Author: Mirrordance
Title: Love, War
Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.
TIMELINE: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.
ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE:
The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.
King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.
Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.
Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.
Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.
Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.
Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.
Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.
Some responses to questions and reviews:
Child of the Golden Leaves: I love your perceptive questions. For those who are not Child of the Golden Leaves but are reading this anyway, the questions were why legolas is so cold, if it's because of the death of his betrothed or if he's always been this way. These are precisely the questions I want you to be asking yourselves along the story: Do I know him, what is this side of him, etc. Once more employing my favorite technique of the message being the medium, the same doubt the readers will have of exactly if they ever knew a character is what the other characters will be feeling of Legolas. If you want a taste, this is a snippet of Chapter Six: Love More than Hate, a scene between Eomer and Legolas:
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"I've been…" Eomer began haltingly as he and Legolas warily walked around each other, "I've been confused by you since your return… I stepped in here and realized you've become someone I do not quite… recognize."
"Or perhaps," Legolas retorted irritably, "One you never truly knew."
The heated vibe struck a chord in Eomer, whose always felt a rather deep comradeship with the elf.
"Do you truly believe that?" Eomer asked him quietly.
The frustrated elf decided not to reply. Uncertain what else to do, he lunged at Eomer in a frontal attack that served only to distract; turning just-so, he swung his blade instead toward the King of Rohan's side.
But they've not fought together a multitude of times before without the human King knowing a thing or two about the elf's skills. He deflected the attack cleanly, and swung his own sword upon the elf's body.
Legolas caught the strike with his knife, and for a long moment they pressed against each other stubbornly.
"Lay it down, Legolas," Eomer muttered.
"Move out of the way, Eomer," Legolas retorted.
" " "
Eathlin and Elessar lover: oh, dear thank you so so much for the trust. This is new ground for me in LOTR too so I'm being very cautious. I hope I take you on an okay ride haha.
Dragonfly: I'm a bit of a novice in the slash department too, so you shouldn't expect a very extreme departure from my usual depiction of the characters or too harsh a dive into the more 'physical' elements of a slash fic. As a matter of fact, I do not even plan on any explicitly stated admissions of love or even any touching. I want everything relating to slash to be understated. As a matter of fact, you may have noticed that Legolas' devotion at this point is his love for a woman. The way I see it, the body is almost unnecessary because the brand of love that I'm depicting transcends it; you love a trait, and incidentally this trait rests in a body that can be either that of a man's or a woman's. I won't take you down a dark, dark road that is too far from what I usually write. I was looking for a creative challenge, not an absolute change :)
Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and a shout out especially to those who took the time to review! I'm always going out on a limb for myself creatively somewhere (slash, this time, is just one more experiment in a lengthy list of them), so the feedback is really appreciated. I know how pressed for time we all are so thank you so so much.
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PART ONE: Those Lost
" " "
CHAPTER THREE: Those Who Do Not Give Mercy
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The Rohan Front
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They would not be able to recognize defeat even if it came in the form of a warg and it bit off their noses…
The war was running too pointlessly long, if indeed it was a war at all. The field was hideously and conspicuously uneven, with the scales long-tipped in favor of Elessar and his allies.
Yet here we all are…
One of the greatest forces in all of Middle-Earth stood a field of battle across from the remnants of a fading army.
The more fortunate side held King Eomer of Rohan and his men. He spearheaded column after column of armored soldiers that vigilantly held sturdy, disciplined lines of archers, foot soldiers and riders upon valiant horses with gleaming armored flanks.
The other side, the far more unfortunate side, held faceless, fate-sealed, walking corpses… otherwise known as yet another one of Rhovanion's scattered edain tribes, some of the Easterlings who have allied themselves with the evil Sauron and were now also sharing in his downfall.
Their lines had yawning gaps, their clothes and armor was torn, bloodied and tattered. They dragged their feet, as if they carried heavy burdens although… this warrior tribe's burden was not so much the heavy weapons they've been accustomed to since birth, but the knowing defeat they carried in their hearts.
