Battle

     The three Elves mounted their horses and rode hard to the Last Homely House.  Glorfindel came to meet them, golden hair flickering in the torchlight.  “Elladan, Elrohir, thank the Valar you have returned.  Estel heard of the news of the betrothal and fled.”  The twins exchanged a glance. 

     “We will follow him immediately,” said Elladan.  “Glorfindel, gather a patrol and send it after us.  We will not conceal our trail.  There are goblins in the area.”

     “I am going with you,” said Legolas.  “It is because of me that he left his home.  I do not know him well, but I feel it is my responsibility.”  I will not let the hope of mankind fall because of my folly, he swore to himself.

     Elladan nodded.  “Very well.  Let us go.”  He directed his horse out the gates.

     “Glorfindel, send my warriors with the patrol,” Legolas called over his shoulder as he followed the twins.  The twins seemed to have a good idea of where they were going.  Legolas simply kept pace with them.  There was no time for talking.  They rode southwest along the River Bruinen.  Legolas was glad that the twins knew where they were going, for there was no moon and the land was dark.

     They stopped once to water the horses.  “Estel will ride to the Dúnedain, for he is the Chieftain,” Elrohir told Legolas.  “Though he would leave Imladris, he would never desert his people.”

     Said Elladan: “The Rangers are gathered further down the river.  We were tracking a band of goblins with them.  Upon seeing how large the goblin party was, Elrohir and I rode to Imladris to gather warriors.”

     That was all the time they used.  In seconds they were back on their horses and on their way.  They rode for hours before Legolas began to hear voices.  The night had turned from fine to drizzly.  Rain clouds in the sky blocked out the light of the stars, making the woods dark as they rode into the Rangers’ camp.  The Elves dismounted.  Legolas counted no more than six men in the camp.  One of them was Aragorn.  Aragorn greeted the elven twins warmly, but the smile on his face disappeared when he saw Legolas.

     “Why did you bring him here?” he asked of Elladan.  “I do not wish to see him.”

     A Ranger ran into the camp.  Winded, he spoke in pants: “Strider, the Orcs are headed this way!  They are no mere mountain goblins!”

     “How far away are they?” Aragorn demanded, ignoring Legolas for the moment. 

     “Not even a half a league.  They must smell our camp, for they are coming straight towards us.”

     “Elladan!” Aragorn called, “Is a patrol coming?”

     “Ay, and the Wood-elves as well.  They should be right behind us.”

     “I hold no great love for Wood-elves right now,” said Aragorn, meeting Legolas’s eyes.  “But I am not too proud to turn away help when it is needed.  Lord Legolas, how do your warriors fight best?  From the trees?”

     “Our arrows are most effective from the trees, ay, but our blades are designed for the ground.”  Legolas held the Man’s gaze.  A! He really does love her.  “Put us where you want us.”

     Aragorn nodded in acceptance. 

     There was a nervous tension in the camp.  Until either the enemy or reinforcements arrived, there was nothing to be done.  Aragorn spoke softly with the twins, too low for even Legolas’s elven ears.  Legolas focused his attention on something else.  From the direction he and the twins came from, the trees sang of more Elves.  The patrol was nearly here.  But from his left, coming from the west he heard the stomping of Orcs and the crying of the earth they trod on.  He listened for a moment longer.  The Orcs were nearer than the Elves.

     “The Orcs come,” he said, loud enough for all to hear.  “They will reach us before the Elves do.”

     “Conceal yourselves in the woods,” Aragorn ordered.  “We will surround them.  Hopefully that will buy us time until the Elves get here.” 

     The camp dispersed.  Legolas leapt into a tree and pulled his bow from his back.  He kept an eye on Aragorn below, determined to keep the Man as safe as possible.  Wherever the Man went, Legolas shadowed him.  They did not have to wait long before even the Rangers could hear the Orcs. 

     The sky that had been squeezing drops all night broke open and it began to poor.  Legolas had left his cloak behind in Imladris.  The cold did not bother him, but the wetness did.  Thankfully, the tree he perched in spread its leaves to create somewhat of a tent for him.  Standing right beneath Legolas on the ground, Aragorn noticed the lack of rain in that spot.  He looked up but did not see the Wood-elf.  With a half shrug, Aragorn turned his attention back to the Orcs.  The first one became visible in through the trees.

