Victory after victory. Sirya's predictions and advice continued to bring the elves of the woodland realm luck. His quit wit and ability to see the battlefield for what it was gave the citizens of Mirkwood hope for a future; hope they hadn't fathomed for some time.
Legolas had gotten word of the successes of the elves of Mirkwood and Lorien, letting the same hope drive his efforts with Rohan. He stayed with Aragorn, continuing to help rebuild the lives of Theoden's people, his ear to the ground for any word of his family. But Messengers were few and far between, and getting word from battlefield to battlefield was nearly unheard of. But now they were riding to Gondor, and Legolas feared he would never speak to his father Baineth or his son again.
Androdel clapped Sirya's back, his eyes sparkling. They'd just returned from another victory, the line now pushed nearly from the forest entirely. They'd been fairly lucky in regards to casualties and injuries, and word of the successes of Rohan had raised the battalions hopes. Maybe, they could beat sauron. The purple hues of the evening sky revealed hints of stars over the trees. Emarth was sipping his glass of wine, Sirya talking idly to some of the men. He'd grown so tall, so graceful in his manner. He laughed easily, his light eyes glimmering in the firelight. He'd grown to be lordly; Legolas would be proud. Once he'd finished his wine and his head grew a bit fuzzier than he typically allowed, he stood, the laughter of carefree, victorious soldiers shrouding him in delight.
"Sirya, I'm going to turn in."
"Alright, Emarth. I'll join you soon."
He smiled and squeezed his shoulder, heading off to their tent. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke to screaming, his hand finding the hilt of his sword. His head was foggy, his limbs a bit heavier than he liked. He pushed his unbraided hair from his face, orange and red licking at the rent. Sirya wasn't there.
He ran out into the clearing, the familiar wail of orcs filling his ears. Heat crawled up his neck. The one night he let his guard down… but he couldn't put his guard down. It was his job.
"Sirya!" He cried, a panicked, strangled cry following his call. He sunk his blade into the chest of a nearby orc, flames licking at the base of the tree before his tent.
"Sirya!"
He saw Androdel, Sirya trailing behind him. He ran over, grabbing Sirya by the wrist.
"I've got him, go," Emarth assured him. Androdel nodded, running off toward Selebren nd the others fighting to push the orcs back toward the river.
Emarth dragged Sirya into the tree line, his eyes scanning for any movement. The encampment was shrinking behind them, and with it the light of the flames fading, the forest growing darker with each step. The clanging of swords and the screams or orcs and elves fell away, and Emarth's hand was clamped firmly on Sirya's wrist. He could sense the orcs around them, moving through the forest, but he couldn't see them. Sirya dragged behind him, silent, trying to keep up. He adjusted Emarth's hold so that he was holding his hand instead of his wrist, and Emarth stopped behind a tree.
"We might just be far enough away, now." He whispered, taking off his bag. He pulled his double knives from it, strapping them to Sirya's back. A crack behind them sent emarths senses onto overdrive pulling Sirya behind him. Sira's hands were pressed firmly into Emarth's shoulders, trying to sense the orcs.
"Just in front of you, to the right," Emarth whispered, trying not to let his fear slip into his tone.
A whistle, and a grunt.
An arrow sank into Emarth's thigh, his knee buckling.
"Emarth!" Sirya cried, falling to his knees beside him.
"Keep going. Keep going it's alright." He pushed him on, another arrow soaring by his head.
"Go Sirya. Go!" Emarth roared, pulling his sword from its hilt.
"Emarth no! I can't leave you." He shouted, pulling Emarth up onto his feet and over his shoulder. Sirya's hands were clamped firmly over Emarth's knees, and he tried to hurry into the treeline, but a stump caught his footing, bringing Sirya to his knees.
Emarth struggled from his grasp and onto his feet, his sword firm in his hand.
"You can and you must leave. Go Sirya, go!" Another arrow sank itself into his lower back. "Run!"
"Emarth!"
"Go!" He cried, and pushed Sirya as hard as he could, swinging his sword at him. "Go."
Sirya took off in the opposite direction. He ran, he ran with his arms out to protect his face from branches, and the echo of his footsteps alerted him of nearby trees. He left Emarth to die. His mind was blank, blocking that simple fact. Emarth would die. His father's best friend, his own family, left behind to be a toy for the orcs. Sirya turned around, running back in the direction he came from. He wouldn't leave anyone to die, never.
"What's this?" He heard one of the orcs growl.
"Sirya!" Emarth called from the ground, his voice light. Sirya found emarth, his coughing coming from a few feet in front of him, and unsheathed his dagger.
