Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? WARNING: Slash.

TIMELINE: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece. Oh and I also can't name elves in elvish to save my life so excuse me, haha.

ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

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PART ONE: Those Lost

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Chapter One: All Over Your Hands

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Eastern Borders of Eryn Lasgalen

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Legolas Greenleaf, proud warrior prince of Eryn Lasgalen, suddenly found himself at a lull after downing an Easterling foe. Such things often happened in a battle, this breath of air, when one suddenly found the self without an enemy, everyone else around him otherwise engaged. Such pauses were often regarded as a blessing, to catch one's breath with, to take stock of how the fight was progressing. It was also a curious lull that should inexplicably connect you to those you shared it with, especially a foe, like the one the elven warrior spotted some steps away. In that precise moment, at the singling out of one another, the field of soldiers turned from a multitude of bulked, unseen faces into men, and expressions, and angry, determined eyes. In that precise moment, the war turned into a duel, and the brutality of the mass became a personal affront.

Legolas set his jaws, and stepped forward. The elf saw from his foe's noble garb that he was a member of the royal house. This made the fight all the more interesting. A cold smile almost touched his lips. The challenge was intoxicating, the possibilities endless. Their eyes met and settled levelly against each other as they made their way closer.

They stopped two steps away from each other, and Legolas took the time to see how well his foe was armed. The Easterling bore a rather menacing and hideously bloodied scythe. Curved blades also rested upon the leather straps on his back, yet to be used. Daggers peppered his wears, some slim ones on his belt, a larger one strapped to his boot. His built could hardly be referred to as large, comparably trim even when it was already buffered by his thick clothes and armor — beneath it, his frame was surely lean for he moved gracefully, and his feet were light and sprightly. His face was hidden underneath a helmet of bronze and silken scarlet cloths, but his eyes were a clear, sharp and stabbing silver.

I've heard of these eyes, Legolas realized, and his grip tightened upon his weapons determinedly as his heart pounded. Those eyes, he thought, the standards of that royal house

And a death that still felt too near… The Death, as a matter of fact, that made Those Eyes and That House matter to him. The Death, indeed, that made the closing of Those Eyes and the very burning of That House his life's mission…

Legolas knew he presented a visually lesser threat; no helmet, no armor, bearing only his twin swords and a quiver. But he had an edge of his own, from the way his foe's silver eyes widened in recognition.

"Are you, by any chance," came his foe's muffled voice as they paced about each other, "None other than Legolas of Mirkwood? My people will rejoice when I return with your head."

Legolas said nothing, and instead made the first strike. He stomped one foot on the ground, and the Easterling's warrior instincts reacted just as Legolas knew it would; the man swung in that direction, freeing an entire side of his body. Legolas twisted to avoid the attack, as he darted forward and swung his sword in a narrow arc upon his enemy's defenseless side; the narrow arc entailed less force than a wider swing, but it was far more accurate and less taxing.

The Easterling blocked it with the wooden end of his scythe. The stick splintered and broke at the tip, but it was enough to deflect the direction of the attack, catching the fabric of his clothes instead. The man jumped away from the elf, and they regarded each other in silence again.

The Easterling looked at Legolas thoughtfully. He and his soldiers were not armed at their sides. It was a weak but necessary point for more agile movement. Less observant warriors did not know of this, but he was apparently dealing with one of the best, and the small weakness was now a rather highly-noted liability. The elf was structuring his attack around that vulnerable area.

"Clever," the Easterling conceded.

"I've lived through years of the plague of your attacks to learn," Legolas said evenly.

The Easterling made the next strike first, this time around. He swung his long scythe at the elf, which of course, Legolas dodged cleanly by jumping up and out of its way. The Easterling knew the attack was futile in this sense, but it had a different purpose altogether. He released the scythe with the momentum of the swing, and with great speed, raised his arms up to claim the pair of swords upon his back. He lunged forward with both blades poised toward the elf's chest, just as Legolas was landing on his feet from his dodging jump.

They crossed blades with a clang. Legolas saw the attack, and descended already on the defense. The curved swords of the Easterling distorted most of the rules of conventional sword-fighting, but he's dealt with them before. They pressed their blades against the other, their faces moving so closely that Legolas could see the beads of perspiration on his foe's forehead.

The Easterling pushed away from Legolas with a grunt, such that he managed to secure a small space between their swords, just enough for him to twist his wrists just-so, catching Legolas' knives at the curve of his own. He swung downward, lowering Legolas' weapons along with his. The Easterling lowered his head and pounded it unto Legolas' face. His helmet hit the elf square on the forehead, disorienting him for a moment. This kind of attack was risky in the sense that for a few telling moments, one sacrificed one's line of vision. The Easterling seldom employed it, and in the few times he risked the move, he made sure it was done correctly; the force had to be strong enough to down his opponent definitively, else he would not be able to see a quick retaliation.

He would learn the hard way that such risks were not to be taken in a fight against Legolas of Mirkwood.

