*Movie-verse. Taking place just as the TTT ends.

*Sequel to "When Day Comes Down," a short story of Aragorn's despair after the Battle of Helms Deep. This story belongs to the elf. 

 Part I: Sunrise 

*~*~*~*~*~*

~"Let this be the hour when we draw swords together. Fell deeds await. Now for wrath. Now for ruin. And the red dawn!"

*~*~*~*~*~*

As he walked among the dead, the bloody ground passing slowly beneath hesitant feet, Legolas had never known such turmoil of thought. What was one to make of a scene such as this? When the innocent and the evil alike lay still and cold beneath rising sun, when mortal and immortal had fallen together in the bitter watches of black sky?

The sun had come to them, finally, but Legolas feared it too late, feared they would all walk in darkness for the remaining days of Middle Earth, in sorrow and grief and desperation.

At his side, his fingers still twitched restlessly, as if they had so long plucked and hurled arrows that his hands could not comprehend the finish to the unending killing. The unending dying.

He had been of some use in the fighting. He knew how to do battle. He understood it. What he did not know was how to face the aftermath, once the swords were stilled and the arrows grounded deep in their targets.

Death. It was a foul thing indeed, and despite the long ages of his life, he'd never imagined it in such mass. He'd seen death. Yes. Had been touched by it before, but even in the beginning of the quest, it had been so unfamiliar, so uncommon and unnatural to him, as he watched the world fall away beneath Gandalf. As Aragorn had knelt over the broken body of Boromir, kingly head bent in defeat and grief.

He still did not understand it, not really. Not in the way Aragorn seemed to. There was, however, a new gnawing of loss in his chest; loss of friends, loss of innocence, loss of peace, and loss of hope, and he would have gladly paid any price to have foregone this novel and vulgar feeling.

He watched now as Aragorn kneeled beside the dying, grasping their hands in his, giving them words of thanks for their valor and their honor, looking into their eyes so that they would not go alone back into the darkness. Theoden, Gandalf, and even Gimli were doing the same, and he saw the cost of it on their faces, in the tremble in their hands.

He did not know what words to give the dying, or what words would ease the ones who mourned them. He was unsure of the appropriate words to say over the dead. He did not know anything at all, felt unfamiliar in the role of ignorance. It frustrated and frightened him, for he had little doubt that he was about to learn such lessons.

He had never given much thought to dying, nor to losing those he cared for. Had never had reason to. He did not fear death so much for himself, but he was coming to feel the bone-deep dread of parting from those he cared for, of watching them suffering, of watching them stilled for all eternity, of walking away without them.

He looked back at Aragorn and Gimli. They both bled from wounds they had suffered. And his love for them both, however great, however strong, however enduring, would do nothing to save their lives should they spill too much of that blood.

Aragorn seemed to have bet set upon by the very teeth of despair when morning revealed the sins of the dark. Legolas watched the last hope abandon the tall Ranger as he went from one dying boy to the next, watched his empty, great eyes as he rose to help the next one pass from the world. It was as if all the years of evil had been set upon the man who would be King, as if his sorrow and his helplessness had bent his shoulders in the space of a sunrise.

Aye, Legolas knew the sorrow and the helplessness, too. That he understood. But death had taken him much differently than it seemed to take Aragorn.

He felt as if he had been turned to ice, as if rage had boiled to such heat in his veins that it had circled back to a deep freeze. Wrath was frozen within his body, expanding and pushing outward until he thought that he might shatter directly down his center, into thousands of sharp, brittle pieces.

He was furious and there was no longer an enemy to strike down, and there was no one to answer to this pointless destruction. This madness. He walked the battlefield of men, and he hated them for living and for dying and for being weak and mortal. He hated man for allowing this evil to endure, to wake anew.

And he hated himself more for caring that they fell so easily, for fearing the knowledge that Aragorn's blood ran the same color as that which stained his hands and the ground below him.

*

He stayed on the fields as Aragorn went forth to the infirmary where the wounded had been taken. Legolas had never learned much of medicine and had already shown himself to be incapable of comforting the dying or the living. He was of no use anywhere, not in the company of the grieving, not in the company of the wounded.

Éowyn met Aragorn on the steps of the keep, and from far down below, Legolas watched as the White Lady took Aragorn into her arms, clinging to him tightly. He hoped Aragorn found some comfort in the embrace, but as he watched his friend's bowed head as he stepped away and continued, Legolas knew he had not.

