Summary: Legolas contemplates success and failure as he retreats his troops further north, giving up ground in the southern part of the forest.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Note: Hello! I hope at least a few people are still hanging around this fandom! I have a short story for you. It's not technically set in the healing halls, but I think it still works in this collection. If you're interested in the inspiration for this particular story, see the end notes.
Endgame
The forest burned. Homes, crops, and a way of life burned along with it.
Legolas, from his vantage point high in a tree, stood and watched. He did not try to stop the destruction unfolding below him. He did not fight back. He watched.
Watched as fire scorched earth that he had spent centuries protecting. Watched as the darkness that he had bled to keep at bay flooded this place. Watched as a place paid for with elven lives was surrendered.
He felt numb. Later, perhaps, there would be grief and pain. And sometime after that, perhaps even relief. Because he had seen too many hurt or slain here. He himself had been wounded fighting to protect this place more than once. There was relief in knowing that no others be asked to make such sacrifices in a fight that perhaps they could not win.
But now, standing and watching the destruction before him, he searched within himself and found he felt nothing at all.
When he first saw the flames and the dark creatures of the south advancing, he felt compelled to act. On instinct, his hand had drifted toward his quiver, his fingers gently brushing against the fletching of an arrow but he remembered his orders. His very strict, utterly unambiguous orders.
Two weeks ago…
"We are giving up?" Legolas demanded, "After all of this time, we would just run away?"
"We are not giving up, we are making a tactical retreat."
Legolas scoffed at the answer.
"We cannot bring peace to that place, Legolas," Thranduil said, "No matter how hard we fight, no matter what we do, we cannot eliminate the darkness that resides there. And I will not have our warriors continue to sacrifice their blood and their lives for an impossible objective."
"But what of the blood already shed and the lives already lost? If we give up, it was all in vain, it was all for nothing," Legolas replied, angry.
"I have explained myself more than once already, Legolas, and I will not do so again. I will caution you to watch your tone with your king."
Legolas clenched his fists. Anger, white and hot, threatened to engulf him. And he wanted to let it, he wanted to embrace the anger. Because he knew behind the anger would be grief. If he could hold onto the anger, he could avoid the grief.
Quieter now, he said, "This can't be the endgame."
"I am sorry," the king said, "I know this is difficult, but I do this in part for you. Not as my son, but as a warrior and captain of our realm. I will not demand more of your body or soul for territory that is lost to us. We held that land to keep our people safe. We have largely been successful, but at great cost. Now to keep our people safe, we must give up that land and protect the people here. The protection and survival of our people has always been the objective."
Thranduil reached out to embrace his son's shoulder, but Legolas stepped away. The thought of accepting his father's comfort at the moment was too much, he feared it would shatter his tenuous hold on his emotions.
Legolas gathered himself, pushing his thoughts on the matter down deep and responding as a captain should to his king, "I will oversee the safe retreat of our people. Is there anything else you require of me?"
"Be safe."
Legolas glanced at his father, bowed respectfully and left.
He knew he wasn't being fair. He could see the wisdom in this decision. But it still felt wrong. He could justify their sacrifice if it ensured their victory. But they had sacrificed so much to give up now.
Present day…
After fighting so long to confine the darkness in the forest to Dol Gulder, the elven king had made the decision to give up this part of the forest. To retreat and protect the area around the stronghold to the north. Legolas and his warriors were sent back south not to continue the fight, but to arrange the safe exodus of the few elves who still dwelt in this part of their forest.
The elven prince's gaze drifted to them now. Refugees, he realized, they were refugees, forced to leave their homes if they wished to avoid the coming onslaught. Some had chosen not to. Some had remained behind, clinging to the hope that they could maintain their lives. Some had refused to leave the place that had been home for centuries.
Legolas and his warriors had warned them, had explained that the warriors that maintained some semblance of safety were leaving and would not return. Legolas had pleaded with those who chose to stay to come with him to someplace where he could protect them. But some had been adamant. Some had refused to leave.
He did not have the authority to force them. It was their choice.
They might be dead now.
Upon the elves' retreat, the dark creatures of the south had welled up and filled the void far faster than anyone had anticipated. The moved north methodically, burning everything in their path, cutting down any who dared remain.
High in the branches of a towering oak, his lieutenant stood at his side, also watching the flames spreading through the southern forest. The other elf looked to Legolas, concerned by his prince's silence, "We will get it back."
Legolas considered this declaration for a moment. When he replied, he did so without turning away from the destruction, "No, we won't."
Legolas did not know whether they would ever recover the southern forest. But even if they did, some things were irretrievably lost. That which was now ash was forever transformed.
A decision had been made. Sacrifices were deemed necessary. Perhaps the decision would prove wise in the future. Legolas could not say that if they fought here another year, another hundred years, another thousand years, that the outcome would be any different. But that did not change the fact that on this day, they had given something up and it was gone and they could not get it back.
Legolas turned his attention back to the escaping elves. Homes built lovingly over centuries abandoned. He saw fear and despair in their faces, but could do nothing to assuage such feelings.
What awaited them in the north? Legolas could not say. Undoubtedly, his father and his advisors were working even now to be able to meet their immediate needs.
The orcs were closer now. They were distinguishable as individuals, rather than as a dark mass.
His lieutenant had surely seen the same thing. "Why do they not attack?" he asked.
Legolas rested a hand on one of his knives. "They do not need to. They want this land, we are giving it to them. Why would they attack? We could kill many of them, but we don't. If they attack us, they surely know our response would be swift and devastating."
Legolas wished their enemies would attack. He yearned for any excuse to cut them down and put a stop to this. Then he considered his thoughts with no small amount of self-loathing. They could destroy this wave of orcs. They could win this battle. But not without a price. If the orcs attacked, then Legolas would order a response and some of his warriors would die. Perhaps some of the civilians they sought to protect would die too.
He took a deep breath, pulled his hand from his knife and returned it to the one of the tree's branches, forcing himself to relax and continue to watch.
The orcs did not attack. They jeered and rioted in celebration, but they did not challenge the elves.
Legolas did not draw his weapon. He issued no commands to his warriors.
There were fewer elves moving on the path beneath him now. When the last of the refugees had fled from this place, Legolas ordered his warriors to follow them north and continue to protect them.
The prince dropped from the tree into a graceful crouch before he stood and looked south. One of the orcs there made eye contact with him and smiled gleefully. Legolas did not react, but instead cast his gaze once more over the now forsaken land.
Then he turned and walked away, and he did not look back.
End Notes: I wrote the first draft of this when U.S. troops pulled out of Afghanistan and we watched as the Taliban swept across the country. I serve in the military and I had very mixed and complicated emotions on the decision to leave and what happened in the aftermath. This is certainly not an exact parallel and it isn't intended to be, but it was an outlet for the things I was feeling. I hope it goes without saying, but this is a work of fiction and not representative of actual places, people, or events. This story has been done for a long time, but I just couldn't bring myself to post it. With a little bit of distance from those events, I feel more comfortable sharing this with you. I hope it made for a good story and not just therapy for me. I'm sure I'll be back, but no promises on when. When inspiration strikes, I'll add another chapter. I also happily accept ideas from readers, feel free to leave a review or send a message if you have any suggestions.
