Summary : In the last battle at the Black Gate of Mordor, Sauron was finally destroyed, returning  victory and light to Middle Earth…but Legolas' darkest torment had just begun.

Hello, hello! It's nice to see you all again! Everyone is still alive, I hope? Like I've promised, I return with a new LOTR fic, set at the end of the War. Remember the last battle at Cirith Gorgor? Yes, that's the one. What will happen to Legolas? Keep reading and you'll find out.

Oh, have I told you that today is my birthday?

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"Of all the crazy thing she had ever done, this takes the cake!" Éomer son of Éomund ranted as he walked to and fro in the chamber. "I told her to stay in Edoras but what did she do? She disguised herself and sneaked with us into war! Stupid insolent brat!"

Standing by the door, Legolas almost laughed. Stupid insolent brat. My brother used to call me that. Éomer is so like Kel sometimes. The prince of Mirkwood shook his head as the man kept on with his tirade. He knew exactly what Éomer was going through. It was complete anxiety and total fear that rattled the usually mild-tempered man to go on like this.

Éomer was still wearing his armor plate, all muddied and blood splattered from the recent battle in the Pelennor Field. Once in a while, he would get near to the bed and stare at the unconscious young lady lying there. Then he would run his hands through his already disheveled hair, resuming his ranting and praying.

Lady Ioreth, the woman who supervised the goings-on in the House of Healing of the White City, glanced in exasperation at the King of Rohan. "If you would be so kind, my lord, please keep down your voice. I'm trying to concentrate on your sister."

Éomer stopped and stared with mixed feelings as the elder woman treated Éowyn's wound.  She was gently cleaning the blood off the long gash at the back of his sister's head. He blanched at the amount of blood that spread on the once pristine white cloth.

Kneeling by the bed, Éomer picked Éowyn's limp hand and kissed it. "Please, Éowyn, awake. Wake up, sister. Don't leave me. You are the only one I have now," he whispered brokenly, tears of frustration and anger swimming in his green eyes. Those eyes then snapped back to Ioreth. "Why isn't she responding? She hasn't come to her senses since she was knocked down in the field! Is she going to make it or not?!"

Ioreth released a heavy sigh. "I can't work like this!" she cried out, stilling her hands and glared at the flaxen-haired Rohirrim warrior. "Get out of this room and get out of my hair! I'm trying to save her life and I pray you would let me, my lord!"

Legolas took that as his cue. He reached over and grabbed Éomer's arm. "Éomer, come with me. Let Lady Ioreth takes care of Éowyn."

The man resisted. "I can't leave Éowyn! I don't want to lose her!"

"Then give Lady Ioreth some working space. Crowding her like this is not helping in any way," Legolas' lilting voice came quietly.

Taken by the elf's words, Éomer lowered his head. He then reached over and placed a kiss on Éowyn's forehead. "When I get back, I want to see you awake, you hear?" There was still no response from his injured sister. Reluctantly, Éomer straightened and let Legolas steer him out of the chamber.

Ioreth couldn't help but breathe a sigh a relief when the door closed behind the two tall figures. Then she got back to her task at hand.

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"I should have known that Éowyn would do something like this," Éomer said softly when they stepped out onto the house wide porch. Legolas had thought that some fresh air might do the young king some good to clear his head so he had dragged Éomer here.

From their vantage point, they both could clearly see the vast Field of Pelennor. The elf prince stared at the aftermath of the great battle with heavy heart. Dead bodies of orcs, men and horses littered the ground. The Gondor and Rohirrim warriors worked together to see to the cleaning of the mess. The rangers from the North and the remaining numbers of warriors from Mirkwood also lent their hands in the tedious and gruesome chore. The wounded were brought into the House of Healings for treatment. There was a scene of controlled chaos everywhere as they put to right the battered city of Minas Tirith once more. The battle had ended several hours ago, yet there was still the air of great unrest hovering on everyone's mind.

"No wonder she was so silent when I left her in Edoras. She had planned to steal into our troop all along!" Éomer was still speaking. "I should have seen it coming! That girl is going to be in a lot of trouble when she wakes up!"

Legolas smiled to hear that. "She's a brave one, Éomer."

Éomer glared at the elf. "I know, but don't tell her that!" Then he sighed. "I hope she will be all right. I can't lose her, not after I've lost Uncle Theoden."