"A rider comes, sire," Eomer was informed, and he looked away from the front to see his soldiers part for the new arrival. He smiled in pleasure at the sight of an old ally and friend.
"Legolas," he greeted, sparing the elf a slight bow. Legolas' lips quirked in a hesitant return of the affectionate greeting, but otherwise remained impassive as he bowed to the King of Rohan in return, a formal courtesy he returned more easily.
"All is well in Mirkwood?" Eomer inquired.
"Of course," Legolas replied as he dismounted his horse and patted it reassuringly. Eomer recognized the glorious beast as the very horse he had given Legolas that first time they met.
"I would not have left otherwise," Legolas continued, "I was just passing through to see how your front fares. I am on my way to Ithilien. I left my elves there in command of Prince Faramir as I looked to the affairs of the north. All seems well here, I believe I can leave soon."
"Aye," Eomer agreed, wincing, "I just wish they would simply surrender. They are no match for us. All this is so unnecessary. We do not want them all killed, we simply want them to be cooperative, to neutralize their threat to us."
Legolas glanced at the fragile lines the Easterlings held.
"At this point," said Eomer, "I've ordered my men to disarm and disable them, never to kill unless absolutely necessary. It is much harder… and more of our men are lost this way, but one could hardly look at our foes and decide otherwise."
It is admittedly pitiful, Legolas conceded, although the tiniest of compassion he could feel for his foes only succeeded in refueling his anger against them.
Those who do not give mercy do not deserve to be given it…
"What word from the northern front?" Eomer asked Legolas. The elf seemed a bit preoccupied, so Eomer expounded, "Does Danielli and Nicolo still fight?"
He was referring to the pair of infamous Easterling royals and warlords. Intelligence information gleaned from the East was sparse at best, but Danielli and Nicolo were two of their more well-known warriors. Friends and allies, the pair was often seen together, marauding across their lands. Their alliance was formally sealed by Danielli's marriage to Nicolo's sister, but it was a bond that was forged more strongly by the battles they withstood together, and a rumored, shared passion for blood as sport.
Last year, Danielli became the King of his tribe after his father's death at the battle of the Black Gate. Nicolo, whose father was the King of a neighboring tribe called the Sang-age, became Danielli's general since his own father was still alive and did not expressly need his assistance in the affairs of war.
"They were killed in battle," Legolas informed him, "I've come here to bear this news as well. Our northern front successfully broke their lines."
Eomer's brows rose. "Truly?"
"I have proof," Legolas said, "I bear it on my person."
Eomer looked away from Legolas, out across the field of battle and toward the weakening Eastrling lines. "That will be most useful to us. Do you know that the tribe we are presently fighting is that of the Sang-age?"
"Nicolo's father," Legolas concluded edgily.
"Yes," Eomer replied, wistfully. "We are at the very precipice before a battle. But perhaps… Hm. Would you stay awhile, master elf?"
"If you bid me do so," Legolas answered, watching the man carefully, wondering what it was he could be thinking.
"Good," Eomer nodded, exhaling as a slight smile touched his lips, "Good. I do bid you do so, my lord. Perhaps there is a better way than this…"
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"Hold the line," Eomer ordered his commander, ushering his horse forward, flanked by Legolas and the standard-bearers of the Rohiriim and the Eryn Lasgalen elves. The group of four looked proud and regal as they rode across the field, stopping just short of its center.
From the Easterlings' end, its leader Nathaniel and another man who carried the colors of their tribe rode forward as well, and stopped before the group.
The opposing warriors held a potent silence as they beheld each other. The leader of this band of Easterlings was an aging King, perhaps fifty or sixty years of age. His skin was olive, and the hair that peered from his helmet was a curling black, the same color of his keen eyes.
Just like the eyes of his son, Legolas deduced, recalling Nicolo's determined face and immediately recognizing the features he shared with his father.
