Will of the Valar

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the original characters and their adventures. The Tolkien Estate and New Line Cinema own Middle Earth and its regular denizens.

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When Legolas had entered the keep, he had one thought: find Goroth. He used his sword to clear a path through the black-clad kin of the Eastern Elf Lord, and found himself in the keep proper. He did not hesitate: if anyone wearing the clothing of the east raised a weapon near him, he killed them. He did not know Goroth, and so he took no chances. Those who fought him were his enemies and he dispatched them with indifference. He sought the one who had so maltreated his wife and had aided the enemies of the free people of the west; the one who had turned from the Valar and kept his people from seeking them.

He lost track of his friends in the battle, instead concentrating on identifying Goroth. He knew, from the behavior of the vile creature, Goroth would be unable to remain anonymous. He was too much in love with his own legend. But something Vanurion had told him also led him to believe Goroth would not be among those in the courtyard and lower floors of the keep. According to their new ally, Goroth left the killing to his subordinates. He went over the plans of the keep in his mind and knew there were three places where the Lord of the Eastern Elves might be found; three towers, North, South and East, sprung from the massive complex of the keep.

Legolas started to the south tower, then stopped. The North tower was the tallest and someone who thought himself a Vala would likely want to be as high above the rest of the world as possible. He wheeled around and took off in the opposite direction calmly disposing of any of Goroth’s minions who were unfortunate enough to cross his path.

When he got to the base of the tower he paused and listened. There were muted sounds of arrows flying and steel on steel.

“Goroth!” he called forcefully. “Show yourself.” There was no reply, not that he expected one. It just felt good to be able to shout. Running up the first flight of stairs, he called on the Elf again.

“Goroth, Lord of the Elves of the East! Why do you fear to answer?”

There was silence again, then, as he started up the next flight of stairs, three of the eastern Elves loyal to Goroth met him on the steps.

“Here is my answer, elfling,” said a voice wafting from near the top of the tower. Legolas blocked the blows of two of his attackers, but the third one managed to hit him on his left side. His armor absorbed the blow, but it jarred him and he almost lost his balance, He ducked under the next blow and under the swords of the dark Elves. He kicked one of them down the stairs and used a two-handed swing to take the head off of another. The third was raising his sword to slash across Legolas’ body, when he stopped and dropped dead, an arrow through his back. Looking down, Legolas saw Orophin pause long enough to give him a quick nod, then turn to fire another arrow at more attackers in the hall.

Legolas ran up the stairs, taking out what resistance he met. When he reached the top, he found himself in a long gallery with a wide and very deep hole in the center, which ran the depth of the tower, and a matching gallery of the opposite side. A figure stood in the opposite gallery.

“You came for me, little Elfling?” The Elf taunted him. “Come, then. I am waiting.” Sensing movement behind him, Legolas whipped out his bow and let fly an arrow, taking down the first of a host of Goroth’s kin as they poured through the door to the gallery in which the prince stood. He backed up, firing as he moved, each arrow finding its mark. He would have had no problems with them, if more had not begun firing arrows at him from across the gallery.

Legolas took out two of the archers before turning to duck the blows of the swords being swung on his side of the room. He stabbed one of his attackers with an arrow to the eye before yanking it out and firing it across the room, dropping another archer. He lost all track of time as he concentrated on staying alive, dodging the arrows and swords, using the bodies of the attackers on his side of the room as cover from the arrows flying from the opposite side. He was vaguely aware of an arrow grazing his temple at one point, but ignored the blood trickling down the side of his face.

He finally made his way out into the narrow hallway running down the side of the gallery just at the top of the stairs. At least more than one attacker at a time could not swing at him. He fired arrow after arrow, taking out the warriors one at a time until he realized he was in a dead-end. He swore softly, then started forward again. He was forced to leap over the bodies of the fallen in order to make his way out of the narrow hall. His pursuers, now the pursued blocked his exit to the stairs and down the opposite hall, forcing him back into the gallery where archers again took aim.

