The hall was quiet. Which was odd, reflected the elf, considering the fact that it was half-full of men snatching a break from clearing the battleground. Legolas and Gimli sat at one end of a long table, the detritus of a hastily eaten meal in front of them. Legolas sat stiffly upright despite his fatigue and watched as Gimli sucked on his pipe. All around them the survivors of the battle of the Hornburg ate, drank or simply slumped over their plates. A sense of gloom hung over the gathering, despite their magnificent victory. So soon, after such a battle there was no will to celebrate. Too many lay dead within the Hornburg. Hearts were heavy and it would be some time before the mourning could be replaced by songs of remembrance for this great battle.
Legolas saw Gimli's eyes flicker towards the main door and he knew without turning round that Aragorn had entered the hall. The elf felt the man stop behind him, and wondered why he did not take a seat himself.
With a nod at Gimli, Aragorn grasped Legolas by the elbow and guided him to a quiet, sheltered corner.
Legolas removed himself gently from Aragorn's grasp taking his first good look at the man, noting the streaks of blood on his face and hands. He asked with concern, "Has something happened? You are hurt?"
Aragorn sighed. "It is not my blood." He paused before speaking further. "Legolas, so many of your folk are..."
Legolas nodded. He wrapped his arms across his chest and dropped his eyes. Never in his life had he expected to be confronted with the violent deaths of so many of his people. "There is something else."
"No. Nothing."
"You sought me out to tell me nothing?"
"Legolas, I wanted to speak with you." To see with my own eyes that you are all right, he thought. Aragorn took a step towards him, but stopped when Legolas stiffened. "There is much to do. We will talk later."
The stench of death was everywhere. Legolas needed some fresh air, but outside was no better than in. Work parties had already begun on the burial site. It had been a tough decision for King Theoden – those who had fallen in battle would be buried in mass graves.
Legolas and the remaining elves had railed against this, but at Aragorn's urging had given Theoden's proposal serious consideration. Finally they had agreed that the elves would be buried side by side with the men to commemorate the reforging of their old alliance. Legolas, as a prince and the highest ranking elf, had delivered their verdict to the King. His voice as he informed Theoden of the elves' decision had been cold and hard. Theoden, unused to the ways of the first-born had seemed shocked at his apparent lack of emotion which did not endear him to the elven prince. Legolas had heard Aragorn's whispered explanation of their shock at losing so many of their bretheren in one go. Theoden's efforts to understand his folk made the elf stifle the urge to go back into the King's chambers and insist that the elves have a separate burial ground.
No plan had been made regarding a funeral, but Legolas knew that the King, and Aragorn, would wish to have some kind of joint ceremony. He was unsure how he felt about that – unsure if the truth be told how he felt about anything. Legolas had never played up the fact that he was a prince but he felt that, as the senior elf at the Hornburg, he should have been consulted more about the battle plan. On the other hand, he trusted Aragorn implicitly – if Aragorn had placed his faith in the leader of the Rohirrim, then that should be enough for Legolas. His confusion gnawed at him and added to the guilt he was already suffering about his feelings for Aragorn.
It was in this attitude that he stood awhile at the great gate and watched the preparations taking place at the burial ground.
Only one of the fallen would be buried alone; Haldir, Marchwarden of Lorien. Hama, Captain of the Guard and two of his three sons would be buried together. The two graves would flank the beginning of the stone bridge that lead up to the entrance of the fortress. Haldir's grave was already dug with a small pile of freshly dug earth piled to one side, someone was still working on Hama's grave. Legolas winced at the thought that his friend would be no longer feel the sun on his skin, feel the air in his hair, revel in the simple joy of being alive as he had done in Lórien. The elf watched as a young boy first threw out his spade, then pulled himself wearily out of the grave he had dug. He remembered the fair haired youth as one that he had seen Aragorn talking to before the battle – Hama's son. The boy dragged his spade behind him as he walked along the line of burial pits being dug, each containing several diggers. He exchanged words with the sole occupant of the last, as yet small, hole in the ground, then he jumped in and start digging.
Legolas' spirit sank as he walked past yawning holes. Very few elves had survived and he realised with a guilty start that some of his kinfolk were among the diggers. The part of him that was still smarting at Theoden's high-handed treatment of the elves wondered if they had been ordered to do so. Legolas shook the thought from his head, he knew that Theoden's orders held no more sway with his brethren than they did with him. Every one of the elves who was digging that day did so out of a sense of comradeship with the men of Rohan.
