Not so fast, my liege,” Róta said mockingly, “We have some unfinished business, you and I.” She kicked the sword away and stepped on Legolas’ chest. Then she leaned down, and grabbed the handle of the knife in Legolas’ shoulder, twisting it.
Legolas clenched his teeth and cried out. He grabbed her booted ankle with his other hand, but the pain Róta caused with the knife was incapacitating him.
Somehow, Calariel managed to get up, and she took up her Galadhrim bow. “Stay away from him,” she growled and released an arrow.
The tip just grazed Róta’s upper arm, cutting the tight fitted sleeve of her shirt, and leaving a bloody slice in her flesh. The blacksmith reached into her other boot, and pulled out two more throwing knives. Calariel nocked another arrow, but she was not as fast as Róta. The knives impaled the elleth, one in the chest and one in her arm. Calariel dropped her bow, mouth hanging agape as she looked down at the knife protruding from her chest. Her eyes fell upon Legolas as she sunk to the floor.
Legolas found his anger gave him new strength, and while Róta was focused on Calariel, he grabbed the knife, pulling it from his shoulder. Then he jabbed it into Róta’s thigh, catching her by surprise. The woman shrieked in agony and stumbled away from Legolas. He stood from the ground, weaponless, and moved towards his father’s sword. Róta was too focused on the knife in her leg, and when she looked up, she saw Legolas arming himself with the old sword. The blacksmith let out a primal yell, clearly annoyed that her plans were altered. She was closest to Legolas’ bow, and picked it up along with some arrows from his quiver. She held two arrows in her teeth while she nocked the one in her hand, and aimed at Legolas.
He glanced at Calariel lying lifeless on the floor, raised the sword and charged at Róta, but she had the upper hand with the bow, fired and hit him in the side. The arrow sliced through his flesh, the tip protruding from the back. She’d stuck him clear through. Róta reached up to take another arrow from her mouth, but dropped it. Seeing his chance, Legolas fought through the pain and advanced towards her. She managed to nock the last arrow and fire, hitting Legolas in the shoulder, opposite the knife wound. The power of being hit at such close range forced him to fall backwards, and he hit his head on the corner of the stone step of the dais. Stars flashed in his vision, and the light seemed to fade. Róta was on him quickly, straddling his body and shaking him.
“Stay awake now,” she commanded. “I wouldn’t want you to miss the ceremony.” From a leather sheath at her side, Róta pulled out the familiar curved dagger with the runes of the black speech engraved upon the undulating blade.
Legolas forced himself to stay conscious, lifting his head to get a better look at the dagger. “Gríma… had that last. He… he stabbed Saruman. How do you… come to… have it?”
“Fool! Where do you think I’ve been holed up all this time?” She spat angrily. She lifted the blade and looked longingly at the runes. “I also know what it does, how it works, and of the power it will give me.” Her eyes left the blade and stared intently into Legolas’ blue orbs. “I forged it after all, though Saruman etched the black speech onto the blade. Gríma promised me the position of captain of the Rohirrim once he became king. All he cared about was the shield maiden, and gaining her hand in marriage, but I wanted control of their army. And then you ruined any chance of that happening. Gríma was right, you should never have been in Rohan.”
Legolas struggled to get free of Róta, but he was too weak from his injuries and his head was spinning. Róta, however, decided not to take any chances, knowing all too well the hidden strength of the elves. She took off her belt and strapped his hands above his head, tying the other end of the belt to the leg of the king’s heavy wooden throne. Then she seductively lowered herself onto his waist, swirling her hips and flicking her tongue. She moaned salaciously as she brought the dagger back into view. “Bring back any memories, lover? I still have the scars on my back as proof of that night. Mmm... if I had it to do all over again, I would not change a thing. You were a beast. It’s just a shame you could not be more like me. We could have made a great pair ruling the Riddermark together.” Róta leaned forward until her breasts were pushing against his chest. “There’s still time to change your mind. We could consummate our agreement right here.” Róta glanced at Calariel, “I doubt she would mine. Who is she anyways, your latest whore?”
Legolas lifted his head and spit in her face, “You should have hung from the gallows.”
