Nepenthe [Legolas]

30

They took the black ships on the river Anduin to Pelargir, the great port of Gondor.

The spectral wraiths remained with them, but shimmering green hues against the background of the ship. It was strange, to know that there were thousands of warriors that did not carry weight or hold presence but were undeniably here.

Viridis pondered the complexities of their journey as the black ship sped forward with a remarkable ease, moving fast as the wind caught its sails and guided them to the port.

He stood atop the thick wooden railing and leaned against one of the supports, hands lazily flipping one of the Mori Twins in his palm, blade then hilt, blade then hilt. He watched as Gondor approached, could see as the great fortress, Minas Tirith, came into view, a scraping white edifice that filled the space where the surrounding mountains could not.

He could see the Morgul-host, a brutish legion from Minas Morgul consisting of Orcs and Trolls of Far Harad, Uruks of Mordor, and fell-beasts and their riders. Nazgûls reigned terror from the skies, fighting against the army of the Rohirrim and all of the other men Theoden had been able to muster. They engaged in a relentless fight on the fields of Pelannor, the battle creating a cacophony of noise heard from the river.

Their arrival would turn the tide, just as Gandalf's and Eomer's had at Helm's Deep. His skin crawled in anticipation, he hummed distantly under his breath in order to channel some of that anticipation but ultimately found the act redundant.

"We approach any minute now," Legolas reported to Viridis, standing at the ship's edge as he followed the Elf's gaze outward.

"Good," Viridis said, flipping his blade once more so its hilt landed in his palm. He grasped it tightly. "I want to be the first to see the look on Uruks' faces when we dock. They expect comrades to arrive, not enemies."

Legolas lingered a moment, simply observing the amber-haired Elf. He had that glint in his eyes. The same one he'd seen so many times before battle. He had always attributed it to moments of anticipation, like he had perfected his plan of attack and was now itching to complete it. Looking at him now, he knew that it belonged to something entirely different.

Viridis was mapping out the enemy, noting their weaknesses, deciding when to use his bow, when to use his blades. He was counting numbers, studying every little hole and hill of the terrain, putting himself up against Orcs and Trolls alike before they had even the chance to see him.

The words were out of Legolas' mouth before his mind registered it. "You're brilliant." It was simple and abrupt and caught the Elf's attention.

Viridis cast his gaze downward, a smile cracking past the visage he'd had etched into his features during the journey. And what Legolas wouldn't have done to be able to capture that grin— to replay it again and again.

It was different than the one he offered during the late nights when neither of them could sleep, different than the ones he offered in the midsts of battle. Legolas would never be able to label them all. But he didn't need to. He was just content to take them as they came, to relish the fact that he was the one on the receiving end.

"Let's hunt some Orc." Viridis said, eyes sharp as the ship stalled to a stop, the water beneath the hill sloshing against the wood as it changed its speed.

An Orc fought its way to the front of the small army that was waiting for them, a scowl on its face. "Late as usual, Pirate scum! There's knife-work here needs doing. Come on you sea rats! Get off your ships!"

Viridis had been still up until that point, wondering just how much rage would be required to make one blind of his presence. He shifted, producing the other Mori Twin, and held them both fast in his hands as he idly stepped off the banister and onto the shore of Pelargir, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn following suit.