At last his feet brought him to the last of the pits, furthest from the fortress walls. The boy he had watched from the gate and a man, with kerchiefs tied around their faces, sweated as they dug, despite the chill of the morning air. Legolas sprang lightly into the grave and took up a spare pick. The man carried on with his work, but the boy stood and stared.
"You came with the dwarf and the wizard."
"I did."
"This is not work for such as you."
"Nor for such as you. Yet as you dig, so will I."
The three worked in silence. After some hours had passed the boy was flagging, although he resisted Legolas' efforts to make him stop and rest. "My father and my two brothers died in the battle," his young voice cracked. "If I stop I will..." the boy's voice trailed off. He surreptitiously wiped away the tears that spilled over long lashes.
Legolas nodded, he understood. If you stop you think you will fail them once more. The elf and the boy resumed their work. Legolas sang a dirge as he hacked away at the rocky ground. The physical labour was helping to keep his body busy, but his mind was free to wander at will. He envied the youth's simple solution, if the boy worked he did not think. If the boy stopped he would drown in a flood of misery. Legolas sang to occupy his mind; it helped only a little.
Gradually his song for the dead was taken up by the other elves, low and melodious but haunting and sad at the same time. The sun moved higher and many of the men took off their tunics and undershirts, revealing a rainbow of bruised and battered bodies. The boy stripped to the waist, showing his livid badges of battle. Alone in their hole, Legolas, in common with the other elves, remained fully clothed.
At midday women came from the castle carrying pails of stew and coarse army bread. The workers gratefully laid aside their tools, sat between the graves and ate in silence. Legolas looked with his customary detached interest at his companions. The man was old and gnarled, Legolas recognised him as one of the archers. He had a bandage around his head through which fresh blood seeped and he did not speak as he shovelled food into his mouth.
The boy hunched over his bowl eating quickly, without relish. His eyes darted repeatedly over to Legolas and once or twice looked as though he was going to speak. He was thin and on his pale skin his bruising stood out sharply.
Legolas felt his discomfort and attempted to put the boy at ease. "What is your name?"
"Háleth son of Hama."
"I am Legolas of Mirkwood. You fought well, Háleth son of Hama."
"You saw me?" The boy looked dubious.
"You were with two other boys, older than you." He saw tears began to form in the boy's dark eyes. "Your brothers fought bravely, it is right that you mourn them."
"Girls and women cry, not men." Háleth scrubbed angrily at his face.
"On the contrary," a voice came from behind Legolas. "A man who cannot cry, can not appreciate what he fights for." Aragorn moved round and squatted next to Háleth, and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Is that not so, Legolas?"
"It is the truth. I have known the bravest and staunchest of men let their tears fall. They do not hide their emotion." Legolas felt Aragorn's eyes boring into him. He put down his bowl, jumped lightly into the grave and began to dig again.
Aragorn watched him for a few minutes, then patted the boy absently on the shoulder before leaving the small group.
Háleth took up his spade resumed digging next to Legolas. After a few minutes he jerked his thumb in the direction Aragorn had taken. "He spoke to me before the battle. Told me my sword was good. But it was not good enough to save my brothers. I was not good enough to save my brothers." He gulped and attacked the ground with renewed vigour. "How can I live with that?"
"If you consider the alternative," Legolas saw the boy's eyes register what he had said. "You have your mother to think about. You have to live with it, to help her. Otherwise we may as well have lost the battle."
By nightfall the graves were finished and the working party returned to within the walls of Helm's Deep. They moved slowly in small, tired groups. Nobody spoke as they handed in their tools at the gate, and separated to their various quarters.
Grateful for the peace and quiet of his room and relieved that Aragorn was not there, Legolas removed his tunic and quickly cleaned himself up at the washstand. A small fire had been lit, and he crouched, barechested, in front of it, holding out his hands to warm them, although he was not particularly cold. He stared into the fire and tried to calm his thoughts before the night vigil he would keep.
Legolas had just finished re-braiding his hair when Aragorn came into the room. Aragorn changed his clothes, buckled his sword over his tunic and combed his fingers through his tangled mane. He did not look at Legolas, merely completed his ablutions until he was evidently satisfied that he looked as tidy as possible. "Come, Legolas, the fire is already lit. We will be the last."
"We?"
"You surely did not think that I would not keep watch with you this night?" Aragorn tugged impatiently at his tunic to straighten it.
Legolas gave no reply, simply made his way to the hall where the remaining elves had gathered. Their faces were pale and wan in the torchlight, devoid of expression. Aragorn's entrance, immediately after Legolas' made no impact on them except to serve as a signal to file through the main door and down to the graves. It was a depressing sight. Each of the graves now had neat rows of men and elves laid together in death as they had fought in their last hours of this life. The ethereal beauty of the elves threw the contorted faces of the men into sharp relief. The company of elves arranged themselves silently by the fire and kept their vigil for the dead.