"He needs you, Arwen," Legolas said softly. "I think we all do." He closed his eyes as a warm wind whispered over him.

At least Aragorn was still alive to try and find comfort where he might, Legolas thought, and that was enough. He went back to burying the dead. This he could do and do well, breaking the earth with shovel, striking at it again and again in redundant fury.

He kept at it for some time. At last, Éomer lay a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his mindless assault upon dust and rock. "You have need of food and drink. Come with me, Legolas, take some now."

"Nay. I could not let food pass my lips after such a day," Legolas shook his head. "I have no desire or will to eat."

"We have a long, hard road ahead, Master Elf. We must keep our strength for the two Kings. They will look to us for encouragement."

And so it was that Éomer convinced Legolas to walk back to the keep with him and Gimli, and so it was that Legolas' sharp eyes caught the glint of sunlight off of gold and mithril armor at the base of the fallen wall. And learned where many of the Elven dead had fallen after the wizard's devilry had undone the stone.

They were scattered and broken along the inside of the ruin, beautiful and terrible even in death. The orcs that had been on the battlement had fallen with them, and many were tangled with the elves in a profane last embrace. Something in seeing them there, as such, seeing the filth that the Uruk-hai left upon the fair, still faces of his kindred, seeing the twisted, horrible faces of the monsters cheek to cheek with the Lady's warriors was finally more than Legolas could bear.

He paused, staring, even as Éomer and Gimli continued on.

He felt parts of himself coming undone, felt the ice melt away completely, as anger, in its hottest and purest form, came flowing through him like the fire rivers of Mount Doom. All the world seemed to go red before his eyes, and revenge and bloodlust filled him anew. Yes, he understood battle.

Never before had emotions taken him over so completely, not even when he'd been very young. Vaguely, he wondered if this was what it felt like to go mad.

He felt the rocks and rubble crunch beneath his flying feet as he ran to the place the fallen elves lay and with a raw cry of war he began dragging at the lifeless bodies of the armored orcs, determined that they should not touch his brethren. He would not have these soldiers of Lorien, some of whom he had known for thousands of years, dirtied by drying orc blood. They had survived battles with worthier foes than these.

The Uruk-hai were too heavy for one to move alone, and yet he did so, clawing and kicking at them, and screaming, though he was unaware he produced the wild shrieks he heard as if from a great distance.

The full knowledge of death came down upon him, and he thought he would break beneath it.

He had no concept of how long he'd been tearing at the orcs, trying fruitlessly to drag them away, but he became aware of other voices, shouting his name, became aware that there were hands upon him, pulling, tugging, half-lifting, and dragging him backwards, away. His split fingertips stretched still toward the fallen and his voice had gone hoarse, but he continued to howl.

He was placed upon the ground and pinned there. He struggled wildly, though he did not know why, kicking and twisting hard for several long minutes. He yelled and thrashed in fury and in vain as a heavy weight placed itself across his chest and he at last was forced to lie still or lose his breath.

When he opened his eyes, hot tears ran from the corners of them, tears that he had unknowingly been shedding since he touched the broken elves. Legolas gasped for air, as one who has just woken from nightmare of suffocation. His heart crashed repeatedly into the front of his chest, as if in flight from the agony centered there. Overhead, birds of carrion wheeled and dove.

It was Gimli who pinned him down hard to the rocks, Gimli who now looked at him with pity.

"We will have them tended to, Lad. They will be treated with honor." Gimli assured him, and though he was older than Gimli by ages, Legolas took comfort from his authoritative tone and fatherly concern.

"I have regained my senses," Legolas murmured at last in a shaky voice. "Let me to my feet."

Gimli got up and extended a hand down to the elf to help him stand. Legolas surprised him by accepting it. Éomer stood away, eyes downcast as Legolas pulled his dignity back around him.

At last they started toward the keep again, but Legolas knew that he would not eat now, if there had been hope of it before. He still desired to escape the fields for a brief time, to gather his thoughts and try to find his peace.

As the blood faded from his head and the rushing of it left his ears he became aware of a faint, distressed cry from the direction where the elves lay. He looked to his companions, but neither Gimli nor Éomer seemed to hear anything amiss.

It was a voice. A young voice, crying out from the wreckage. There was life. There was life in the carnage. Weak, but persistent. Without warning, Legolas again started toward the walls.

"He has gone mad!" He heard Éomer shout. "He has come apart from his senses!"

