Part 4

Legolas listened silently as his father consulted with the man whom he had referred to the as the lord of Dale about the war, a strong yet intangible sensation pulsing beneath his chest. The man's appearance was not lordly at all but the way he spoke did more than redeem his tatty clothing. He nodded respectfully as Thranduil told him how one part of the Elven force would drive the orcs out of Dale, whereupon the force of men were to hold the gates. Legolas wondered how the force, which consisted mostly of fishermen and craftsmen, some of whom were very old, desperate and terrified, was to hold any gate. They did not use weapons to fight but carried whatever substitute they had picked up on the way. They were not even fighting in the true sense of the word but rather bustling about, trying to avoid the orcish blades. To coordinate them would take an amount of time they could not afford to invest.

"Yes, my lord," the man agreed with a forceful nod.

It was the first time that Legolas saw the bearing his father truly had on these people. Not that he had ever seriously doubted Thranduil's abilities either as a king or as a commander of armed forces, but he had never actually watched him as a political agent in a war that had broken out beyond their borders. He had seen him fight and kill innumerable spiders and other foul creatures throughout the long years since Greenwood the Great had become infested with evil, yes, but these creatures had never attacked in an organized manner. They had charged at random, their motivation unclear except for their intent to kill, infect and destroy. The hosts of Azog and Bolg, however, belonged to an effective military force that was probably commanded by Sauron himself. The enemy of the free peoples of Middle Earth. It was a force to which the people of Esgaroth could not stand up without assistance. That Thranduil had chosen to provide the aid of the Elvish forces after all seemed to make the leader of men grateful beyond measure.

Legolas felt his lips part into a smile as he got hold of the powerful and pleasant feeling in his chest: It was pride. He was proud of his father, proud of his achievements in the battle of Dagorlad, proud of his long reign, his wisdom and his power. For the first time in centuries, Legolas also truly realized that, should his father ever fall, he would have to take his place and assume his responsibilities. And however much it pained him to even consider the possibility that Thranduil might perish one day, the thought of men seeking his aid and turning to him for support filled his heart with pride, joy and happiness. How could he even think for a minute that he had the right to run off like an insurgent child, disregarding all the duties that might be conferred upon him one day?

"Legolas!"

The prince's head shot up as he snapped out of his thoughts. There was a challenging flicker in Thranduil's eyes but the rest of his face remained expressionless when he commanded, "Tolo ar nin. Gwaem." He nodded into the man's direction one last time, sealing their agreements, before he turned around and drew both of his swords as he purposefully strode into the direction from which the orcs and trolls could be heard loudest. He shouted orders in Sindarin, whereupon the Mirkwood soldiers came forth, lining up left and right beside their prince and king. When Galion stepped forward, Thranduil held up his hand, lowered his head and whispered something into his ear. A wave of astonishment washed over the elf's features but Thranduil only nodded in response, whereupon Galion marched into the opposite direction with approximately fifty soldiers following him in a neat line.

When the first cluster of orcs spotted them, they turned away from the bunch of men they had been fighting with and spurted towards them, bellowing out their pugnaciousness.

"Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir!" Thranduil shouted and lunged forward.

"Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir!" Legolas repeated and hurled his body toward the enemy, the Elves alongside him following their leaders' paragon. The rattling of swords clattered through the air, accompanied by the crunching of heavy boots on stone littered with debris and the thuds of bodies slumping to the ground.

Foe after foe they slew with their Elvish blades, their fight a lethally precise, choreographed dance through the lines of their enemies, until at last, they had slain all the foul creatures inside and driven the rest out of the city and onto the bridge that connected Dale with the mountain valley. Dain Ironfoot's army, Legolas saw, had been cornered by the host of Azog the Defiler. Soon, the enemy would seize Erebor.

Next to him, Thranduil suddenly uttered a muffled cry.

Legolas' head whipped around in awe. Two of the orcs behind them had regained their filthy feet and tackled his father from behind, dragging him to the ground. Thranduil's sword shot up, slicing through nothing but air. One orc brought its blade dangerously close to his father's throat, growling in black speech. The other kicked the sword out of his hand. Legolas sprang forward without pausing to think, whirling around to dazzle the creature, and jabbed his dagger into its eye. As the orc stumbled backwards, Legolas snatched up his bow, whipped out an arrow and shot the other assailant, which went to the ground squealing with pain and horror.

Legolas panted with fear. Thranduil let out a breath. The orc blade had grazed the skin on his throat in the jumble and a tiny stream of blood was trickling down his neck. He looked bewildered as Legolas held out his hand to help him up. As Thranduil clasped it, Legolas cursed himself for having summoned thoughts of his father falling. "Thank you," his father whispered as he stood up. "Thank you, ionneg." He placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder and, to Legolas' genuine astonishment, a gentle smile spread across his face. "I should not have doubted you."