Reaching out, Legolas grabbed a surprised Elf and blocked a hail of arrows with his enemy’s body, then dropped him, kept his back against the wall and rapidly took out two more archers with what he realized were his last two arrows. This time, he swore loudly, and dropped the bow, pulling out his twin knives and slicing his way through the, thankfully diminishing number of warriors on his side of the hall. It occurred to him that he was extraordinarily free of injury; he was outnumbered and at a distinct disadvantage; by all rights, he should be dead. The Valar, apparently, had further use for him.

He made it into the narrow hallway and noticed a stinging sensation in his left thigh and looked down to see an arrow protruding through the inner aspect. He did not have time to remove it because of the swords barely missing his neck. Like a gift from the Valar, two arrows came flying through the narrow windows to his right, taking down his nearest two opponents. He glanced out and saw Haldir and Orophin on the roof of the keep with a clear line of sight into the hallway. Two more of his pursuers went down, giving him enough time to snap the end of the arrow off and yank it through his leg. The pain was sharp, but he ignored it. He could feel his leggings becoming damp and knew he was bleeding a good bit. But he did not have time for that right now. Goroth was on the other side of the gallery.

Legolas turned and ran through the connecting hall and down the opposite one, where he was greeted by the sight of a half dozen more elves with swords. He ran directly toward them, knives slashing and thrusting, taking out two of them and pushing the rest back through the doorway into the gallery where Goroth waited. He kicked one of the warriors in the stomach and slashed down with one of his knives while blocking the blow of another with the other. The warrior he’d blocked whirled around, bringing up his blade to catch Legolas under his right arm, slicing between the plates of his armor to cut him above his ribs. It felt like fire had been raked across his skin. He tried to ignore it as he dove to the side, causing a dark Elf charging him to fall into the yawning chasm in the center of the room.

Goroth and the two remaining members of his clan on that side of the gallery attacked the prince at once. Legolas noted Goroth had waited until he was injured and still fighting at least two others before he joined the fray. He held his own but barely. He was beginning to tire and blood loss was not helping his stamina. Suddenly, there was one less combatant, then there was only Goroth, who fled up the steps to the top of the tower. Legolas did not have time to see what happened to the others; he simply followed the eastern Elf lord.

“You are a persistant bastard, I will give you that.” Goroth stood a distance away from the entrance to the roof. “Are you another kinsman of the Queen of Gondor? Let me see. Brother? I thought she was of the Noldor, dark haired. You have more of a … Sindarin look about you.”

Legolas casually held his knives. “For one who forbids his people to go to the west, you certainly seem quite educated on our culture.” He was surprised his voice was so steady; he could feel the effects of the blood loss. “I did not come on behalf of the queen, however.”

Goroth tilted his head and studied the young Elf before him. “If not the queen, then who?”

“You made a grave mistake when you went into Minas Tirith, Goroth.” His voice was almost friendly, but his gaze was cold.

The Eastern lord’s eyes took on a harder aspect. “Indeed? And what might that mistake be? I never make mistakes, Elfling.”

“You terrorized the Queen of Rohan, daughter of Prince Imrahil. The lady has Elven blood in her ancestry, you know.”

Goroth laughed. “You mean, you would not avenge a She-Elf, but bring an army to my door because of some bitch who has all the Elvish blood bred out of her?”

Legolas wanted to kill Goroth up close. He wanted to look into the creature’s eyes as the life fled him. He idly wondered why the Elf did not attack him. Could it be Goroth’s reputation was built on the blood of his offspring, not his own prowess?

The prince smiled pleasantly, though the smile did not reach his eyes. “No, Goroth. Not the Queen of Rohan.”

The Lord of the Elves of the East seemed to think for a moment. Then he shook his head. “You surely did not come here on behalf of the wife of the Prince of Ithilian, the bitch who killed the Witch King and her whelp. What are they to you?”

