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The Protege III: Protect and Defend	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2222 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings is the sole creation of JRR Tolkien. The characters are not mine, and I do not make any money by writing these tales - of course, this, you already knew.

Chapter List
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Author's notes: to get the most out of this story, you should first read The Protege, and Training Day.
Beta reader: Mindirith

It was a wonderful spring morning, again. ‘Was the weather always this perfect?’ It certainly wasn’t in the Greenwood. There, they suffered brusque changes in temperature, the seasons harsh and abrupt; sometimes it was pleasantly warm, others it was windy, or icy, raining, or all at once. Yet here, - it was a marvel to behold, and a serum to his battle-hardened body and soul.

Taking a deep breath, he savored his last few seconds abed, and then lifted himself, strolling onto the open balcony and opening his mind to the forest’s hum. Today however, the answer he received was somewhat tepid. Straining his senses a little further, he cocked his head to the side, listening for anything that would give him a clue as to the disquiet he perceived. All was calm, but there was a hesitance that he was puzzled by, almost as if there was some kind of distraction, hindering their routine morning blessings. He would have to stay alert during the day, for it was not clear to him whether this ‘distraction’ was good or bad.

He had an appointment with Melven to train with the short swords, and then with Haldir for Archery. The rest of the morning he would spend with his warriors, for in the Greenwood, they trained every day, come rain or shine. Even when at home and not patrolling, they would work in full battle gear once every two or three days, for the added weight they carried made the task much more difficult, and allowances had to be made for the bulk they wore on their backs and at their sides. Today, half of them had been granted a one-day leave of rest to explore and enjoy the hidden valley, and tomorrow it would be the turn of the other eleven. Legolas, however, gave himself no rest, and therefore, neither did Galdithion nor Henian.

Walking back inside, an almost undetectable frown on his face, he dressed himself in brown, form-fitting leggings and a black leather skirt and jerkin. Finally, he pulled on his heavy boots and vambraces, thus completing the ensemble. He would arm himself after breakfast.

At the table, he was conveniently seated next to Mithrandir, with whom he wished to speak, for he needed someone to be alert to the possibility of strife during the day – he knew he could count on the wizard to trust him implicitly, without the accompanying, time-consuming questions. He would simply ask later and take his word as truth.

As the plates began to emerge from the kitchens, he piled his own plate high with everything the table had to offer, as he had done every day since his arrival. Glorfindel and Elrond watched him fondly, now understanding why he ate so much - you couldn’t maintain a body like that without a high-protein diet. Erestor, however, was just as shocked as he had been on the first day, and something akin to amused distaste would flitter over his face and just as quickly disappear. And yet their lover seemed unusually subdued and distant this morning, and so Elrond resolved to speak to him after breakfast.

As Glorfindel turned to speak to him, he had to stop mid-sentence, as Legolas was staring off to the side, a fork full of food poised before his mouth. His eyes sparkled green as his brow furrowed.

“Legolas?” he enquired, watching to see if the prince would come back to himself.

“Um? What is is?” he asked, as he took the food into his mouth.

“Are you quite alright?” he asked, frowning himself now.

“Yes, worry not, Glorfindel, I was merely listening.”

Mithrandir, of course, had not missed the episode, and caught the prince’s gaze as he now sat sipping on a hot tea, to which he had become partial. Legolas cocked his head slightly towards the door, a gesture that was perfectly understood. Finishing his own breakfast, he stood and bid a good morning to the lords, and accompanied the prince out into the morning sunshine, both followed by the intrigued eyes of the lords and lady at the head of the table.

Once outside, Mithrandir flanked him and looked at him inquisitively.

“What is it?” he asked urgently, moving closer to the prince.

“There is something amiss, Mithrandir,” said Legolas, unburdening himself to his fellow protégé, “the forest is hesitant this morning. I cannot say what it is, but I have learned to never discard these feelings. It may be nothing, but I need someone to be alert today. I have many duties to perform, but I will be on my guard, I thought to tell you - in case something should happen,” he said, as he turned to peer at Mithrandir. He needed to know if he had expressed himself clearly enough – he had, for the wizard returned his gaze intently, giving the prince a first glimpse of the power that resided behind the old man’s eyes.

