Title: Babe in the Woods pt 5

Author: sheraiah

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Descriptions of battle and wounds in this chapter. For full header, see chapter 1.

A/N: Most everyone who has read one or more of my fanfics knows that I do mix book-verse and movie-verse. That being said, I opt to go with the book version of the Battle of Helm’s Deep in that there was only one elf present for that battle, and his name was Legolas. Also, Book!Gimli did not wear a helm.  ‘Nuff said, on with the story!

                                                  ~

Mahri clutched the side of the cart as it bounced over yet another root, stifling her gasp. It was a much rougher ride traveling in the dark, and the canopy of branches overhead did not permit much moonlight to filter to ground level. Abrum and Raife walked in front of the cart, guiding the animals, while Edrun walked behind as rear guard. It had been well over an hour since they had heard the blood-curdling war cry they assumed had come from Legolas and the woods had been quiet since. Too quiet, Edrun had commented nervously as he moved to place himself between his sister and her children and possible danger.  She put on a brave face for her children, assuring them softly that all was well. Oh, how she hoped that would turn out to be true!

                                                    ~

Legolas rolled quickly out of the way of the blade that slashed down at his head and continued the roll until he gained his feet again. He lashed out with a foot, knocking the enemy on his right down and followed his kick with a slash of his knife, cutting the man’s throat to the bone. His attacker on his left attempted to take advantage and slice through the elf’s left arm, but Legolas blocked him deftly, turning the blade and taking his arm off instead. Behind him, he could hear Gimli taunting the men he was fighting intermingled with the sound of axes meeting flesh.

His original count of fourteen against two would have been challenge enough, he and Gimli having faced worse odds in the past, but another group of men had joined the first and they were now battling over twenty men. Orcs were one thing, cruel and fast, but stupid. These men were trained mercenaries, not as fast or as skilled as the elf and the dwarf were, but cagey fighters and their numbers were giving them the advantage. Legolas had already taken a hard blow to the head, which had also splintered his bow, and blood was dripping into his eyes, blurring his vision. The one who had landed the blow had received Gimli’s axe in the skull for his audacity, but had managed to drive a knife into the dwarf’s thigh as the blow fell.  There were eight men left apiece to the elf and dwarf, all attacking at once, keeping the two on the defensive, trying to wear them down with small wounds. Legolas could feel blood dripping from a dozen minor hurts.

Suddenly, a heavy weight lurched against his back, knocking him onto his face into the leaf litter of the forest floor. Two feet pinned his wrists to the ground painfully, and his knives were wrenched out of his grasp before two hard kicks landed to his torso, one to each side of his ribcage. He gasped, trying to curl inward and down to reach the knives stuck in his boots, but a hand tangled in his hair and jerked him up onto his knees.

“I wouldn’t, point-ear,” a gravelly voice cautioned, “Or you can go slow, instead of quick like your pet dwarf.” A roaring filled Legolas’ ears and the world seemed to contract to a pinpoint. They had killed Gimli. He no longer felt the wounds; he felt nothing except rage and grief hovering at the edge of the rage, no longer cared about anything except making certain these men died.

 His lips drew back into a snarl and he grabbed the hand holding the sword, tightening his grip enough to crush bone. He shrieked, the war cry of the elves of the Woodland Realm, and snatched free of the hand that held his hair. Legolas slammed his body into that of the man who had spoken, driving the man’s own sword into his entrails and jerking upward, disemboweling him in the blink of an eye. Before the body hit the ground, Legolas had turned and decapitated the two closest to him with the sword he had pulled from the dying man’s crushed fingers. He turned again, his eyes locking onto the next three. Before he could raise the weapon to strike them, arrows appeared in their throats and they toppled. Legolas swayed, almost falling, when he heard a faint sound behind him. He whirled, bringing the sword up as he turned.

                                                     ~

Haldir stepped back quickly out of the sword’s reach. “Careful!” he shouted to his fellow wardens, “he is not truly seeing us.” He turned his full attention back onto the battered elf before him. “Legolas, hear me! It is over now. Put your sword down and let us see to your wounds.” He took a slow step closer. “Easy, be at ease now, Legolas. Be at ease, my friend. It is over now.” He stopped as the sword shifted to point at his throat.

“Haldir!” Rumil hissed. “He is not hearing you. Go no closer, brother!”

