Building Ithilien [Legolas] LOTR

Live Bravely

Aragorn's army moved across the plains of Gondor and followed the Anduin for three more days after the eventful night of Legolas' capture, when the king and elves had devised their plan to bring down the dragon.

The days were hot, the nights cold, and each morning damp as the soldiers rose from sleeping in their camps along the great river. The men of Gondor were quickly becoming accustomed to seeing the elves well awake as the soldiers were just rising, and some wondered if the elves ever slept at all. Take that elf captain Eledhel, for instance; he was ever-watching, ever-vigilant, and he seemed to the men particularly protective of the she-elf and Prince Legolas. The prince, they had learned, had been dealt some nasty wounds from orcs, and the men whispered amongst themselves that it was a wonder he had survived at all. Some said elves were more resilient, could heal faster, but it was clear that Legolas, whom many of the men admired as a warrior and their king's closest friend, struggled. Doubt clouding their eyes, the men watched him now, shaking their heads at the stiffness of his movements, and marveled at his determination to continue on.

Dawn sped quickly across the horizon now, streaking the sky bright with color and the grass wet with dew, and watching it, Legolas knew the day, this day, had been hurtling toward him ever since leaving Lothlorien, like an arrow with deadly aim. And now, watching the sun rise, the reality of what must happen pierced his heart with fatal accuracy. The dragon, the orcs. All those people waiting at the fort in Calenfen. As with any battle, Legolas knew the price. Blood from both sides would spill before that same sun set over the horizon. He only hoped that the plan which he, Eledhel, and Aragorn concocted would be enough to take down the dragon. It must be enough.

He gingerly loaded his weaponry and checked among the many green and gold ones in his quiver for the single mithril arrow, their one shot at salvation. He strung his bow and rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension bunching his muscles tight.

"My prince, it is time," Miredhel said, her long legs taking up the ground as she strode toward him. She had pulled her hair back from her face with some loose strip of fabric. She too carried her bow and quiver and a grim expression on her face.

She was frightened. He could tell.

"Miredhel," Legolas began softly, cupping her face in his hands.

"Legolas, there isn't any time for this, for us," she protested, but did not shy away.

"It seems odd to me to worry about time now, when I never concerned myself with it before," Legolas said wistfully and settling his weapons on the ground, swiftly pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips against her own. Fear and desire curled together in his belly; that he might lose her when he wanted her so much, and he recklessly deepened their kiss, bracing her slim body against his, not caring who walked by or saw them there.

His emotions felt like they were tumbling out of control inside of him. He wanted her so incredibly badly, and he did not care who knew it. Legolas had taken her to his bed in Minas Tirith, thinking he knew much about love and the elven heart only to realize later that he knew nothing of either. That night he had offered her everything, all that he was, and in the process, lost his heart to her. And apparently, so had she. Their joining that night had surpassed the physical; the result, a deep emotional bond not easily broken. He had so many things he wanted to say to Miredhel, needed to say to her, for her to hear before they went to battle. And she was right... he was running out of time. He roughly pulled away from her and then falteringly ran a nervous hand through his hair. Legolas' eyes blazed with a sense of urgency as he touched his forehead to hers and whispered her name again.

"Don't make this about good-bye," she warned him, desperately trying to hide her fear.

His lips curled up in a sad sort of smile, and he lifted her chin with his thumb, then kissed her cheeks. "It was brave what you did, Miredhel—volunteering to fight, to lead out the dragon from battle—and I won't cheapen your commitment by asking you to reconsider..." His voice trailed off as he looked at her squarely. "Please, just be careful." His eyes were deep, so blue, and earnest, and his battered appearance from his night at the orcs' camp could not lessen their radiance or beauty for her.