The elf sobered. King Theoden, the previous king of Rohan had been slain in the battle only yesterday. The pain was still fresh to Éomer, reflected in the anguished glint of his eyes. As he had been named Theoden's heir, the Rohirrims had instantly inaugurated Éomer as their new king. And now, he had just found out that his sister had fallen in combat, the sister that he hadn't realized had followed him to Gondor in secrecy.

Legolas put a calming hand on the man's shoulder, the man that he had come to trust as a good friend since the bloody battle of Helm's Deep. "She will be all right. She is so much like you, hard headed and strong."

Éomer looked sideways at the elf prince. "I hope that's a compliment."

"It is."

The man grinned. He gazed at the silver circlet placed atop the elf's golden head and grinned even wider. "I would also like to compliment you on how dashing you still look after the wearying battle. It's a surprise that thing never fell off!"

Legolas glowered back. "Now that you finally managed to come out with a bad joke, I believe you are composed enough to return to your sister?"

Éomer nodded. "Yes. I can't wait to see if she has awakened."

"Good. Let's go back. But on one condition!"

"What now?"

"Get that blood and mud off your body first. You don't want to scare your sister to death, do you? You look like what an orc would drag in!"

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Éowyn hadn't woken but her condition was improving. She didn't appear to have other injuries besides the head wound, and she was deeply asleep for the time being. Éomer had pulled a chair close to the bed to watch over his sister, stroking her hair lovingly and calling her name repeatedly in a soft voice.

Legolas left the two siblings alone and went to the chamber next door. He saw Pippin and Gimli sleeping soundly in their chairs, keeping company to Merry, who had also gotten injured in the battle. They had found the new knight of Rohan not far away from Éowyn in the field. His wound was not too serious, only a broken arm and some cuts and bruises.

Smiling, Legolas silently retreated and walked to the other chamber down the hall. He pushed open the door and found that Aragorn and Gandalf were still there, surrounding an ailing man on the cot. Lady Ioreth, who had just left Éowyn's side, was also present to lend aid.

"How is he?" Legolas asked quietly, almost afraid to disturb the tense silence.

Aragorn never looked up from his task of treating the man's injury. The scent of crushed athelas coming from a steaming bowl of water permeated the room.  "He will recover. His fever has gone down."

Legolas sighed in relief. "That's good to hear. To think that he nearly got burnt to death by his own father's hands."

They all nodded their heads gravely. If they had arrived even a minute late, the man named Faramir might have lost his life under the pile of firewood and kindling. Lord Denethor, the steward of Gondor, was about to light the flame to the pyre when the fellowship burst into the royal tomb. He had yelled at them to stand aside and not interfere with his intention. "My son Boromir is dead! So is this one! The White City is crumbling around me and no hope seems at hand! I'd rather forfeit before the hurt and pain catches me again!"

Pippin, who had been in Minas Tirith since leaving the destruction of Saruman's power in Orthanc, knew that Faramir still breathed. The hobbit had convinced Gandalf and the others of this, saying that Denethor had lost his mind and intended to burn his son alive. Pippin was there when Faramir was brought in from the battlefield three days ago and saw how the man fought for his life against the poison in his blood from a Nazgul's dart. Denethor's youngest son was a strong young man even though he was always quiet and meek under his father's authority. He would survive the wound if given the chance and ample care. But Denethor, selfish as he was, had thought to escape the desolation of being left without heir and dethroned from his seat as the ruler of Gondor.

Ignoring the steward's cries and curses, the fellowship unearthed Faramir form under the pyre and had hurriedly taken him back to the House of Healing. The last they saw of Denethor was when the man slammed the door to the tomb closed, locking himself inside. A while later, the building was engulfed in flames.

Legolas and the other two watched as Aragorn took Faramir's hand in his and bent down near the ailing man's ear. "Faramir, hearken to me. Follow my voice. Leave the shadow, Faramir. Return to us."

A smile involuntarily came to Legolas' lips. How many times have those same words come to my own ears in the past? From Aragorn, from Keldarion, from my father. If Faramir is as strong as his brother, Boromir, he will definitely survive this. His own king is calling him.