“Rest assured, my friend. I will be with you during the day. If you sense something, call out to me, I will hear you.”

Legolas knew not how he would hear him, but also knew better than to ask for the details, he simply assumed that it was an integral part of what the maia was capable of.

“That puts my mind at rest, Mithrandir. I will do as you say,” he said. “I must leave now; my presence is required with Melven and Haldir, and then with my troops. Let us hold to hope that the day will be peaceful.”

“Indeed, fare well, Legolas,” said the wizard. He had heard the prince’s words, but he had also picked up the undercurrents - Legolas was nowhere near convinced that the day would be peaceful, not at all, but then, neither was he, and in a swirl of grey, Olorin disappeared into the trees.
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Elrond had not had the chance to speak to Legolas, for he had left with Mithrandir before he could summon him, and so he worked with Erestor on political issues in the Library, for after today, the activities would turn to the question of alliances. Glorfindel spent the morning in his own, somewhat neglected office, for since Legolas’ arrival, he seemed to have accumulated an inordinate amount of parchment. Galadriel and Celeborn sat out in the morning sun, enjoying the days of peace and conversing on frivolities such as fashion, gastronomy and gossip, cider-brewing and the likes.

Legolas had trained with his two new-found friends, and was now with his warriors on the field. However, his unrest had returned ten-fold. He had delegated command of his unit to Henian, and was now pacing around the perimeter. The feeling was a physical sensation he still hadn’t accustomed himself to, for so strange was the feeling – it was as though his inner body, his nerves, his muscles and organs, were being drawn out of him, through his skin, as if some power were drawing him forcefully to a destination he was unaware of. Finally, he could take it no more and moved over to the nearest tree within their compound. The strange sensation dissipated as he placed his palm over the trunk, closed his eyes and listened.

Galdithion was watching, as was Henian. Their prince stood stock still, a look of utter concentration on his frowning face. And then - there it was, his eyes suddenly opened, they were a brilliant green as the prince’s face crumpled into a grimace of agony. Galdithion ran over to him but knew better than to break the connection. Meanwhile, Henian barked out his orders, for he knew what would happen next - it was lucky for them all that today they had been training in full battle gear, if only half of them were present.

“Warriors, to me! Form the line! This is not a drill!” he barked.

So fierce had been his voice that a number of civilians passing by had stopped to see what the commotion was about, for they had been startled.

Legolas by now had crumpled to his knees, still touching the bark, the veins in his neck sticking out as if he were choking. He finally let out a gasp and yanked his hand away from the tree, turning his misty green eyes to his guard.

“There is a large incursion on the eastern border, there are civilians and elflings in the immediate vicinity –they are in danger,” he said as he came back to himself somewhat.

Rising to his feet, he barked out his own orders to his startled troops, anxiously trailed by his guard.

“To the stables, collect your arrows and mount, we ride now!!” As he ran with his warriors, he called out to Mithrandir…

Elrond gripped the side of his desk. The room span as his conscience wandered to a copse of trees. Anxiety welled from the depths of his being, threatening to mutate into full-blown panic, but the feeling was quelled by years of experience with foresight.

“What is it, Elrond? What’s wrong?”

“There is danger on the border…”

Before Erestor could further interrogate his lord, a commotion played out in the courtyard below, and Elrond moved awkwardly to the balcony, trailed by his worried councilor.

Horses were being pulled urgently out of the stables, the aids still strapping on saddles and bridles as the steeds pranced nervously, spying their warriors flying down the path as they adjusted their belts, bows and swords, hair flying behind them, eyes searching for their mounts.

Other elves were strapping bails of arrows to the archers’ saddles, others holding the horses still as their riders jumped up and seated themselves in one stunningly agile move.

A thunderous voice screamed out orders, which Erestor was astounded at, for it had come from Legolas below. Charging out of the courtyard at a full gallop, the unit of 13 woodland warriors harkened to the agony of the forest, leaving the on-looking Imladrians to stare after them, utterly dumbfounded.

Just then, Cormion ran into the library, having sprinted from the courtyard.

