Sorry it's a short chapter but there's LEGOLAS!!!!!!!!

Next chapter you will actually get to see him and Mithmír together, I promise.

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It was with renewed vigour that the archers raised their bows again; for as surely as Rohan was come to the aid of Gondor and the old friendship was rekindled, the Witchking was gone. There was new hope in the battle. Archers poured from the city to return to their posts on the Outer Wall; and the defences of Gondor were made strong again. The Gondorian foot-army and cavalry was also assembled; and in under half an hour their brave war-songs were started, the horns blowing, and they moved out - out of the ruined Gates and onto the Pelennor to fight!

Mithmír leaped down the stairs of the Wall, and drawing her daggers followed them out. She may have promised Mithrandir that she would not enter into hand-to-hand combat, but then he had lied to her about Faramir; and she would hold to that promise no longer.

The fighting was fast, thick and furious. Mithmír dodged easily from one orc or tall Haradrim to the next, her daggers flashes of silver accompanying her lithe body in a deadly dance. Inevitably her long, dark hair came free from her helmet and swirled about her too; until she was some whirling messenger of death to her enemies; and her allies looked upon her with wonder.

Mithmír was riding on an adrenaline high. Faramir and his plight was almost gone from her mind in the pure blood-lust. Later she would hate herself for the feelings she harboured then: an intense desire to kill; and she would feel they made her unclean; but at the time they were the most natural of all things. She was the blades; she was the blood; she was the pain. A smile was fixed on her face.

She was only awakened from her intense emotions when the black ships were seen to be coming up the Anduin. A shiver shot through her from feet to the tips of her pointed ears. She realised how cut off she was from the White City; how open to the merciless attacks of the Corsairs of Umbar. Fear replaced the lust for blood. She prayed for a miracle; as did everyone fighting for the West that day.

And, for once, a miracle came.

Legolas looked out from the boat. The fresh wind caught his hair and blew it out in a pretty fan about his head; and his blue eyes sparkled like the water. He stood there, perfectly poised, every sense highly aware.

'What do you see, Elf?' Asked Gimli, trying to peer over the side of the boat without any success.

'I see fighting, fighting on the Pelennor…' Legolas replied softly. 'the Rohirrim have come to the aid of Minas Tirith, and they fight well, but nevertheless the enemy's hordes are the larger. There are Haradrim and Southronds there too; not only the uruk-hai and orcs.'

'It seems we come just in time, then, friend!' The stout Gimli said. He found a nearby breastplate and, with much satisfaction, found that if he balanced on it perfectly he could see over the ledge. His eyes went wide. 'Well, Elf! We'll have no shortage of enemies to fight today! Now we'll truly get to see if the Elven daggers or Dwarven axe is better in battle!'

Legolas looked down at him and smiled with all he beauty of his race. 'Agreed, master Gimli! But I wonder…' he paused here, and his bright eyes scanned the fields quickly, 'what allies we shall meet again?' Gimli did not reply, and Legolas was glad. He needed to think. For some reason the odd elf-maid who he had met in Lothlorien; and who had followed them down the Anduin; had been on his mind recently. Elves trust their intuition, and Legolas took this very seriously. He wondered if here, indeed, they should meet again. He hoped they would. She was different from anyone he had ever met before - so passionate in every emotion she displayed, so intense, and yet, she kept herself so far apart from everyone else…

When the ships ground to a halt in the shallow waters, Legolas' train of thought was stopped, for the less-agile Gimli was thrown from his vantage point by the impact. Legolas helped him up, but made sure he himself was one of the first to jump nimbly, as graceful as a landing bird, to the shore. By the time Gimli was down he had already drawn his fine daggers, and was practising intricate strokes in the air. His face was taken over by a look of intense concentration, of the kind that only Elves are capable. It struck any who watched that Elves made fighting an art, and a beautiful one at that.

Without any ceremony at all Gimli withdrew his axe, and shouted over the hubbub of battle: 'let's go hunting, Elf!' He looked quickly behind them. 'And let's go quickly so we're not fighting by the Dead ones!' He shivered.

Legolas laughed, and the sound was like water falling into a pool. 'Very well, Gimli,' he replied. 'I shall beat you this time in the count of slain!'

'We'll see about that!' Gimli replied indignantly, and with a dwarven cry of rage he charged into battle beside his friend.