Ok I've had a few people tell me that my updates are too slow and YES I totally agree with you… I have nothing to say about that because they ARE slow. I'm so sorry! So! I have worked extra hard to get this chapter up a little early. But it's midterm periods now so I won't be able to work on the next chapter for at least 2 weeks. I'm sorry about that but I hope this early post makes it up somehow :'D

Psst listen to the LOTR song 'Samwise the Brave' while reading this. It will get you into the mood ;)

Chapter 12

"Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised."

- Aragorn

"Get down Gimli!"

And he did just as an arrow shot above him straight at the dark hood where the Nazgul's face should be. For a moment, Gimli thought Legolas's arrow had finally hit something, but once again it was easily deflected by the Nazgul. It was unbelievable. The nonliving being was more agile than Gimli had thought. For some reason, Gimli had predicted the battle to be much quicker without the pet to hinder them, but he was wrong on that too. The battle was dragging on and Legolas was running out of arrows while Gimli was running out of breath from dodging the Nazgul's rapid sword movements.

The Nazgul suddenly jabbed at Gimli, who jolted backwards, but not without swinging his axe before he twisted and fell. For the split moment when his back was turned to the enemy, Gimli felt a slash on his back and he roared in painful surprise. He braced himself for the kill, but no additional attacks came. Biting his lip to take his mind off his back, he scrambled to his feet and faced the Nazgul again.

Legolas was there with his long knife parrying and countering the dark being's vicious attacks. His bow was discarded some feet from them. Gimli had rarely seen the Elf fight with his sword up close. He has seen him use it, yes, but the battles were usually close to chaotic by the time he pulled it out.

Legolas was holding his ground very well. Block. Dodge. Stab- no, turn! Turn again, then stab. Duck. There was an almost animal-like ferocity in his movements and a fire in his eyes that seemed so foreign to the Dwarf. He almost lost himself in the Elf's complicated, smooth techniques, but quickly regained his senses. This was no time to wonder at the Elf's swordfighting.

"Khazâd ai-mênu!" he cried, and rushed to his friend's aid.

Legolas was sword to sword with the Nazgul, the dark abyss beneath its hood too close for comfort. It was a darkness that was both repelling, and yet strangely alluring. But that thought was immediately discarded when its rotten breath hit Legolas as it opened its unseen mouth to speak.

"I know you. I know your father, Thranduil." The words were almost forced out as if the very name disgusted him. "He was defeated by my hands."

The words were slow yet cruel. His eyes widened by a fraction as they struck him like a giant boulder. Cackling at his reaction, his enemy shoved Legolas at the incoming Gimli with a sudden burst of strength and sent them tumbling across the ground. Legolas wasted no time in retrieving his footing, but Gimli was too late and was stabbed a little off from his stomach – right where Legolas's heart was a millisecond ago. A long, painful cry issued from his friend which ended in a string of Dwarvish curse words.

"Gimli!"

Abandoning all logic and strategy, Legolas hurled himself at the Nazgul before it could finish the job, entangling them in a brawl on the dirt floor. Claw-like fingers swiped at his face, his hair, his clothes, leaving bloody marks everywhere. Both swept the ground blindly in search for their weapons that had escaped the scuffle. Legolas found a sword first, but the Nazgul found his neck and mercilessly slammed his back against the ground.

"He was weak. He surrendered his gates to me willingly! At least he was not a fool in that sense," it mocked.

The taunts barely reached Legolas, though, because he was preoccupied with the hand crushing his neck. The Nazgul was pushing as if to drive him into the ground. What extraordinary power! Legolas tried to raise his sword-arm, but a foot crushed his wrist until he released his grip. Instinct took over and the Elf was reduced to attempting to pry open the skeletal fingers from his throat. Its very touch was bleeding darkness into Legolas's entire body causing him to gradually pale and sweat.

"I know of a fitting death for you…."

With those ominous words, it pulled out a thin dagger as long as the length of Legolas's forearm. It was black and had very little design carved into it, but the tip was extremely sharp as if it could slice open the very air. A Morgul Blade. Legolas's eyes shot open in innocent terror at his impending destiny. Anyone stabbed with one of those wicked blades died in everlasting, excruciating pain. It is said that they never make it to Mandos, but become like the Nazgul: nonliving yet undead. The few who survive never recover in body nor spirit, and become torn away from the world forever. It was an ugly fate to be bestowed upon.

"Baw-! [No, don't!]" he breathed.