As the last hour before the dawn began the elves sang their farewell lament ending as the sun rose over the horizon. They turned as one to face the weak, first rays, threw back their hoods and clenched a fist over their hearts; the vigil was over. One by one they filed past the graves, taking a last look at their dead folk.
The two smaller graves were closest to the great gate, one on either side of the stone walkway as though to stand guard over those who still lived. Legolas stood looking down at the erstwhile Captain of the Guard, who was flanked by the smaller bodies of his fallen sons. They were all shrouded in their cloaks, obviously their injuries had been so severe that their bodies must be covered. Echoing the manner in which Boromir had been sent on his last journey, so too Hama's shield was at his head but he had only a long elvish knife instead of his sword.
Legolas moved to stand by Haldir's grave. In death he looked at rest, peaceful as Legolas had never seen him in life. He lay with an arm across his body, his hand on his bow – it looked as though he slept, ready to leap up and face any enemy unwary enough to disturb him. Legolas gripped his own bow and struggled against tears, aware, now more than ever of his own mortality. Aware that all of them had, at best, a tenuous hold on life.
None more so than the man who now stood next to him. Legolas sensed Aragorn's struggle not to reach out and attempt to comfort him.
Aragorn started to walk away, then stopped and looked back. "I will break my fast with the others. Will you join us?"
"Soon."
Legolas heard Aragorn's footsteps recede across the bridge, and sighed inwardly as he heard the sound of a lighter tread coming towards him. It seemed that he would not have a moment alone to bid farewell to the Marchwarden of Lorien.
"I brought these for your friend," Háleth held out three arrows and gestured vaguely to where Haldir lay. Anger rose unbidden in Legolas' throat. He died for them and they do not even know his name! He immdeiately stifled the thought as unworthy, the boy beside him had seen enough grief to last him several lifetimes. "It doesn't seem right that he will go to... wherever it is you go..." His voice faltered.
"The Halls of Mandos." Legolas took the proffered gift. "Thank you." The boy's simple gesture pushed a solitary tear over his lashes. They watched it splash on one of the yellow feathers in his hand.
"He looks as though he is sleeping."
"Yes." Legolas knelt at the graveside and leaned in to lay the arrows at Haldir's side. His hand hovered over his friend's still heart and he was filled with regret for the future that Haldir no longer had. There was a short pause before he added, "You have seen your brothers?" he gestured at the grave behind him.
"Not..." His voice gave out before he completed the sentence, but his meaning was clear.
"I will stay with you."
His only reply was a nod before the boy turned and walked slowly to the other grave. Legolas recalled the two boys he had seen fighting alongside Háleth, he guessed they had been around 17 years old. Too young to have seen what they had during the battle. Too young to die. He wondered how long it would be before the youth realised that they had given their lives so that he might live on.
Háleth held himself together for a few minutes but inevitably he gave in to his emotion and wept openly, huge heart-wrenching sobs that Legolas could hardly bear.
"Come, where is your mother, I will take you back." He guided the boy away, over the bridge and into the fortress, holding gently on to his elbow.
The contact was a revelation. Legolas finally understood Aragorn's need to touch, to offer comfort.
They did not need to look far. Háleth's mother hovered at the entrance to the great hall. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were wet. She gathered her remaining son to her, and her eyes met those of the elf over her son's blond head. "Thank you for your care of my son, my Lord. I will take him now, he should carry his father's sword, and for that we should make him look his best." She turned and led her son away.
Legolas returned to the room he shared with Aragorn. Unusually Gimli was there too. They both looked up as he entered and Gimli spoke. "We will breakfast here. Together."
Wordlessly Legolas put his bow in the corner and took his seat. He did not feel hungry, but he appreciated their gesture – fleetingly he wondered which of his companions had thought of it – and took some bread and fruit.
Gimli poured mead into a cup and pressed it into his hand. "It is our custom to send our dead on their way with a feast." He raised his cup to Legolas and took a drink. "No doubt your people do things differently."
"We do not often have the need, but when one of our number dies, we sing to ease their journey." Legolas echoed the dwarf's gesture and sipped his drink.
"Of course. Singing. I should have known."
Gimli's gruff comment was taken in the spirit intended, and Legolas did his best to smile. "If your bretheren all sing like you, Master Dwarf, I am sure that their journey would be even quicker – to escape the noise."
