The old ways

Before Gimli heard anything he felt a violent tremor go through Legolas body and only a split second afterwards he heard the worst sound his ears ever had witnessed. It was not a loud sound, it was not a cry, neither a sob nor a whimper. It was a faint sound from the bottom of a broken soul. It was so small but it broke the hearts of all the surrounding persons that had heard it. Legolas was deathly pale as he rose and left the circle of his friends without another word.
Aragorn’s look was one of confusion as he watched his life long friend leave. He watched as Gimli immediately followed the vanishing silhouette of the elf. Eomer looked shocked and taken aback, for he had never heard anything like it but understood that someone was in very great pain, so he stayed where he was and tried not to interfere.
Gandalf laid a comforting hand on Aragorn’s shoulder and turned to him.
“I am sorry, my friend. You did not know. Legolas and Haldir were more than just good friends. They have been bound to each other for nearly two millennia by now.”
Aragorn’s eyes were brimmed with tears “What? He never spoke of it to me. And I have known both all my life.”
“Yes, I know. They had been apart for a long time. They had separated in anger over a thousand years ago, but while you stayed in Lothlorien they have made up again and discovered that they were still very much in love with each other. It must have been hard on them, but they choose not to tell you because they didn’t want to trouble you any further. Only Gimli found out and he has been Legolas emotional right hand, so to say, ever since.”
“Oh my.....! What will happen to him now. Gandalf, if it is true that elves can die of a broken heart, Gandalf that sound that he just made, it sounded like...., like ...”
“Yes, I know. Like his heart and soul had ceased to exist. But maybe if we are lucky, there might be a chance that there is something in his life that will keep him alive.”

Gimli ran after Legolas as fast as his short legs would carry him, but it took him a long time until he found the elf huddled against the trunk of an old tree. He looked lifeless, the breathing barely noticeable, the skin had a waxy colour and his eyes were closed. Only the continuos flow of tears showed that he obviously was still alive.
Very carefully the dwarf moved up to the elf. He softly laid a hand on the slim shoulder and felt the trembling of the body. “Legolas. Legolas, can you hear me? Please my friend, answer me. Are you there?” The dwarf stroke the shoulder tenderly and shook him slightly. Still he got no response from the elf. Gimli feared for Legolas life and shook him a bit stronger. “Legolas! Listen to me. Open your eyes. Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this at all. I mean you have a lot to look after now. We need you, the child needs you! Listen, your child. You are not going to give up now are you?”
Legolas felt nothing, heard nothing and saw nothing. Only the pain that was in his heart. A pain that outdid everything he had encountered before. It paralysed him, made it impossible to breath and move, all he wanted was to find peace and rest. A rest that would last forever. A peace that would bring him back to Haldir. But through it all came a constant heartbeat keeping him from giving it all up, a very little faint flutter and presence that demanded his care and his love. If it hadn’t been for the unborn child the Prince of Mirkwood would have not lasted through this night.
Slowly his consciousness resurfaced and with it all the anguish and sadness. Hadn’t there been the constant warmth of another person holding his shoulders speaking words of comfort and friendship, he would have cried out his agony into the darkness of the night.

Eowyn listened intently until no more cries of war were heard. It was getting dark outside and the upcoming task was not an easy one. She and a few other women had remained in the keep together with a few of the older fighters, who were now going to help them with most possibly gruesome part of a battle. After all enemies were gone, they had to go out and sort out the wounded from the dead. Very often severely wounded fighters were left for dead by the enemy and it was their task to find them quickly and see if they could be saved. The dead were to be piled up and burned in order to avoid a plague or diseases caused by rotting flesh. War was always a terrible burden on the remaining people and families.
The shieldmaiden of Edoras turned and gestured to a small group of men and women to follow her outside. Some time before she had given each one specific orders, on what they had to look for, what to ignore and when to call for her help.
With the help of torches and a few remaining oil lamps they went into the yard of the keep. What they saw here was worse then what they had expected, even Eowyn, who took pride in being as tough as most of the male fighters, felt her throat tighten as she overlooked the scene. Pushing up her sleeve and fighting down the urge to run away from all of this she went to work.
Hours later they had already found several survivors, mehildhildren, young men and some women. Where they stumbled across alive orc or Uruk-Hais they slit their throats and immediately set fire to their bodies. Dawn was already creeping up over the surrounding hills and mountain, when in the faint morning light and the ghastly flickering of the burning corpses, Eowyn sorted her way through the remains of men, elves and foe on one of the parapets. Tiredness and sore muscles had used up her last energy, but she was determined to go on. She felt a sting at her heart as she got hold of a piece of bright red cloth while shifting dead bodies aside. She remembered the colour well. It had been the armour of the elf from Lothlorien, who had lead the elven army here. Had he fallen, too? She hoped not. Maybe this was just a piece of the cloth that had been ripped off during the fight. She tugged at it a little bit stronger, but obviously it was hanging on to something. She shifted another dead orc, and noticed to her horror, that she was holding onto the lower hem of the cloak of that elven warrior. Eowyn franticly continued throwing corpses aside until he was lying before her. Eyes open and unseeing, his body still and cold. She bowed her head in sadness and moved her hand to close his eyes.
Weakness overcame her and she slumped down on her knees and buried her face in her hands. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes and she let them flow. After some minutes she gathered herself again and was about to get up from the ground, when she suddenly noticed a slight ripple in the pool of blood before her. Quickly she raised her head and checked for wind. No, not the slightest breeze. Nothing. She looked down again and then she saw it. The body must still be bleeding. The pool was slowly but steadily growing bigger. Hectically Eowyn placed a hand beneath the chin of the elven warrior and tried to find a pulse. It took her some time to find it, for her hands were shaking and it was very faint, but there it was. The sign of life.