Legolas's heart hammered against his chest and he dug at his neck more ferociously. The Nazgul shrieked in victory and was about to throw him a gruesome death, when it suddenly arched its back as if something rammed into it from behind. The Morgul Blade fell to the ground and Legolas finally recovered his ability to breathe. Gulping greedily for air, he stared at the strange scene before him: the Nazgul was groping at its chest where its own sword protruded from. It flailed around trying to get whoever was responsible. Not having the strength to move, Legolas pulled his legs to his chest and covered his face to protect himself from the wild thrashing.

"Killed by your own weapon. What a fitting death for you."

Gimli stood a few feet from the Nazgul clutching his side wound. Besides the wound, Legolas was relieved that he looked alive and well. His joy was short-lived, however, for the ground shook again. This time even Gimli felt the tremor.

"Durin's beard! What was that?"

The Nazgul froze momentarily, then kicked around even wilder. It sensed an uneasiness back at Mount Doom. Sauron was calling. It had to answer its master's call! Ignoring the sword in its chest, it tried to flee the duo. Legolas wasted no time and picked up his fallen knife. If its body did not bleed, then how about its dark, hidden face beneath that hood? Before the Nazgul could go any further, Legolas pounced on it once more and thrust his Elven knife into the dark hood, willing all of the Valar's power into his attack. Evil burst from the puncture like water from a split dam and hurled Legolas into a tree, knocking the breath out of him. Gimli was right there to catch him.

The two friends watched in awe and horror as the Nazgul screamed and dug at its face. It fell on its knees, then hands, and finally lay in a formless pile of black robes with only the echoes of its screams to remind them of its existence. Then all was silent in the forest save for the heavy breathing of Legolas and Gimli. For a while, they kept their eyes fixed on the robes as if it would spring back to life and attack them at any moment. When nothing happened, they finally managed to calm down and accept that it was over.

The Nazgul was dead.

"Do you think anybody will know what we have just done?" whispered Gimli.

Legolas was just as taken aback by this turn of events as Gimli was. He shook his head and answered,

"We have just slain a Nazgul. Now there is a story to tell Aragorn when we return!"

He turned to his dear friend and smiled widely.

"My life is indebted to you, dear Gimli. Hannon le." And he bowed deeply in genuine respect for the Dwarf. Before he joined the fellowship, he would never have imagined owing his life to a Dwarf of all creatures, and his best friend. He may now understand why Gandalf took a strange loving to Hobbits: there were interesting things to be found in any of Arda's creatures, including Dwarves.

"Well, you have saved me from a most humiliating death as well: in front of an Elf! The debt has been paid," Gimli replied. Then his brows scrunched up in worry. "You look pale, lad. Has that blade pricked you after all?"

Indeed, Legolas seemed paler than ever. The usual rosy hue he always had was all but disappearing, and sweat remained on his brows. It was barely noticeable, but his lips were starting to bear a bluish tint.

"Dear Gimli, I have just been choked by a Nazgul and almost been stabbed by a Morgul Blade! I would be surprised if I did not look pale. It is you who rather looks sick with your wound and all."

He was not lying about Gimli's unhealthiness; the tangled beard hid his face well, but Gimli looked a little ashen. But Gimli dismissed Legolas's words with a quick wave of his hand. Grumbling something about healthy Dwarves, he stomped toward the direction of where the horse was faithfully waiting. Smiling, Legolas followed. If Gimli had gone after Legolas, he would have noticed the slight sway in the Elf's step, and Legolas would have noticed the strange way Gimli held his arm.

"That was the last of them, my lord."

Celeborn nodded and dismissed the Elf to allow him to get some rest. Celeborn and Elrond's army had killed and pursued as many Orcs as they could before they all ran away. Ever since the Nazgul flew off to who-knows-where, the remaining Orcs had become even more dismantled. He could not blame them; they had lost two generals and their great master in one battle which made it all the more easier for the Elves.

The lord of Lothlorien wiped his sword on the clothing of a dead Orc as best as he could and proceeded to survey the battlefield. It was like those nights when Dol Guldur attacked Caras Galadhon days ago. Bodies of fallen Elves were being salvaged from beneath Orc corpses and lain on the ground in a neat line; the injured were being tended to with the available resources as best as they could. He cringed each time a new body was added to the line of the dead. It looked they were lined up for the gates to the Halls of Mandos. Celeborn stood with his eyes closed in a moment of silence, prompting several Elves in the vicinity to do the same.

"Lord Celeborn."

He turned around to see a tousled Elf coming his way. Everything about him was filthy and the Elf was extremely skinny and pale. He looked like he had been through much, but underneath the weariness Celeborn could see that he was still young.