They ate in silence. Gimli's appetite did not seem to have been affected by the battle, if anything it had increased. "Saving your pardon, Legolas, but this is much better than elven bread."
"Lembas is not intended to fill and satisfy, merely to stave off hunger." Legolas had hardly tasted the food on his platter and drank little mead.
Aragorn also seemed to have no appetite, chewing apparently only to keep Gimli company. Legolas took small bites, thinking that if he ate he would not have to talk.
Gimli ate with purpose, finishing nearly all of the food he and Aragorn had brought. Eventually he was sated and pushed away his plate. He rose from the table, and looked out of the window. "There is much work for them," he gestured the work party filling the graves below. "I will visit the caves, perhaps you would accompany me, Legolas?"
"I hardly think that is appropriate," Aragorn mumbled, uncharacteristically harsh towards the dwarf. Gimli did not hear or pretended not to notice, but Legolas was angered on his friend's behalf.
"It is a good place for a dwarf to contemplate the battle just gone, the battles to come and to mourn the dead," he reproached, "but another time, Gimli" Legolas yawned. "I could not face their confines, beautiful as they are, at this time."
"Rest, then, Master Elf." Gimli closed the door softly behind him.
Legolas sat and stared at his plate which contained a half-eaten piece of bread and an apple core. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but for some strange reason he could not identify, he was reluctant to do this while Aragorn was still in the room. The picture of Haldir lying in his grave flashed into his head and his vision blurred as tears began to form again. Feeling a movement behind him Legloas rubbed angrily at his face, and pushed away from the table. "I need some air."
"You need some sleep."
"Yes, but so do you. I will help outside."
"No. You will stay here and sleep. And if it is really so difficult for you to be in the room with me, I will go elsewhere. You did not sleep last night, and all yesterday you worked like one possessed."
"And you did not?"
"When did I say I was not tired?" Indeed Legolas had never seen the man look so weary. The conflict within him grew. He was still angered that Aragorn and Theoden thought so little of the elves that they had only consulted them about the funeral arrangements as an afterthought. But Legolas knew Aragorn well, and did not believe that it had been a deliberate oversight, just the acceptance of the alliance that had been rebuilt. A glimpse of the chain around Aragorn's neck rekindled his guilt that he loved one who belonged to another. This combination of emotions left him feeling raw and sensitive; he wished for nothing other than to be alone. Legolas met Aragorn's steady gaze and it felt like an attack on the very core of his being.
Legolas had been slowly losing grip of himself since the elves' vigil for their fallen had ended; the sight of the dead elves had been traumatic, something no elf should ever have to see. He wanted more than anything to be allowed time, alone, to mourn Haldir, but it seemed that circumstances conspired against him and he would not be allowed this luxury. He had seen Haldir fight, all of them had: the golden haired Marchwarden had stood out like a beacon among the dark sea of enemy. But Legolas had lost sight of him, and was now consumed with guilt that he had not been able to prevent Haldir's death. Unfounded guilt, but nonetheless it pressed in on him and contributed to his current overly emotional state.
The usually composed elf came undone. His eyes glazed over and he slumped against the wall, sliding down until he sat with his arms wrapped tightly round his legs and his forehead on his knees. Aragorn crouched next to him. Legolas felt the air move as he made to reach out and touch the elf, but the touch never arrived.
Legolas was silent. His fingers were clasped so tightly together that the nails of one hand cut into the back of the other. A small trickle of blood ran over the his skin which Aragorn automatically wiped away with his sleeve.
As Aragorn touched him Legolas flinched and the man withdrew his hand as if he had been burned. Unlike the elves who had brought him up Aragorn was extremely tactile but Legolas was an elf and he did not welcome an uninvited touch.
Legolas raised his eyes to Aragorn's and hated the hurt that he saw there. That he had put there. Guilt pressed down on him painfully.
Aragorn stood and shrugged. He looked down at Legolas. The elf had buried his face in his knees once more and looked more than ever like the child he claimed not to be. Legolas heard his retreating footsteps and pushed himself into a standing position, feeling foolish for displaying his emotions so obviously. "Stay, Aragorn. We have spent many nights together, there is no need for you to leave." Without saying another word, Legolas lay on one of the beds and slept. He floated on a wave of half-consciousness, aware of when Aragorn lay himself down, noticing the difference in breathing when the man fell asleep. Finally he let himself drift off and slept himself.
