The History of Legolas - The Last Green Leaf

The History Of Legolas – Part III
The Last Green Leaf
By Vendie

Author’s Note: The Lord of the Rings and all associated characters belong to Tolkien and his estate. I am not making any profit off of this story, save the enjoyment I had making it.

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The Last Green Leaf
Chapter Thirteen – The Battle of Five Armies


Legolas had never seen so much water in his life. At least, not all spread out like the Lake at Esgaroth. The quiet lapping of the waves on the shore was like a beat to the quiet music of the water and the wind. It was almost as if the water was calling to him, calling him to come closer and to peer in…

“Prince Legolas?” Gandalf’s voice came from behind him. Legolas whirled around to see the rest of his company headed for the decimated town. The prince was unaware that he had completely stopped moving.

“Apologies,” Legolas said, clearing his head of its fog. “I - ”

“Water is a curious thing for many an elf,” Mithrandir cut him off, a serious look upon his face. “Some say that upon the waters of the world the Music of the Ainur can still be heard in echoes. But do not tarry, Prince, for it is not your time to hearken to it’s call.” He gestured for Legolas to follow him. Legolas nodded and nudged his horse back to his company, confused by the wizard’s words.

~

When Legolas and Mithrandir trotted into Lake-town, all activity seemed to come to a hault. The Wood Elves who were helping the men of the town rebuild stopped to see their prince ride by with confused looks on their faces, for they knew that now no one was home to manage Mirkwood.

“Legolas?” A voice asked. Legolas turned to see his brother, Hérion, standing in between the remains of two houses, looking rather stunned. “What are you doing here?” he asked frantically. Legolas dismounted his horse.

“Mithrandir came fearing ill for our company here, I came with healers.” He explained.

“What need do we have for healers? There is not much in the way of danger happening here, brother, just rebuilding…. Legolas, if Adar sees you here he will be furious, you should - ”

“Where is the Elvenking, then?” Mithrandir suddenly piped up.

“He and Arthion have gone up to the Lonely Mountain to parley with the dwarves.” Hérion answered.

“Then if Legolas stays here, he has no need to fear your father’s wrath, am I right?” the wizard asked.

“I suppose this is true,” Hérion said in a considering voice. “My battalion has been left behind to help the men of Esgaroth, and I am sure that some healers can be put to use in this town, though I do not think that there is much to fret over,” he said.

“Is there a healing house where I might send them?” Legolas asked. Hérion nodded and then turned to a blond-haired man working on a house nearby.

“Alric,” He said. The man turned. “Show these elves to the place where you keep the sick and injured, they will be a great help to you.”

“Aye, sir.” The man replied.

“I think I will join your father, then.” Gandalf said from atop his steed. “Goodness knows what trouble they’re getting into up there,”

Hérion and Legolas exchanged confused looks, but said nothing as the grey wizard urged his horse on through the town.

“Go with Alric and show the healers where they may work, I have some things I must tend to. You may join me later, if you wish.” Hérion said. Legolas nodded and then turned to Alric, who motioned Legolas to follow him.

Shortly, Alric had shown Legolas and the healers the hospital in Lake-town and the healers had set off to their work. Legolas lingered near the doorway to the building and listened to the faint song of the lake. He couldn’t get his mind off it.

“My lord?”

Legolas jumped and turned around to see Anariel looking at him from inside the door.

“That is the second time today that I’ve been startled out of my wits.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should stop brooding, or whatever it is you are doing, in that case.” Anariel said. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“Listening. Don’t you hear it?” Legolas asked. Anariel tilted her head and her eyes scanned around, regarding the world around her.

“The music?” she finally asked.

“Yes. Have you heard anything like it before?”

“Sometimes, by the river.” Anariel said. “It’s very beautiful, very calming.”

“It is,” Legolas replied softly. A moment’s quiet passed before Legolas managed to snap himself out of his daydreams and speak again.

“How fare your patients?” He asked.

“Most are not badly injured or sick. Some have burns, others broken bones. A few of the children have fevers, but it is not anything we cannot handle.” Anariel replied casually, leaning on the doorframe. “What is it that Mithrandir wants us here for, I wonder?”

“If he knows, he did not share it with me. However,” Legolas paused and took a breath. “I do not think he brought us here for minor wounds and ills. Something is coming.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Anariel said darkly.

“As do I,” Legolas added, turning his attention to the dark clouds forming behind the Lonely Mountain.

~

Barely two days later, The Battle of Five Armies began. Hérion, the only one of Thranduil’s captians who knew of Legolas’ presence in Esgaroth, sent word to Lake-town for Legolas and the healers to move nearer to the Lonely Mountain so the wounded could be more easily taken care of. Legolas was to take command of a battalion of troops that would defend the healers, who set themselves up in a grove of trees.