There were six dead men of Rohan between Legolas and the boy underneath, but he quickly moved them aside. Even as he heard Gimli and Éomer running to drag him away again, he was reaching down through the dead and his hands touched warm flesh, and a small hand came from below to grasp his arm tightly.

"Do not leave me here, Sir! Do not leave me!" The weak voice begged.

As his friends reached him, Legolas pulled the boy, a boy of no more than ten summers, free from those who had put their bodies between him and death.

 The child sobbed in his arms and latched himself tightly about Legolas' neck with encouraging strength.

"There, young one," Legolas whispered, "you are well. You are well. It is over, child. You have fought bravely and you are safe now."

Legolas hurried to the infirmary, the boy weeping in his arms, and Gimli and Éomer followed.

"A child Aragorn! This boy has survived!" Legolas called, breaking the harsh silence of the sick house. Aragorn straightened from the man he'd been tending and came forth hurriedly, as did Éowyn. Legolas saw Aragorn's speculative eyes pause upon his face, his expression full of instantaneous understanding of what Legolas had seen, but the Ranger said nothing, and his eyes slid to the boy.

"I know this child! This is Haleth! Where did you find him?" Aragorn asked incredulously, checking the child. "He looks as if he has nothing worse than a few scratches."

"I found him under the bodies of the warriors, who perished protecting him," Legolas answered softly so that the boy might not hear the words over his own sniffling.

"He has been spared!" Éowyn cried and reached for the boy, who Legolas reluctantly parted with. Something in feeling that steady heartbeat against his own had been reassuring after the stillness of the world this day.

Aragorn moved to stand by Éowyn, reaching out to take the child's face between his hands, sweeping the boy's tears away with his thumbs. "You are very brave, Haleth. And the battle has been won. You see, there is always hope, and against the odds, you have lived out the night. Let us care for you now and you may then rest. You have earned it."

He nodded to Éowyn, encouraging her to take the dazed child to an empty bed, and for a moment Legolas thought that perhaps Aragorn's hope was restored. But he caught Aragorn's eyes after the child was carried away, and understood then that his words of encouragement had been to ease the boy, and that he took no assurance himself.

He glanced at Legolas. "Such horrors for a boy to endure," he said bitterly. "He is too soon made a man."

"But he is alive," Gimli reminded him quietly as Aragorn turned back to the dying men.

"He is among the few," Aragorn called back, shaking his head, as if in great bewilderment.

*

Day is Done

Legolas sat motionlessly upon the stone stairs leading into the keep and watched as Aragorn and Gandalf stood not far away, arguing about whether they would ride this night or at dawn for Isengard. Aragorn was anxious to have it done with. Gandalf was determined that they must all take rest, and not least of all, Aragorn himself.

It had been an endless day. The dead had been tended to. The Uruk-hai, they left to rot in the sun like the beasts they were. Legolas was heavy of heart, and feared that no night's rest could aid him. Sleep was not necessary, would not restore him as it might Aragorn, who now refused to take it. Legolas knew he needed a walk in the woods, among living things, but the land for miles and miles was as dead as the men who had once lived upon it.

In the end, it was decided that they would stay. Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn were offered a private chamber in the ruined fortress, which Gimli accepted for all of them. Of them all, only Gimli, however troubled, had seemed to hold fast to his courage and purpose. Gimli had been forever in the day near Legolas, watching him with keen dark eyes. Out of respect for Legolas' sensibilities as well as his own, he had done them both the courtesy of pretending not to.

However, when Legolas had bowed his head as they finished caring for the dead Elven warriors, he had caught what he thought was a glint of tears in the dwarf's eyes. Legolas also did him the courtesy of not noticing too much.

While Aragorn went to walk among the wounded one last time, Legolas and Gimli wearily climbed the stairs to the room they would share. It was bare rock, with no beds nor any other stick of furniture, as all the wood had been brought down the night before in bracing the gates. There was one long, narrow window in the room. Through it, a red rectangle of sunset spilled onto the floor. Like blood.

Gimli instantly lay himself down on the floor when they shut the door behind them.

"It is done, then Lad. It is over. Rest yourself and prepare for the morning," Gimli advised and seemed not to take it to heart when Legolas assumed a post by the window. In moments, Gimli was sleeping fitfully, and the absence of the usual roaring snores told Legolas that peaceful sleep would likely come to none this night.

He stood at the window and watched the sun slip low, until it bowed behind the mountains. Legolas found it very hard to believe that the last time he'd seen such a sight, an army bred to end men had been bearing swiftly down upon them.

