A/N: Okay, you're probably sick of my excuses by now, but I actually do have a legit reason this time. I pretty much shattered my stronger hand into pieces. I tried to write a short oneshot for Prison Break and almost lost my will to live by the end of it. Do you know how annoying it is to try and type with your weak hand? Let alone write? So here we go with this chapter, took my a whole day just to slowly, slowly, type it up. It is pretty bad, since my hiatus means I need to get back into the swing of things. So, so, so, sorry that its two months late :(
Disclaimed
Starcrossed
Remonstrated
Legolas yelled as he swung his knives, decapitating an orc as the battle raged around him. In front, he heard an unsure, garbled whimper followed by the swishing of chain mail, and the warrior cry of the only dwarf within a league.
"AHAAA!" Gimli roared as the orc squealed, the sound of spilt blood reaching the elf's ears, "24, LAD!"
"26, Gimli!" Legolas yelled back, swinging his bows around as two orcs came racing past, effectively downing both, "28!"
Around him the humid air of dawn was filled with nothing but the sound of yells and squeals, clangs and clashes, triumphant wails and warrior cries parried with orc wails; the battle of Helms Deep was certainly proving to be a laborious one, but from Legolas' hearing, Uruk and orc death rattles outnumbered those of elves and men. They were winning.
He allowed a wry smile to creep onto his lips as he plunged his remaining knife into an orc's stomach, before wrenching it out and slicing another's throat. But through its dying gurgles came another sound, loud and clear through the music of war: a horn. Mithrandir.
A loud cheer rippled through the side of men and elves, and in the matter of moments the squeals of orcs and Uruk-hai doubled three-fold, each ugly creature left with no hope of triumph as the wave of men, elves, wizard and dwarf flew through them, hacking and sawing their way to victory and glory. It took only a minute before those on the opposing side were completely annihilated, their dark blood painting the weapons of the joyous allies. Each warrior, regardless of race, seized the nearest living figure in a gallant hug, and Legolas found himself in the crushing embrace of a delighted man; Éomer, he concluded, by way of his height and the sound of his whooping. Laughing, he returned the hug with a whoop of his own.
Eventually, grim seriousness crept back into the hearts of the allies as each broke from their embrace, ominous eyes scouring the ground and walls for dead. Legolas shouldered his bow, sheathed his knife, and made a mental note to find the other as he carefully listened for the voice of his friends.
"Legolas!" Came first the voice of the ranger, weary from battle, yet relieved for the victory.
The elf waited patiently as Aragorn arrived to stand beside him, panting for breath and wiping his sword clean.
"You have survived then."
"As have you, Mellon nîn." Legolas smiled, "I am glad."
"And I'm glad that you're glad." Aragorn chuckled, before breathing a sigh. There was a companionable silence between the two friends before the dwarf finally arrived on the scene.
"How many, lad?" Was the first thing he huffed; his voice brought higher a pitch in anticipation.
"37." Legolas told him, sensing the obvious hesitation before the dwarf roared with laughter.
"I have beaten you again, Legolas!" Gimli boasted proudly, "38!"
"38?" Legolas repeated, head cocked in mock consideration, "Well, then, Mellon nîn, I shall have to learn to keep up."
"Aha, that you will, lad!" Gimli's grin was evident in his voice, "That you will."
Legolas sighed and shook his head to himself, smiling as he turned to Aragorn.
"Where is Haldir?"
There was silence for a few moments, a silence long enough that Legolas prayed it was merely because Aragorn was thinking, not because…
"I cannot recall seeing him, Legolas." Aragorn finally said, his voice soft yet puzzled, "Have you, Gimli?"
"Can't say that I have… You don't think he's… erm…" Gimli sounded unsure of himself, and Legolas knew what the dwarf was implying.
But it couldn't be. Maybe the elf leader was merely directing the injured elves; maybe he was just looking for them just as they were for him. Surely not…
No, Mithrandir had gone, but he'd come back. Estel had gone, but he also had returned. Surely, now, His mind was simply tricking him into pessimism.
Maybe.
Maybe not…
"Thranduillion!" Legolas jumped half a foot into the air when a hand suddenly clapped his shoulder, "Ai, Legolas, calm down. I cannot describe how good it is to see you in one piece; all three of you in one piece!"
"Haldir." Legolas couldn't help but grin as the elven leader joined them, "Are you well?"
"I am very well. Though, I found myself a sticky situation while retreating. But it is no matter, I found something while recovering."
The marchwarden pressed something into his hand, and Legolas smiled once again: his long-lost knife.
"Hannon le, Haldir." Legolas thanked him, "I was not looking forward to searching for it."
"I would have thought not." Haldir agreed as Legolas sheathed the knife in with its twin, "Though you may not have it at all, if not for Mithrandir."
"Well, it is a very good thing I arrived in time then." Another voice, deep and booming, joined them as Gandalf graced them with his presence, "And a very good thing Éomer was not too hard to find."
"I wish I had never left." Éomer joined them now, alongside him his king.
