Author Notes: Movieverse, definitely, but with some book-canon… there’s a bit in the planning of the attack on the Black Gates there’s a glimpse of Legolas and Eomer, and Legolas is cradling one arm as though he were injured in the battle. And the plot bunny advanced on me. Honestly, I tried to just give it one little carrot…

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In the Care of Brothers

By Songspinner

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For a wonder, Legolas found himself still on his feet as evening fell. The darkness that began to cover the fields around Minas Tirith was soothing this time instead of bringing terror and fighting, and helped to cover what most did not want to see. The archer had worked until sundown to secure the field and honor the dead, and to tend to the wounded. Gimli had shadowed him whenever he could. For some reason, the dwarf’s presence made the death-filled hours somewhat easier to bear, as he had also after the battle at Helms Deep.

Once the Armies of the Dead had been released, Aragorn had hurried to where the healers were tending the wounded. The elf hadn’t seen his friend since sunset, and he’d begun to worry. This was, he mused, not an uncommon feeling during the many years of their friendship.

"Legolas?" Eomer’s voice coming out the twilight interrupted his thoughts.

"You are well, my lord?" Legolas asked, eyeing the dents and bloodstains, both human and orc, on the man’s skin and armor.

"Bloodied, but alive. And you? Arriving as we did, there was no time for the reunion of friends."

Inclining his head to show that he was honored by the choice of words, Legolas saw that his critical gaze of a moment before was now being returned. "I believe you said it well, actually. Bloodied but alive."

"You are favoring that arm, so I suppose that counts as bloodied." Eomer shook his head and stretched carefully, wincing at the pull on cuts and bruises. "With what I have heard and seen today, I am surprised that Aragorn has not seen to your wounds." He sat down on the trampled earth, leaning against a huge chunk of stone that had fallen from the city walls.

"Ah," Legolas murmured. "Well, as to that…"

"Didn’t tell him yet, did you?" Eomer’s voice sounded rather amused.

"No, I did not." The elf slowly sat beside Eomer, sliding down carefully and holding his right arm tight against his chest. "I have not been able to find him in the last few hours. Have you seen him?"

"Briefly, but Gandalf came to find him not long ago. He…" Eomer paused, a look of profound admiration on his face as he stared off toward the city. "Aragorn healed my sister, and Faramir, and your friend Merry. I’ve never seen aught like it. It was as if he called them back from death."

Legolas smiled wearily, shaking his head in fond pride. "Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, trained his sons well, but Aragorn has more skill than most realize. Your words surprise me not at all. Eowyn is well, then?"

The new king of Rohan smiled through his weariness. "I thought she was dead and then to hear her voice…" His eyes swung back to his elven friend. "They say that she will heal in time. I would have stayed longer, but I had to see to my Riders, and to be honest, I’ve never done particularly well being in a Healers’ domain."

"Most warriors, elves as much as men, would prefer to avoid such, I think."

"Aye, especially those of us who have seen it far too often." Eomer threw a slightly mischievous grin at the elf.

"I see that Aragorn has told you some tales as well as Gimli." Legolas responded. "I hope they’ve not cast me in a bad light."

"Never that. I’ve grown to trust the three of you wholly in such a short time. Will you trust me to look at that arm?"

Eomer’s unexpected question made Legolas stare at the man. "Elves heal faster than men. You need not fear for my safety."

"Legolas, neither of us is likely to truly rest yet this night, and elf or man, I can only guess that leaving such a thing uncleansed for long cannot bode well." Eomer’s face grew concerned as he glanced back at the city walls.

"I would not take Aragorn’s focus just now. He has far too many to attend to now, and after what he did for my beloved sister, I saw how drained he seemed."

"Well, neither of us is without training in healing after battles, so perhaps we can attend to each other’s wounds?" Legolas’ quiet and reciprocal offer was just audible over the sounds of the carts that were rolling past them back toward the City. "You will have much to deal with, and soon. I am sorry for the loss of Theoden King."

Eomer bowed his head to rest on his knees for a brief moment. "I, too. He was a father to me, and to Eowyn. I find it difficult to imagine the Golden Hall without him, and I miss my cousin Theodred. So many gone so quickly and so little time to mourn."