Róta wiped her face on her sleeve and laughed maniacally, “I was too smart to let that happen. Anyways, back to business, lover, huh?” She took the blade of the dagger and brought it to Legolas’ neck. “I’ve got better things planned for you now. The best thing I did was escape to Orthanc. Fools, they did not think I knew their plans, but I spent my time listening from the shadows. I had to figure out what my position would be amongst them, and I’ll admit that I was clueless, until Théoden and the rest of his company came looking for retribution from Saruman. Imagine how shocked I was to learn of your true heritage, that you were an heir to the throne of Mirkwood. I wasn’t sure just how I could use that information to my advantage, not until Gríma’s little stunt failed.” She sat up, grinding her hips, moving the point of the dagger lower, where it threatened to cut the leather ties of his leggings. “I watched you shoot him. You’re an excellent marksman, among other things.” Her fingers fumbled with his ties. “I wonder if I can rouse you as easily as I did before.”
Legolas struggled against his bindings, “Get off you filthy bitch!”
Róta was enjoying her game of toying with him. She rolled her eyes at his protests, “Virtuous elves… ugh!” Then she narrowed her eyes and smiled fiendishly. “But you play by your own set of rules, don’t you? Living with the Rohirrim men, they must have taught you their ways. And you’re a wood elf too. Hmm, that’s a dangerous combination.” She nodded her head, gesturing towards Calariel, still lifeless on the floor behind where Róta knelt on top of Legolas. “That one is Noldor, no doubt. You’ll not be seeing her quim any time soon. Such a waste. Here you are, a most magnificent lover, and she’ll not give you but a kiss, I assume. How can you stand it? Oh well, it doesn’t matter now… you know… since she’s dead and all. Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”
Legolas was tired of her disgusting comments, and his anger was escalating quickly, but he knew this was part of Róta’s plan. “What do you want with me, Róta, to kill me and take the throne?” he said looking at the chair he was tied to. Then he laughed, “And what will you rule here? There is nothing. Mirkwood is no more.”
“I could ask you the same thing, lover,” she countered. “You are but one, so who will join you here?”
“There are those who will follow me, which is more than you can say for yourself.”
“Ah,” she smiled, “There you are wrong. Do you remember those men in Rohan… the ones who carried out Gríma’s orders? Where do you think they came from? Do you think Wormtongue persuaded them with his winning personality? No, love, it was me. I did all the dirty work. All he had to do was keep Théoden under that spell. Those were my people, and there are more who will jump at the chance to start a new colony.” She cocked her head to the side as she looked down at Legolas. “You never knew where I came from, did you? I thought they would have figured it out, the shield maiden or that spoiled brat who spied on me and turned me in. Oh well, I guess it wasn’t important.”
Róta shifted her weight so that she straddled Legolas’ thighs. Her fingers twisted in the leather ties, coming dangerously close to undoing them. She worked slowly as she continued. “I was born in Harad, raised as a slave girl, trained as a dancer, destined for the life of a courtesan. Rather than wallow in misery, I used my womanly powers to carefully infiltrate several Southron tribes. I became a favorite of many clan leaders, and they trusted me as long as I kept them satisfied. It wasn’t difficult, since I was gifted with all the right tools,” she said as she squeezed her breasts in illustration. “So imagine what they’ll do when I return to Harad with my new title as Queen of Mirkwood. They’ll grant me an army of my choosing, so long as I use my power to rule the Rhovanion. Even the dimwitted beasties will have to answer to me.”
“You’ll never make it back to Harad. There is a war going on outside, and my soldiers will see you for what you are. You’ll be dead before you reach the forest road,” Legolas threatened.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ll leave here as leader of the orc army that should just be arriving about now.” Róta laughed, “You are outnumbered, and your pitiful Woodsmen and Galadhrim will soon meet the same end as the wood elves did all those years ago. This time, though, you will not sneak off.” Her hand slid into his leggings and wrapped around his softened member. She started kneading him, and could feel the blood instantly rush and pulse as it slowly grew. “That’s the one thing about the male species of any race. All it takes is an expert touch to bring them standing, whether they want it or not.”