     The Orcs swarmed into the camp.  Legolas stiffened.  The Ranger had spoken truly:  these huge creatures were no mountain goblins.  They had no chance against this many.  Three Elves and seven Men against more than a hundred Orcs?  All of the Orcs pushed into the small camp. 

     “Elendil!” cried Aragorn, lunging forward, sword swinging.  He decapitated the Orc nearest him.  The others all followed his lead.  The Orcs howled and fought back.  Legolas fired arrow after arrow into the throats of the monsters, making every one count.  This he did until his quiver was empty.  Slinging his bow on his back, he drew his knives and jumped into the battle.

     This enemy was an easier opponent than Glorfindel.  Even so, the stakes were incredibly higher.  Legolas focused on all the Orcs around him, never faltering.  His blades swept through the foul bodies.  He heard a birdcall and his heart nearly burst.  The patrol was here!

     Elves swarmed the clearing.  Legolas took a moment to scan the battlefield for Aragorn.  Through the heavy rain, he spotted Aragorn in battle with an Orc while another Orc crept behind him.  Legolas did not have any arrows left.  He had to rely on his speed to prevent disaster.  He ran, leaping over and around bodies.  Clutching his long knives, he pushed Aragorn to the ground just as the Orc behind him was about to attack.  With a sweep of his arm, he slit the one Orc’s throat.  Spinning, he stabbed the other Orc in the shoulder.

     The Orc roared and lashed out with its scimitar.  Legolas could not dance out of the way.  The blade bit deep into his hip.  He stumbled back, crying out from the pain.  As the Orc lunged again, Legolas ducked down.  He dropped his knives and grabbed a forsaken scimitar from the ground.  He swung it and severed the Orc’s head from its body.

     Again he looked around for Aragorn.  The Man had scrambled to his feet after Legolas’s shove, and was now pursuing a group of Orcs into the woods.  Cursing, Legolas pushed down the pain in his hip and followed.  He caught pace with Aragorn, who shot him an unreadable look.  The chased the Orcs together through the woods. 

     At last the chase ended, for the Orcs found themselves between a hill of rock and their pursuers.  There were four Orcs.  Easy odds, Legolas figured.  The rain fell harder, blurring vision. 

     “Two for each of us, Estel,” Legolas said.  “Shall we begin?”

     They attacked, Aragorn wielding his sword and Legolas his stolen scimitar.  Aragorn drove his blade into one’s gut.  Ripping it free, he spun and caught his next Orc’s attack with his blade.  The Orc bellowed and Aragorn screamed as they tested each other’s strength.  Aragorn prevailed for he made his blade lax, as though he had weakened.  When the Orc lunged towards him, Aragorn narrowly twisted out of the weapon’s way and in the same motion thrust his sword straight through the Orc.

     He looked for his companion.  Legolas’s two Orcs were strewn on the ground, but to Aragorn’s dismay, so was Legolas.  He moved quickly to the Elf’s side.  Legolas groaned, showing Aragorn that he was both alive and conscious.

     “Where are you injured?” Aragorn asked, quickly surveying the Wood-elf.  He could hear more Orcs in the distance, but it sounded like they were headed his way.

     “My hip,” groaned Legolas, squeezing his eyes shut.  “The cursed Orc pulled me down.  I fell on the rocks.”

     Aragorn touched Legolas’s hip.  He could not see anything because of the blinding rain, but his hand came away wet with something other than rain.  “There are more Orcs coming, and you are bleeding heavily,” he said.  “There is a cave maybe ten feet away.  I will help you there.”

     He pulled Legolas into an upright position.  Slinging the Wood-elf’s arm around his own shoulders, he pulled Legolas up.  Legolas swayed and would have fallen but for Aragorn’s support.  It became immediately obvious that Legolas could not walk.  His injured leg dragged behind him.  Aragorn feared he would lose too much blood like this.  Ignoring Legolas’s moan of protest, the Man grunted and pulled the Elf into his arms. 

     The rain did its best to blind Aragorn so that he would trip.  He had to go slow to keep his footing sure.  He had just ducked into the cave when Orcs burst through the trees. 

     The inside of the cave was dank and gloomy.  Aragorn could barely see.  He went as far back in it as he could without losing all sight.  He settled Legolas on the ground.  Pulling off his outer tunic, he wadded it up and pressed it against the bloody wound.  Legolas groaned at the pressure.