“They are my friends, something you would be quite ignorant of. What you did to that child was unforgivable. He was an innocent babe. Yet you threatened to carve your name into his flesh, roast him on a spit and cut him apart piece by piece simply to force his caretaker to satisfy your lust. You are unfit to be called an Elf, much less style yourself as an Elf-Lord.” Legolas did not try to disguise the revulsion in his tone.

“You are a coward, Goroth. You spread your seed indiscriminately so you will have offspring to fight your battles for you. Have you ever fought one of your own? Do you not care that your children die because of your arrogance? Did you even know your children by mortal women had the choice of living as Elf-kind or as mortal? They could choose, Goroth. They could willingly accept the gift of Men or they could choose the life of the Elves and sail to the Undying Lands. But you never gave them that choice, so they died, not knowing what they were giving up. You have betrayed your own kin. You have terrorized the people of Rhun as well as caused grief for the people of the west. You do not control yourself, yet you try to control every aspect of those around you. You turned from the light and chose the darkness, and lived in it so long, you came to think of yourself as more powerful than the Valar.” He was within striking distance of the dark Elf who watched him with an expression of disbelief that anyone would dare to speak to him in such a manner.

“You certainly have nerve, young whelp. And what gives you such stoutness of heart? Who are you to judge me? You, who have lived in the comfort of the west; what do you know of the east?”

Legolas fought to maintain his steady stance and gripped his knives. He was becoming dizzy, but his voice remained cold and strong.

“I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of the Elves of Northern Eryn Lasgalen; I am the Lord of the Elves of Ithilien; I was one of the Nine Companions of the One Ring; I count King Elessar of Gondor, King Eomer of Rohan, Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, and Gimli, Dwarf Lord of the Glittering Caves as friends and brothers.” He suddenly thrust both knives beneath the ribs of the Elf, who had been so stunned by Legolas’ audacity he had not bothered to defend himself.

Goroth could not believe this … this child had dared to attack him. He was Goroth, Lord of the Elves of the East. He was master of all within his grasp. He opened his mouth to berate this western trash, and found he could not draw breath.

Legolas dropped to his knees along with Goroth, twisting his knives, the warm blood of the one who had brought this upon himself pouring out, covering his hands. He leaned close to Goroth so the dying Elf would be certain to see him and hear his voice.

“And I am the husband of the woman you took from Minas Tirith; the woman you threatened with the innocent child; the woman you abused, dishonored, raped and left to die under the cruel attentions of your nuruil. That was your fatal mistake. Had you not taken her, I would not be here and you would not now be on your way to judgment in the halls of Mandos.”

The last thing Goroth saw before his spirit fled his body was the female he had last seen tied over his saddle, his seed staining her body. She knelt beside the blonde Elf, wrapping her arms around him, and watched Goroth die with cold, black eyes.

Legolas watched the light of life fade from the eyes of his enemy and tried to say a prayer commending his soul to the Valar, but could not bring himself to conjure the words. He felt strong arms encircle him and rested in their embrace. He was so tired. Soft lips touched his forehead and he felt Alexandra’s love envelope him. He idly wondered if this was what death felt like. At least he did not need to worry about a long life without his beloved. He tried to focus on his wife and her voice calling his name was the last thing he heard as he sank into welcoming darkness.

Alex had arrived at the top of the stairs in time to see Legolas close in on Goroth and drive his knives into the foul creature. She’d smelled the sweet Elven blood and a part of her knew some of it was her husband’s. She ran to where the two Elves had fallen to their knees and knelt beside Legolas, holding him as they watched Goroth die. She could feel the weariness in her beloved and kissed his forehead, sending her love and strength through their bond. She had to get him to a healer.

Orophin and Haldir arrived at her side as she eased Legolas down so she could examine him. The wound on his temple was bloody, but not dangerous. Running her hands over his armor, she drew back fingers soaked in blood from the wound under his right arm, over the ribs.

“Get his armor off,” she ordered and the two Elves immediately complied. She also found his leggings saturated with blood from the wound in his thigh. Taking her dagger, she cut open the covering cloth and saw the puncture wound.