Legolas twisted, trying to throw Róta off of him, but her thighs were clenched tight and she would not budge. She moaned and licked her lips, “You know, there is no particular way to finish the ritual except to spill your blood with this dagger. I can kill you any way I wish.” Her hand quickened its rhythm as Legolas lay beneath her, unable to keep himself from hardening. Róta was in control of that.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a man die as he came. I have, and it’s the most intriguing thing I’ve ever witnessed.” She mocked a surprised look, “Oh, I did not tell you that I dabbled as an assassin. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I could not pass up the reward. He was in very much the same situation that you are now, except for the fact that he wanted to be restrained. He made my job much too easy. And you know me, I like to play with my victims before I strike. I took him in my hand, and I stroked him like this,” she said as her hand moved from base to tip. “And just as he spilled his seed, I slowly pushed my dagger into his heart. He screamed and moaned, feeling pleasure as death took him. I’ve often wondered which one he felt more, his orgasm or my dagger.”
Róta, brought the dagger back into view. She glanced down at his growing arousal. “Too bad I couldn’t have ridden you once more, but I’m afraid things are about to get quite messy here.” Her hand left his member, but she moved her body up and straddled his hardness. Then she brought the point of the dagger to his chest, cutting his tunic open as she prepared her sacrifice.
Legolas tried to get his hands free, but the belt only tightened on his wrists, cutting off his circulation. His arms were tingling from lack of blood. His other wounds had weakened him. He was completely helpless. If there was just something he could do, some way to distract her. . .
“Róta,” he whispered, “I remember that night too… the charge that pulsed between us, the feel of your body against mine. You were so wanton, so demanding.”
She didn’t seem fazed by his comments. “I had a job to do and I did it,” she said without emotion.
“No, there was something more. I felt it and I know you did too. Don’t deny it, Róta. Something happened that night, some kind of connection, a bond of sorts.”
Her attention was distracted by his words and she stopped what she was doing. “You were so overpoweringly strong. I’d never been with someone who I felt could break me like a twig.”
“You have never been with an elf before. Men are weak compared to the virility of the elves,” Legolas whispered convincingly. “Admit it, Róta. No man could ever satisfy you, now that you’ve felt the power of an elf.”
She allowed him to capture her in his stare, and Legolas used his gaze to ensnare her. “No, they can’t. I’ve tried to find that lust, but no one compares. It was good, wasn’t it?”
Legolas feigned pleasure, “You are strong, Róta. Any other woman would have been screaming for me to stop, but you wanted more. There’s not been anyone like you since.”
“Not even the she-elf?”
“No, not even close. It could be like that again, Róta,” he said while looking deep into her eyes. “Every night, I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll think you’ve been ripped apart. Then I’ll shove you up against the wall and take you until your back is raw. And just when you think you can take no more, I’ll have you from behind and ride you until you think you’ll split in two.”
Róta sat staring at Legolas, every word making images in her mind. Her chest was heaving as she breathed heavy. “By the gods, Legolas, you know how to make a woman slick.” She leaned down, lips parted, eyes hungry with desire. And just as she was about to devour his mouth, she stopped, the spell broken, and the dagger at his side. “But unfortunately, I have a ritual to complete.”
Legolas felt the tip of the dagger puncture his skin and slowly trail along one of his ribs. He yelled out in pain and Róta started reciting the black speech. She sat up and watched the blood trickle from the slice. Then she stopped and angled the point at a place where she knew the blade would slide in and stab the heart. Legolas looked up to see her eyes roll up until only the whites showed. The ancient language flowed from her tongue easily. Then a white hot pain stabbed his chest as Róta began pushing the blade into his flesh. He cried out for her to stop, but she was oblivious to anything happening, as though she was in a trance. And just when he thought there was no hope, he heard the sweetest sound of all.
“Get… off… of… him… you… BITCH!” Calariel cried as she thrust one of Legolas’ long knives through Róta’s back.
Legolas saw his blade protrude from the front of the blacksmith’s chest. Her hand released the handle of the dagger, and she looked down, watching the red blade reverse its path as Calariel pulled the knife out. Blood rapidly pooled at the wound, and Róta’s hands clutched at her chest. She gasped for air, making an awful wheezing sound. Then she fell to the side, rolling off of Legolas, and did not move again.
