Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's creations, I just like to play in Middle Earth.
Summary: In the aftermath of a failed mission, Legolas returns to the stronghold and must carry on as a captain, a prince, and a son. A story about finding hope and faith in the face of despair.
Author's Note: Hello all! It's been a long time, and I've had the itch to dabble in fanfiction again lately. This story evolved a lot as I wrote it. It ended up being a piece about life in Mirkwood in the time leading up to the War of the Ring. Full disclosure: there isn't much action and there aren't a lot of plot turns either—no cliffhangers in this one—just an angsty little story. It is very much character driven. It is five chapters long and written in its entirety, I intend to post weekly. Enjoy!
To Endure - Chapter 1
Legolas woke slowly. Sound returned first. A muted cacophony of noises that his mind began to sort out into distinct, meaningful sounds—the crackle and pop of a nearby fire, the grind of a whetstone upon a blade, the hushed tones of a whispered conversation, a pained groan followed by gentle words of encouragement. Though his eyes were still closed, the sounds painted a familiar picture in Legolas' mind: an encampment, after a battle.
Memory followed the return of sound. The planned offensive action against the orcs, the battle, everything going so horribly wrong, and then pain and darkness. The memory of pain awakened a present fire in his body. A burning pain in his side made itself known, he tensed and tried to curl in on himself to alleviate the feeling.
"Easy, Legolas," a voice said. Hands gently pressed his shoulders back down. "Be careful, we've only just stopped the bleeding."
Legolas finally opened his eyes. Galathil leaned over him, lines of worry etched into his face. Over him, light and shadows danced upon the branches of the surrounding trees. Legolas took a deep, steadying breath, and slowly turned his head, taking in his surroundings. The camp was quiet; many warriors were sleeping or unconscious, Legolas could not say from his own prone position; others fussed over weapons or comrades; some tended to the horses, who appeared agitated and nervous. His gaze returned to Galathil. His friend and lieutenant looked exhausted, but otherwise appeared to be well.
Together, Galathil and he had trained to be warriors, gone on their first patrols, and risen through the ranks of warriors. He was invaluable as a trusted friend and reliable confidant.
"Are you alright?" Legolas asked softly, surprised at how rough his voice sounded.
Galathil nodded, "I am well." Galathil turned to the fire, his gaze unfocused as he thought back to the terrifying moment when he realized his prince and, more importantly, his friend was injured. He recalled watching Legolas fall to the ground, his hands grasping weakly at his side, trying to stop the blood that seeped between his fingers. Galathil drew in a shaky breath and focused back on Legolas, "I feared your injury was much worse. You were lucky, the blade struck over your ribs, but did not break them. The wound bled a lot, but no serious damage was done. You'll heal quickly with rest."
Legolas nodded. He was exhausted, and the wound hurt, but he didn't feel too badly considering the injury. Legolas searched his memory, trying to put the pieces of the battle back together. "What happened? I remember fighting in the trees and then being forced to the ground. I recall being injured, but little after that," he trailed off, glancing down at his torso, which was wrapped in bandages.
Galathil dropped his eyes, "It could have been worse. You did not miss much. The orcs retreated in the end, their numbers are significantly depleted, but the battle did not go as planned for us. Five dead, seven seriously injured, more have minor injuries. No ground lost, but also none gained."
Legolas sighed, they had been sent to drive the beasts of Dol Guldur back, not merely hold them off. The darkness had been spread north and strengthened with alarming speed of late. The unyielding shadow that hung over the southern reaches of the once great forest now approached the Old Forest Road. This particular area had been contested for many months now and the elves struggled constantly to regain territory here without success.
The Council decided to send Legolas with a large contingent of the realm's best warriors south to confront the threat head on and push them back. Regular patrolling schedules had been disrupted to make this happen. The plan had been to retake ground and reestablish the regular patrols in this area to hold it. That they might fail had been unthinkable.