No one had expected to live to see the morning, and yet men still walked below. Perhaps there was some hope in that.

Aragorn came in not long after the sun had set, pausing in the doorway when he realized Legolas was still awake, still standing at his post by the window.

No words seemed appropriate or necessary after the day they'd had, but there was relief between them that it had ended at last. Legolas tried to hide that he noticed how stiffly and sorely Aragorn moved, as if he could barely keep himself on his own feet. It was hard to see him so low and worn, knowing him both as old friend and tireless warrior.

There was but one sound from Aragorn as he tossed a blanket upon the stone and lowered himself to it; a groan of pain and discomfort. Then Aragorn was silent.

Legolas kept by the window, even as Aragorn's breathing became slow and regular. He heard the man behind him make soft noises of distress in his sleep, from time to time, or grunt in pain as he shifted.

At last, a shaft of moonlight pierced the window and fell onto the sleeping form of Aragorn. He seemed to glow with cool, serene light, pulsing softly and gently, and the lines on his face immediately lightened until he looked young and rested. An easy breath of wind, untainted by smoke, dust, or death, bathed Legolas' face and ruffled Aragorn's hair as he lay sleeping. Aragorn sighed heavily in what seemed relief.

"It is good that you have come for him, Lady," Legolas whispered aloud. "He is bent in despair."

In his sleep, Aragorn said the name of the one he loved and beneath his closed lids, one tear spilled across his nose and dropped onto the blanket he lay upon. It was the first and only tear Legolas saw him spill for what was lost at Helms Deep.

Feeling he was intruding, Legolas stepped silently from the window and went to the door.

As he was letting himself out, he heard Aragorn murmur aloud in the dark, "there is naught but hate left."

*

Legolas had no need of sleep, but he thought he might be able to give relief to someone who did. There were weary soldiers still posted throughout the fortress and surrounding areas, but he walked past them all to the room for the sick.

The candles there burned low, and only one kept watch over the rows and rows of pallets and beds. The Lady's fair head was nodding forward toward her chest as she sat in her chair by the sleeping child Legolas had pulled from the field.

Legolas walked lightly to her, his steps no more than the softest whisper over stone. The room had a hushed, closed feel about it, almost as a sacred place where loose souls are kept. He noted that several of the beds that had been filled were emptied. Given the graveness of the injuries belonging to those who had lay upon them, he did not think men had walked away.

Éowyn looked very young and very fragile with her guard down, and he was moved when he reached her to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder in reassurance, in comfort.

She started and leapt to her feet, turning and reaching for the blade that wasn't strapped to her side. Her eyes flashed fury as they fell for a moment, uncomprehending, on Legolas' face.

Legolas held his hands aloft to show her he meant no harm, and the warrior's scowl on her face fell back into a great weariness and sorrow. "I am sorry, my Lord. I was taken off guard."

"You have been on guard for too long. You do not take rest, Lady?" Legolas asked her quietly as she slowly eased herself back to the chair.

"There are others who have greater need. I cowered in the caves while the men did the work of battle. I have not earned my rest."

"Nay, Lady, you have. I have learned this day that the fighting is the easiest part. It is the other business of war with men that is hard to bear."

"Men are hard to bear," she said bitterly, and turned her head to watch the sleeping Haleth. "They would rather put swords in the hands of lads who know not how to wield them than let me step into battle, when I am capable and willing! When all women who were herded and pinned below like cattle would have proudly stood between their sons and harm!"

Legolas nodded, for he recognized in her spirit the same eagerness that had long, long ago been his, and not so very long ago, had been Aragorn's. The yearning to prove herself worthy, to others yes, but mostly to herself. Both he and Aragorn had been allowed to do so in their time. She was prevented.

And he thought he could understand her desperation in such times as these, when bravery was so sorely needed and she held it in great store.

"It is the way of this world that men fight wars," Legolas murmured.

"This world is failing!" Éowyn cried and tears came into her eyes. Tears of pure fury, and he knew that she resented the weakness it implied. Fire burned in those tears, and Legolas knew not if the flames were a reflection of the burning candles all around or the fire in her heart.

"Aye, Lady Éowyn," he agreed. "It seems that it is."

"Then why not allow me to choose my own end? I would take the enemy with me to death rather than cower and wait for the sky to fall upon me! I am a shieldmaiden of Rohan!"

