A/N: Here, finally, is chapter 79. Forgive me for the ridiculous delay. I've been a sort of rut with my fanfics. But I actually wrote this..I am also determined to update my other WIPs before my break is over.So please read and review this. Hope it doesn't suck..Thank you to all my reviewers for your time and words. ^_^

Chapter 79

The Uruk Hai waited impatiently on the shore as the great, black ships pulled into the harbor. Their ripped sails fluttered, caught in the wind, as the pale morning sun loomed above them, shrouded in cloud. The beasts had been up all night, anxious for their reinforcements. The arrival of the Corsairs of Umbar was a welcome sight to them. The only sound was the lapping of the water and the rocking of the ships. There were no shouts of the pirates, and it was silent. Unusually silent.

" Well, finally, " grunted the commanding Uruk as he stepped forth to meet them.

Yet it was not the Corsairs who greeted the allies of Mordor. In the next moment, it was Aragorn who leapt over the side of the leading ship, Anduril brandished in his hand. The Dwarf Gimli followed with ax ready, finding it no difficulty to leap over after Aragorn. And finally, Legolas appeared with his golden hair whipping about him in the breeze and dulling the appearance of the sun. Above them, a hoard of Dunedain rose up in the ship, with Halbarad in the center. The twins were stationed at the top of the mast, hanging out with their Elven swords in hand. Their silky raven hair was like banners in the wind.

The Uruks grew wide-eyed at once, frozen for a moment in surprise. Aragorn raised Anduril high and plunged it forth to signal a charge. His men gave a shout and flooded out of the ships, splashing about in the water. As Aragorn advanced, with Gimli and Legolas on either side of him, the great host of Dead burst out from the fleet and swept down on the Uruks and past Aragorn. One would have had to have been there to know fully what it was like.

Although the Dead left most of the Uruks lifeless in one sweep, there was still battle to be fought for the living. They pushed forward, eventually swarming over Minas Tirith to finish off the remainder of Mordor's soldiers. The Rohirrim had already arrived, engrossed in the epic Battle of the Pelennor Fields. It was not long before Aragorn and the Dunedain lost each other, along with the 3 Elves and the Dwarf. The Dead swept up into the White City, passing over the Rohirrim and the Gondorian soldiers. Somewhere on the battlefield, Eowyn slew the Witch King, and in the palace, Faramir's life hung in the balance.

Legolas had brandished his deadly knives and was once again caught in the rapid, fluid motion of their work. They cut clean through Uruk flesh. He had lost himself again, unaware of anything but his own movements. He was alone now, save for his enemies. He had left the water and the ships far behind already, and now he was amongst the Rohirrim besides his former companions. He had ceased to be a breathing Elf, and had instead become the fatal blade wielder he was so infamous for.

" Legolas." He was aware it was Aragorn who yelled his name from somewhere behind him, but he did not give a glance. His eyes caught the enormous Oliphaunt that was thundering up ahead. Without a second thought, the archer bound after it and began to scale the beast using the arrows that protruded from its leathery flesh. His lithe body swung up onto its back as it plodded on in haste, a dangerous task even for him. As soon as he had his footing, he began to shoot the Haradrim before him. In a grand and surreal display, he killed them all, slew the Oliphaunt, and slid down the beast's trunk as it toppled forth.

He took a breath. Doubtless, Aragorn and the others were far behind him now. No matter. Legolas leapt forth and engaged himself in combat once more. One after an another, his opponents fell dead at his feet, and he leapt over the bodies to fight their companions. At his neck, Thaurnoviel's pendant glimmered and his own was bright in likeness of the Lorien leaf clasp above. The necklaces had escaped from the inside of his tunic. Somewhere in his subconscious, he shuddered to think that for some reason, this fierce battle was reminiscent to the one that had taken place in Mirkwood centuries ago - the one that had claimed Thaurnoviel's life.