“Orophin,” the Marchwarden called to his youngest brother, “Please tell me that the dwarf is still breathing.”

“The dwarf is still breathing,” came the reply. “Good thing naugrim have such thick skulls.”

“Good,” Haldir grunted, dodging a feint. “Legolas, you must go to Gimli! He is injured and he needs your help.” The younger elf wavered, giving Haldir the opening he needed. Swiftly, he darted forward, knocking the sword from Legolas’ hand and wrapping both arms around him, pinning his arms to his sides. Rumil darted in from behind Legolas, sandwiching the archer’s slighter form between his body and his brother’s and wrapping his arms around to reinforce Haldir’s hold. The trapped elf fought desperately to break free, but the two brothers held on resolutely until he stilled, Haldir speaking softly to him the whole while. When his body sagged in their grip, Rumil stepped back, allowing Haldir to lift the now quiet Legolas and move him to a place better suited for caring for his wounds.

                                                 ~

“How is he, brother?”

“His wounds are minor, there are simply many of them,” Haldir replied, wrapping a bandage around Legolas’ freshly cleaned and stitched forearm. “How is Gimli?”

“Ithildur says he will recover. The fools tried to bash his skull in. Evidently, no one ever told them that does not work well on dwarves.” Rumil picked up a clean cloth and began washing the dirt out of a slash on Legolas’ right shoulder.

“Here, I have another needle already threaded. That one wants stitching as well.”

“Is it the last of them?” Rumil asked, beginning to close the wound he had washed.

“Yes, his head was the worst of it. I will wash the blood off his face while you finish that.”

Orophin approached, carrying a fresh skin of water. “Ithildur says you owe him a skin of wine for having to stitch up the dwarf.”

“Ithildur can kiss my arse. He is a healer, and that dwarf carries the Lady Galadriel’s favor,” Haldir replied shortly, wiping drying blood and grime off his friend’s face. “It is nothing more than his duty to tend him and I do not wish to hear another word from him about it.”

“Aye, I told him as much,” Orophin said, squatting next to the elder of his brothers. “Except for the part about kissing your arse. You may tell him that yourself. Has Legolas awakened yet?”

“Not yet. Soon, I believe. He has been stirring a bit, though that may have been because his wounds pain him. Rumil, have the others clear the bodies away. I wish to stay with Legolas until he wakes. The state he was in when we arrived concerns me greatly.”

“Us as well, brother,” Rumil said, laying a hand on Haldir’s shoulder before rising. “Orophin and I will see that everything is taken care of. Call out to us if you need us.”

                                                       ~

“Halt! What business have you in these woods?”

Abrum stopped in his tracks, hauling back on the harness of the draft animal he was leading as Raife did the same for the other. Edrun cursed softly, having walked into the back of the cart.

“We’re traveling to Dale and mean no harm to anyone here,” Abrum replied nervously.

“I would find that difficult to believe were you not traveling with little ones,” said a second voice, this one a smooth baritone. “Why do you travel at night and in haste?”

“We’re being followed by some as mean us no good,” Raife stated, lifting his chin stubbornly. “Surely you don’t object to us protecting my sister and the children?”

“We do not object to the protection of females or children, merely to trespassers who do not ask our permission to travel in our kingdom,” the silky baritone replied. Abrum could just make out the tall silhouette of the speaker ahead of him as well as several other tall forms armed with bows.

“And who’re you to be objecting?” Raife countered, patently irritated at being confronted. Around them, Abrum could hear the sound of bows being drawn as the tension grew thick enough to cut with a blade.

“I, mortal, rule this realm,” the baritone retorted, his tone as cold as ice, “And I expect an explanation for your presence here, not insolence.” With that, he stepped into a shaft of moonlight coming through a break in the canopy. His hair was light, a crown of leaves and flowers gracing his brow, but there was nothing soft in his expression. Abrum’s eyes widened.

“Truly, your majesty, we meant no harm! Until a few hours ago we were guided by one of your folk.” Abrum swallowed convulsively as the pale eyes of the Woodland king seemed to bore straight into his soul. “Legolas said we weren’t to stop unless one of the Woodland Realm told us it was safe to.”

“Legolas,” the king repeated, his expression sharpening further. “Mortal, I wish to know exactly where Legolas is now. Where is my son?”

                                                           ~

TBC