The prince gazed proudly at his friend, the man named Aragorn son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir, and now King Ellessar to the people of Gondor. Denethor had asked for hope when it had actually arrived in the form of this man that Legolas called Estel, the brother he had vowed to protect to his dying breath. After leaving Isengard and Saruman's downfall, they had hastily ridden to Gondor at Gandalf's urge. The White Wizard had told them of the grave danger surrounding the White City of Minas Tirith. Sauron's army, consisting of the Morguls, Easterlings, Sauthrons and Haradhrims with their múmakils, had swarmed the kingdom of men, threatening the seat for the last line of the Numenorean kings.

While the Rohirrims returned to Edoras to gather more warriors to help in the battle, Aragorn and his two companions made haste for Gondor and to their delight came upon the twin sons of Elrond on the way.  Elladan and Elrohir were not alone though. They had brought with them a troop of Rangers from the North that was led by Halbarad Dunadan, Aragon's kinsmen in his ranger days.

"What are you two doing here?" Legolas and Aragorn had simultaneously cried out in astonishment when they met the twins, hugging one another in pure joy.

"You don't expect us to sit idly at home and let you have all the excitement, do you?" the twins had responded.

And so they had gone through the Paths of the Dead together, lifting up the curse on the Dead and led them out to fulfill their final oath to Isildur, to defeat the Black Master Sauron. Thus, when they came out of the path on ships of great draught with many oars, everyone stared in wonder, knowing what this event truly meant, knowing that the old prophecy was becoming a reality. The king of Gondor had returned.

There was no time for other things after that except for the ghastly battle to protect Minas Tirith. The city had nearly crumbled, even with the aids of defense from Rohan and Mirkwood. Aragorn and his large entourage had arrived just in time to prevent Gondor from falling completely into the enemy's hands.

Legolas stopped his musings when Faramir suddenly stirred. His eyes opened and fell upon the face of the man who still bent over him in concern. A light of knowledge and devotion kindled in his eyes as he softly spoke, "My lord Aragorn. You've called me."

Aragorn smiled, part relieved and part assuring. "Yes, that I did. "

Faramir made a move to rise but Aragorn quickly placed a restraining hand on his chest. "None of that, Faramir. Rest. You are still weary. You will be needed later. But rest for now."

The new steward of Gondor weakly nodded. "As you command, my liege."

Aragorn straightened up and looked at Ioreth. "I'll see to him now, my lord," she said even before Aragorn could speak. She gazed thoughtfully at him. "I guess a part of the prophecy is really true; The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. You are indeed our true king, and a very handsome one at that."

Gandalf and Legolas exchanged grins when Aragorn blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, lady," the man replied, bowing slightly. "I'm pleased to know that my appearance pleases you."

With a tongue in his cheek, Legolas spoke, "And very modest about it too."

As Aragorn scowled at his friend, Ioreth also turned to him. "And you master elf, I've always known that elves are beautiful, but never had I thought to see one as magnificent looking as you!"

Now it was Legolas' turn to blush deep crimson. Aragorn roared with laughter beside Gandalf. "Lady Ioreth, I know I'm going to like you. A lot!"

Then they heard a low chuckle coming from the bed. "A handsome king, a beautiful elf, and a likable pretty lady of the Healing House. I'm glad to be alive!"

The elderly woman knelt down beside the bed. "Hush, Lord Faramir! Now you're babbling. Drink this potion that our liege has made for you and go back to sleep."

 Faramir wrinkled his nose at the odor of the draught. "It smells terrible!"

"It tastes even worst! Believe me!" Legolas announced, earning a killing glare from Aragorn. "You are not helping with that remark, you nift!"

Legolas' eyes widened with complete innocence. "What? I was just stating the truth!"

Shaking his head at the two friend's familiar banter, Gandalf said, "Let's leave the patient to his medicine. We need to plan on our next move."

As the foul taste of the potion lingered in Faramir's mouth, he watched as Legolas and Aragorn followed the wizard out of the room. Then he turned to Ioreth. "Where's my father?"

She went absolutely still. Ioreth knew that there was no love-lost between Denethor and his youngest son, but Faramir respected his father just the same. She knew that Denethor's demise would more or less bring pain to the young man who had just lost a brother he truly loved.

"What is it, lady? What had happened while I was indisposed?"

She picked up his hand and squeezed it. Then she told him.

TBC…

Okay. Nothing much happened there. Maybe tomorrow?