A/N A speculation on Frodo and Sam's return to their friends. Rated for descriptions of injury just to be safe. The inspiration for this one came from the amazing 'Of Cabbages and Kings' by Lamiel. If you haven't read it yet, then seriously, stop what you're doing, this fic can wait, go and read it right now: s/5282099/1/Of-Cabbages-and-Kings

It's a really profound reflection on the similarities between Legolas and Sam, which got me thinking about the things Legolas and Frodo share, and that train of thought eventually led me here. Most of the Legolas and Frodo material came out in the second chapter. From there it kind of spiralled out into the encounters with Aragorn and Sam in the first chapter. My thanks to Lamiel for your incredible writing which has helped to inspire my own!

Disclaimer: I gain no profit from this apart from the pleasure of spending time with these wonderful characters I do not own.

When the Eagles Came Back

Of course, it was those two who were waiting when the eagles came back.

Legolas had seen them first, whilst helping a company of the West to guard a group of surrendered Haradhrim. After checking with the captain that the situation was under control, he sped back across the battlefield, vaulting over the corpses of orcs and trolls, streaking past bewildered stretcher bearers who were picking their way slowly across the field. It was all he could do to focus his mind on the task in hand, to stop it repeatedly asking the question he knew he could not answer.

Where is Gimli?

They had become separated in the final push and he had not seen the dwarf since the end of the battle. He longed for the chance to scour the battlefield inch by inch and find him, but he knew that his duty to the Ringbearers and to Aragorn now took priority. Centuries of military training taught him to push the emotion to the corners of his mind and concentrate on getting back to Aragorn, but of all the times when he had had to put duty above the knowing about the welfare of his comrades, this was the hardest.

Darting through the throng of people surrounding the commander and king, he eventually attracted Aragorn's attention.

'Aragorn! The eagles!' and he pointed to where the black specks were beginning to appear on the edges of mortal sight.

Aragorn nodded to Éomer, who had agreed to take over the military command when this moment came, then turned back to Legolas.

'Let's go.'

And they ran.

Aragorn had already ordered a private tent prepared and readied with healing materials in which the two Ringbearers could be tended, and they had found a spot close to it where the eagles could release their burdens. Legolas shot an arrow almost vertically into the sky to let Gandalf know where they were, snatched it elegantly from the air as it returned, and then all they could do was wait.

Legolas tried to catch his breath. Usually the short run would not have troubled him, but on the way Aragorn said that he had not yet seen Gimli, and the fear in his spirit was affecting his usually impeccable control over his body, despite his attempts to contain it. He concentrated on the eagles, and now he could make out the two grey bundles which were grasped in their claws, and Gandalf on Gwaihir's back.

'Estel,' he said quietly, unsure of why he was reverting to Aragorn's childhood name but somehow finding comfort in it, 'do you think that they survived it?'

The man beside him continued to stare intensely into the sky. 'You called me Estel,' he replied. 'A Ranger becomes King and two hobbits destroy the Ring of Power. There is always hope.'

The first descending eagle carried Frodo and released him from his talons into Aragorn's waiting arms. Legolas caught a glimpse of a blood-spattered arm before Aragorn strode off, quickly but calmly, towards the tent.

He ran forwards as his turn came and received Sam from the next eagle at the nadir of its swoop. He felt horror surge within him as he looked down into the once-familiar face, now covered in ash and grime, bloodied from a head wound above the left temple, and so thin and drawn. Sam had always been reassuringly solid, always encumbered with the heaviest pack, dependable and predictable. Legolas could not equate the stout hobbit he remembered with the fragile, broken body he now held in his arms. Taking all this in within a glance, he made towards the tent, moving as fluidly as he could so as not to cause any further injury, although he doubted that after being flown in the open air for miles it would even be possible to injure these hobbits further.

By the time he reached the camp bed which had been prepared for Sam, the tent was already a flurry of activity. The sweet, clear scent of athelas was rising from bowls next to each of the beds. Aragorn was positioned in the traditional elven healer's stance, one hand on Frodo's forehead and the other on his chest, and seemed deep in concentration, unaware of the Gondorian healer who was moving frenetically around him as he worked on Frodo's hand. Another healer by Sam's bed ran forward to help Legolas ease him down, and quickly began to check for signs of life. Within seconds, Gandalf was striding into the tent, and seeing Aragorn occupied with Frodo, he came over to Sam.

'He's breathing, but only just,' the healer reported to Gandalf, who nodded and assumed a stance similar to Aragorn's, closing his bright eyes and beginning to mutter. The healer began to move around him, quickly cutting away the torn rags which were all that remained of Sam's shirt.

Legolas stepped back to give them space to work, astonished by the resilience of this hobbit who had gone all the way to Orodruin and somehow managed to come back breathing. He felt like he was witnessing the workings of a cleverly crafted mechanism, and he was the only loose end. He desperately wanted to help but didn't want to disturb the rhythm of either pair of healers. Though he was trained in healing of most battle injuries- a given, living under the Shadow in Mirkwood- he doubted how far he could contribute to what the hobbits needed. He was a warrior who had somehow wandered into the unfamiliar territory of the healers' world and felt a little lost. Still, he decided to try.

