Disclaimer: See default chapter

Chapter 5

Remembering the Past

(Flashback to before chapter 1)

Pain. Blinding pain.

He heard someone moan, then realized it was he who had moaned.

"To the Prince!" A cry came.

He tried to move, but it hurt too much, so he allowed his wounded, bleeding body to settle back down on the soft grass and gazed tiredly at the gently moving leaves.

They had been on a simple patrol when a roving band of orcs had attacked. At first the elves had easily dispatched killed the few orcs, but then more had arrived and kept on arriving, and soon outnumbered the elves.

Legolas had been the first to fall underneath the gleeful orcs swords, taking a long but not deep cut from his right shoulder and ending at his hip. He had bent forward to try and escape the blow, but got a cudgel in the head for his trouble. His body automatically trying to evade another blow, he threw his head backwards narrowly missing a sweep with a sword that would have taken his head with it.

He had crumpled to the ground, the world spinning around him.

"To the Prince!" The call had come.

Knowing he had to get back on his feet, even if to encourage his elves, Legolas strained to grab onto something, someone to help him rise back to his feet.

As he slowly regained his feet, using one arm to push himself upward and the other to block any blows coming his way, he didn't see his elves frantically push their way towards him in an attempt to protect him. He didn't see several elves fall dead and dying as they went nearly berserk with panic that their Prince was down.

"To the Prince!" They shouted courageously, placing their bodies in the paths of the weapons turned toward their Prince. Immortal blood slowly soaking in the ground as the patrol of twenty soon became five, then two.

As Legolas turned his battle enraged gaze upon the orcs, he hardly felt the orcs blows to his own bleeding body.

His voice joined the furious screams of his last two fighting warriors as they threw themselves in the battle for their lives.

Blows came lightening quick on his battered body, tearing open new cuts or enlarging older ones. Blood easily soaked his clothes and dripped down to the ground, joining in with the blood of elves and orcs alike.

A sword carved a chunk of flesh from his back, making him arch in agony, exposing his vulnerable stomach. He never saw the sword as it swung towards his stomach, the orc holding it intent on making the elf's guts spill.

Taithar had always wanted to be a guard in the King's guard. He had always read of the fierce courage of the elves who had guarded and died trying to save King Oropher and who had ultimately saved Prince, now King Thranduil. His heart had always beat a little quicker when he would reread the tales of old and he had been thrilled when he had been chosen as a guard for Prince Legolas.

He had always wondered if he would be willing to put his life on the line for his Prince, and in those mere seconds that seemed to last a lifetime, he knew what he had to do, and accepted it calmly and willingly.

As the sword arched towards his Prince's vulnerable stomach and began to ruthlessly cut Taithar stepped forward and using his body as a shield intercepted the blow.

The force of the blow was so strong that the sword didn't stop until it was halfway through Legolas stomach as well as Taithar's own stomach, but because of Taithar's involuntary jerk backward, the sword only cut barely an inch into Legolas' skin.

Even in his own agony, Taithar searched the wound as he fell to his knees. There was a cut probably about six inches across the Prince's stomach, but it wasn't fatal, but with all the rest of the Prince's wounds, and the blood that poured freely from the several cuts the Prince was in a dire situation.

Taithar howled in agony as the sword was ruthlessly yanked from his body and he fell gracefully to the ground.

The Prince was on his knees staring vacantly at a distant point in a memory that only he could see.

Using the last of his strength, Taithar reached up and forced the Prince down, then crawled on top of him covering him. He could see the Prince's lips moving and as his ear reached the Prince's mouth he could hear the whispered words.

"Nana, don't go, please. I'm sorry. Don't go. Please Nana. Don't go."

Unable to draw a breath Taithar's last thought was of regret, that though he had died saving his Prince, he had been unable to comfort him in a time of need.

---

Another patrol had been sent out from Ithilien to search for the lost party and it was they who found the twenty elves and their Prince lying as they had fallen. There were several that were alive, but there were more that were not.

The Prince was barely breathing and his heartbeat was actually slowing as fingers frantically pressed against his chest trying to keep the heart going.

The dead were gently placed in a line and their faces carefully covered in order to be taken back to their family in Eryn Lasgalan.

The living and the almost dead were hastily placed upon stretchers to be carried to the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. Only four elves survived the trip to Minas Tirith. Three were taken by their kin back to Ithilien to be prepared to be sent back to Eryn Lasgalan.

Out of the twenty in the patrol, four lived along with their Prince.

Songs of grief rose in the hearts of the elves that had found their Prince and his patrol's last stand and it was so strong that the trees around them took up their anguished cry and carried to Lothlorien and then onto Eryn Lasgalan.

Their greatest worry was for their Prince who teetered on the fine line between life and death.

----

His world was covered in a gray mist that swirled about him.

"Nana!" He called out. He tried to part the mist with his hands, but it swirled about him teasingly, refusing to give way.

"Nana! Where are you?"

He heard a scream.

"Nana!" He panicked.

"Run Legolas! Run!" The cry echoed in his ears.

"Nana!" The childish cry echoed in the gray mist, as the Prince began to frantically search through the heavy fog.

"Run away! Legolas please! Run!" The cry came louder.

"Nana!" The Prince pressed forward.

"No! Legolas do not look! Turn your eyes!"

"Nana! Where are you?" He continued to press his way forward.

"No!!!! Legolas! Turn your eyes!"

The mist suddenly parted.

Orcs stood over his mother.... Blood slowly soaked into the ground... Her wide eyes stared, transfixed upon his face...

-----

"There is nothing more you can do...."

The words plagued his nights...

"What were you thinking?...."

They replayed over and over in his mind.

"So good that your best friend died when on watch with you?..."

They never let him forget what had happened.

"You're my child!..."

The days swirled about him, mixing, entwining, but never letting him forget...

"Recapturing Gollum and killing orcs will not bring back Tarion..."

There were a few times when Aragorn would walk in to check on Legolas, only to find him curled in a tight ball, his hands over his ears trying to shut out the condemning voices.

"He does not hate you Legolas."

A single tear welled up...

"By the Valar! You're my child!"

A hand reached up and slowly brushed the tear away before it could drop.

"No Legolas! Do not look! Run! Turn your eyes!"

But the days had slowly passed, and he slowly began to heal, the memories continued to plague his dreams... The hurt refused to leave...

"No Legolas! Do not look! Run! Turn your eyes!"

The memories plagued his nights and his days, never letting him forget... Never letting him escape...

"Turn your eyes!"

How he wished he had...

"Turn your eyes!"

But he hadn't... But oh how he wished he had...

TBC:

A/N: I know this might be a little confusing, but this is actually supposed to be almost like a flashback...