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? WARNING: 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 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. Oh and I also can't name elves in elvish to save my life so excuse me, haha.

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.

Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

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.

PART ONE: Those Lost

Chapter Seven: Allies

The Rohan Front

Deep night to early dawn of a war camp at the tail of a battle had its own brand of eerie peace. Cackling fires and quiet conversations, scurrying feet and clanking weapons and tinkering knives, the occasional pained moaning of the injured and the dying, or of restless nightmares of the horrors of the days past, and then the gentle assurances of friends and brothers in arms permeated the frigid air that still carried with it the stench of blood.

Nights like these were not strange to a seasoned warrior. Many of them have even forgotten that life was supposed to be some other way. But an elf's years were longer, and though this particular elfin warrior's known his share of violence, he's known his share of peace too, and he could never forget.

Lilian of Lothlorien had given the nights a peace that was far less akin to a graveyard. She had a quiet, unobtrusive laugh and glittering eyes that easily caught any smidgen of light. In humor, these eyes would widen just so, and her strange, wiry, useful hands would shoot up to her mouth to cover her laughs, and he'd pry them off just to watch her lower her head and cower from his gaze, and then peer up at him to see if he was still watching.

She smelled like the flowers she was named for, and he wondered if it was something she was born as and thereafter named for, or perhaps she held her own cunning and scented herself after her name, reminding him along all levels of memory of herself, that he may never forget, that he would always remember.

Which was fine at the start, he decided. Fine as long as he knew he could still return home and find that all her reminders would be rewarded by her love, her presence. He was a soldier, much in demand, and saw her seldom. But he walked the forests and her scent was there and then he'd smile for in a way, she was too. Lilian's scent breezed by over the blood, lined the impossible length of his road. Her memory strengthened him, visions of her warmed him. She laid claim to his past, comforted the impossibilities of his present, and promised him a future.

It was indeed fine at the start, he decided

And then he returned home and she was dead.

And then he saw the rather pointed disadvantages of her unforgettable ness. Unfortunate that she was dead, when he's already paid so much and lost so much just to return to her. Unfortunate that she was so hard to forget, and then the pain comes of the loss and its constant reminders, and then the guilt comes of once having wanted someone else other than her, of once thinking perhaps he could leave her after all, of once thinking that perhaps he could live without her…

But I didn't wish for her death…

I came back, didn't I? he thought desperately, I chose her in the end. I chose her in the end. And then they killed her, and then I lost everything after all…

They took her from me.

They took my choice, my freedom, from me.

Legolas sat before a fire at the edges of the camp. He's long since abandoned the confines of his tent. Someone handed him a pint of ale, said it was to keep warm with (not get drunk with, unfortunately), and he decided to drink it. Absently, he put the pint to his mouth for the nth time that evening and blinked to suddenly realize a breath later that it was empty. He lowered the pint to the ground, and raised his gaze to find a fellow elfin warrior smiling sublimely and knowingly at him.

"Haldir," the Mirkwood elf said, his own face opening up at the unguarded instant of the joy of reunion.

"An acquired taste, isn't it?" the Lothlorien elf asked the prince as he sat on the ground next to him and offered him a sip of the pint he himself carried.

"It has interesting effects," Legolas conceded, glancing at the glass before deciding against it with a shake of his head. Haldir shrugged, took a sip of the intoxicating drink before laying it to the ground.

Legolas regarded the Marchwarden with a tilt of his head. The elf looked hardier than when Legolas last had a sight of him… admittedly the last time they saw each other Haldir looked more like a corpse, severely injured and courted by death after Helm's Deep. The years were fleeting, and he heard the elf miraculously survived but hadn't seen for his own eyes until this night, and the sight of him was so different that Legolas could have been told that Haldir died and was resurrected as an adan and he'd have believed.