'Can I do anything to help?' The healer working on Sam looked up in surprise, apparently having forgotten the elf who had brought his patient in.

'You're trained in healing, sir?'

'In treating common physical injuries, yes.'

'In that case, you could start cleaning and binding the wounds on his upper body, if you don't mind, sir.' Legolas gratefully took the cloth he was offered as the healer moved around Gandalf and started working on Sam's legs. Legolas allowed himself to take in the battlefield that was Sam's upper body for the first time, and for a moment was unsure where to start amidst of all the bruises, burns and cuts which covered it. Once again forcing himself to focus, blocking out the voice that was screaming at him to search for Gimli, he started with an ugly-looking gash on Sam's left shoulder and set to work.

As he worked his way through the myriad wounds on the chest, he noticed its rise and fall becoming gradually stronger, until Sam took a gasp and Gandalf started from his motionless state. He brushed Legolas aside as he reached underneath to support the hobbit's shoulders.

'That's right, Sam,' the wizard encouraged him, and then said without taking his eyes off the hobbit. 'Legolas, a bowl.'

He scanned the tent, his eyes searching frantically, saw a stack of bowls on the supply table and in an instant was holding one out to Gandalf. Sam was beginning to cough and splutter, and Gandalf was supporting him on his side as he moved pillows to beneath his head.

'Hold it by his mouth.'

Legolas was just in time to catch the awful grey sludge that Sam brought up in a convulsive retch.

'What is that?' He looked to Gandalf, horrified.

'Ash, mainly.' Gandalf looked grim as he rubbed Sam's back, but his voice was heartily reassuring as he addressed the hobbit. 'Come on, Sam, let's get that nasty stuff out of your system so we can replace it with some nice second breakfast, eh?'

The hacking coughs seemed to go on for an age, but at last they subsided, leaving Sam shivering and fighting for breath. Gandalf turned him and raised him slightly, then produced a vial of what Legolas immediately identified as miruvor from its smell.

'He needs to get some strength back, after that.' But he struggled to still Sam's head long enough to administer it, until Legolas reached out a hand to the hobbit's cheek, steadying him.

'This was made by the elves, Sam. It's miruvor. It's elf-magic that will give you strength, like on Caradhras, you drank it and you were warm again, remember?'

Sam's head remained resting against Legolas' hand just long enough for Gandalf to work a few precious drops of liquid into his throat, and he began to shiver slightly less. When Legolas drew away, he realised that the healer, who was now spreading a poultice over Sam's badly burned feet, was looking up at him quizzically.

'He has a thing about elves,' he explained weakly.

The healer smiled. 'We should be alright then, seeing as you're here, sir.'

Legolas smiled back. 'I don't know. We travelled together for so long that I think he forgets I am one. I don't think I'm sufficiently exotic for him now he knows me as a person.'

The healer bent back over his task but said, 'perhaps you could remind him, sir?'

'Remind him of what?'

'That you're an elf, sir. I don't know, speak some of your elf-language to him or something. It might help.'

Slightly taken aback, and with his nerves more on edge than usual, Legolas restrained himself with great difficulty from snapping back it's called Sindarin. And we also have a ceremonial language called Quenya, actually. But he saw the healer's point, and as he resumed his task of binding Sam's wounds, he spoke to him softly in Sindarin.

'You have done so well, Sam. You did what you set out to do, and you stayed alongside Frodo right to the very end. He was so fortunate to have you by his side. When I go back to my father's court, the same court that Bilbo talked about in his tales, I will tell them how brave you were and all the elves there will sing songs about Samwise Gamgee, and Frodo, and the Ring. You're going to be in one of those elven stories you were always asking me to tell you. You should be very proud of yourself. I know I'm proud of you.'

He raised his head, having been absorbed in cleaning and bandaging a bad graze on Sam's forearm, and was pleased to see that the shivers had almost ceased, and that Sam was now quietly accepting something else that Gandalf was helping him to drink. His eyes met Gandalf's, the wizard's expression softened and he looked on the verge of saying something, but was interrupted by a guard looking in from the door and announcing an urgent message from the healing tents next door.

The messenger entered and addressed himself to Gandalf. 'They're overwhelmed in the healing tents, sir. There are too few healers for the number of casualties, and they're getting to some of the men too late. They need help.'

Legolas saw the healer he had been working with look up in consternation at this and took pity on him.

'Go. I can finish that.' He knelt by Sam's feet next to the healer. 'They just need bandaging now, yes?'

'Yes sir. That's all the more serious wounds dealt with once that's finished.' The healer handed over his bandages to Legolas, a new respect kindling in his eyes, and as he went he called back over his shoulder. 'The elf-language was very pretty, sir. And it calmed him down a good deal. Thank you.'