Legolas had never been so unprepared for anything in his life. His troops were performing admirably, and the orders he gave seemed to be keeping the healers safe, but he attributed that mostly to dumb luck. He had never commanded any troops during battle before. It all started and continued on so quickly, the young prince could hardly keep up with everything he was saying and thinking. Beyond that, everytime an elf was brought to be healed, Legolas thought he was going to be sick. He had never seen wounds so horrific before. He had never heard screams so agonizing.

Just when it seemed as though the combined forces of the dwarves, Thranduil, and Bard were beginning to overtake the goblins, a surprise attack was launched on the healer’s hiding place. Fiery arrows flew through the air and pierced the trees, setting them ablaze. In the confusion of the first few moments of the attack, the goblins then attacked Legolas’ forces.

“Call for help!” Legolas bellowed. “Fight off the goblins if you can, but the moment help arrives, aid the healers!”

An elvish horn sounded the alarm for help. Another in the distance answered it, acknowledging. Knowing that help would be on the way soon, he darted into the burning trees, trying to block out the screams of anguish. He saw a healer trying to drag her patient out of the grove with his arm slung over her shoulders. Legolas rushed to the injured elf’s side and lifted his other arm over his own shoulders and helped drag him to a safe place.

“Where is Lady Anariel?” Legolas asked the healer frantically. She looked at him, grey eyes wide with fear. She didn’t answer at first, only stuttered.

“My Lord, I … She…”

“Where is she?!” Legolas pressed her.

“I know not for sure, she was behind me just moments ago, but a falling branch separated us. She told me to go on ahead, my Lord.” She stammered out. Legolas nodded and without another word, he bolted off into the grove of trees again.

“Anariel!” He called out. Legolas’ usually keen vision was impaired by the smoke and flames, but he could hear just as well as ever. Elleth and the injured were coughing as they made their way out of the burning trees. He could not hear Anariel among them. He yelled her name again as he went deeper in. No one returned his calls for what seemed like forever.

“Anariel, where are you?” Legolas cried again.

“Here!” A strained voice replied from somewhere to his left.

“Keep speaking! Are you all right?” Legolas shouted, heading in the direction from whence the voice came.

“I think I’m fine, but I can’t get out!” Anariel replied. At the sound of her voice, Legolas adjusted his course slightly and suddenly saw through the smoke a silhouette of an elleth and another on the ground. Leaping over a downed tree branch, he found Anariel and the man she had been healing.

“Anariel! You are injured.” Legolas said, immediately falling to his knees by her side. He could see that the back of her dress had been ripped open by a falling branch – her skin was cut open and burned.

“It doesn’t hurt, Legolas,” She said, coughing. The frightened prince didn’t know if she was lying on his behalf or if she was speaking truthfully.

“Cover your mouth with your sleeve,” Legolas instructed. “I need to get you out of here.”

“Not without my patient, you’re not,” Anariel replied obstinately. “He’s unconscious from the pain of his wound, but I cannot lift him.”

“I can. But you, can you walk?” Legolas asked.

“I think so.”

Legolas nodded and hoisted the man over his shoulder and helped Anariel up. They navigated their way out of the grove and over to where the other healers had gathered. Anariel was coughing fiercely and Legolas suspected that she was having difficulty breathing.

“Help!” Legolas called out as they approached the healers. Two came forward to help Anariel and Legolas.

“Gwenneth,” Anariel gasped to the elleth who came to her side. “The man on Legolas’ shoulder needs antidote for the poison.”

“And you are in no such condition to see it done. Merilien will help him now.” The elleth replied. The other healer, Merilien, beckoned Legolas to follow her while Gwenneth whisked Anariel away. The prince put the man down where he was instructed and then surveyed all around him. He desperately wanted to be with Anariel, but he could not abandon his warriors.

The battle was being reclaimed. Arthion’s forces had come to join his own – he could see his eldest brother making his way across the battlefield as if it were a dance. Arthion was more skilled at knives than any elf in Mirkwood, and it was plainly clear today as any other day. However, close range combat was slow and grueling. Legolas knew that if he could rally his battalion and eliminate the goblins at distant range, shortening this stint of the battle. And in the back of his mind, Legolas knew if he commanded his troops well in battle and wasn’t injured, his father would be far less likely to lock him away for the rest of his years for disobeying orders to stay behind.

“To me!” He cried, running out to battle. “Reform the lines! Prepare for a volley!”