“My Lord,” he exclaimed, between deep gulps for air, “thirteen of the Greenwood warriors are moving out to what seems like trouble of some sort, I could only discern from one of the warriors that Prince Legolas bids Imladris follow them with all urgency!”

“Did they say how many?” he asked frantically, assuming it would be orcs.

“Nay, for the warrior knew not, I have no more details, my Lord!”

“Run, Cormion, find Glorfindel and ride out after them”.

And with that, the captain was gone, Elrond and Erestor themselves sprinting down to the lower floor and out into the corridor, where they were met by Mithrandir.

“Elrond, it is urgent, the incursion is large and there are civilians nearby, we must ride out now.”

“Gods no,” cried Elrond. The school outing is today - their lesson on forest craft”, he added, turning his desperate face to the wizard as he clutched his frayed sleeve. “There are ten elflings out there with two tutors, and what border guards may be alerted to the danger.”

Mithrandir bowed his head in dismay, turning again to Elrond and laying his hand on his shoulder.

“I will ride out with Glorfindel. May the Valar help us!” And with that, he ran to the stables.

There he was met by a beehive of activity, as the Imladrian warriors saddled up in the wake of their Sylvan brothers, still pulling on their protective clothing. Glorfindel barked out his orders sternly.

“Cormion, move down the line, Elladan Elrohir, to me, Melven!”

“Yes, my Lord,” replied the lieutenant.

“You ride at the fore.”

Melven’s eyes lit up with hope, for he was being given a second chance, and he was overjoyed.

“Yes, my Lord!” he exclaimed eagerly, mounting up in one swift movement, empowered by the thrill of recognition.

Finally ready to move out, they trotted from the stables into the courtyard, where Mithrandir already waited, his staff in one hand, his mighty sword at his side.

Elrond stood on the stairs. Catching his general’s eye, he saluted as Glorfindel charged out of the courtyard at a furious gallop, his fifty warriors behind him and a maia beside him.

“May the Valar protect you all,” whispered Elrond as he turned into the protective gaze of his chief councilor, who steered him indoors to wait out the moment.

As the company galloped out, following the trail left purposefully by the Greenwood vanguard, Mithrandir moved abreast of Glorfindel.

“What can you tell me?” shouted the general.

“Legolas alerted me to the danger. All I know is that there is a large incursion on the eastern border, I know not how many. I also know that there are civilians in the area, children, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel could only frown desperately; how had this happened? Would the border patrol be aware of the danger?

However, Melven’s face had crumpled, for the only programmed outing was that of his son’s school. He had regaled his father with all the details just the night before, bristling with nervous energy at being out in the wilds, learning forest lore.

He turned his desperate face to his general.

“My Lord, ‘tis the school outing, my son is with them.”

“And you know their location?” asked Glorfindel.

“I do.”

“Then lead the way, Melven, guide us to them.”

And that, he did. Taking the lead, he pushed his charger to the limit, the rest of the warriors right behind him, their faces grim yet determined, for Melven was not the only father among them.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Greenwood was closing on the area, and Legolas held up his hand signaling a halt.

Wheeling his horse round to face his warriors, he spoke.

“We know not how many we face, only that there are thirteen of us, and around ten civilians to protect. I want you in the trees now, once our arrows are spent or the enemy too near, we engage on the ground, on my order. We will approach with caution as they may not be aware of our presence; this will give us the upper hand. We attack on my signal, is everything understood?”

“Aye,” they whispered fiercely.

Close to the edge of the copse now, Legolas whistled another stop – there was a rancid stench in the air, and the trees wailed their dread to those that could hear them.

Two maids supervised the exuberant children, seemingly oblivious to the danger lurking on the other side of the copse. Unfortunately this meant that the civilians were in the middle of it all.

Turning to Galdithion, the prince whispered out his orders furiously, they had no more time.

“Walk over to the maids, casually, don’t run. Make sure they do not panic, tell them to move the elflings towards us without running.”

Galdithion nodded, took a deep breath, slung his bow over his shoulder and slipped down the bark of the tree, walking out into the clearing as if bound for a picnic. Half way there, one of the maids spotted him, an inquisitive look on her playful face. Galdithion smiled what he hoped was reassuringly, the last thing they wanted was for the children to panic. Finally arriving at her side, he took her arm in an iron grip and used a tone that brooked no argument.