“Give me one of those straps,” she ordered and Orophin quickly handed her one of the leather strips that had held Legolas’ quiver. She wrapped it around the wound and tightened it, applying pressure to the wound. Removing Legolas’ tunic, she cut it into strips and, with the other Elves’ help, wrapped his ribcage with the cloth so the wound would have time to clot.

“We must get him to a healer,” Haldir said, lifting his unconscious friend. He ran down the stairs, his brother and Alex following. The Elves in the halls moved quickly out of the way, clearing a path to the makeshift infirmary. Elrohir saw them and his eyes widened when he spotted Legolas in Haldir’s arms.

“Here,” he directed them to another room. “There is no space left anywhere else. Put him on this table.” It appeared to be a dining hall. One of Vanurion’s Elves cleared the space and helped Haldir place the very pale prince carefully on the long table.

His breathing was shallow and his skin was cold. The eastern Elf and Elrohir both looked concerned as they examined him. Elrohir called Calaglin and told him to find Elladan quickly. The blonde Elf nodded and ran swiftly from the room. Turning to Alex, Elrohir spoke quietly, but urgently.

“He needs you, Alexandra. He is very weak and has lost a great deal of blood. Give him your strength. You must keep him from giving in to the call of death.” He did not wish to frighten her, but it was vital that she hold on to her husband.

She knelt on a bench at the end of the table and took Legolas’ hand. She stroked his hair and kissed him, softly murmuring prayers for his recovery. She sang songs to him in a language none of the others understood, but they found them strangely beautiful. She talked to him, reminding him of all the things he had yet to do; the places he still had to take her. She begged him to remain with her and not leave her alone in a land that was not her own; without him, she had no place in this world. She told him of how much he was loved by so many.

One by one, his friends came into the room and stood around the perimeter, watching as Elladan, Elrohir and the eastern Elf worked frantically to stop the bleeding so he would have the chance to recover. Haldir, Orophin, and Saelbeth stood near the foot of the table. Legolas had the look of one preparing to cross into the Halls of Waiting and each sent prayers to the Valar that he be spared the journey.

The insidious voice whispered to Orophin that Alexandra would require comfort should something happen to her husband, but the Lorien Warden slammed the door on its lies. He knew it was not his own voice telling him these things. He loved her; that he could live with. Because he loved her, he did not wish to see her in pain, and he knew the loss of her beloved husband would be unbearable for her. He loved Legolas as a friend and brother and prayed to the Valar that he be spared so that he could share all the days of Alexandra’s life because without Legolas, she had no life.

Vanurion and Rumil entered the room and joined the others at the far end. The eastern Elf was fascinated by the connection the woman and her husband seemed to share. He asked the others about it and they explained how bondmates could share their strength when one was weak or injured.

“It is the gift of the Eldar. Surely, your people have done this,” Saelbeth was surprised at Vanurion’s lack of knowledge of the strength of Elven marriage bonds.

The greenish-gold eyes of the eastern Elf watched Alexandra and Legolas with sadness. “No, my friend. Our kind does not have such grace.” The western Elves felt immense sadness for their eastern kin.

Glorfindel was the last of Legolas’ close circle of friends to arrive at his side. The Elf-Lord was shocked at the pallor of his friend and in his heart, he feared the young prince had already begun his journey to the Halls of Mandos.

The three healers managed to get the wound in Legolas’ leg closed and wrapped it with clean bandages. The Elven prince’s breathing remained shallow, though and they all feared he had lost too much blood. They cleaned the wounds on his side and temple, covering them with bandages.

His condition was too guarded to risk moving him and blankets were brought to cushion his body. Alexandra, with the help of Orophin and Saelbeth, removed her armor and lay next to her husband, using her body to keep him warm. The hard boards of the table were uncomfortable, but she did not feel them. Her only thought was to remain by her husband. Glorfindel touched his young friend and asked the Valar for their grace to heal his weakened body. Elladan, Elrohir and Cunion, the eastern healer, all agreed the Elven prince’s fate was in the hands of the Valar.