"My name is Tirnel, Lord Celeborn." Tirnel awkwardly cleared his throat and put his hand on his chest and bowed before Celeborn. "Thank you for coming such a long way to help our kingdom. I am glad to see you are alive and well. I am here because Lord Elrond sent for me to find you."

"Mae govannen, Tirnel. I am glad that my comings have been of great help. But I am curious, where is Celegon? I believe he went with Elrond to catch that Orc. Is he alright?"

Tirnel seemed to struggle with his words for a moment and finally said,

"Celegon is alright, but he is… not well. He came to the dungeons and found most of us, but…." Tirnel sighed and Celeborn thought he saw his eyes glisten.

"But what?"

"…He did not find what he was looking for."

"I see…." Something about Tirnel's tone told Celeborn that it wise not to push any further. Instead he hastily tried to change the topic. "Tell me, why does Elrond seek for me?"

"Ah yes. We have deemed the halls clear of all threats and so have moved King Thranduil to his chambers. Lord Elrond advises that you also send the injured to him in the healing wards as soon as possible. He has sent a rider to the Grey Mountains to bring back the fugitive Elves, so more hands will be arriving soon, hopefully."

"That is great news! I will gather the injured warriors. They need to get some well-deserved rest. Lead the way, Tirnel."

Thranduil was not sure if he was still alive.

He had no orientation of his body or time for that matter. There was no feeling or pain; there was no sound. It was neither cold nor hot. He was just a shred of consciousness floating in nothingness. He felt free and trapped at the same time. It was quite unsettling, so Thranduil attempted to escape his discomfort by lifting his arm, or rather, willing his non-existent arm to move. Strangely enough, he could feel his left arm moving, but was stopped abruptly by an unseen force wrapping itself around his wrist. The more he tried to break free of the force, the harder it grasped onto him. As Thranduil grew more aware of his surroundings, he recognized the force as a hand grabbing onto his wrist, restraining it. One word popped up in his head.

Orcs.

Although he had little feeling in his limbs, the king of Mirkwood fought hard and eventually managed to wrench his arm out from the strong grip. His eyes flickered open and was met with the bright blue orbs of Legolas, his son, who was looking down at him with worry creased into his face. Legolas had his hand in midair almost in a surrendering gesture, and Thranduil, panting, glanced at his own hand which was balled into a fist in the air. He felt his face flush deep red as he realized just how much he had let his nightmare affect him, almost making him forget his surprise and confusion at seeing his son in the room.

"Adar [Father]…" Legolas called, "Adar it is I, Legolas."

"Legolas…." Thranduil repeated. Now fully awake, he could see that he was in his bed in his own room. Most of the overturned furniture had been restored to its original position as if the past weeks' nightmares had never been. But what shocked the king the most was seeing his own son standing blatantly next to his bed. The last he had heard of his son's whereabouts since his departure to the council of Elrond as Mirkwood's messenger was that Legolas had joined the fellowship in a quest to destroy the One Ring. Yet here he was. Back home. Back to him.

"Legolas!" He called again, louder this time. "Legolas, ion nin [my son], what are you doing here? When did I get here? What happened?"

"I should ask you the same thing. Adar… you look terrible. What happened?"

The terrified look in his father's eyes when Legolas had held his hand was branded into his mind. His father had struggled so violently under his touch. Never before had he seen him act like this. He looked absolutely emaciated and his torn clothes revealed the entire history of his torture. Taking in the multiple cuts, bruises, and bandages on his body, Legolas could only imagine the torment his father had undergone. And he had seen the jagged, red line across his neck when he was changing his bandages. It was what disturbed Legolas the most. The brutality unleashed upon Thranduil made Legolas's blood boil and almost made him regret not staying with Aragorn where he could vent his anger on hordes of Orcs.

Thranduil slowly sat up and held Legolas's hand, still not completely believing what he was seeing. He frowned at how cold it felt, or maybe it was his own hand.

"I am sorry. I have failed you and our people. I have failed in protecting the kingdom…."

Legolas gently put a hand on top of Thranduil's, trying to dismiss the way he stiffened immediately, and kneeled next to the bed.

"Please, do not say that. I have not heard much yet, but I have heard enough from the others. The majority of the Elves that escaped are pouring back into the kingdom as we speak. There are women and children there. Many have survived, Adar. You have survived. Isn't that what matters?"

The same words told to him by Celegon prompted Thranduil to tiredly look up at Legolas's young face. His world. His future. His hope. He knew Legolas was right, but the guilt and trauma of the entire ordeal would never fade away. This he knew. But he was a king and a king always serves his people, not himself. They needed him to stay strong just like his father before him. He would find ways to amend his mistakes starting with reassuring everyone that he was well and ready. So, he swallowed his true feelings and put on a small smile for his people, and most importantly, Legolas.