Calariel stood there, stunned and speechless as she watched Róta die. Then her strength was spent and she fell to her knees. With what ability she had left, she crawled her way to Legolas, and untied the belt that bound his hands. She looked at him, pain clearly written on her face, and collapsed.
“Calariel, no!” he called to her as he forced himself to sit up. He leaned over her where she lay, and smoothed the loose hair from her face. “Stay with me now. I still need you. I need your help.”
Her breathing was shallow and a tear fell from the corner of her eye. “You have to go, Legolas, go and lower the bridge. Get our people to safety. Leave me. I can do nothing more.”
“Calariel, please,” he begged, but her eyes had closed and she heard him no more.
* * *
Legolas reluctantly left Calariel, and found the forgotten entrance to the caverns. The mechanism for the drawbridge seemed intact, but it hadn’t been used in ages. The door was hinged on one side, and chains hung down from the other side. Legolas grasped the heavy chains and pulled, but nothing happened. The metal was rusted seizing the hinges. He tried again, using what strength he had, overcoming the pain of his wounds. The sound outside of the heavy wooden door was disheartening. War was well underway on the other side.
Legolas closed his eyes, breathed deep and said the prayer that his late friend Théodred would recite on the eve of battle. “Pray, Béma, give me strength of body, will of heart and peace of mind.”
He grasped the chain once more and pulled. The door started to give. Dust and dirt fell away as it started to lower. Legolas could feel every muscle in his body burn, and he roared as he fought through the pain in his shoulder and side. A vision of Calariel lying on the cold stone floor of the audience chamber gave him the last bit of strength he needed. Suddenly the drawbridge moved easier as gravity took over. The chains rattled and the hinges creaked and moaned. The great wooden door landed with a heavy thud on an ancient stone roadway that jetted out over the river. Legolas shaded his eyes as the light from the outside world flooded the entrance. He ran to the threshold and looked out at the scene before him. Orcs had assailed his company, and they fought with weapons in hand and the river to their backs. Glancing to the right, he could see the bulk of the army at the broken bridge where the main entrance was inaccessible.
Someone yelled out, “The bridge! The bridge is down!” and word spread like a plague. The mass of elves and men started moving towards Legolas, and he called out to them to hurry and get into the caves. As elvish archers entered, he directed them to a set of stairs that led to the top of the gatehouse, which housed the drawbridge. From that position, the elves could shoot the orcs and try to keep them from following the army into the caves. Legolas directed the soldiers to different stations. Those able to fight stayed by the bridge. Archers were sent to the battlements above. The injured were taken deeper into the palace, to the great hall where healers could begin their work.
Rúmil came in with a group of his warriors, looking battle-worn, but not about to give up the fight. He smiled as he saw Legolas, but it faded quickly when he saw the amount of blood on Legolas’ tunic.
“You’re injured,” he said worriedly. “You must get to the healers. I’ll take over from here.”
Legolas shook his head, “Do not concern yourself. I’ll be fine, but Calariel is gravely injured. She needs help this minute.”
“Where is she?” Rúmil demanded.
“The audience chamber. I’ll take you there,” Legolas said. He put someone in charge of the door, and he and Rúmil made their way to the chamber, taking one of the Lórien healers with them.
They got to the room and Rúmil was shocked to see another body in the room besides Calariel. He paid no attention, though, gesturing for the healer… an elf named Márandil… to examine Calariel first. Legolas leaned exhaustedly against the wall, his energy almost spent. Slowly, he slid down the wall until he was sitting upon the floor, one leg stretched out long, the other bent at the knee, and his forehead resting upon it. Rúmil spoke quietly with Márandil before he went to Legolas.
“How is she,” Legolas asked desperately.
“She’s lost a lot of blood, and she is very weak. Márandil is worried that her lung has been punctured, for her breathing is shallow. If that is the case, then she is in greater danger than we thought.” Rúmil bowed his head, “I’m sorry.”
“She saved my life, Rúmil. She must live.”
“The healer will do all he can, I assure you.” Rúmil got down on one knee and looked Legolas over carefully. “You need help too. Is all of this blood yours?”
“Probably,” Legolas answered lifting his head from his knee.
“What happened here? Who is that woman?” asked Rúmil, gesturing to the tall, lifeless body of the blacksmith.