The elf of the Golden Wood lost some of his pomp, or perhaps that was not fair to say… Haldir without pomp was like the Golden Wood without the Gold. The Lothlorien elf seemed to have… acclimated his brand of spectacle. His golden hair was tied loosely behind him with a strangely graceful string of rope. It was longer, more spindly but certainly no less beautiful especially since the light of the fire played with the straying strands and he appeared haloed. He was garbed in a hybrid of Rohan and Lothlorien's best, and from the Westron he more comfortably and quickly spoke, Legolas noted he's acquired some of the accent of the local dialect as well.

"You've not been home to the Wood since before you came to Helm's Deep," Legolas said definitively.

"The women of this country are stubborn as..." a curse word in the Rohan tongue that Legolas did not understand, "I was not allowed lengthy travel until the scars have gone completely. I told them to keep me occupied at least, and they let me have my way with their young soldiers and their gardens and things and this crafty, cunning folk kept me occupied until long past the healing. The years sped by, I'm afraid. They took advantage of our kind's immortal disposition and disregard for the fleeting moments. And then I heard the Lady and many others have gone and sailed away, and my home's diminished, and I suppose I've not had the heart to see for myself since." He smiled wistfully, "Besides. I'm quite liked here."

Legolas smirked, 'Won't find that elsewhere,' he said in their elfin tongue.

'Don't be snide,' Haldir said primly, changing languages easily.

Legolas smiled, pulled his knees to his chest, warmed and disarmed by the conversation.

'In truth though,' said Haldir, 'The extent of my stay's taught me much. I see now why you have such an affinity for men.'

Legolas watched him expectantly.

'We're a dying race, my friend,' Haldir said, 'Owners of as dying age. We've to learn to give them this Earth, but there is no generosity without love. I once was willing to give my life because of an alliance. Now it is because they have faces and names and they let me teach their children and grow their trees, and they healed me and tied me to a cursed bedpost when I didn't know any better how to care for myself. I will sail one day. It is easier to have heirs I know and care for.' The elf stared at the fire, remnants of an old pain streaking across the glitter of his eyes, 'You and I, we are the only elves to survive Helm's Deep, did you know that?'

'I suspected,' Legolas said softly, and he remembered how desperately he longed to flee that place and busy himself with work and warring in escape.

'How I hated them for it,' said Haldir, 'How I once hated them for it. That they lived, that we died. That they'd have our world. That I was fighting for something that was not mine. That they needed us. That we helped them. How I hated them… And then the years sped by and then… perhaps… perhaps the price was steep but the rewards were just. I think I can die for them again.'

"And here you are," said Legolas.

"And here I am," Haldir said, watching the Prince curiously, "I wonder if we share the same reasons. You are a dear friend to Elessar. You of all people have knowledge of this land's heir. Is that why you fight so fiercely? Because you know he can lead them to make something of themselves?"

"I am more shortsighted," Legolas said with a self-deprecating laugh, "He is a friend, I have talents to offer, time to spare, frustrations to release…"

Haldir waited for him to expound, but there was a joke there, some bitter irony only Legolas understood and wished not to speak of. The Lothlorien elf did not pry. He understood demons, by god, how he once lived them. He let the prince alone, and decided to speak of lighter things.

"We shall turn toward brighter matters," Haldir declared, "How goes your life with my kinsman? My distant cousin, whose eyes shone with her love for you? You've not cuckolded her yet, have you? You know, my Prince, you can be such a rascal with the women if you only applied yourself. Or has Lilian tired of you already?"

Legolas laughed, but there was an edge to it that Haldir did not quite understand. The Mirkwood elf claimed the ale Haldir previously laid down and finished it in a single gulp.

"You can say we tired of each other," the Mirkwood elf said, wishing there was more of the ale, and less of the scent of the lilies in the air.

Legolas volunteered to bear the message to Aragorn in Minas Tirith, of the possibility of an alliance with the Sang-age. While the King of Rohan certainly worried for the state of mind of the embattled elven Prince, he also saw the merits of his logic; "I am the fastest rider," Legolas pointed out, "And, to say the least, a liability to your negotiations. You want me out of your way, Eomer, you and I both know that if I do not leave, I will not be able to curb my tongue. And I am needed in Ithilien, besides."