"Yes, Legolas. You are absolutely right. What matters is that we give the dead a proper burial and the survivors a good, hot meal. Make sure they all have proper beds to sleep in, and give priority to the ones that have been held in the dungeons. I will go and personally thank Elrond and Celeborn later."

"That I will do in your stead. Do not worry about the affairs of the kingdom right now; you have been through much."

"Then I will entrust the matters of the kingdom to you until I am well enough to at least stand on my own."

Legolas nodded and stood up to leave when Thranduil called him once more.

"Legolas, can you go and find an Elf named Celegon? He is the real hero and I would like to properly show my gratitude."

Legolas nodded once more and quietly closed the door behind him as he stepped out into the hallway where Gimli was patiently waiting.

"How is he lad?"

Legolas looked down dejectedly at his friend, not bothering to hide his infinite sorrow.

"He looks… awful. His time in captivity has changed him so much. His eyes, Gimli, they do not hold that pride, that confidence that I've always respected. They are dead! He tries to hide it, but I can see. No matter how many smiling masks he puts on, I will always see. He becomes haunted whenever I touch him as if he is reliving the Orcs' foul touches. We were too late, my friend. I fear he will never regain his old self again."

Gimli took his friend's arm and gently led him down the hall.

"You slayed the Nazgul that was responsible for your people's suffering. With that, you have already avenged them and your father. I admit, I do not like Thranduil for he was responsible for the imprisonment of my father years ago, but nobody should have to go through that kind of suffering. Wounds will heal, lad. Just give him some time."

"Wounds will leave scars that never fade," Legolas sighed.

Before Gimli could comment, however, the two friends came face to face with a lone Elf making his way toward Thranduil's chambers. His expression was dark and he seemed to have a lot on his mind as he slowly dragged his feet along. The Elf seemed a little startled as he recognized Legolas and bowed before him.

"My lord Legolas. Apologies, I did not see you. I was on my way to see King Thranduil. Is he awake?"

"Are you Celegon?" asked Legolas.

Celegon blinked in surprise as Legolas called his name.

"Yes I am. How did you know my name?"

"The king has asked for you. I was on my way to find you right now."

"He has asked for me? I see…. Thank you my lord."

Legolas nodded and allowed Celegon to be on his way, curious as to what conversation the two would have. Judging from Celegon's somber expression, he guessed he did not hold good news.

With a blank face, Celegon approached Thranduil's door. Ever since he had found Talia's body in the dungeons, he thought long and hard about what to do next. Regret filled him to the brim the more he thought about her.

As he held her close that day and cried into her faded, lovely, soft hair, he could only ruminate on one thought: he was too late. He could not save her! He kissed her on the lips, but they could not feel his love, he knew. Still, he had kissed her again and again as if to kiss life into her. He spent much time taking in her face, looking into those eyes that would never open. Then he sobbed and gasped uncontrollably again, but he did not care for his appearance or of what Tirnel would think. His heart felt like it had been wrenched out and ripped to shreds, and he felt each tear. Celegon probably spent a lifetime of tears in those few minutes, howling like a wounded animal.

"When...?" he choked out once he had calmed down. But Tirnel had not answered right away.

"When? Tell me, please!"

"A few hours before you found us…."

The reply stunned Celegon more than he thought it would. A few hours! He was but a mere few hours late!

"You were her hope, Celegon. She has held on long despite her battered body and spirit thanks to you."

"Then I have failed her. She has felt the pain longer because of me."

'…..'

Nothing mattered now. Talia has faded. She was gone. For what purpose did he have to live for? He knew he could not bear to remain in this land after all that has happened, so it was time to confront King Thranduil about it.

When Celegon entered Thranduil's room, the king greeted him with a warm smile, Celegon could see the exhaustion etched into his face. Thranduil thanked him for surviving, first of all, and for bringing help to the kingdom. He said other words of praise and worry, but most of them slid past Celegon's ears. Only one sentence made it into his attention, though.

"In gratitude for your heroic deeds, I would like to grant you anything you wish. You have earned it."

"Anything, my lord?" asked Celegon.

"Name your needs and I shall give it to you."

Celegon looked Thranduil straight in the eye. There was a curious concoction of emotions there that Thranduil could not quite grasp.

"Then, my lord, I would be honored if you could bless my departure to Valinor."

The irony of Celegon and Talia's hope. :( Such a tragedy… I had to listen to so many emotional songs to get myself into the mood.