Instead of returning with a report of their success, Legolas would have to tell the King's Council that they suffered losses and achieved no gains. He tensed in apprehension just thinking about it. He hated failure, and it was all too common lately. And everyone had thought this plan could succeed. Pull the best warriors from the northern patrols, amass their forces, and surprise the dark creatures of the south. It seemed their enemy had a similar plan.
Legolas supposed that the timing of this assault had been fortuitous for coinciding with an attack from the south. Had they arrived a little earlier, the elves likely would have succeeded in retaking ground, but then weary forces would have been met with an onslaught. Had they arrived a little later, the regular patrols of elves who held the border would have been desperately outnumbered. Legolas shuddered at the possibilities, both would have resulted in more elven deaths. Losing lives was far worse than losing ground.
Unfortunately, Legolas suspected the Council might need time to fully appreciate this perspective. But the Council was a problem for later and Legolas had more pressing concerns right now, "Of the seriously injured, how many lives are still in danger?"
"None. All are stable, it is hopeful that they will recover fully, given time."
"That is something then," Legolas said, pleased. He was glad that no more lives would be lost this night, but he mourned the elves already gone and the fact that more would follow. Perhaps not tonight, but there would be other battles soon enough.
Legolas looked around again; his mind working faster and starting to think through his responsibilities—first and foremost the safety of those under his command. He once again took in their surroundings, and frowned as he realized he knew this place. A deep pain that had nothing to do with his wound gripped him. "Who chose this location?" he asked.
"I hoped we would move on before you woke, but this was the most defensible position available to us after the battle. I know you avoid this area when possible, I am sorry that we had to come here." Galathil asked sadly.
Legolas shook his head, "No, if this was the best option, it was the right choice. Lingering sentiment has no place in this part of the forest."
They were in a clearing near what had once been the queen's family home, but it was barely recognizable now. Legolas pursed his lips. His mother had been gone for a long time, but it still pained him to think of her. He looked more closely at the trees around him. In his memories, this was a place of light and happiness, now the trees were foreboding—twisted, dense, and dark. It took a great deal of imagination to see it for what it once was.
Before she married his father and became queen, his mother had lived with her parents in a settlement here. But this area had been abandoned long ago, and it was now all but overrun by the forest. Legolas had many good memories with his mother and grandparents here. But it was too far south for the elves to hold, and the people who lived here were forced to move north. Many, his grandparents among them, had chosen to sail when forced to leave their homes. Some of Legolas' first patrols and then battles as a warrior had been in this area. The memories of happier times in this place were tempered by the memories of losing friends and seeing firsthand the destruction of his home.
After the settlement was disbanded, the warriors had used it as an outpost, but eventually even that purpose was abandoned as the orcs and other foul creatures of the south pushed north. After the warriors had abandoned it, the settlement had been destroyed by a fire started during a nearby battle with the orcs. Thankfully, most of the trees had been spared, but the homes and buildings that had once stood here were all gone. Now, the forces of Dol Guldur did not hold this place, but neither did the elves. It was not safe to stay here long anymore and the elves typically would not make camp here. Legolas had not returned to this particular part of the forest since it had burned. There had never been reason to and it was too far south to be a safe place to stay for long.
And though he would never admit it out loud, the memories this place brought to him were painful and only served to remind him of all that had been lost. Legolas avoided this area, and would only come here with great need. Being here made him feel their losses all the more acutely.
Darkness had fallen in this part of the forest, and it was spreading. Legolas' mother had once told him that wherever there were elves, the darkness could not succeed. Elves were creatures of light, and darkness was merely the absence of light, she had explained. Therefore, wherever the elves were, there was also light. He wondered if she would believe that today. He wondered if he believed that today.
Once, they walked freely among the trees, young elves were not required to learn the art of war, the idea of an elf dying was foreign. Now, they were forced to hide behind walls, forced to send soldiers to their deaths, forced to sacrifice today in the hope that tomorrow would be better.
