Hey, readers! This is a new one-shot; it just sauntered into my head in my calculus class today, and I HAD to write it down. I hope it goes over well with you all, because I love you all so dearly. Remember, reviews are my fuel.
Summary: After a winter battle, one elf lies in the snow thinking. Post-ROTK.
Rating: K+ (or so)
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Amid the Falling Snow
by Caelhir
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Year 5 Fourth Age of Middle Earth
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The snow was stained an ugly pinkish-brown, a mixture of the blood and gore and dirt spilled and kicked up by the blades and feet of the warriors who now lay dying or already dead at the edges of a wide, imposing river. It had been covered in ice just hours previously, but now, there were ghastly holes, man-sized, that needed no explanation for their origins.
The bodies on the ground were slight of figure, narrow and lean, but dead all the same. The bodies that had so shortly before possessed so much life and merriment, now lay twisted and cold, faces forevermore frozen into expressions of pain, bewilderment, and agony.
The faces were those of elves, elves who had travelled from Greenwood to aid their beloved Prince in his battle against the Orcs and Southrons who still insisted upon making bids for that land that was Ithilien, the new garden of the elves. They had defended their home from the beasts that would return it to wreckage.
Now, they lay dying. Not all of them, but the warriors who had volunteered to defend their new, beloved home were the ones who had suffered.
Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and Lord of Ithilien, was among them, amid the falling snow.
He had taken a heavy blow from a small, goblin-like orc who had crept around his left side while he had been otherwise occupied. One couldn't blame him; the object of his occupation had been four other nasty orcs, who had been equally intent upon slaughtering him and his companions. The small orc had used his lapse in attention to thrust its small wickedly sharp and twisted dagger into Legolas' side. His jerk around had allowed the remaining two orcs to team up and deliver stabs and slices of their own before Legolas regained his sense and killed them. But for the Lord of Ithilien, it had been too late. He had sunk to his knees, and then his side as the dying cries of elves had filled his ears, along with grunts and shouts, and the ever-present rush of the Anduin, for the elves had moved onto the trail to meet this foe in Gondor. What the orcs had been doing there, none of the elves would ever know. It was too late for them to know.
Unfortunately, the orcs had accomplished their unknown mission better than Legolas and his comrades had completed theirs. Although the elves had fought violently and skillfully (their desperation had lent them strength in their final moments) the sheer number of orcs had overwhelmed them.
Now Legolas turned his head to look about him. He was surprised to see the large soft snowflakes floating down around him onto the battlefield. His fellows were already beginning to look like no more than partially covered white lumps in what was rapidly becoming a freezing sunset. The sun itself cast brilliant colors across the dead and dying fair beings, coating them all in a bloodlike glow. Fitting, Legolas thought, that the last colors I see shall be the only color I can feel...
For now, Legolas could only feel the blood that wept from his horrendous wound, like so many scarlet tears for the lost lives of the fair folk on the field.
But even the pain of that was beginning to fade from him as he felt his body grow cold. A wash of nothing swept over him, and he looked up at the stars, winking at him from the deep blue-black sky...blue-black...like Arwen's hair...
Arwen...Arwen...Arwen! Aragorn! Legolas gasped and blinked, recognizing the deep black sky as being midnight, too late for any to find the elves, to help them...to find him, to help him...
Tears slipped from Legolas' frozen eyes and instantly froze, forming an icy coat around his eyes as he thought of Aragorn, Arwen, Elrohir, Elladan, Gimli, Mithrandir, the hobbits...
So cruel, to be this close to his greatest friends, and not be able to call out...
A sigh, and Legolas managed to look back at the stars.
Please, he begged his mind, please allow me these last moments without these thoughts...allow them to be nothing...Valar grant them peace, let them leave my mind!
He begged for release from the memories of his friends. He wanted nothing but peace, freedom from pain... He didn't want to hold on for them... it was too much...
Blue eyes watched the stars, and almost saw the pink haze on the horizon that meant sunset, almost lived to see a new day.
Blue eyes never saw the company approaching.
Pointed ears never heard the shouts of the running figures, never heard the concerned voices, the desperate begging.
Frozen shoulders never felt hands grasping them, shaking, letting go.
Blue eyes did not see the King of Gondor and Arnor bow his head and weep for his oldest friend.
Pointed ears never heard the whispered prayer, the pleading tone of voice.
Amid the falling snow, Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eyrn Lasgalen, Lord of Ithilien, never met the new dawn.
He never said goodbye.