“Seems as though my past caught up to me,” answered Legolas, but he would say no more.
Rúmil looked over to the healer, when something caught his eye, and he slowly got up and approached the skeletal body sitting on the King’s throne. On the floor at the foot of the throne was a dried and withered crown. The Noldo bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart. Then he took a knee, said something quietly in Quenya, and stood again.
“Should I check the woman?” Márandil asked Rúmil.
But Legolas answered, “Never mind her, she’s dead. Just focus on Calariel.”
Márandil turned to Legolas, “I’ve done what I can for the moment. I must wait and see how she takes to the medicine.”
Legolas watched as he approached. Márandil was an elf of slight frame, definitely not a warrior. He was dark haired, fair skinned, and smelled of herbs. When he looked at Legolas, he only saw the injuries, for his mind was focused on his job.
He poked and prodded Legolas’ shoulder and side. “You’ve still got part of an arrow in your shoulder. It will have to be removed or it will get infected.” Márandil examined his side, “This one went clean through the flesh.”
“The tip broke when I fell. I pulled the arrow out,” Legolas told him.
“And the stab wound in your other shoulder is not deep, but it needs to be cleansed and bandaged. What concerns me is this knot on the back of your head,” said Márandil as he parted Legolas’ hair to get a better look. “You almost cracked your skull.”
“I hit it on the edge of the dais. It hurts, but I’ve felt worse,” Legolas said.
Calariel moaned and all eyes went to the elleth laying on the floor. All three elves rushed to her. She opened her eyes and they looked from one elf to the other until they rested on Legolas, “Is… is she… dead?”
“Yes,” Legolas said with a smile as he cupped her face.
“And you?” Her vision went to the blood on his tunic. “The ritual?”
Legolas shook his head, “I’m alright, but it’s you that I worry about.”
“It’s hard to breathe,” she commented.
Legolas looked at the healer for an answer, and Márandil examined Calariel more closely now that she was awake. He pushed on her side until she winced. A look of relief passed over his face. “The lung is alright, but she has a broken rib.”
“Thank Béma,” Legolas said quietly, surprising the others. Elves spoke of the Valar, of course, but Béma was normally referred to by the Rohir.
Just then, a soldier ran into the room, out of breath and excited. “Prince Legolas, the rest of the Galadhrim army has arrived.”
Legolas closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Rúmil looked anxious, “I must go see that my brothers are alright.”
“Yes, go,” Legolas nodded, and Rúmil left with the messenger.
“I need to go too,” Legolas said to Calariel. “I’ve my men to see to.”
“You need to rest,” she said as her eyes scanned the blood stains. “You’re hurt.”
“I’ve already told him that,” Márandil said with a warning raise of his brow.
“But he will not listen,” Calariel finished.
Legolas gave a half smile, “No repose for the king.”
She closed her eyes as her mouth cracked a smile, “It’s good to hear you refer to yourself as such.”
“Well, the berry crown is only for ceremonial show. The actual rite of the crowning has yet to be performed. I am still just a prince.”
“Prince… King… it makes no difference to me,” she jested.
“And would you still have me if I were merely a pauper?” he asked.
Calariel looked at him quizzically, “What are you asking, Legolas?”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, “I thought I had lost you, and I realized that… well… that I want you with me. I’m still learning about you, and I’m not ready to see that end.”
Calariel smiled and turned her eyes away as she blushed, “I like being with you too.”
Legolas kissed her gingerly and smoothed her hair from her face, “If I asked it of you, would you consider staying here… with me… in Mirkwood?”
“If you asked, I would say yes,” she replied.
“Then I am asking.”
“And my answer stays the same.”
Legolas kissed her again, but this time without reserve. Then, he struggled to his feet, wincing as he stood. “I’ll come back. Márandil is in charge here.”
“I’ll take good care of her,” the healer promised.
* * *
Legolas stood at the drawbridge, looking out at the surrounding land. The forest was littered with bodies, and not all of them orcs or spiders. Time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace as he searched for familiar faces. Rúmil stood with his brothers, Haldir and Orophin. Rúmil was looking at Orophin’s arm, which had been bound in a splint. Haldir had a slash above his right eye, but he still looked as robust as ever. Despite their injuries, they were glad to be in each other’s company. They were three again, the brothers Lothlórien, a symbol of that land’s unending endurance.