Legolas did not want to be here. He wanted to go home. He wanted to get his warriors to safety and make his report so that he could put this place and battle behind him. He wanted time, however little of it there might be, to recover and regroup.
Legolas had to forcefully pull himself from his dark thoughts. He focused back on the pressing matters at hand, "How long have we been camped here?"
"Not so long that we are in danger. The orcs were dealt a mighty blow too, they will not attack again soon."
Legolas again struggled to push himself up, "Aye, but neither will they retreat. And there are other foul creatures here besides orcs. The patrols have been pushed north, there are spiders to worry about as well."
Galathil reached an arm behind Legolas to help him, "Trust your warriors. Our scouts have done their job and say we are still safe enough here."
"I trust them, but I am still responsible for them. I do not like missing things when we are this far south." Legolas leaned forward, resting his head in his hands for a moment as he waited for the wave of dizziness that struck him to pass.
"Breathe," Galathil reminded him, satisfied when he heard Legolas draw in a deep breath, "You'll need to take it easy for a while. I know I can't make you rest, but try not to move more than necessary. You've lost enough blood so be careful with those stitches. I don't like sewing you back together, don't make me do it again."
Legolas carefully shifted, testing his range of motion. It hurt when it pulled at the stitches, but not so much that he couldn't deal with it. He stood slowly and was surprised by the way the world violently tilted around him. Galathil grabbed his arm firmly, steadying him.
"Blood loss, remember? Enough that you passed out." Galathil chided, "You should still have the healers clean and examine the wound when we return. You could also just rest, all is well in the camp whether you are on your feet or not."
Legolas shook his head, taking a step away to stand on his own looking at their surroundings once more, "I'll be careful."
Legolas moved about the camp, speaking with the warriors who were awake, checking on them and comforting them in the loss of their comrades. Even Galathil would admit that the other warriors were visibly encouraged by the sight of their captain and prince up and about. Legolas was pleased to find that everyone would be able to travel well enough. It would be painful for some, but they needed to return north. The battle had been long and all of them were weary. Those who were hale would not be able to protect the wounded and themselves if they were attacked again. The longer they lingered here, the greater the danger.
He spoke with every elf who was awake, praising their efforts in the battle and assuring them that they had fought well and done what they could. He knew them all personally. He knew their preferred weapons, their friends and families, when they had last been on patrol, and when they had last been on leave. He helped one warrior repair arrows, bandaged another's wound, and built litters to carry the dead and injured.
Dawn had not been far off when Legolas first woke, and time passed swiftly as he kept himself busy. The forest here was too dense for much light to filter through, but eventually the black surrounding them gave way to gray. Everyone was ready to go. No one yet spoke of it openly, but the losses weighed heavily upon them and none were satisfied with the outcome of the battle.
Four warriors were too injured to ride, and they were settled onto litters for the journey. Three were unable to ride unassisted, and shared horses with uninjured warriors.
Five warriors were reverently placed on litters. Wounds that would never heal had nonetheless been cleaned. Eyes that remained open even in sleep had been closed for a final time. Only one day ago they lived, admired the beauty of the forest, relished in the hope that sunrise inspired. They fought and grieved, loved and were loved. Now they lay in silence forevermore.
They set out at dawn. The elves could sense that the sun had risen, though the even the days were dark in this part of the forest.
Their pace was slow, but steady. As they left, Legolas turned and allowed himself a momentary look back at the once welcoming clearing, trying to picture it as it had been and not see it as it was. He found he couldn't—the darkness here was too strong, and the memory too weak. Sighing, he turned and moved to the front of the weary column, leading his people home.
Author's Note: The paragraph near the end of the chapter about the dead was inspired in part by John McCrae's poem, In Flanders Fields. It is excellent and I highly recommend looking it up if you haven't read it before.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I appreciate that you took the time to read it! Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! Chapter two will be up in a week.