In the Ruins//Legolas

Chapter 32; Those Who Refused To Die

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Durion stand in awe and watch the undead army retreat from the city. They stop in front of Aragorn and the battlefield quiets.

"Release us!" The king demands.

"Bad idea! Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead." The dwarf grumbled.

"They deserve their rest, Gimli." Durion placed his hand on Gimli's shoulder and whispered to him.

"You gave us your word!"

"I hold your oath fulfilled." Aragorn nods. "Go. Be at peace." The king's rotted face distorted it a bit, but he smiled. The army fades with the wind and reveals Mithrandir and Pippin. The Istar smiled at them and bowed his head. They smile back.

"Merry!" Pippin suddenly yells and goes running. They all follow after the hobbit and gasp when they see Merry, dressed in Rohan warrior's armor, lying on the ground and holding his arm in pain. The sight seems to wake everyone up as they look around and see the dozens of injured.

"Find all the injured and take them to the city! Quickly!" Durion shouts at the still standing warriors and himself crouches down and picks Merry up into his arms.

***

The Houses of Healing fill up fast. When Durion drops Merry off, he returns to the battlefield and takes another. And another. And another. The others help too and by the time the sun begins setting, they are sweaty and tired. They all take a quick bath and put themselves together before the night falls.

"I'll go check on the injured before I rest."

"Don't overwork yourself." Legolas frowns at him with worry.

"Don't worry, the effects of that lie fresh in my mind still." Durian laughed and reached for his weapons. "Hold these for me?" Legolas nods and grips the sword and the bow with the quiver in his hands. Durion walks quietly between the beds, assessing every person lying in them. Most of the warriors look on a good path to health, but he does stop by a few and draws Berkana above them. He walks by Aragorn and Eomer who sit by Lady Eowyn's bedside. She, too, fought among them in disguise, and slain the Witch-King of Angmar. One of the Nine. Durion drew Berkana for her too, feeling the darkness that lingered on her arm. He reunited with Boromir, who sat by his brother as they quietly talked. When Boromir saw the elf approaching, he shot to his feet and hugged Durion. The elf embraced him back. They talked for a bit, Boromir and Faramir speaking about what happened to their father. Deep rooted madness bubbled to the surface when the rumor of Boromir's death reached Denethor's ears. Drove him to the point where, when Faramir arrived at Minas Tirith gravely injured, he opted to attempt to burn Faramir and himself on a pyre. This horrified Durion and he shared his sadness. By the time he was leaving the Houses of Healing, he wondered if Legolas was still waiting outside.

"That sword does not belong to you, boy." Durion heard a gruff, deep voice come from outside. He felt Legolas' nervousness rise. He sped up. Legolas, feeling his bonded returning, felt confident enough to answer with a bit of bite in his tone.

"No, it doesn't." He said and then extended the weapons to the door to the Houses of Healing. A moment after the door swung open and out stormed Durion, standing steadily by his bonded's side. He took the weapons back and took a good look at the man standing near them. He looked neither young or old, Durion wouldn't be able to tell his age if he tried to. His hair was light brown in color, short and shaved close to the scalp on the sides of the head. He was taller than Durion or Legolas, slim in stature but that did not hide the strength which he presented himself with. There were also many scars running down his neck, disappearing behind the neckline of his dirty cotton shirt. His ears were also scarred and mangled on the very top and- oh.