Legolas looked on and saw Folvar leaning against a tree. His injuries looked mild, but the aging Woodsman was exhausted from the fight. His brow was heavy with sweat. He rubbed his shoulder as though massaging muscles he hadn’t used in a while. Legolas wondered if this was to be his last battle, and thought that Sefa would be glad to know her husband would be home, safe in their village, from now on. Legolas was just glad Folvar was still alive. He would have hated to visit the Woodsmen village for the first time in many years only to bring disparaging news. Now he knew it would be a joyous reunion.
Further on amongst the devastation, Legolas spotted Hafdan and Kular, bent on their knees, and giving comfort to one of their own, who looked as though he was beyond saving. The man had a large gash in his side, his insides spilled out and a pool of blood beneath him. Legolas could see the injured man hand some small token to Hafdan, and then he moved no more. Kular bowed his head in sorrow, and then closed the man’s eyes. Hafdan kissed his thumb, and then touched it to the man’s forehead. He looked at the token, a charm of some sort, and carefully tucked it inside his vest for safe keeping. Another villager woman had just become a widow.
And what had they all fought for? This was not their land. Mirkwood might not have been any concern to them, yet they came. Some lost the battle, but more survived. Those that lay dead had given their lives for the restoration of an elven realm that hadn’t existed for years, and then only one elf remained of that land. Why was it worth these mortal men to come to Legolas’ aid? He hadn’t asked them to come. They just happened upon him and his Lórien company, and offered their weapons, their very lives, for the sake of Mirkwood. And still, Legolas asked himself why.
He looked around at the devastated forest, and thought of the words he exchanged with Róta. What exactly had he inherited? Who would want to make this dark place their home, their new hope? He suddenly felt very far away from those that he cared about. Eomer, Eowyn, Théoden… they were out there somewhere, fighting their own battles, and Legolas prayed they were safe. He could only imagine what they were up against, especially if they were in Gondor.
But this battle, the fight for Mirkwood, seemed to be over. It seemed like such a small victory compared to other wars, but it was a victory no less. Legolas glanced again at the man who had died in Hafdan and Kular’s company. It was no victory for this one, yet he willingly fought, knowing there was a chance he would not go home again.
Legolas knew his obligation to be king was the reason this man, as well as many other men and elves, had given their lives to this war. Mirkwood must rise from the char and the ash. It must be rebuilt and resettled with a new generation of elves, and Legolas would lead them. But what he hadn’t thought of was what he would have to give up. How could he turn towards this new path and leave behind all those people who had helped him along the way? But wasn’t this the very reason they had helped in the first place? They had all known he could not stay, Eomer, Théoden, they knew he would go home one day. That day was today, and Legolas was proud and excited, but at the same time, he was lonely, for he wished he could share this victory with them.
While lost to his thoughts, Legolas hadn’t noticed that Haldir now stood at his side, watching the scene around him. The Noldo stood tall, but with an odd sense of subservience. Legolas did not care much for it, but he understood it. He outranked Haldir, but he still felt like an equal. Had his father struggled with this too, he wondered.
Haldir seemed to be waiting for Legolas to acknowledge him before he spoke. Yet another thing Legolas would have to get used to as ruler of the woodland realm.
“The injured are being carried inside the palace,” he informed Haldir. “The dead have been laid beside the river, a temporary morgue until it is decided where to bury them.” Legolas turned to Haldir, “I supposed I have the final say.”
“That would be to your discretion,” Haldir responded with a pause. He seemed somewhat flustered. “I apologize, but I am unsure of how you would like to be addressed.”
Legolas laughed nervously, “I don’t really know myself. How about Legolas for now, at least until the official crowning.”
Haldir simply nodded in agreement, but his attention was on the scene surrounding them. He looked anxious. “Rúmil told me of Calariel’s injuries.”
“She is inside amongst the others,” Legolas informed him.
Haldir’s gaze turned intensely to Legolas, and he knew the March warden’s concern for her was still quite considerable. His feelings towards her had not diminished in the least. What would he say when he learned that Calariel was staying in Mirkwood?