“You are in danger, we are in the trees behind you but the danger comes from the other side – you are in the middle. We need you to bring the elflings closer to our side without raising the alarm – can you do that?”

She stared wide-eyed at him, she was terrified, but she had understood him perfectly. She strolled over to her colleague, and in a business-like voice she announced a new game.

“Now we will play the tree game. Come, let us move over to the border of the copse!” she exclaimed joyfully, ushering the giggling, bouncing children over to what only she knew was safety.

Meanwhile, Legolas, eyes shining green, was receiving the tactical information he so desperately needed, which he conveyed real-time to his captain.

“There are well-over fifty, twenty of which are in the trees. They are temporarily distracted but will notice the children’s retreat at any time now.“ He turned to Henian then, “we are sorely outnumbered, my friend.”

Henian smiled sadly, but nodded. “The Noldor will be coming soon, all we have to do is resist for a time, and that we do so very well, my Prince.”

Legolas smiled at his childhood companion, nodding as he signaled for imminent battle.

They peered through the branches, watching as the children slowly approached them, but it was not quick enough, for the orcs had realized they were leaving their vulnerable position, it would be harder to get at them from inside the forest, and so their leader held up his black fist, howling their attack.

Their roars alerted the Greenwood, who could do nothing but wait for the enemy to come nearer, for they were not in range. One child looked over his shoulder and promptly spied what was running towards them.

“Demons!” he cried, as he and his group began an all out sprint, the tutors pulling along their charges as best they could. ‘Just a little more, just a little more’ chanted the prince as he watched their desperate plight, he could feel his warriors cringing, the pent up adrenalin making them shake, their jaws clenching in anxiety, powerless to do anything but watch. All this pent up energy was finally released as a mighty whoosh signaled the first volley of arrows that was sent into the trees facing them. A second volley took out those closest to the flailing children, the stinking bodies crashing to the forest floor in a cloud of soil and leaves. After the fifth volley, the group had finally reached the cover of the trees, and Legolas signaled for three archers to stay with them, as the remaining ten charged past the exhausted yet terrified children and their tutors, unsheathing their blade as they sprinted forward. Jenah was dumbfounded and then anxiety slammed into her belly as she realized that this was all there was, ten warriors to face the black wall that charged towards them. ‘What were they thinking?’ she thought, as she gathered the trembling, disorientated children to her under the protective eaves, turning their faces to hers, shading their tender hearts from the sheer violence, not only of the orcs but of their own kin, for they were frightening to behold. As Jenah continued to watch the battle, she felt every hair on her body contract painfully, for Legolas moved in a way that seemed almost unnatural, his kinetics were so fast and furious, precise and thunderingly powerful – his acrobatics were nothing if not unbelievable, and she knew that, to the children, he would appear as an avenging spirit, a wrathful whirlwind of fury and ire, and she was caught up in it, for she was deeply perturbed by what she saw.

They whirled and parried, attacked and stabbed, slit throats and amputated extremities. Chests were bared open and eyes were pierced, faces were cut open, bones crushed, lives extinguished, guts spewed onto the fresh green grass.

On they fought, as time expanded into what seemed to them an eternity, for they were so sorely outnumbered and they were tiring. Some had fallen and had dragged themselves behind their brothers – the archers in the trees spending their last arrows to bring down the orcs in the trees ahead, who were still firing at the legs of the elves, trying to incapacitate them, and still, the Noldor had not arrived.