~

When the battle was over and won, Legolas wasted no time returning to find Anariel. In the calm of the aftermath, some tents had been erected, giving the healers and their patients some privacy and protection from the elements. Not knowing where he might find Anariel, Legolas poked his head into the first tent he came upon. There were three healers inside tending to a man and a dwarf.

“Where might I find Lady Anariel?” He asked without preface. The healers looked up. After a moment of exchanging looks with one another, one spoke.

“Further back, my Prince. I will take you to her.”

“My thanks.” Legolas said, bowing his head. The elleth blushed slightly and exited the tent ahead of him, leading the way. After passing five tents or so, they arrived at their destination. The prince thanked his guide again and then stepped inside Anariel’s tent. He found Gwenneth there, who looked up when he entered. He glanced from the healer to where Anariel was lying on the ground and covered in a blanket, her back facing him.

“How is she?” Legolas asked anxiously.

“She sleeps for the moment,” Gwenneth replied quietly. “Her cut and burn were minor, but it will be painful for her for a few days. She still wheezes from breathing in smoke. I fear she will have a mighty sore throat for a time. But she will recover in time.”

Legolas released the breath he had been holding and ran his hand over his face, as if to remove the stress from his head by some magic. “Thank the Valar.” He sighed.

“I need to go fetch more ointment for her back. I shall return in a few moments.” Gwenneth said. Legolas nodded and stepped aside so the she could leave. Once the healer was gone, Legolas stepped around Anariel and knelt down at her side, looking upon her face. Her hair around her face had come unfastened from behind her head and hung over her closed eyes. Her visage was marked with ashes from the fire. Legolas could see her breathing heavily and could hear her labored breaths.

Not knowing what possessed him to do so, Legolas reached down and brushed the stray hair from her face. “Melethril…”(1) He said quietly.

Under his touch, Anariel shuddered, causing her breathing to change. She coughed herself awake. Legolas moved his hand to her shoulder, steadying her body as she shook.

“Shh, Anariel,” He said.

“Legolas?” Anariel’s eyes blinked open as she tried to swallow the last of her coughs.

“It is I,” He answered her. In the corner of his eye he spied a basin with water and a wooden cup next to it. He moved over and filled the cup with water and gave it to Anariel, who sat up slowly to receive it.

“It will stop your cough.” He said.

“Who is the healer here, you or I?” She asked, giving him a smirk before taking a sip of water.

“Well, you certainly cannot heal yourself, am I right?” He chuckled.

“I suppose so.” Her raspy voice replied.

“How do you feel?” Legolas asked her.

“Tired.” Anariel answered him. He was glad that she was more sleepy than in pain – the young prince took that as a good sign. “Has your father discovered you here yet?”

Legolas chuckled again. “Not yet, but I’m sure it will not be long now. He is with Mithrandir and Bard at the moment. The news is that Thorin Oakenshield is near death. I’m sure my father is making arrangements of some kind to honor him.”

“That’s quite the turn of events.” Anariel noticed.

“It’s good politics.” Legolas joked.

Anariel snorted, which caused another coughing spasm.

“Forgive me, I should not have made you laugh.” He said, putting his hand on her uninjured shoulder again.

“Yes… yes you should have!” Anariel said, despite her wheezes. She took another drink of water, and in the sudden quiet, Legolas heard his name called.

“Legolas! You’d better be unhurt otherwise Adar is going to murder me!” It was Hérion.

Legolas sighed and Anariel smiled. “Go to your brother. I will be fine.” She urged him. The young prince stared at her for a moment, afraid to leave. He could have lost his dearest friend this day, and all Legolas really cared to do was to stay by her side. “Go!” She said again, smiling. “I certainly will not be moving around any time soon. You can find me when business is taken care of.”

After a moment’s more hesitation, Legolas squeezed her unhurt shoulder. “I won’t be long.” He said. Anariel continued to smile at him reassuringly as she nodded. Legolas stood and left, but not without casting one last glance back at Anariel, who shooed him out of her tent.

Once he was out in the open, he spotted Hérion coming down the rows of tents. His older brother looked very relieved to see him.

“Don’t scare me like that!” He sighed. “Come, Father wishes to know who was in charge of leading the volley that saved Arthion’s battalion from great losses when they came to defend the healers. I told him that I would fetch the elf, and I will not return without you. Adar should know what a skilled archer and warrior you are, Legolas.”

“Just as long as you do all the gloating for me, brother. You do it far better than I ever could!” Legolas joked as they turned to walk up the Lonely Mountain together. Legolas cast a glance back at Anariel’s tent, wishing to avoid what he knew was coming.

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NOTES

1 – “Melethril” – Elvish for “beloved”.