"I can only wish," Legolas murmured in return, "That I had so little time. The memory of those we’ve lost will be eternal for me, barring my death in battle. I will carry those memories across the sea some day."

Man and elf waited silently for a time, surrounded by the growing night. Finally, with a sigh, Eomer rose carefully. "Shall we, then? If we are to represent our people when plans are made, we should be…"

"Steadier on our feet than we are at present?" Legolas finished for him when he paused.

Eomer’s face grew less grim at the elf’s words and he smiled just a little. "I am sure that would be to our advantage. Are you going to let me see how bad that arm is?"

"If you allow me to help you with your wounds. The right side of your face appears to have met with someone’s shield." Legolas spoke with a wry smile on his own face. He reached up to take Eomer’s offered hand and pulled himself to a standing position.

"It did do something of the sort, though I am not sure exactly when that happened." Eomer slung one mail-heavy arm over the elf’s uninjured shoulder and steered him in the direction of the main tent in the Rohirric camp.

Morning light was beginning to streak through the pale sky over Minas Tirith, and down below on the battlefield some were finding rest while others were rising to begin again. With all of the enemy dead or captured, the remnants of the Gates had been pushed aside and the women of the city had begun to come down to the fields to find their loved ones. The cries of discovery, some of grief and some of joy, were drifting across the Pelennor.

It had been a long night. Gimli had turned up again after helping supervise the careful removal of the fragments of the Gate. The weary soldiers of Gondor had been glad for the dwarf’s expert help and advice. After an hour or so of working by torchlight, the area was clear enough to allow soldiers, citizens, and healers alike to pass through unharmed. Watching in wonder and appreciation at his friend’s skill, both in knowledge and in how he kept the workers calm and focused, Legolas had set his own renewed, elven strength against the giant blocks of stone and fragments of wood more than once.

Tired and covered in places with blood muted by a layer of dust, Gimli and Legolas managed to find an unused tent and set it up. They had just used cold water to wash the worst of the grime from their arms and faces when Gandalf pushed Aragorn through the open flap. The wizard’s face was stern as he forced the man to sit on the elf’s neatly stacked bedding.

"And see to it that you do not move from there!" Clearly this was the tail-end of a much longer rant. "And here I thought that only hobbits could cause such worry and aggravation…" Gandalf’s voice trailed off in to grumbles. "Faramir, Eowyn, and Merry are safe now, as are the countless others you’ve cared for, and your brothers will surely be able to handle whatever patients are left this night." White hair flew as he whirled around to face Legolas. "And you see to it that his wounds are cared for, and not just quickly this time." Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, but shut it rather abruptly at the look from the wizard. "Your wounds haven’t been properly tended since before the battle at Helm’s Deep, has it? Do not look so surprised…I am Istari after all, and one who has known you since you were a boy."

Rolling his eyes in exhausted and reluctant compliance, Aragorn nodded.

"I will go back and keep watch over our friends and I expect that you will rest. Elrohir and Elladan do not need as much rest, and they will continue to care for the wounded."

As Gandalf strode out of the room, muttering to himself, Legolas walked to the cot and sat beside his friend. "You know," he said softly, undoing the leaf clasp of Aragorn's cloak, "for a man raised by one of the most powerful healers in Middle Earth as well as being one himself, one would think that you’d give a care to yourself as well as others."

"I can’t rest, Legolas. There is too much to do, too many still to tend to…"

"I’d listen to him, lad." Gimli interrupted him from where he had been watching. "For an elf, he makes a great deal of sense."

"Estel," the elf prince said, deliberately using his friend’s childhood name and ignoring the dwarf’s last comment. "Would you truly want to answer to Mithrandir after not doing as he bid you? And I would mention that I do not want to answer to your brothers if you were not cared for."

Aragorn considered this but a moment and then shook his head with a soft, pain-filled laugh. "Nay, I would not. Truly."

"Then let me do this, gwador nín." Legolas waited and was relieved to see a reluctant nod in response to his words.