Legolas vaguely registered a sharp pain to his left leg, and another to the head. He countered whatever it was that had penetrated his defenses, a scream rent the air as he did so. He slashed again, jabbed to the front and then backwards, for he was surrounded. Another distant pain to his leg, then his shoulder, a dull thud to the head, and yet on he fought, he twisted and stabbed, slit and hacked, another scream, and another, until a haze filled his sight and the world tilted – he hesitated, disorientated, only to shake his head to clear his vision, jumping and side-twisting out of the circle of hungry orcs, hacking at them from behind until all had fallen, his twin knives extended far behind him, in line with his left leg.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The clamor of battle could be heard well before they arrived. The screams, the shouts, the cries of terror spurred them on in their final stint, until finally, they dismounted – their steeds still in motion, drawing their swords as they sprinted after their general towards the copse and beyond. There, they met ten horrified children, cowering around the skirts of two maids, who sheltered them as best they could from the horror that played out in front of them. Some cried, some openly sobbed, yet one was strangely subdued, as if in shock. Various elves lay sprawled or desperately trying to gain their feet behind their battling comrades. Three were still out in the clearing, facing impossible odds. They had been fighting for long, for they faltered, they bled and yet still they killed, and there was Legolas, glorious in his fury. ‘Surely they could not hold out much more,’ he thought, as Imladris rushed to the fore, with Elladan and Elrohir shouting the charge. The remaining orcs screamed their surprise as they were hacked down by the Noldor, but not before Legolas freed himself of the circle of beasts that had surrounded him, for he sprang into the air, twisting as he vaulted out of the centre, only to hack down the thoroughly dumbfounded orcs. Landing on his open legs, his knives pointing backwards, hair whipping around his neck as he finally came to a halt. Those warriors, Glorfindel included, that had seen the feat, could only wonder at how it had been done, for the move had seemed impossible, almost supernatural; surely it was impossible to twist sideways in mid air? However, they promptly moved in to help their kin, not that they needed it, for the twins had led the charge into the trees on the other side, hacking down all that were not quick enough to escape their vengeful wrath.

Glorfindel ordered Melven to the welfare of the civilians, his small son among them, as he himself walked over to where Legolas still stood, although he moved not, his chest heaved in an effort to suck in as much air as he needed, face tilted towards the Sun. The general approached cautiously, for he knew not if Legolas was cognizant of his surroundings. Finally at his side, he took in the sight before him. His eyes were vivid blue, staring into nothing, his frame rigid, as blood poured from his forehead down one side of his face, his tunic was covered in blood although he knew not of what species.

“Legolas, ‘tis I, Glorfindel. Rest now, they are safe, your foes vanquished.”

The two other warriors that had accompanied Legolas in the final throes of the battle, finally fell, their knees buckling after the extreme effort they had made. Glorfindel’s men gently helped them away and into the trees, mounting them up with other warriors for the trip home.

Legolas drew a deep, audible breath then, and turned his head back to Glorfindel, finally coming back to himself and realizing who it was that stood so cautiously beside him.

“I am in a fine state, love.” He whispered, closing his eyes momentarily.

Glorfindel was taken aback by the term of endearment, and yet it exhilarated him to hear it. He smiled at his beautiful lover, and gestured for him to follow, leading Legolas over to where their horses had been retrieved, for the prince was just as proud, if not more, than he himself was. Melven, a concerned look on his relieved face, handed the prince a wad of cloth to press over his forehead to staunch the bleeding, which he took with a curt nod.

Mithrandir looked out over the ruined field, briefly catching the prince’s eyes. Legolas nodded to the Istar as he mounted, registering but not showing the sharp pain in his side.

“Gal, how badly are you wounded?” he called down to his bodyguard.

“An arrow to the leg makes walking an issue, but if I can get over to my steed, I am operational, my Lord.”

“And Henian?”

“A little worse, an arrow to the shoulder has him knocked out for a while, I think. I will take him, my Lord, if you will permit.”

A simple nod from the prince was all he got as he was helped over to his horse.

Legolas was aware of the perplexed looks he was receiving from some of the dark haired warriors, but also the concerned but covert glances his own warriors cast his way. The elflings, however, would not even look at him.

“Ready?” asked Glorfindel.

“Yes.”

Nodding uncertainly, Glorfindel ordered Elladan and Elrohir to keep 10 warriors and take charge of the clean up, the rest would transport the children and their tutors, while the Greenwood organized themselves such that the less seriously injured would double up on horseback with the worst cases. This was done so as to free the remaining Imladrian warriors who would be encharged with the protection of the caravan during the ride back.

And with that, they were off at a steady canter, the children clinging desperately to the horses’ manes, their guardian warriors protecting them, especially one Melvenion, who sat in front of his father as one struck dumb and deaf – for he showed no emotion, and so his father did the only thing that he could, he held him tight and sped him home.
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The Protege III: Protect and Defend