With Bow and Blade

Filth. Blood. Gore.

The stuff drenched him until he no longer knew where the grime ended and he began. So long as he fought, he lived. Nock, draw, release. He glanced up, a foul darkness covered the sky where the sun should be or did blood mar his vision? Unsheathe, parry, thrust - his blade found its way home again and again, until he no longer cared about the hour, nor feared to count himself among the dead.

Resheathe. He hung his head for a moment. Exhausted. Numb. Did Aragorn yet live? Bitter tears stung the back of his closed lids. He did not know. He needed to tell him he understood. Weary. Tired. All those man-words that never before made sense, suddenly took hold of his heart.

A fierce battle cry rang out across the valley.

Legolas shook himself. "Ada?" Yet Thranduil fought leagues away. Legolas felt the boughs of the Green Wood bend at the first assault; knew his father would not leave their people in this time of need.

Again, he heard the familiar voice, commanding, “Do not despair!” It seemed he would not leave Legolas either.

"Ada!" The image of the King faded.

No time -- Legolas faced their foe again. Nock, draw, release...

He felt renewed.