"Save that for later," Legolas heard himself say. "The fight is not over yet."

Thranduil gave a nod, the smile still twitching at his lips.

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"We can't keep this up for very much longer, aye," the dwarf said. His movements had already become more strained and slow, his axe visibly heavier.

Tauriel had to admit to herself that he was right. More and more orc soldiers seemed to come forth, pouring onto the scene of battle with an energy she could no longer muster. Yet, she would not admit as much to his face. "You might not be able to, dwarf," she countered. "Elves can maintain their performance well-nigh indefinitely."

The dwarf grunted in response, probably seeing right through the façade, but before he could reply, Galion appeared at the top of stairs on the opposite of the battlefield, storming toward the orcs with an estimated fifty Elvish soldiers behind him. Before the enemy could adjust to the new situation, a rain of arrows poured down on them.

The dwarf's mouth gaped open in surprise. Tauriel could not begin to understand why Thranduil's army was there after all but it was not important to her. She killed two more orcs hurtling toward her and turned around to see how Kili was holding up. From the corner of her eye, Tauriel had watched him scramble to his feet after the defiler's attack, assailing him from behind as Bolg had lunged toward Thorin. Meanwhile, Fili had braced up for battle one last time as well, fighting relentlessly despite the pain he must be in.

Tauriel felt a powerful sensation of disappointment tugging at her heartstrings as she realized that she had no right to step between Kili and his people. His love for and loyalty toward his brother and uncle was palpable in the air as he tirelessly dealt blow after blow in the attempt to save his loved ones' lives. And suddenly she recognized what is was that had mesmerized her: It was not love. She had not fallen in love with him but with everything he was fighting for at this very moment. He had shaken her up, breaking through the cage of iron in which she had locked up her heart the minute she had sworn revenge for her parents' death.

Her vision blinded by tears, Tauriel watched thunderstruck as Bolg's blade pierced Fili's heart when the dwarf threw himself between Thorin and the orc with every ounce of strength left in him. Kili screamed out in horror. Propelled by grief and anger, he sprang toward the creature and jabbed his blade into its stomach. The orc sank to his knees, growling with pain. Kili lunged out once more and rammed his sword into the orc's neck with such a force that a fountain of blood spurted out.

"Kili!" Thorin yelled. "Watch out!"

Azog, whom Fili had managed to knock off his feet when he had hurled himself toward Thorin, jumped to his feet behind Kili, panting. Kili swung around just as Tauriel took a flying leap toward him but it was too late. The pale orc jabbed his prosthetic arm right into Kili's chest and pulled him closer, hissing in black speech.

"Nooooooooooo!" Thorin yelled, his voice cracking. He darted at Azog, wielding his sword. "Let him go, you miserable piece of filth." Azog snorted with laughter as he used his blade to rip open Kili's chest. It was not until Thorin pounced on him that he let go of the young dwarf, his eyes flickering with self-satisfaction.

Tauriel averted her gaze in horror as the feeling of nausea pressed upward from her stomach. She felt as though she had to watch her parents perish all over again. Only this time, she did not feel the need for revenge. To her own genuine surprise, she realized that revenge would never bring them back. She had devoted her entire existence in the royal guard to slaying orcs because she had hoped that one day, when she had killed enough of the filthy creatures, she would eventually be at peace. She had let the hunger for revenge poison her mind and distort her good judgment. She sank onto her knees, collapsing under the weight of her wrong decisions and the injustice she had done her people. A few steps away from her, Thorin and Azog slumped to the ground, each with the other's blade in their stomach, gasping heavily.

No, revenge led nowhere. Revenge only claimed innocent lives.

As though from another universe, Tauriel suddenly heart eagles cry out in the sky.

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Notes:

-Tolor ar nin – Come with me
-Gwaem – Let's go (Literally: We go)
-Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir – Death to the foes of the Elves
-ionneg – My son
-I really don't know what people discuss in battle and how they plan their moves strategically, which is why I let Legolas' mind wander off when Thranduil and Bard were thinking about what to do. I thought it would be logical to drive the orcs out of Dale in order to get the city back though, if only for the women and children to be safe, and move the battle to the valley again. Of course, I could be wrong. I am not a soldier. I also tried to find out how many entrances Dale actually has but I could not find a reliable source. In case of a siege, I guess it would be wise to have only one, especially one from where you can overlook the whole valley, so I decided to leave it at that.
-As painful a subject as this is to me, I really enjoyed writing Tauriel and Dwalin (in this part and the previous one). I think it would have been very amusing to have them fight side-by-side, as proud and dangerous as they both are.
-In case you were wondering, yes, whenever I used the phrase 'one last time' I did it on purpose.
-Although this looks like the end, it is not. I have more to say, so stay tuned!