What Sorrow Grows through these Memories
Black-Angel-001: i am aware that dain is thorin's cousin, and therefore part of the durin line, as is gloin and his son gimli. However! they are not directly of the line like thorin and his nephews were. therefore, i maintain that my summary is correct and your arguments invalid. good day.
Warnings: If you haven't read The Hobbit and don't want to be spoiled for the book or the movie, stop here and go back. Do not pass go and you can't collect anything. However, if you don't mind either way, continue. But be warned further: DO NOT COMPLAIN ABOUT SPOILERS IF YOU READ! Swear to God, that's irritating to get reviews and PMs about that. Without further ado, here we go!
What Sorrow Grows through these Memories
"Look at them. They're frightened. You can see it in their eyes," Legolas said while surveying the men of Rohan himself. The next words he spoke were in Elvish. "And they should be! Three hundred...against ten thousand!"
Aragon stared hard at him and replied in kind. "They have a better chance defending themselves here than at Edoras."
That wasn't the point! "Aragon...they cannot win this fight. They are all going to die here!"
"Then I shall die as one of them," shouted the man who would rule Gondor.
The man and Elf glared at each other before Legolas walked away, Gimli and the people of Rohan staring after him with their fear plain and growing. The Elf prince of Mirkwood was normally an upbeat personality, and one who was an optimist. But Gimli had an idea why he was so desperate about the fight and the odds, one that no human there could understand or remember.
Legolas stood in the fresh night air and inhaled deeply. How he missed Mirkwood! Then he cursed in Elvish, making some men nearby jump uneasily. Curse the long lives and memories of the Elves, he thought.
The battle of the Five Armies became fresh in his mind, like he was living it once more. The dwarves about to battle the men of Laketown led by Bard, and the elves of Mirkwood standing beside them. A company thirteen dwarves against two armies, and then an army added to that thirteen. It was already going to be bloody and messy and pointless.
Then the goblins came.
The three armies joined together, but it wasn't enough. Wave after wave of the blackness came and nearly overtook them, and would have if not for the Eagles. The battle was won, but at far too high a cost. The King Under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshied, was slain, as were his two sister son heirs. A great line, destroyed by great enemy numbers. Dain was a great ruler, but Legolas could imagine Thorin as king, and the progress and greatness he could have achieved. He could see the Durin line enduring, if not for the end of it.
In fact, if he closed his eyes and drowned out his current surroundings, he could imagine the city of Dale in all its splendor, tall towers and beautiful stone work houses in the protective shadow of the Lonely Mountain. In his mind, flags bearing the mark of the King Under the Mountain, flew proudly in a great breeze as dwarves and men traded their goods with one another. But he could also see the hard work Thorin would put into restoring the kingdom to that state of prosperity, the added blood and sweat he would willingly give to ensure it. He could see Thorin on his great throne, taking audience with those who sought his council and help, the alliances he could form with peoples beyond the reaches of his mountain.
When Legolas closed his eyes, he could see a fair, caring king who knew the hardships his people faced, and lived it with them in exile. He could see a king who truly understood his people.
Legolas opened his eyes, the illusion of what should have been fading into nothing. Dain was not a bad king, to be fair; he only lacked what Thorin had gained, in being able to relate to those below him. Dain had always been lord of his own mountains, and while he certainly sympathized, he didn't know. The people of Erebor were prosperous to be sure, but they could have been so much more than they were now.
And it was all because of a battle that was hopeless but fought like there was.
Legolas tightened his bow string. There was much left for the Elves to try and help with, but their time was coming to an end; Legolas knew that. He could feel it in the whispers of the wind, the trees, among his own kin. However, it was not time yet. If this battle was to be his last, then he would ensure that the rightful king of men continued as he should: on his throne.
He headed back to the tunnel, apology ready on his lips.
Black-Angel-001: that's it