"This battle is just one of many, I am glad that my sister-son arrived at all." Théoden smiled at them all, clapping Éomer's back as the seven shuffled closer to listen to his words, "and there is word that Isengard has fallen to the hands of the tree-herders, including two young hobbits from what Gandalf has told me."
"Merry and Pippin fought at Isengard?" Aragorn enquired, intrigued by this piece of information.
"Aye, under the protection of Treebeard. They got their fight, after all." Gandalf pondered almost to himself, before quickly turning his attention back to the present, "But Saruman remains in his tower, a coward hiding from his bad deeds. He will not come down… we must go to him."
"Go to Isengard?" Éomer repeated incredulously, "Is that wise?"
"Have no worry, Éomer." Gandalf reassured him, "We are quite safe in the presence of Saruman; he is helpless."
"And the trees?" Théoden enquired.
"Elves and trees have been allies for many a millennia." Haldir answered for the wizard, "I have all faith in that friendship."
"Then to Isengard we shall go."
"But, Alas, I must first attend to the wounds of an elf warrior; his wounds are beyond the help of any healer." Gandalf sighed resignedly, and a few of the group murmured in pity for the elf.
"Would you like my aid, Gandalf?"
"No, Aragorn, you must help Théoden King and Éomer. Though I daresay the elf could use some companionship from a familiar face…" Gandalf pondered aloud once again, "Legolas, would you join me? I would ask Haldir but I'm sure that he also has matters to attend to."
"Of course, Mithrandir." Legolas agreed, inclining his head. He knew exactly what the wizard meant to do, for he was certain there was no wounded elf present. Or rather, none more wounded more than him.
"Very well, Gandalf. We will ride at dusk." Théoden inclined his head before striding away with Éomer, Aragorn and Gimli following, whilst Haldir went his separate way with another clap on Legolas' shoulder.
For a few moments there was silence between wizard and elf; the latter grew an uncomfortable pit in his stomach, and a foreboding sense of what was to be said.
"I know, Thranduillion, precisely what is the matter." Gandalf spoke after a while, grim resignation heavy in his voice as he sighed, "Was it not hard just to tell me?"
Legolas remained silent.
"Speak, Thranduillion, for I know you have a tongue."
"Will you tell the others?"
"Why would I not?"
"I do not want pity."
There was silence again, and Legolas could sense that Gandalf was studying him, considering his words; most likely he would even be squinting slightly, as was his customary pose.
"Then what do you want, Thranduillion?"
"…To fight." Legolas started hesitantly at first, gulping slightly. Why was it that the wizard always brought him to the mental state of an elfling? He could feel his own mind searching for the appropriate words. Such feelings must be presented accordingly, not thrown about callously like a child's doll. Serious thoughts need serious understanding.
"I do not want to wither away on a bed, Mithrandir, listening to the battle rather than participating. I've been told that strength is needed to fight my ailment, but how will I draw strength from pitiful glances and mourning flowers? I draw strength from the battlefield. It is where I belong."
"No, where you belong is in the trees you so love, Legolas." Gandalf murmured.
"Not at a time such as this. If the hobbits can fight, why can't-"
"-the hobbits do not have an illness that will most certainly kill them." Gandalf interrupted firmly, but gave a resigned sigh, "but I know I cannot deter you, Thranduillion. Fight, as you wish, if it gives you strength. Any warrior is lucky to have you defending his back… but for now at least allow me to inspect your wound."
Legolas nodded, using his ears to carefully follow the same path as the wizard. It wasn't long before they arrived somewhere; a discreet room tucked far into Helms Deep far from the other warriors and peasants.
"Lie down on the bed, Legolas."
Legolas obliged, finding the bed easily and lay down, waiting patiently as Gandalf pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. A moment later he felt hands pulling away his jerkin, lifting his tunic, and then heard Gandalf's sigh. He seems to be sighing a lot of late.
"Sweet Eru…"
That was not a reaction Legolas expected from the wizard. Surely Gandalf had seen much more gory wounds, unless, of course, it had become worse. He didn't want to think about what could have happened if Haldir had truly been killed.
"You cannot come to Isengard."
"Why? Had you not been listening to me, outside?"
"Do not give me tongue, Thrnaduillion. If you could see you would not think to oppose me in this decision."
Legolas frowned, irritation creeping up on him as he realised the wizard was using the very same voice he'd use on him as an elfling. One reserved for remonstrating.
"I am not an elfling, Mithrandir."
"No, but you are still young."
"But not as a man."
Gandalf paused, sighing yet again. Legolas could imagine his movements, possibly he'd be pinching his nose, eyes closed, muttering silently to himself and shaking his head at the elf's stubbornness.
"With the stubbornness of an elfling, Thranduillion." Gandalf's word supported his imagination.
"Very well, you may come to Isengard. But in the presence of Saruman, and within earshot of his wicked tongue, do not be surprised if your plan crumbles before you, young Prince. Do not say I had not warned you."