Suddenly, he had a clear and very real-like vision of her nearby. Thaurnoviel fought with the same swiftness as Legolas, with her noble cloak of scarlet draped on her shoulders. Her dark hair had been pulled back and tied, wisps and tendrils hanging about her face. Her pauldrons were not nearly as bulky as his own were, for they were crafted from thin steel instead of leather. She bore a breastplate of silver with her mark the star of Elbereth upon it, and the wreath of leaves representing Mirkwood encircling it. Her fair face was smudged with dirt and blood. Her plated skirt fell over her leggings to just above her knees, and the golden flame motif she had adopted was visible on the cuffs of her boots and vambraces. She wielded her sword with deadly skill and accuracy, looking more like a mortal woman than a she-Elf. The clanging of blade against blade rang out in the fields. She peered over her shoulder at him with those deep brown eyes of hers. She looked like a great warrior queen, caught there in the heat of battle.

Their eyes locked, before Legolas parried a blow from his Uruk attacker. She returned to her own enemy. His knives twirled and his slit the throat of his adversary. Again, he looked to her, yet the vision had gone. He was inwardly disappointed at this, but he must continue in his fighting. The fray was fierce, and at the end, the slaughter would be tragically evident.

An hour or so later, Legolas stood alone in the midst of the bodies. Small towers of smoke rose strewn across the field. Ahead of him, Aragorn was conversing with the Dead once more. Doubtless, he was releasing them. It had been a fierce battle. Mordor had been defeated, yet it was not over. And the price of victory had been costly indeed. Gandalf was about, as was Gimli. Yet Legolas did not utter a word to them. His knives were already sheathed, and he was quiet. The breeze had picked up again. He looked around himself at death. Minas Tirith was safe. Osgiliath was reclaimed. Mordor still waited.

" Legolas." Aragorn approached the Elf with a weary grin. The Dead had dispersed.

" Your hurt," the ranger said as he reached Legolas, and his fingers touched the blood on Legolas' brow. It was still wet and warm. Legolas had not noticed.

" It's nothing," he said and moved away. Aragorn's hand fell to his side, still coated with the Elf's blood. The Man looked at the Elf with those gray eyes of his.

" Minas Tirith stands," said Gandalf, joining them with his staff one step ahead of his feet. He gave one of his wizard smiles. " Your did well, Aragorn. The Dead proved to be invaluable reinforcements."

" Yes, pity you had to let them go," grunted Gimli.

" Our losses are grave," Aragorn remarked, breaking his eye contact with Legolas.

" Indeed, " agree Gandalf.

" Where are those pointy-eared twins? " Gimli questioned.

" I know not," answer Legolas with a drop of his head. He turned his back on them and looked out to the field.

" Few of the Dunedain survived," admitted Aragorn grimly. His own head was bowed. " Halbarad is dead." There was such sadness in his voice, that Legolas was surprised the human did not weep. The Elf was disheartened as well. Halbarad had been a good friend even for a short while. Legolas was glad they had exchanged words in the ship before the raid on Osgiliath.

" It has been well, Legolas of Mirkwood, to know thee for a short time," Halbarad had said.

" Aye, so has it been for me," he had replied.

" Before we go forth into the fray, I would know if you would call me friend."

" I would," Legolas had said. " And would I be yours?"

" Indeed," Halbarad had smiled. " Good luck to you, Master Elf."

Legolas had given him an Elven salute.

And that had been the last of it. Halbarad was dead now. Their exchange had been but a few hours ago. Legolas regretted not having formed a deeper friendship with him. // May he find peace in death. //

" Did any of you chance to see Eomer? " Gandalf asked behind Legolas.

" I did," Aragorn confirmed. " We fought together for a time, but we lost each other yet again."

" We should return to the city, and discover the living, " the wizard said as Legolas heard him begin to walk off.

" What of Denethor? " Aragorn asked, joining the wizard. Legolas finally turned back and began to follow.

" His demise was most unfortunate indeed," said the wizard. " Dead, I fear." Both Elf and Man gave Gandalf curious looks. " He took his own life in his madness, and would have claimed his son's also if Pippin had not fetched me in time."

Legolas was amazed at this. How could any man attempt to take the life of his own child? But then again, the Steward had succumbed to madness. The archer was eager to meet this unfortunate son, brother of Boromir. A dull pain surfaced in his chest at the thought of his lost comrade. It had really not been that long since Boromir's death, yet it seemed like an age had passed since then - since they were still a whole Fellowship.

" And what of Faramir? " Aragorn persisted.

