As the last rumbling shockwave swept across the remains of the battlefield, Legolas saw the great eagle take flight toward the glowing remnants of Mount Doom, Gandalf astride its back. The elf cast desperate, battle keen eyes across the field then to where he had last seen his friend fighting for his life. Seeing Aragorn actually standing, if rather unsteadily, Legolas drew in a shaky breath and started pushing through the remnants of their army.

"Aragorn?" Legolas’ voice was raw from shouting and he thought he would collapse from relief when he finally came face to face with the object of his search.

Wavering on his feet, Aragorn blinked in a dazed sort of way at his friend. The elven warrior reached out slowly to touch the man’s face, wanting to prove to himself that it was no wishful vision.

"Aragorn." Legolas said simply, trying to get his breathing under control from the mad dash he’d just made. He had a vague memory of pushing past soldiers, killing several enemy fighters as he’d run. With careful movements, he grasped the man’s chin, turning his face this way and that, and wincing at the sight of the scrape that ran vividly across his friend’s face.

Aragorn shook his head abruptly like a cat shaking off cobwebs. "Legolas, mellon nín, …" His hand, shaking still from the rush of battle, came up to mirror the gesture. "You were not lost…"

The archer stared at his companion with wide eyes, ignoring the growing sounds of chaos about them. "I am not?…aí, Aragorn. I saw you from…I could not reach you in time, and I thought…" He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Aragorn’s, and they stood supporting each other on equally shaky legs.

"We are still here." Aragorn whispered in incredulous joy. "We are still…" He broke off and pulled away, still grasping Anduril by the hilt. "The others? I saw Gandalf leave with the eagles to find…Sam…and Frodo."

His voice cracked and broke on the last name he spoke.

"They may yet live, Aragorn. I do not trust that filth that came forth before the battle to taunt us. If Frodo and Sam still live, Gandalf and Gwahir will find them and bring them to us." Legolas looked about him, and at the huge chasm that had opened to swallow Sauron’s realm. As for the others, he thought, how to find them in the chaos of this place?

"Gimli?" Aragorn asked him.

"Here, and in one piece, mostly thanks to this elf." The dwarf’s gruff voice interrupted their worry. He stumped forward and leant heavily on his axe. "Are you well, my friends?"

Legolas grasped the offered arm with undisguised happiness. "We are indeed, but we will feel better to find our other companions. Have you seen aught of Eomer or Pippin?"

"Nay, but I saw the standard of Rohan still flying somewhere over there, laddie." Gimli gestured with one chainmail-clad arm. "He’ll still be standing, then."

"I hope so," Legolas murmured. "For Rohan should not lose two kings in such a short time, and he is a valiant man." He swallowed hard. "And if Pippin is still alive, then we should find him as soon as possible." He tried hard not to think of the alternative to finding their small friend in the aftermath of all this.

"Let us find our friends, then." Aragorn said, raising his voice to be heard over the crashing rocks and the roar of the mountain. The cries of the wounded were filtering through the louder sounds, and Legolas knew it would be a long night before they could move everyone to safer ground.

****

"Eomer!" Aragorn cried out as he spotted his friend and ally giving orders to a group of horsemen, and reached up to clasp the other man’s arm in a firm grip.

"It is good to see you alive, my friends. The alliance between our people held true, Aragorn." Eomer shifted his legs to urge his horse closer. "I must see to my people. Are we to wait here or retreat to some safer place to raise a camp?"

With a tired, ghost of a smile, the future King of Gondor lowered his arm and wiped some of the blood and ash from his face. "Let us do what we can here and then move the wounded with us to Ithilien. There is fresh water there, at least, and less desolation where the trees still survive. And it is close enough that supplies may reach us from the city."

"And the air will be clearer," murmured Legolas, stifling a cough. "I fear that many will have taken in too much of the foul stench of Mordor during the battle." He gazed out at the still-erupting Mount Doom beyond the ruins of the towers. The elf’s calm demeanor suddenly shattered, and his stare grew intense. "Aragorn! I can see…it is Gwahir and his kin."

Softly, as if afraid to speak any words of hope, Aragorn broke the silence. "Are Frodo and Sam with them?"

"They are, but I cannot see if they live." The anguish in Legolas’ voice ripped at Aragorn’s heart.

"We must find a place for them to land with care, then." And Aragorn ran to give orders to clear a space on the battlefield.

Watching, the elf was aware of things around him in painful detail. Elladan knelt nearby at the side of a soldier so covered in ash and blood that Legolas could not tell to which part of the combined army he belonged. Elrond’s son reached out to take bandages from a Ranger who came to his aid, and a few yards away lay a Rider being aided in rising from the mud by a Gondorian soldier. And as he watched these and other bonds of fellowship shining in this foul place, Legolas found himself begging silently of the Valar to preserve the remaining Fellowship that was scattered between there and Gondor.

The eagles' great wings stirred up clouds of ash as they landed.

****