"Legolas?" Eomer entered the tent cautiously and held out a satchel of herbs. "Gandalf asked me to bring you these. He seemed to feel that the presence of more strange soldiers would not be welcome just now."

When the elf took it with a nod of thanks, Eomer went back out and returned quickly with a basin of water and some clean cloths. "These should do, but supplies are beginning to run low."

"My thanks, Eomer." Legolas responded, beginning to wring out the scraps of soft material in the water. "If there is little left, do you think that you could have some of your men check the city for those who might volunteer such things? The sons of Elrond will need all that can be spared to save lives this night." He ran a damp cloth gently over Aragorn’s face, carefully removing blood and dirt, sweat and tears.

"I shall do so. Aragorn," Eomer said, moving to where they sat. "I called you Wingfoot once, for how you sped to save your friends. You saved no few of my men today with healing as swift as your feet, and I wish to honor you for that. I’ll return soon, then." At Aragorn’s silent nod of gratitude and thanks, he bowed slightly in return and nodded to Legolas before slipping quietly from the tent.

"I must see to some things I’ve left unfinished, and I’ll return to rest when I can." Gimli laid a hand on Legolas’ arm as if needing to confirm that his friend was still whole and well.

"I will expect you soon, then." Legolas smiled at this most unlikely of friends, returning the gesture with similar need.

A few quiet minutes passed as the elven archer busied himself then with the herbs, choosing some to cast into the still-warm water in the basin and wringing out the cloth in the fragrant and cleansing mixture. Looking up after a bit, he saw that his friend had managed to remove his tunic and shirt, but that Aragorn’s grey eyes were unfocused and staring at the trampled grass at his feet.

"Aragorn?" Legolas laid a questioning hand on the man’s arm.

"I healed as many as I could…" Aragorn whispered hoarsely, and did not flinch when the elf knelt beside him and began to clean the great gash that crossed his shoulder.

"Yes, you did. And saved more than you can truly know. Your valour in battle kept more than a few men of Gondor and Rohan from despairing on the field." Carefully washing away the dirt and blood from the cut, Legolas shook his head. He had dealt with this wound already, before Helm’s Deep, and the elf could see that it had reopened during this most recent battle. "You’ve undone all my careful work, Aragorn." He kept his tone light, trying to penetrate the fog of exhaustion his friend was in.

When joking did not provoke a response, Legolas frowned. This seemed more than the typical fatigue after the passions of battle had waned. "Tirna amin, Aragorn. Look at me." He put aside the basin and cloth for the time being and put one hand on his friend’s face to force him to meet his eyes. Dawning comprehension grew in the Mirkwood elf and he let out a slow, deliberate breath to calm himself. "How much of yourself did you give to save them?"

No explanation was needed as to whom he referred. "More than I knew I could," was Aragorn’s hoarse answer. "I had to.…"

"For what purpose? Your adar certainly taught you to be careful in healing in the elven way." Teasing gave way to scolding as the elf’s worry for his friend came to the fore. "You are needed and you should not extend yourself so far. What happened?"

Aragorn pulled away and lay on his less injured side, dark hair falling over his eyes. "They were so far away, Legolas. I almost lost Faramir…he was so distant. I had such trouble reaching him, but he was Boromir’s brother and I could sense such a…a light in him. I could not let him go, not him as well."

"And you went further than you should have gone." Legolas guessed.

"Further than I knew I could go, I suppose." Aragorn murmured, and shuddered a little. "Eowyn and Merry were closer to find, and Eomer and Pippin were able to call them back with my help." He rolled onto his back with a soft groan of pain. "They had someone they loved to call them and Faramir had no one left."

Legolas reached out and brushed the dark and blood-matted hair gently from his friend’s face. "He had you, and that must have been enough. Aragorn, you saved many. The Army that followed you from the Paths of the Dead saved many because of you, your skill with a sword and knife saved many on the field of battle, and your skill in healing saved friends and soldiers alike this past day and night. You cannot save them all, and that, is something I know that Elrond has spoken of before."