" His life hangs in the balance," Gandalf told them gravely. " He was the sole survivor from the charge to reclaim Osgiliath, a suicidal mission. His wounds have been left unattended to for much too long. "

" I must see to him," Aragorn said firmly as they approached the gate to the White City.

" Indeed," Gandalf confirmed. " I fear you may be the only one to save him, Aragorn."

" Why? Are you powerless to save him, Gandalf? " Gimli questioned.

" Faramir fell without hope," Legolas answered for the wizard, his voice distant and soft. " His body is not in so much a need as his heart." The Elf paused. " Love is the only thing that might save him." None of the others answered to this. They knew and understood that Legolas was right.

That night, the Houses of Healing were alight with candles. The cots were filled, and the brows of wounded soldiers glowed with fever. The ward was not big enough for all of the victims, and many had to be housed in the rooms next door. The healers were hard at work, long into the night, going from cot to cot. The Lord Aragorn quietly arrived in the darkness, only acknowledged by the healers with wordless nods.

First, he went unto Merry. The valiant Halfling was unconscious, as were so many others. He had wounded the Witch King, an astonishing task for a Hobbit. Yet the arm that had dealt the blow was injured. Aragorn sat carefully on the bed and looked upon his small friend's face with a suppressed sigh. Pippin had found his cousin on the battlefield and would still be at Merry's side had it not been for Gandalf's urging away. Aragorn set to work, and proved the words of the nurse Ioreth to be true. He possessed the powers of healing.

Next came Eowyn. It was with shock and some regret besides that Aragorn had learned of her tale. Gandalf did not know all of it, but he had found the White Lady of Rohan slumped o'er her beloved Uncle, the dead King Theoden. Eomer had been ravaged by his double loss earlier. He had looked upon Eowyn's face when he and Aragorn had come before and wept. But Aragorn had discovered that she had yet lived and beckoned Eomer to call to her. She had answered her brother's summons and had awoken. Now, she slept soundly, though she had still much recovering to do. Aragorn now checked on her and moved on when satisfied.

In a dark corner where only little of the candlelight reached, Faramir lay dying. He had been somewhat tended to - his wounds had been dressed and bound and a draught had been given him in attempts to quench the poison. He was being cooled with damp rags, yet his brow and tousled hair were still damp in his fever. When Aragorn looked upon him, his gray eyes conveyed his pity, and his heart went out to Faramir in compassion. It was also a bittersweet and painful reminder of Boromir. He looked so much like his older brother.

Aragorn leaned over Faramir once seated on the cot beside the motionless Captain. He lay his hand over Faramir's folded ones and his other hand hovered over the captain's brow.

//" Faramir, telin le thaed. Lasto beth nin, tolo dan nan galad."//

// Faramir, I am here to help you. Listen to my voice. Come back to the light.//

Aragorn murmured to him in Sindarin, words familiar to all he knew save perhaps Gimli.

//" Lasto na nin, gwador," he urged Faramir. " Tolo dan nan galad." //

// Listen to me, brother. Come back to the light.//

In the shadows behind, Legolas watched undetected. He listened, and he hoped. He heard Aragorn call Faramir 'brother'. Yet it was different from when the ranger called Legolas by the same word. With Faramir, it was brother-in-arms fighting for Gondor, sons of the same nation and the same race. With Legolas, it was brother of a shared life and love that had lived beyond Faramir's lifetime. The Elf waited breathlessly for Faramir to respond.

In the next moment, Faramir slowly opened his big, blue eyes, glassy with fever. Both Legolas and Aragorn were holding their breath as Faramir stared up into Aragorn's face without any sign of being awake other than his opened eyes. The candlelight glimmered in them, and he looked like a very sick child - just as he had when he had given his father one last look. Aragorn needed no words. He knew Faramir would be all right now. And after a long moment, Faramir's eyes closed heavily. But already, he had claimed a tender place in the hearts of Aragorn and Legolas.

In the darkness, Legolas' eyes glowered, fixed on Faramir. He was moved with compassion and pity. A profound desire had swelled in his chest. He wanted now, more than anything, to give love to this man. He wanted take Faramir in his arms like his child and hold him and show him that he was not alone anymore. Legolas watched as Aragorn brushed a tendril of hair back over Faramir's head. // It'll be all right,Faramir,// he thought. // It will. //