And so Legolas left with the same group of elves he arrived with. His departure gave Eomer both worry and relief. They were never truly the greatest of friends although undoubtedly, Eomer cared for Legolas' well-being. Nevertheless, he was off toward where the people who understood him the best were: Aragorn and Gimli the Dwarf, who traveled to Gondor from the Glittering Caves.

"Have a safe journey," he murmured to himself as he watched the messenger ride away.

Nathaniel accosted Eomer after the departure of Legolas, just as the King of Rohan was entering his tent. The Sang-age King had obviously considered the terms of their surrender for quite awhile; he offered a thick parchment of claims and promises to the King of Rohan.

Eomer's brows rose as he accepted the sheaf of papers.

"I am a warrior, yes," Nathaniel said, "But no fool. We were fighting a tenuous front in a war that was quickly losing purpose and possibility of victory. As your armies marched to face our lands, I've had time to think."

"A wise decision," Eomer murmured.

"It is…" Nathaniel hesitated, his eyes clouding at a distant memory, "It is just as well that Danielli and Nicolo are dead. Our Ally, and our Princemy son-in-law and my sonchased grand dreams that were ultimately dying. We are facing a new time, I believe. There was no longer a place for the wild desires of youth. I do not mind the peace, but then again, I am old, and in longing for it. Do you know I've never tasted it before?"

"I am not surprised," Eomer said, "None of us have, I think."

"All that we demand is there," Nathaniel said, nodding to the papers, "Release of our prisoners of war, release of yours. If you must have our lands then the women and the children must be unharmed. These are all very… standard, I believe."

"Aye," Eomer agreed. "But we will not take your lands, Nathaniel. This is not our way."

"I…" Nathaniel breathed in relief, "I gathered as much. And we are therefore left with fewer matters. Less of policy and more of practice. Namely, planning and implementing safe and mutually accessible trade routes, specific steps toward freeing our prisoners of war, negotiation of compensation to families of the deceased, an armistice, and all of these sealed by the marriage of Legolas of Mirkwood and my daughter."

Which is actually the hard part, came the unsaid between the two Kings.

Eomer leafed through the papers, and the word 'marriage' caught his eye. "After last night, I did not think you would still want our noble elf to be your daughter's husband."

"It is our law," Nathaniel said, not bothering to hide his own disgust, "And therefore I am duty-bound to convey this to you. Ownership will be passed on to Legolas. Of my daughter, of her son, and everything else Danielli and Nicolo owned. I've been advised by my legal counsel that he must accept, then yield to someone else if he so desired —they are after all, his property and therefore his to use or dispose of. His acceptance will be merely legal fiction. But, my King, alliances are also to be sealed by a marriage. And our people will likely not accept a warrior or royal of less stature and renown. He is ideal. Much to my dismay."

And much to his, Eomer thought wryly.

"The sooner this is done," said Nathaniel, "All the better for your side and mine, I believe."

"Indeed," agreed the King of Rohan, "Time is of the essence. As always. Your other allies must see the value in our friendship and quickly follow suit, before more people die."

"I do not know about you," said Nathaniel, "But I tire of war. We must show them the best face of a peace treaty."

They both knew what that meant: this has to work.

Eomer leaned back in his seat, rubbed at his chin in thought. "Indulge me, my King. You speak now of greatly wanting this peace, and of Legolas' part in it. And yet you came to him last night with intent to kill."

"An effort thwarted," the wily old man admitted with a wistful smile, "A lesson learned."

"You were in our camp," Eomer pointed out, "And under My protection. And yet you attacked an ally of mine. How can I be sure you will abide by the agreements our treaty will make?"

"I technically did not break my word to you," replied Nathaniel, "Under our laws, Legolas of Mirkwood claimed the properties of Danielli and Nathaniel after he killed them. Therefore, my assault upon him last night cannot be considered an act of war, for it is more of a domestic matter. I do not call it a betrayal of your trust. I call it a land dispute."