"He has, but I could not…I felt so many slipping away and I could do nothing…" Aragorn’s voice was full of unshed tears that were echoed in red-rimmed eyes.

"Ai, perhaps you could not. But you did what you could. What most of us could not."

Eomer’s reappearance in the tent startled the tired Ranger, but not the elf, who had of course heard him enter. "All who have commanded feel thus after a battle, my friend, and I am somehow sure that you’ve told such to more than one you’ve set to command. Am I right?"

Aragorn gazed at the man with something of a resigned expression on his face. "Yes, you are right. It is one thing, though, to give such advice and another to take it."

"So I said to my uncle, once," Eomer answered. "And I’d wager that our elven companion had such a conversation as this at some point."

Legolas shot him a grateful and eloquent look. "Yes, as it happens. More than once. With my father, and come to think of it, Aragorn, yours as well." He wound a soft bandage around the man’s torso and tucked the edge into place. "That is the last of them, I believe, unless there is something you’ve neglected to tell me."

Closing his eyes with a faint smile that the other two were glad to see, Aragorn shook his head slightly. "Pots and kettles, mellon nín. I recall Elladan scolding you once…" His voice grew fainter with each word until he was sliding into exhausted sleep.

"I should get back to my camp." Eomer said softly to Legolas as they heard Aragorn’s breathing even out. "I only wanted to be sure that he would indeed find rest this night. Not many would give of themselves as he has, without regard to rank or even to himself and his own wellbeing. Aragorn has gained no few followers this night, I think."

Legolas nodded solemnly, and drew a blanket over Aragorn’s shoulders.

"He would not even raise his banner over the city, despite objections from many. When I asked, he said it was not yet the right time. And he was ever like this, as long as I have known him and from what his brothers tell me, as long as he has lived. Ranger, healer, soldier, Chieftain of the Dúnedain…or king."

"Watch over him, Legolas."

"Always. Hodo vae…rest well."

"And you."

***TBC****

Eomer stood in the Great Hall at Gondor, staring at the throne that lay a few feet from him. His gaze was fixed so that he did not notice the soft footsteps approaching or the concerned blue eyes that watched him from nearby.

"What holds your gaze, then?" Legolas’ quiet voice echoed in the emptiness of the huge room.

Startled, Eomer whirled to face the elf. "I did not hear you approach."

"Few do, or I should be ashamed." The elf’s wry smile lit up his face for a brief moment. "But you seem pensive, my lord, more than you seem concerned about the battle ahead."

"I look at this place," Eomer said softly. "And wonder at all that has happened. Living in such times of darkness, somehow, I did not think to find myself on the throne of Rohan. Leading my people on the run, perhaps, if I could not save my uncle, but never as King. So little hope for so long…"

"And then a surfeit of hope for your people, and then utter loss, and then hope again." Legolas answered in a voice gone quiet to match his.

Leaning against a black and white pillar, Eomer closed his eyes. "I rallied my men with a cry for us to go to death and the world’s ending. And here I stand, and the world has not yet ended. Our hope lies in two little halflings who’ve ventured into Mordor itself, we’re to fight at the door to the cursed place itself, and I know not whether I should hope or despair."

"Aid our hope, then, Eomer. For that was what Lord Elrond named Aragorn as a child…Estel…hope." Legolas said. "Hope has in short supply in my land for some time, as darkness and evil surrounded us more each day."

"You did not tell me that you were Prince of Mirkwood." Eomer said bluntly, mind balking at the thought of this elf’s true age and the legends beside whom he had lived and fought. He opened his eyes and took in the face of his companion. "Gimli and I spoke for a while this morning," he added in explanation. "And he told me of your father."

Legolas met the man’s regard steadily. "When the Fellowship set off on our quest, I was needed to represent my people, and to protect the others. My skill with a bow was more vital than any accident of birth. Your people viewed me with enough fear and awe at first, merely for being an elf, that I deemed it unwise to add my lineage to that mix. And…things… have happened that make it unlikely that I will ever come to my father’s throne."

Eomer watched the archer lower himself gracefully to the middle of the marble steps, wounded arm still favoured slightly. "This…assault on the Black Land, you mean?"