     “I cannot see the wound,” Aragorn whispered, afraid of the Orcs outside hearing.  “Do you feel poison?”

     Legolas’s faint glow made it possible for Aragorn to see the Wood-elf nod. 

     “Stay,” said Aragorn.  He stood and snuck to the entrance of the cave.  The Orcs were plundering the corpses of their former comrades, taking whatever thing struck their fancy. 

     “Stinkin’ Elf blood!” one howled.  “Enough here for a whole Elf!”  The Orcs exalted over the blood, but upon finding no Elf and no tracks soon grew bored and left.  Free now to make noise, Aragorn felt around the cave for a stack of wood he knew to be within.  He found it after stubbing his toe walking into it.  An empty pot coated with dust and dirt sat next to the wood.  Aragorn snatched up the pot and washed it out in the rain.  Once clean he let it fill with the rainwater.

     He built a fire near where Legolas lay.  The flames flickered light across the cave walls.  Aragorn saw that Legolas’s skin was pasty.  Now that he had light enough to see, he set to examining the jagged wound.  Legolas groaned again upon his touch.

     “Why did you follow me?” Aragorn asked as he worked.  Would I have followed you?

     “I am a warrior,” Legolas whispered.  “Protect fellow warriors.”

     “You were wounded before I left the camp, were you not?”  The Wood-elf gave a slight nod.  “Thank you.”  

     The rain continued to pour, making a waterfall over the entrance of the cave.  Aragorn did not want to move Legolas through the rain, for he did not want to chance stumbling while carrying the wounded Elf.  He chanced to look at Legolas’s face and found a pair of bluish-gray eyes trained on his own face.  Aragorn felt a spurt of anger; this Elf had taken away all of his dreams.  Choking it back, he tore a strip from the bottom of his cloak and pressed it against the bloody and torn flesh.  He needed herbs to treat the poison.

     “I will be right back,” he said.  “Do not move.”

     He draped his cloak over Legolas and hurried outside the cave.  The rain drenched him the moment he stepped outside.  Squinting against the downpour, he moved to the wood line.  Lightning flashes showed him the way.   He made a quick search and found the plant he was looking for.  He pawed through the dirt beneath the blue-green leaves of the plant and dug up the roots.  He blinked water out of his eyes as he cut a chunk of the knobby rootstock off with his knife.

     Lightning flashed again and again while he ran back to the cave.  Thunder echoed against the rocky wall.  Aragorn noted that Legolas’s eyes were open and watching him as he took the full pot of water and dropped the rootstock in it.  Aragorn set the pot in the midst of the small fire.

     “How do you feel?” he asked, checking the makeshift bandage.  The bleeding had slowed down a bit.

     Legolas frowned at the question.  His eyes wandered the cave.  He seemed about to answer but grimaced instead.  “Your pot smells vile.”

     “It will stop the bleeding and halt the poison,” Aragorn replied.  “Does the smell matter?”

     The Wood-elf tossed his head and did not reply.

     After several minutes, Aragorn wrapped a cloth around the handle of the pot and removed it from the flames.  He dipped the cloth into the hot liquid and placed it over the wound.  Leaving it there, he prepared a poultice from the rootstock in the pot.  He lifted the cloth and spread the mashed herb against the injury.  Tearing off another strip of his cloak, he wrapped it tightly around the wound.

     Legolas’s eyes drifted shut.  Two Wood-elves burst into the cave, followed by Elladan and Elrohir.  “Elbereth help us!” cried one of the Wood-elves.  “Does he live?”

     “Ay.  He has a poisoned leg wound.  We must get him to Imladris.”

     The Wood-elf that had spoken dropped next to Legolas.  Pulling off his own cloak, he wrapped the prince in it.  He slid his arms beneath Legolas’s knees and back and lifted him up.  “Let us go then, and quickly.”  They made a quick procession back to the ruined camp.  Dead Orcs filled the camp.  Thankfully, no Rangers or Elves had been killed, although some suffered wounds.  It was decided that the entire group would travel to Imladris, for nearly all of the Rangers had a wound of some kind.

     The Wood-elf that had taken charge of Legolas turned out to be Glorfindel’s old friend, Aerhos.  He had Legolas on his horse in front of him the minute everyone was ready to leave.  The Wood-elves could not be bothered to follow the pace the Rangers rode at and so pushed ahead. 

***