Eomer frowned. Fair enough.

"I will not expect any more such… disturbances from you," Eomer said sternly, "Remember. Your laws are not the only ones that matter anymore. If you are clever, my King, you will not harm any ally of mine. Yes, because it will jeopardize our treaty. But more because you will not want to see me truly displeased. But, if you want to live, you will especially not harm that particular ally of mine. Because you will have two of the land's grandest Kings on your heels, and I likely will not be needed at all."

Oh indeed, Eomer envisioned, thinking of Thranruil and Elessar. But the blade cut both ways too; Legolas had better not stir up any trouble either.

"A just warning," Nathaniel almost smirked, deciding he liked Eomer of Rohan. "Are you by any chance, married?"

"I am promised," Eomer replied in a clipped tone, not quite liking where he thought this could go, "What of it?"

"I am missing a son-in-law," Nathaniel pointed out, "And I do not like, and am certainly not liked by the only option given me."
"I… apologize," Eomer said haltingly.

"You know, you are young yet," Nathaniel said, "But let me tell you a thing or two about our politics. I am a King of a little-known tribe, blessed with a curious little stroke of luck, despite the relatively small army, the relatively small property.

"The Easterlings are composed of quite a lot of tribes, horse master," Nathaniel continued, and Eomer was arrested by the old man's soothing voice and the information he was divulging, "And I have nine beautiful daughters but just one son. Having just one male meant that I had but a single, solitary blood-heir, rather risky in times of war. But then, marry off your daughters to this tribe and that, and you have a rather well-connected man, for our tribal alliances are traditionally sealed by marriage. I used these connections very cleverly. But alas, I am out of daughters save for one. And you, my lord, are elsewhere promised."

Eomer knew the implications of this; Nathaniel's defeat and surrender could result in favor of more peace treaties, an arrangement that could set a precedent for other tribes to follow, because he was an important and influential man, blessed as he was with so many daughters and many powerful son-in-laws to whom they were given in marriage.

Eomer also knew what Nathaniel was hanging before him; the wily old man was actually trying to get Eomer to revoke his promise to his own betrothed and wed his daughter Nadina, Danielli's widow, instead!

The diplomatic double-talk was giving him a headache. He fervently wished that Legolas would ride Arod like the wind and bring Elessar here.

To be continued…

Some notes and responses…

To sesshyangel: nope, it's not just about the girl, as you may be getting an idea of based on this chapter. Legolas is not just driven by revenge for the death of Lilian, and if you're up to a spoiler I'll tell you what's going down, haha. When I started writing "Love, War" it was not meant to be a slash. You may see this from the story summary—it's about friendship. But I have also seen the excessive nature of the murderous anger, so I wanted to give Legolas an even deeper, more complex reason for his rage. On the surface, of course he wants revenge for the murder of his betrothed. But if you delve deeper, and as will be slowly revealed along the course of the tale, it's not just about the death of the girl he loves (massive spoilerskip this part if you don't want to read it haha). Along the course of the Quest, Legolas fell in love with someone else (i.e., Aragorn) but ultimately made the choice to return to Lilian, for his responsibilities to his kingdom and his word to her, and the responsibilities of Aragorn to Gondor and Arwen as well. So whwen Lilian died… it's not just that he lost the girl. As was said in this chapter, he had given up so much (i.e. Aragorn) to be with her, and when she was killed, it's as if all his chances for love were taken away from him—Lilian who was dead, and Aragorn whom he had given up and who was by that time already reunited with Arwen. Pretty convoluted, huh:) Anyway, I hope it'll only get clearer as the story progresses.

To child of the golden leaves: ask away, haha :) my email is but of course you can ask through the reviews as well. People may be wanting to ask the same things after all :)

MASSIVE THANKS to all who read and reviwed. Like I kwwp saying, it's not the most popular of my stories, and coming from the celebrated FEE, it's humbling to release a fic that isn't much read, so THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! Your support powers the writing and posting. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU:)

Oh, and watch out for chapter nine and ARAGORN:)