"Nay, for will be what it will be. I will fight surrounded by friends and brothers." Legolas smiled and absently tucked one warrior’s braid behind his pointed ear. "There is no shame in dying in such a way, if that is what happens. As for not taking the throne of Mirkwood, my reason is not a thing I would speak of yet."

"Do you miss your home?" Eomer asked, curious, watching the elf’s eyes turn fathomless, dark, and sad.

"I do, indeed. And I await word of my people and how they fare in this fight. I sense that this darkness has encroached further toward my home.

I would be more content to go on this journey if I but knew their fate."

Thinking that at least he knew about the fate of his loved ones, for good or ill, Eomer found himself wishing he could think of some comfort.

Seeming to sense the man’s thoughts, Legolas shook his head. "Ah, pay no heed to my darker thoughts. What of yours, Eomer?"

"I cannot think past this night just yet." Eomer admitted. "I know that Eowyn will take our people to safety if we fail at the Gates, and now that I am assured that she will heal, that is some comfort." He grinned suddenly, images of his sister’s stubborn expression when they were young coming into his mind. "She has ever been unyielding when it came to protecting those she loved, even to getting into scraps with boys twice her size who were tormenting me."

"I have known more than one young elf-maid with similar tenacity." Legolas echoed the man’s grin, obviously relishing the chance to ease the tensions of the day. "Clearly, Eowyn does not easily yield to being left out of things."

"I never did either, actually." Eomer answered him, and crossed to sit next to him. "I had a habit of trailing after my cousin Theodred whether or not he wished me to do so, for I held him in high esteem above most others. It seems to run in our family, although I would think now that this trait is an advantage."

"Then use that knowledge." Legolas said simply, and watched Eomer digest the words.

"Use it." Eomer repeated quietly. "How?"

"Be the type of leader who allows all who wish so to be heard. Too long have your people been silenced because of Grima Wormtongue and his Dark Master. Let Rohan have its own voice once again and never stop your ears as Theoden King was forced to do." Legolas regarded him calmly, ageless face framing eerily ancient eyes. "If you would have what wisdom I can impart just now, then take Eowyn’s example."

"It was she who insisted that Merry join us on the march, and she who brought him. I think…I think that I have learned much from both of them."

"Indeed." The elf answered him dryly. "I have had a similar experience with Gimli. I have been, since our journey began, forced to…change…my view of him. Those quarrels begun by our fathers seem somewhat without purpose now, when we have fought at each other’s sides and stood against evil."

With a nod of understanding, Eomer leaned back against the step behind him. "I had never thought to fight at the side of anyone outside the borders of my land. ‘Tis a pleasant surprise."

"Who will accompany you, then, on this endeavour?" Legolas inquired.

"Those among my Riders who can, will ride with me and with Aragorn and Lord Imrahil. I plan to leave Elfhelm to guard this fair city in my absence, and to defend the roads that would lead to our people."

"A wise choice."

"I…lost many in the battle for Minas Tirith. Riders I had know for some time, who looked in trust and eagerness to me. I wish to lose no more, but if we do not go forward against this enemy…" Eomer shivered a little. "There is a fear in me that the risk must be taken yet again." He contemplated the marble floor at his feet, trying to decide how to phrase his thoughts aloud. "I would also feel great honor in traveling and fighting at your side, Legolas. Prince of Mirkwood or member of the Fellowship, you have more than proven your worth. Rohan’s company will be safer with you as representative of your people when we stand before the Gates of evil.

Long fingers grasped his arm tightly. "And free folk of Arda will stand a greater chance of prevailing with Rohan’s presence, Eomer."

When the man finally looked up, the elf’s intense gaze practically radiated thanks and understanding. "Perhaps." Eomer shook his head. "I will try, as you say, to aid hope. And implore that it will aid me on the morrow." He lifted tired fingers to clasp those that still gripped his arm, and they both rose without speaking further.

Rest was necessary before this final and desperate chance could be taken. And Eomer could only hope that such a bond as had grown between them, uncrowned Kings and Woodland prince, could give them strength in the coming dawn.