The elf blinked at the sudden pain that blinded him for the barest moment. His heart pounded, fearing not so much his death but the possibility of defeat. Instinctively, he released his swords, effectively relinquishing the force of his enemy's hold. The white knives fell with a dull thunk to the ground. He lowered himself to a crouch as well, swinging his legs beneath the Easterling's knees as he reclaimed his weapons.

The elf-warrior moved so quickly that his foe was just raising his head up to regain sight of him when the world turned upside down as he fell upon his back on the ground. The Easterling's hands slackened upon his weapons at the impact, and he felt the elf almost casually just kicking them away. The man knew precisely what that meant.

The Easterling feared to raise his head. Death or surrender? The clouds were dancing over him with the wind. The day was beautiful, the skies were so blue. Life was mocking him.

Death or surrender?

He pushed himself to his knees, and glanced left and right. His weapons were a remarkably hopeless one pace away. His hands felt so bare and cold without them, the morning winds drifting amidst the spaces between his fingers. And then he raised his head up at last, facing his triumphant opponent.

Legolas of Mirkwood, whose eyes theoretically shared the shade of the sky, looked down upon him coldly. Sky-light-blue looked frigid upon the anger resting on his lethal gaze, unlike the warmth of the sky-light-blue of the day. His eyes were colder than the feel of the tip of the elven swords poised delicately against the Easterling's neck.

Death or surrender, his mind raced, Death or surrender…?

The Easterling raised his arms up slowly, determined not to be deemed a threat. When the tip of the sword plunged into his body, he wondered if it was because he moved too quickly, and Legolas of Mirkwood had a nervous, jerky hand. The Easterling may have decided to surrender, but the elf's quick actions wrested the decision from him. As he lay bleeding on the ground, he looked up at his killer.

Maybe he simply does not like me, he concluded as his life bled away from him. Frigid sky-blue-eyes were the last things he ever saw.

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'My lord?'

Legolas glanced up from the sight of the Easterling's corpse to find that the battle was coming to a close and that the army he directed was the definitive victor. His second-in-command was looking over his shoulder at his felled foe. The aging elf was his father's most trusted advisor on loanalthough Legolas was more inclined to believe that Mikael was urgently pressed upon him by King Thranduil out of fearing for his son's predicted recklessness during This war.

'That was Danielli,' Mikael said to the elven prince.

'I thought it might have been,' Legolas said quietly.

Mikael watched the young prince for a moment, his age-wizened eyes as perceptive as always. 'Did it make you feel better?'

Legolas' eyes flashed at him angrily, dangerously. 'I was counting on the both of them being here. Danielli and Nicolo, twin devils. But yes, it did. I feel grand, can you not see? But have a care for yourself and do not go there.'

'He was surrendering,' Mikael pointed out, after a moment of thought, apparently considering the threat of encountering what was admittedly a formidable royal temper. He wondered what the King of Eryn Lasgalen would make of this, just as he wondered if he had failed, for his duty was essentially to be the elf prince's proverbial leash in a battle that came entirely too close to his tragic pains than most people knew, or would have wanted to know of.

'I thought he was reaching for his weapons,' Legolas lied boldly, some bitter irony resting in his eyes and the frigid tone of his voice, daring the aide to defy him.

'You should have known better, Legolas,' Mikael said under his breath, that the other elven soldiers may not hear him. Legolas was much loved and respected, and he dared not be the cause for the elven prince to loose face. But he's seen Legolas at his best and at his worst, lived with him through joy and tragedy, and watched as the light faded from his eyes and anger fill them. He will speak his mind, and no stature can stay his tongue, for whether or not the prince wished it, he grew beneath Mikael's watchful eyes and by the gods, he will not cease being watchful now.

'Danielli headed this tribe,' Mikael continued, 'His cooperation could have been useful to us, my lord. You know this.'
'He was reaching for his weapons,' Legolas said again, edgily.

'It looked like a surrender to me,' Mikael insisted, 'But we will never know now, will we? Now that his blood is all over the ground?'

All over your hands…?

Legolas wiped at his weapons before sheathing them. Mikael watched, incredulous, when he noted that the younger elf was using the dead Easterling's cloaks as a rag!

And because the battles around them were winding down and the peculiar actions of the prince was coming to the attention of their surrounding soldiers, Mikael grabbed the Legolas by the arm, muttering, 'What is the matter with you?'

You know very well what is the matter with me, Legolas thought bitterly, but was of course, as always, loathe to say so. You know very well

'It's his blood,' Legolas reasoned coolly instead. Mikael opened his mouth to retort something, but another elf came up beside them.

'Sire,' said he, giving the prince a quick bow, 'We've captured Nicolo.'

'Alive?' Legolas asked reverently, suddenly breathless. Danielli was dead, and Nicolo was captured. Him, Danielli, and Nicolo…

All three of us, Legolas thought fervently, all here…

It was like a morbid fantasy.

Revenge

So close.

To be continued…