King Nathaniel's cheeks were stained with blood and grime, and curiously, such things seemed to lend him more of an artless warrior's beauty and dignity, rather than dirt and defeat.
Eomer recognized him as an honorable foe with a respectful nod. "Your northern ally is dead," he said flatly, courteously handing the Easterling warrior the cloak and weapons of Danielli, which Legolas brought with him.
"These were retrieved from his body," Eomer informed Nathaniel, as he nodded for Legolas to give the man another set of cloak and weapons. The elf did so with some noted stiffness; he was, after all, handing a father information that his son was dead…
Spawn of the devil though the son may be…
"Just as these implements were retrieved from his general," Eomer continued, "Your son, Nicolo. They fought bravely and nobly, but now they are dead. The soldiers that have been captured from the northern front are being kept as prisoners of war. They are being treated fairly, are well-fed, well-sheltered, and the injured are being cared for. This is a courtesy I guarantee will be extended to you and your men should you choose to surrender to us.
"Your lines are thinning," Eomer said, without malice, without threat, and the barest truthfulness of his pained words probably held more power than any threat, "And no reinforcements are forthcoming. Surrender will be most wise."
"I will give it some thought," Nathaniel replied tersely, and all credit was due him for his admirable restraint, "Although we were never one to simply give up."
"I share the sentiment," Legolas piped in coolly, to Eomer's annoyance, "I would rather see this battle to a definitive end myself."
The King's brows rose as he beheld the cold elf carefully.
"But naturally," Eomer cut in, "We are duty-bound to extend this option to you."
"I know," Nathaniel said, "You shall have your reply by day's end. Perhaps this battle will end by tonight. Perhaps our swords will cross upon the next rising of the sun. We shall see. Do you find this agreeable?"
"Yes," Eomer replied, tightening his grip upon the reins of his horse, "We will wait."
" " "
Legolas commanded the watch of the night, and stood beside a pensive Mikael as they watched the Easterling camp from across the battlefield. Specks of light danced in the near distance as the soldiers across the field moved about.
'They will surrender,' Mikael commented, 'I do not believe Nathaniel is a fool.'
Legolas said nothing to this prediction.
'And what will you do then, my prince?' Mikael pressed him.
'You are my minder,' Legolas retorted, 'Not my conscience. Your job is to keep me alive, not to tell me how to live.'
Mikael bit his tongue; the boy was understandably troubled, has been since he returned to Mirkwood after the War of the Ring only to be informed of his betrothed's death. Grief so strong was almost always accompanied by a heart so broken it longed desperately to still. But Legolas' was a pain fueled by his anger. Undoubtedly, Mikael's seen that frustration help grow an elven colony in Ithilien, helped make Eryn Lasgalen a rightful heir as her Prince grew in strength and warrior's might. The Prince was fed by that anger, that hungry restlessness. And while Mikael was grateful for the strength it lent his strong-willed charge, that brand of rage courted its own brand of troubles as well.
'I long to take your fury from you,' Mikael murmured, 'But I know it keeps you alive.'
Legolas opened his mouth, eager to retort something scathing. But Mikael beat him to the line, nodding toward the near distance and saying, 'A rider comes from across the way, my lord. He bears a white flag in surrender.'
'Strike him down,' Legolas commanded coolly.
Mikael called the bluff and unquestionably raised his bow and aimed his arrow for a lethal strike. Sighing almost inaudibly, Legolas pressed a hand upon Mikael's arm to stay his aim. The elder elf counted on it, but there was no triumph to him, for the shoulders of the elven prince slumped as if something significant was taken from him, in this tiny moment, in that he was forced to stay the things he's longed for so desperately for so long.
They let the rider approach, and walked toward him as he cautiously dismounted from his horse.
"My lord," the Easterling messenger greeted Legolas with a quick nod. He offered the elf the sword of Nathaniel.
He offered the elf the surrender of the Sang-age.
He offered Legolas his peace.
The elf warrior did not want it. But he grit his teeth and accepted, at least, for now.
To be continued…