Vanurion saw to the clearing of the keep and disposal of the bodies of Goroth and his clan. They found several prisoners beneath the keep that had been held by the Eastern Lord and more stories of the atrocities of Goroth came to light.

Haldir and the other captains took stock of the western Elven army and discovered the losses were not as severe as had first seemed. Only 32 warriors had been killed, and of the 50 or so injuries, less than 10 were severe. Still, they needed time to regroup and Legolas was one of those who could not travel.

Now that he was the nominal leader of the Eastern Elves, Vanurion agreed to deal with the mortal leaders of Rhun and try to bring a halt to the hostilities against the west. He sent a party to them to present the argument in favor of peace: stop the war now, or face the wrath of the Elves of both the west and the east.

Glorfindel slipped into the room where Alexandra held her husband and prayed. The Elf-Lord could see Legolas’ breathing growing fainter with each breath. She looked up and her eyes were so full of pain and despair, he felt as if his heart would break.

“Please. Can you help him?” Her voice was raw and he knew she was holding herself together by the thinnest of threads.

“I have tried, my lady. But I must tell you: I fear his spirit has already gone. I do not know if there is anything left we can do.”

She shook her head. “No. I can still feel him. He’s not gone yet. He can’t leave me here alone. I have no life without him.” Glorfindel knew her words were true. If Legolas died, she would kill herself; her dagger was still at her side and he knew she kept it there for just that purpose. Saelbeth, Haldir, Orophin and Elrohir had all mentioned their fears for the lady’s life if Legolas were to pass into Mandos’ Halls.

“What is it like, Glorfindel?”

He looked at her with some confusion. “What is … what like?”

“When an Elf … goes to the Halls of Waiting.” She could not bring herself to say the word “dies”.

He cast his mind back to his own death. Getting past the pain was difficult. That was what led to the spirit leaving. What she wanted to know was what came after the physical pain had ended.

“It is a release from pain. Suddenly, you feel free and you are no longer a prisoner in the body. You see the light from Mandos’ Halls and it draws you toward it. The cares of the world drop away and you feel a peace unlike any you have ever known before.” He could see her tears falling silently and his heart felt as though it were breaking. “I was alone when I died, with no bondmate to hold me or to share her strength with me. I do not know if I would have felt the call so strongly if there had been an anchor in this world for me. Do not yet give up hope, my lady. Legolas loves you more than his life and I believe it was the will of the Valar that brought you together. I do not believe they will take him from you so soon.”

He stood next to his friend and touched Legolas’ cold forehead, taking the limp fingers in his hand. He once again asked the Valar to spare the life of the prince and heal his wounds. He also asked that they give Legolas’ wife the strength to endure their will, whatever it may be. Alexandra was again murmuring words in the strange tongue of her people and, even though he could not understand her language, he knew she prayed as well. He wondered if the Valar had visited her people. He had seen the private place of meditation in the garden of Alexandra and Legolas’ home in Ithilien and had to admit, he found peace in the place. Some of the images were strange to him, but Legolas had told him they were meaningful to Alexandra’s people, and she took great comfort in them.

He sat on one of the benches beside the table and held Legolas’ hand while Alexandra sat on the opposite side. Saelbeth and Rumil slipped into the room some time later and took up places next to Glorfindel. When Orophin and Haldir joined them, Orophin sat next to Alexandra as Haldir stood on her other side. As if drawn to Legolas’ bedside, Elladan and Elrohir found their friends gathered around his makeshift bed. No one spoke, but many prayers were sent to the Valar for his recovery.

Vanurion, Cunion and the other eastern Elves watched how their western kin seemed so comfortable speaking with the Valar and noticed, even in their intense sadness, their serenity. Vanurion remembered the words of Prince Legolas’ bondmate: Eru would welcome his lost children home. He decided it was time his people began to speak with the Valar again.