Legolas moved to stand over her, to lay a hand against her shoulder. They stood like that in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"You are treasured by the men of Rohan. They love you, Lady, even more than they love their King, I believe. Their courage withers and their heart wanes, but they still have the love of you and their brave women. To see you fall in battle, to watch you pierced with blades would be more than they could bear. You cannot ask them to do so! They would encircle you with their own blades, they would put their bodies between you and what enemy approached. They would not leave you to face the swords and do the business of war."

"But I do not fear blades! I do not fear death!" Éowyn growled softly and Legolas hoped she saw the admiration he held for her, though he knew she did not want such words from him.

Though he knew the answer, Legolas asked, "what then?"

She drew a deep breath and gave him her secret. "I fear being left alone with my grief, when all that I love are dead and gone. When all the men have fallen and I have done nothing to stop it."

"We understand one another, Lady, for that is my fear as well, and heavy on my heart has it rested this long day," Legolas said softly and smiled down at her when she reached up to cover his hand with her own.

Their silence was a companionable one, as each was lost to similar thoughts, he that could not die easily and she that was not permitted to.

Beside them, Haleth stirred and cried out, as he fought battles in his sleep. Legolas moved away from Éowyn and reached down to touch the boy's head, brushing the heavy gold hair away and speaking comfort in a soft voice.

"What did you say to him?" Éowyn asked when the boy quieted.

"I told him that all the ancient armies of the elves protect him while he sleeps. I told him he was safe."

"I hope you speak truth," Éowyn whispered and they watched the sleeping child.

"By the grace of the Valar he lives," Legolas murmured, still amazed, still reminded of that first touch of life through the mass of dead limbs.

"By the love that men bore him, he lives." Éowyn countered.

Legolas closed his eyes and again thought of the bodies of those who had sheltered the boy, who had faced darkness of death so that this boy might know more years, might know love and hope and the strength of manhood.

"You are weeping, my Lord." Éowyn stood up and moved before Legolas. He stood quietly as she reached up to touch one of his tears, saw the silver glitter of it come away on her pale fingertips. "I did not know that the elves shed tears."

"Yes, Lady, we may shed tears as you do, but it is a rare thing. Only in times of great hope or the abandonment of it do tears fall from elf-eyes."

"And which tears are these, Legolas?" Éowyn asked him, laying a hand on his arm.

He took and squeezed her hand gently and rather than answer directly murmured, "dawn is approaching, shieldmaiden. I will go and be at my King's call when he wakes. There is much left to do and many battles yet to wage."

Tears rose up in her own eyes, and her smile was like sunlight. She stepped away and bowed low before him, but Legolas reached to put his hand under her chin and raise her eyes to his.

"You shall lower your head for none, Lady," he told her, bowed to her instead, and walked away.

Before he left the chamber, her voice floated to him, over the sleeping. "You will look after Lord Aragorn?"

"I will stand beside him until the strength is gone from my arms and no longer can I fire an arrow or raise a blade, Lady. Yes, I will look after him."

When Legolas returned to the chamber where Aragorn and Gimli slept, the Ranger no longer stirred nor cried out, but lay very still and very easy, as if the world outside could not trouble him in the place he'd gone to.

Legolas moved back to the window and stared out, watching the first pale glimmers of gray push the darkness away, over the mountains. Tentatively, as if rearing her head from long sleep, the sun's searching rays ran ribbons of light over the mountains and toward the fortress. He closed his eyes and accepted the gift that was day as warmth fell across his face and shoulders.

Behind him, he heard Aragorn stirring, heard his uncharacteristically uneven gait as he limped to stand at Legolas' elbow, and together they watched the coming of dawn.

"The day is new," Legolas told his friend, and felt that the sun's rays soaked through his chest and right into his heart. He glanced at Aragorn, and the light was fully in his eyes and they glittered with new purpose and will and strength.

They said no more between them, but waited as the sun climbed higher, clearing mountaintops at last.

Far down below, they both watched as a lonely figure walked from the infirmary onto the battlement and her hair blazed like gold as she greeted the day as boldly as she did everything else.

There was such fierceness in her, such fire, that Legolas thought perhaps men's greatest hope lay not in the strength of their arms, but rather in the hearts of the women who loved them.

And that was an encouraging thought.

********

Finish

*The last story in this trilogy is "The Answer is in Dawn."

*Story title inspired by "Brothers in Arms" by Dire Straits

Now The Sun's Gone To Hell
And The Moon's Riding High
Let Me Bid You Farewell
Every Man Has To Die
But It's Written In The Starlight
And Every Line On Your Palm
We're Fools To Make War
On Our Brothers In Arms