Child of Rohan

Thick grey thunderclouds, heavy with rain, stormed across the sky banishing the warmth and light of the sun and casting an ominous gloom over the keep at Helm's Deep. It occurred to Legolas, who stood on the wall peering into the ever-increasing darkness, that this was possibly the handiwork of Saruman. The storm in the sky was sent to herald the storming of the keep by the Army of the White Hand, the immense horde that the Elf's keen eyes could just make out on the horizon.

The stone walls were all that lay before the people of Rohan and defeat, for Theoden's army was vastly outnumbered and severely outmatched. They were also terrified, but for love of their King, they would fight with every ounce of courage they possessed. Many of the men of Rohan would die this night, and while Legolas knew that even an Elf could be slain, he found the concept of death difficult to fathom. He also knew that he would willingly travel to Mandos' Hall to save the life of his dearest friends, Aragorn and Gimli, just as they would die for him. Nevertheless, he sincerely hoped that such a sacrifice would not be necessary this night.

As the thin black line of the ever-advancing army grew steadily larger, the irony of the situation did not escape Legolas. The battle he was about to face was not unlike the one that claimed the life of his grandsire during the Last Alliance. Like Theoden, Oropher, too, lead an army of rustics, with no real military skills and inferior weaponry. Their greatest asset was their utter devotion to their King, and they willingly followed him into battle against overwhelming odds, just as Theoden's people were about to do. It was a feeling he could well understand, for he would do no less for Thranduil and Mirkwood. That the outcome at Helm's Deep would be very different was not likely he knew, but he believed as Aragorn did that there was always hope and he prayed silently that the light of stars might shine kindly on these folk.

His rather morbid thoughts were interrupted by a slight tug on the hem of his tunic.

"What is it, Gimli?" he asked looking down expecting to find his friend's smiling face. "Ai, you are not my Dwarf friend," he said gently, kneeling down so that he could look directly at his 'assailant', a young boy of possibly six or seven summers.

"Are you really an Elf?" the child asked fearlessly, instinctively unafraid of one whom he knew would do him no harm. "My big brother says there are no Elves anymore, and that you are not a real one." Legolas smiled, amazed at the innocence and wonder in the child's large brown eyes. He reached out to gently squeeze the small hand,

"Does that feel real to you?" he asked. The boy nodded, but was apparently not entirely convinced.

"Yes, but even if you are real, how do I know you are an Elf?" he asked. "I do not see any pointy ears?"

"Then you are not looking hard enough," he suggested, his eyes sparkling with merriment as he turned his head slightly to allow closer inspection of the tip of his ear. The boy's eyes widened even further and he tentatively reached out to almost touch the strange ear.

"You may touch me, if you wish," Legolas said in answer to the unspoken question in the child's eyes.

"It looks pointy, but it is not sharp," said the boy, giggling. "I guess you are a real Elf. My brother says that Elves steal children who are naughty. You don't do you?" He asked a little uncertainly.

"Certainly not! That is total nonsense," said Legolas a little sharply, annoyed at such ignorance. Apparently the boy's older brother had filled his head with some very strange notions.

"Good," he said, a brilliant smile lighting his face, "I did not really believe him. I think you are very nice. Will you be my friend? My name is Dareth, what's yours?"

"Yes, it would please me to be your friend, Dareth. My name is Legolas. Now, where is your elder brother?" Legolas asked, "I will escort you back to his care, it is far too dangerous for you to be up here." He did not mention that he thought a few quiet words in the elder boy's ear were also in order.

"Down in the room where the swords are, he is going to be a great warrior and fight in the battle," the child said proudly. Legolas heart skipped a beat.

"Just how old is he?" he asked, already knowing that the answer would be painful to hear.

"He has seen ten winters," came the proud answer. Legolas closed his eyes for a moment in silent agony at the thought of the many innocents who were going to be lost this night. "He is very brave, you know."

"Yes, I am sure he is," agreed the Elf. "Who is taking care of you, if not your brother?" he asked, mindful that perhaps the boy's parents were both no longer alive.

"Mama, of course, she is in the great hall with the others from our village. Come on, you have to meet her." He said enthusiastically taking Legolas' hand and pulling him towards the stairs. Legolas allowed himself to be lead, ignoring the bewildered stares from the soldiers he passed. He stopped when they reached the entrance, and looked with amazement at the scenes before him; this was a side of war he had never encountered before. The room was filled with women and children, all looking well travelled, their clothes grimy and their hair dishevelled. Legolas sensed much sadness, and fear in their hearts, but his elvish sight allowed him to see the courage, love and pride they held within both for those they had sent to war, and those they were bound to protect. The inner strength of the womenfolk of Rohan was the weapon they wielded like a sword against the enemy, and it gave them a beauty beyond measure in his eyes. His new friend released his hand and ran over to throw his arms around the neck of one of the women, who was seated on the floor, reading a story to the youngsters gathered around her.

"Mama, look, I have found an Elf!" he exclaimed, to the merriment of everyone in the room, including Legolas.

"Please forgive my son's manners, my lord," Dareth's mother said, smoothing her skirts as she arose and unconsciously attempted to push the loose strands of hair from her face. She walked over to curtsy to her son's new friend, obviously one of high station.

"There is nothing to forgive, he is but a child, and a charming one at that, my lady," Legolas said easing her discomfort in her appearance with a radiant smile. He gallantly took her hand and brushed it lightly with his lips, "I am not your lord. I am an Elf from the realm of Mirkwood. My name is Legolas."

"There you are!" exclaimed a slightly older boy who had just entered the hall. He was attired in a mail tunic that was obviously meant for one of many more years, and carried a sword not much shorter than him. "I have been looking for you everywhere, Dareth. Mother has been so worried." He looked slightly taken aback when he saw who had accompanied his younger brother back to the hall.

"I just wanted to see if Legolas was a real Elf," Dareth explained, "You were wrong! He is real." He said, poking his tongue out at his older adversary. Legolas smiled inwardly when saw the gesture but said nothing; He had often done the same when he was but an elfling who had won an argument with his friends.

"So I see," the elder boy grudgingly admitted, unable to prevent himself from staring at the Elf, who was most definitely not a figment of his imagination.

It broke Legolas' heart to suddenly realise that aside from being the brother of his newly found friend; he was also obviously the head of the family. For an instant he tried to imagine what it would be like to lose his own father, and the intensity of the pain in his soul almost caused him to lose his balance. No one seemed to notice his momentary lapse, but he wanted nothing more at this moment than to remove himself from this hall that was filled with the sadness and loss of war.

"Now that you are safely in your mother's care, I will take my leave," said Legolas with a polite bow. Even though the sun was well hidden, he could tell that night was only a couple of hours away and he wanted to spend the remaining time before the battle with Aragorn and Gimli. "Look for me when the battle is done," he said as he bent down to bless his friend with a fatherly kiss on the forehead. "I know many true stories about Elves you may wish to hear."