Alex watched Legolas breathe and several hours after his friends had gathered at his side, she noticed it was not as shallow or labored as before. She could still feel him in her heart and held onto the thread of their bond, silently begging him to take her strength. She said a prayer of thanks and leaned over him, kissing him softly.

Elrohir checked the wounds and found the one on his temple had almost completely healed. He exchanged a smile with Elladan. With Haldir and Glorfindel supporting him, Alex managed to get some water, juice and broth down him so he would not suffer dehydration or starvation. By the next morning, two days after his injury, his color had improved and the wound to his side was well on its way to disappearing. He remained unconscious, but his breathing was deep and regular and his skin no longer cold.

Elrohir explained to Alex that Elves sometimes went into deep meditative states when severely injured, in order to heal and renew their strength. His friends had opened all the windows they could in the room so sunlight and fresh air could enter, helping his spirit to heal his body.

On the third day, he began to murmur, as though speaking to someone. They could not understand what he said, but he did not seem distressed. One word was clear, however.

“Alex,” he called and she would lean close, holding his hand, touching her cheek to his.

“I’m here, my love. I will always be here.”

On the evening of the third day, his eyes fluttered open and the first thing he saw was his wife. He smiled weakly.

“Did they bring you to Mandos’ Halls too?” he asked.

She laughed. “No, my love. We are still in Middle Earth.”

He considered her words, then, as the memory of the battle returned, his demeanor became solemn.

“Goroth is dead. He did not even try to defend himself.” Legolas somehow found his vengeance on the eastern lord was not as satisfying as it should have been.

“Perhaps because he knew, in his heart, there was no defense for his crimes,” Glorfindel spoke from the doorway. “Welcome back, my friend. We were all quite concerned about you. The Valar must have further work for you to do since they did not take you to the Halls of Waiting.”

Legolas smiled at the Elf Lord. “I believe I was on my way there.” He saw Haldir and his brothers come in with Vanurion and the twins. Saelbeth, having heard Legolas’ voice, slipped in and stood near the door with the eastern healer.

“And the Valar barred the gates?” Haldir did not give in to sentimentality. His relief was too raw and he was not going to allow himself to succumb to the tears of joy for his friend’s recovery that were threatening to spill at any moment.

It hurt to laugh, but Legolas managed a faint chuckle. “Yes, I think that is exactly what happened.” He looked at his wife and saw the relief and love in her eyes. “I saw a light, so beautiful and promising such peace; and I was drawn to it. But a part of me kept looking back, and I could not let go of my life. I stood on a shore, and the sea stretched before me. I could hear the waves rolling in and see the light across the way. But whenever I started to walk into the water toward it, my heart would not let me go. It kept drawing me back to the shore where Alexandra waited.”

The others listened with fascination, even Glorfindel. What Legolas described was generally similar to his experience, but he had never felt his life calling him back; perhaps because his death had been so violent and final; perhaps, as he had told Alexandra, because he had no bondmate to anchor him in life.

His wife bowed her head so he would not see the tears welling in her eyes. She kissed his hand and held it to her heart. He continued, “I would look back, and see you standing there, my love. You were so beautiful and so sad. And a voice whispered so gently to me that it was not yet time for me to cross the sea; that I had promised I would not make that journey if it meant leaving you. Even though the call of that light seemed irresistible, I found I could not leave you. So I turned away because the call to return to the shore was much stronger in my heart, than the call of Mandos.” He accepted a sip of water from Rumil, then lay back. “Who was with you?’

Alex looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“On the shore with you. There was someone else there. I did not know him, but I felt like I should. He stood a little behind you and I could not see him clearly. At first, I thought he meant you harm, but then, I felt he was there to protect you and was giving you the strength to call me back from the sea.”

She met Glorfindel’s eyes over her husband’s figure. The Elf Lord raised a brow and shook his head. He was at a loss. Then, he saw the light of realization in her eyes and a small smile appeared. She looked down and kissed the hand she held. Leaning over, she whispered something to her husband the others, even with their Elven hearing, could not understand. Legolas smiled and then she kissed him gently.