“I must see her,” Haldir demanded, and Legolas led the way.
She was laying on a makeshift bed in the throne room with the other injured. Márandil was busily tending the wounded along with the other healers, which were few, but he smiled when he saw Haldir and Legolas approaching.
“She is doing just fine. The bleeding has stopped and she is resting,” Márandil said before the elves could ask. He gestured to where she lay. “You can see for yourselves, just do not disturb her. I believe the healing sleep has taken her.”
Legolas and Haldir approached Calariel, each elf looking down at her with a similar expression. Haldir lifted a wave of her dark hair and pushed it behind her ear as he spoke. “She would have followed you wherever you went.”
Legolas let out a deep sigh, “I could not have stopped her. She has such determination.”
“She has always been that way. It is why I trained with her when she decided to join the army. Her father would not hear of it, and if anyone else had offered to be her instructor, Túrdir would have paid them no mind. But we knew each other. He had been my commander at one time. He trained me himself, and I think he knew I would watch out for her and shape her to be the best.”
“Then I must have you to thank,” Legolas said, “for it was Calariel’s skill that saved my life today.”
The corner of Haldir’s mouth upturned in a smile, but his attention never left the elleth, “As I said, she would not have left your side. She… cares deeply for you.”
Legolas heard what Haldir said, but he also heard what the March warden could not admit aloud… the fact that she did not see Haldir this way. “I care for her too,” Legolas said after a silent pause between them.
“Is she staying?” Haldir asked.
Legolas nodded and turned his head away, “Yes.”
“I thought as much.” Haldir had knelt by her side, but now he stood and faced Legolas. He bowed his head as he spoke. “There was always a part of Calariel that was searching for something more. As much as it pains me to admit it, I think she belongs here.”
“I’m sorry, Haldir, I—”
“No,” Haldir interrupted, “I have always known that her heart did not beat with mine. It was but a fools hope that someday. . .”
At that moment, Calariel’s eyes fluttered, opened and settled on the March warden. She gave a sleepy smile, “You made it. And Orophin?”
“He has a broken arm, but he will be fine,” Haldir answered as he gazed down at the lovely elleth who he had spent years adoring.
Her smile faded as her recent decision came vividly to mind, “Haldir, I must tell you something. I… I have—”
“I already know,” Haldir said to spare her. “Legolas and I were just discussing your decision to stay in Mirkwood, and I agree. You belong here.”
Legolas watched as the relief that washed over her face quickly dissipated. “My father will be disappointed.”
“Well, yes, he will,” Haldir agreed, “but he is not blind either.”
“And neither is he consensual,” she said with a deep sigh.
“I am happy for you,” Haldir stated, and he gave a warm smile. The moment passed quickly, and Haldir straightened as he looked around. “I have duties to attend to. I just wanted to see that you were well.”
“Thank you, Haldir,” Calariel smiled.
Haldir bowed to her and Legolas, and then he was off to see his men.
Calariel watched him go, and then her vision fell on Legolas, her mood suddenly lightened. “Speaking of my father, he won’t like you very much either, once word reaches him of my decision.”
“I think your father has already established that opinion.” Legolas knelt down beside her and took her hand. “After all, I am Thranduil’s son, and mustn’t I live up to the reputation of seducing the most beautiful elleth of Lothlórien, and whisk her away to my underground lair, spoiling her with riches?”
Calariel started to laugh, and then she winced as she grabbed her side, the movement jostling her broken ribs. “Your humor pains me, my King.”
“You’ll just have to get used to it, my Queen.” The words left his lips before he realized what he had said. Neither did they escape Calariel’s attention. She looked as though she had witnessed something that she should never have seen.
Unsure of how to recover from his slip, he stammered into a chorus of ah’s and oh’s. Calariel, seeing his discomfort, gave a flick of her hand, as though waving him off. “It’s alright, Legolas. We were only speaking playfully.”
“Yes,” he laughed nervously, and he thought he was in the clear, but the lingering look in Calariel’s eyes said something else. Had she been hoping that he would make a proposal? But how could they think of something like this when they’d known each other for such a short period of time.