The orc approached, and Sirya turned his head, listening. The orc lunged, and Sirya sunk his dagger into his chest, falling the orc. Emarth groaned, and the other orc fell to the ground, Emarth's sword in his chest.
"I told you to run."
"I couldn't leave you, I cannot leave you to die."
Emarth coughed, wiping the blood from his lip. "I am going to die, Sirya."
Sirya put his hands on Emarth's chest. "I will carry you-"
"It's over, Sirya. I cannot live with this wound."
Sirya shook his head. "I'm so sorry, if I-"
"You have to leave me here, hir nin. You need to get to the stronghold. You cannot depend on anyone finding you out here." He took in a sharp breath. He promised he wouldn't leave him. "You need to leave me."
"I cannot-"
"You have to. I am not going to live much longer, you are in danger." Sirya shook his head, tears falling onto Emarth's tunic.
"It's alright," Emarth cried. "It is alright," He ran his thumb over Sirya's cheek. "Go. Go! Please!" He begged.
Sirya stood, his jaw set, thinking. He took Emarth under his arms, making him groan. Sirya dragged him carefully over toward a tree and into thick bushes. He pulled his blanket from his bag and covered him with it, along with lembas, miruvor, and water.
"I… I am so sorry. I am going to come back for you. With help."
Emarth ran his hand through Sirya's hair. "Do not be sad. It has been an honor to live and work alongside you."
"I will be back, no matter what. Even if it is for your body I come for, I will not leave you here alone."
Sirya kissed his forehead. "Thank you."
Emarth swallowed, blood on his tongue. "Go. Go now and live."
Sirya stood, running away from the scene, a dagger in his hand and tears streaming down his cheeks.
Legolas walked the white streets of Gondor, their roads destroyed but still white and glimmering in the morning sun. The cleanup had begun; the uninjured soldiers began to collect and bury their fallen comrades. He had been lucky yet again, leaving the battle uninjured and with his friends in tow. The war was looking up for the free people of Middle Earth.
"Prince Legolas."
He turned, squinting in the unhindered sunlight.
Prince Imrahil. "Good morning, Prince Imrahil."
"It is, is it not? With Mordor's forces at bay," he smiled, his blue eyes glimmering with the glory of a successful battle.
"For the time being. What is it I can help you with?"
He held out a letter, "it came for you from the Woodland front. Mithrandir instructed me to deliver it to you."
Legolas took it from him and the Prince left him to read it privately. He made his way over to a column, sitting before it. It was not in familiar handwriting.
"Hir nin Legolas, a surprise attack from the south eastern front has left our numbers scattered and thinned all the way to the Royal Home that Lady Baineth oversees. Survivors have begun to return to the capital, and search and rescue parties have gone out for the wounded. Among those missing include the King and the Prince as well as Captain Emarth and Lady Baineth. I do not write to worry you needlessly, I do believe it is best for you to return to the stronghold at once.
Reinor"
He did not know who this Reinor was, but the seal was correct- it was no trick. Legolas clutched his chest, his lungs unable to draw in air. Everyone? Everyone in his family was missing? Where was Loth? Why hadn't he written him the letter. He searched his own fea for any hint of these losses, but it was like the lines ha been cut, no reassurance or confirmation of the worst at his disposal.
It would take weeks to get home…
His mind seemed to switch off then, his panic falling away. If they were dead, what would his hurrying home do? He clenched his teeth so tightly that he thought they would break. Dead. His entire family could be dead. His mind remained empty. Was this insanity?
A voice made him jump, "Legolas- Aragorn is holding a council." Eomer said, his eyes concerned.
He followed him silently to the throne room, and Aragorn was speaking of a diversion at the gate. Legolas' heart sang, filling the voided silence in his mind.
Maybe he had gone insane, but this was his purpose now. He let hate fill his heart. He felt as if he could kill every orc, and then Sauron himself with rage to spare. He would bring that land to its knees for what it had done, and they would all pay. Their deaths would not be in vain. He bobbed his head at Aragorn. They would do this, and bring justice to the fallen.
Hi there... Its been a long time... I'm sorry. I've been seeing your comments and I'm glad to be back! Since I've last written I've gotten married, bought a house, and lost a half dozen family members... but I'm back now and nothing can stop me! I'm trapped in my house due to the local quarantine, so I'm going to be writing a lot, so buckle up and pray to the Valar for our little family! Thanks as always for your support and for reading my work. I'm very passionate about this story, and hope you enjoy.