Legolas was dreaming. He knew it was a dream and tried to wake but could not rouse himself. He was looking at Haldir's body, as he had that morning. Someone gripped his shoulder and turned him around forcibly, pushing him towards the other single grave. The someone stayed behind Legolas, painfully gripping his neck and shoulder, preventing him from seeing who his assailant was. He was forced to look at the body lying there.
Aragorn.
There was no sign of an injury, like Haldir he looked as though he were simply asleep, but his face had the pallor of death. Legolas struggled against his unseen and unknown assailant until he was suddenly released.
"Legolas! You were dreaming." Aragorn's face swam into view through Legolas tear filled eyes.
Legolas rubbed at his face, surprised that it was wet and looked around him. He was hunched in the corner of the bed, huddled against the wall. Aragorn knelt beside him with a concerned look.
"Did I wake you?"
"No matter," he sat back on his heels. "Do you want to tell me what it was? It took some while to wake you." Aragorn twisted his hands together. Legolas wondered if it was to prevent himself from reaching out to touch him.
"I... you were... Haldir..." Legolas took a gulping breath and calmed himself. "It was just a dream. Go back to sleep."
Aragorn looked doubtful and made no move.
"It was just a dream." Legolas stood up a little shakily. "I think I will go outside for a while."
The sun was still high in the sky when Legolas reached Hama's grave. The work party had filled the others and women were putting small bunches of flowers on them in readiness for the sunset commemoration ceremony. Legolas idly wondered where they had managed to find so many of the white blooms as he watched a man cover the Captain and his sons. He had not taken part in many funeral ceremonies, and never with Men. He wondered that so few people were about to watch the covering of their kin, and made a mental note to ask Aragorn about this strange tradition.
Aragorn! Legolas turned his thoughts from the man, now was not the time to try to sort through the complex emotions the name conjured up.
The grave-filler walked over to where Haldir lay and looked at Legolas for permission to begin. Having received no sign from the elf he hovered by the small heap of earth as if unsure whether or not to cover the body. On impulse Legolas took the spade from him and, after taking one last look at Haldir, he began the awful task of burying his friend.
One of the women, all of whom had their faces covered with veils, placed three bunches of flowers on Hama's grave and stood with her head bowed. She had her back to him and Legolas wondered idly if she, too, had lost husband, sons or brothers to Sauron's army. A small basket was hooked over one of her arms, containing a solitary bouquet of Simbelmynë. When Legolas was finished she came to stand beside him and he recognised her as the boy, Háleth's mother.
Silently she proffered her basket and Legolas laid the flowers himself in the middle of the fresh earth. Tears pricked at his eyes once more and on this occasion he did not jerk away from contact as she patted his arm before she left him alone to his thoughts. A small breeze riffled through the white petals as he listened to the quiet sounds of her retreat to the fortress.
"The time of the elves is truly over," Legolas did not acknowledge Aragorn's arrival but spoke to Haldir.
"But the alliance will not be forgotten by those who remain." Aragorn held tightly on to his belt as he spoke. "I fear that many have left for the Undying Lands. Soon none will remain."
"You fear that Arwen, too, will leave." Legolas saw well how Aragorn flinched from that thought, although his friend made no movement other than a tightening around his eyes.
"I love Arwen and would have her for my Queen, but how can I ask her to stay here with me. Alone." Aragorn's made a helpless gesture with his hands, as though he did not know where to put them. He dropped his eyes. "And if we do not prevail..." the rest went unspoken. "Perhaps you should consider leaving too."
"I will fight at your side until the Dark Lord is defeated." Legolas took a step towards Aragorn then halted abruptly. His voice hardened, "unless you have no need of my bow?"
"Legolas, I would never presume to give you orders. It was your choice to come this far, and it will always be your decision if you stay or go home." There was an uncomfortable silence, it seemed to the elf that they had reached a stalemate. He decided to break it.
"Aragorn, Arwen loves you." Legolas took the final step which took him face to face with the man. He reached out and fingered Aragorn's pendant.
"Is it enough? Is love enough to keep her here, when she could spend eternity with her folk?" He grabbed Legolas' wrist and looked into the elf's eyes. Legolas hated the uncertainty he saw there, and made no move to break Aragorn's hold.
"What do we have if we do not have that? Perhaps you will receive word."
"Perhaps." Aragorn's knuckles were white. He suddenly let go his grip on Legolas. "Perhaps not. But we have duties, I must attend to the injured. Have you any skill at healing?"
"Little enough," Legolas' instinct was to remain where he was, anything other than appear to be following the orders of a mortal man. He dismissed the thought as unworthy and childish; in any case there were elves among the injured. As a prince it was his duty to attend them. "I will do what I can. I can do nothing for those who lie here."
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