‘And are you not the same elf who asked Lúta to marry you without any thought of what that would mean?’ said a voice from inside his head. Legolas was in no way immune to making rash decisions. Another trait of his father’s personality, he figured.
“Wait… no!” he exclaimed, taking Calariel by surprise.
“What?” she said confused.
“Maybe I am not jesting.” Again, he struggled with the words, as they would not come together to form a sentence.
Calariel managed to sit up, ignoring the pain in her side. She touched her hand to Legolas’ arm. “You don’t have to do this.”
Her voice cleared the fog from his thoughts, and he saw clearly just what it was that made his heart beat loudly for her. “Calariel, before I knew who you were, before you opened your eyes to me for the first time when I found you in Fangorn, I think I felt a pang in my heart. It was because of you that I went to Lothlórien. And when I found no support, you were the first one to say you would fight by my side. You may be the only one who accepts me for the elf that I have grown to be. I am not like the others. I don’t think I ever can be like them, nor do I want to, and you understand that. My family in Rohan are the only ones who take me for who I am. You are the first elf to do that.”
“I… I didn’t mean for you to… I mean, you shouldn’t—”
Legolas could see that he scared her with his admission. To ease her mind, he cupped her face and caught her in his bright blue stare. “Maybe now is not the time to have this discussion, but I just want you to know that I think… no… I know that I am falling for you.”
Calariel smiled as a tear formed in the corner of her eye, “You are?” She laughed uneasily, not prepared for any of this, but it was something she thought of from time to time. “I… I mean, y-you are… a-are you? Really?”
He moved closer to her, lifting her face to his, lips almost touching. “I most certainly am,” he whispered, and then he kissed her as though she was the first and the last one he would ever kiss. He finally released her and sat back, eyes turned down to his lap. “I know this is not traditionally how it is done.”
“You are anything but a traditional elf, Legolas, and full of surprises. You keep me guessing from one moment to the next,” Calariel admitted, her lips still tingling from the passionate kiss. “It is so very freeing, and I… I love that about you, and I… well… I-I love you.”
His eyes closed as his mouth spread into a smile. When he opened them, they were trained on Calariel. “I love you too.” They met for another kiss, and melted into one another, losing themselves in the feel of this new discovery. And when they separated, they laughed together.
“So, does this mean we are courting?” Legolas asked.
“This is customarily how it is done. What about in Rohan? What would they call it?”
“Well, traditionally speaking, it would be a courtship, although some are hasty and would further explore as they would on their wedding night,” Legolas huffed a breath like a laugh as he thought about his friend, Théodred, who had wasted no time with his beloved. Calariel looked slightly put off, and he shook his head, “Not me, of course. I would never take advantage of… well, unless you agreed and… but, no… no, I’d never.”
“But you have been with others,” she stated.
Legolas looked away and nodded, “You know I have, and I’ve told you as much, but if you must hold it against me—”
“Oh, no, Legolas. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just… well, you’ve been intimate before, and I’m sure you expect your relationships to advance at a certain pace. And I want to be a part of some of your human traditions, but—”
“Calariel, I would not ask this of you, and you uncomfortable with any part of it,” he said sincerely.
“Good,” she said relieved.
“I would do this properly, and embrace my elvishness, most of all with you.” He paused and looked off in the distance of the throne room, his brow furrowed with concern. “I suppose this means I must confront your father again, and ask permission to court his only daughter.”
“And if he should refuse to grant you permission?” she asked curiously, though she thought she knew his answer, for Legolas was not one to give up easily.
“I will state my intensions and give him time to make his decision. If he denies my attempt, I will ask again, maybe thrice, but I will not beg and plead.” Legolas took her chin in his fingers, his thumb caressing her lower lip. “Neither will I take no for an answer, but I don’t think you will either.”
“I want to live here in Mirkwood. I want to be part of the reconstruction and regrowth. I want to put my hands in the soil, and say that I helped to build it, that it is my home. And I want to do this with you.”
Legolas’ hand moved over her cheek, cupping her ear, his lips close to hers. “I love you, Calariel.”
“I love you too,” she whispered before capturing his mouth and settling into the warmth of his embrace.
- 39
- 40
- 41
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Last Wood Elf