Legolas nodded to him, swallowing back the numerous responses he could have made to his native tongue being referred to as 'pretty,' and continued to bind the burns on Sam's feet. He sensed movement from the other side of the tent and saw the healer who had been working with Frodo speak quietly with Gandalf, and then follow his counterpart out of the tent. As he tied off the bandages, he looked over to the other bed, and noticed that Aragorn, though still in the healer's stance, was paling and starting to sway. His sprint across the tent was just in time to catch Aragorn as he staggered, helping him to regain his balance. Aragorn kept his hands firmly pressed to Frodo's head and chest and his eyes closed.

'Aragorn. That's enough. Come back now.' Despite his anxiety, Legolas spoke softly, low and commanding, trying to encourage Aragorn to withdraw from the trance himself rather than being pulled abruptly from it.

When Aragorn replied, his voice was breathy and seemed to be coming from a long way off. 'No. Can't leave. Nearly there. Just…hold me steady.'

Legolas' lips disappeared into a thin white line, but he knew that Aragorn's spirit was in a delicate position as it reached out to Frodo, and he could not call it back before Aragorn chose to. So, with one arm around Aragorn's chest and another under his elbow, Legolas held him upright. Aragorn weakened steadily, letting Legolas take more and more of his weight, until he sagged backwards into the waiting arms. At that moment, Frodo took a gasp and began to cough as Sam had done. Overwhelmed by competing claims on his attention, still including the unceasing worry about Gimli's whereabouts, Legolas looked over to Gandalf, but he was holding Sam, who had succumbed to another fit of coughing. Legolas quickly lowered Aragorn to the ground, leaning his back against Frodo's bedframe, and went to check for a pulse. When Aragorn, albeit half-heartedly, tried to swat his hand away, he was reassured enough, dashed for a bowl, and within seconds was supporting Frodo as he had seen Gandalf do for Sam, perching the bowl somewhat precariously on the edge of the bed while he held up Frodo's head in one hand and rubbed his back with the other. When he had processed what just happened, he took in for the first time the bruised and battered face of this hobbit who had borne the Ring and shuddered. He tried to keep his tone light as Frodo heaved up some of that terrible grey substance, mainly into the bowl but also a little over Legolas' hand.

'It's been a long time, Frodo. And this is how you choose to say hello? Is there a hobbit custom I don't know about?'

He tried very, very hard not to think about exactly what was on his hand and concentrated on keeping Frodo's airways open. He was so focused that he hardly noticed the guard announce another messenger until he heard the familiar stentorian voice.

'How do they fare? Do they live? Can Aragorn be spared?'

His eyes flew to the door and sure enough, there was the stout figure of Gimli, his chain mail spattered with blood and a bruise beginning to show on his arm, but very evidently alive. Gimli's eyes met his and for a moment they simply regarded each other in shock, hardly believing what they were seeing. Gimli recovered first.

'Oh. You're alive then, lad. That's good.'

Looking back, Legolas was unsure what he would have done in that moment had he not been otherwise engaged. He was torn between the conflicting desires to leap in the air and laugh in exultation, to sweep Gimli into a fierce hug, or to pounce on the dwarf, tackle him to the ground, and berate him for being so nonchalant after the last few hours of soul-rending anxiety. However, as it was, he was occupied in helping Frodo cough up what appeared to be half of Orodruin, so he tried to calm the tempest of emotion rising in his heart and settled with making a valiant attempt to sound equally casual.

'And unless I'm much mistaken, so are you. That's even better.'

Gandalf rose from where he had just settled Sam back down and strode across the tent, taking the bowl from Legolas, who yielded it immediately and went to wash his hands.

'They live, but they have suffered much, as you can see. What do you need Aragorn for?'

'Where is Aragorn? I thought he'd be here.'

A groan from the side of Frodo's bed answered Gimli's question, and Gandalf handed Legolas the vial of miruvor, indicating Aragorn's slumped form with his head.

Legolas knelt beside him and made to press the vial to his lips, but Aragorn turned his head away and made a futile attempt to rise.

'For the patients,' he mumbled.

'Who need you on your feet, Aragorn,' Legolas retorted sharply, channelling his inner Thranduil and giving Aragorn such a look that he quailed and accepted the liquid without further resistance.

As Aragorn's eyes became focused again, Gimli said, 'if Aragorn can leave Frodo and Sam safely, Pippin needs him now. I just pulled him out from underneath a troll. He's alive, and the healers are doing what they can, but he needs the hands of the king.'

Aragorn punched the ground beside him feebly and gave a growl of frustration.

'So much need. No time. I can't-'

Legolas felt a memory flooding back to him, unbidden. His first encounter with Estel, while he was in Rivendell on ambassadorial business for Thranduil. A council meeting had finished late, and as he returned to his chambers he had spotted a tiny, shivering form on a window ledge and gone over to investigate. It had turned out to be Lord Elrond's six-year-old foster son, in an uneasy half-sleep. He had been very frightened when awakened by a stranger but after being convinced that Legolas was a friend, had eventually confessed that he liked to explore the house at night but had gone too far and had become too tired to go back. He had been so scared of what Elrond would say; apparently his habit of night-time ramblings had ended like this before. Legolas had wondered at this tiny child of the Edain, alone in the world of elves. He had carried him back to his bedroom, allowing the child to sleepily direct him, with a promise not to tell Elrond as long as it didn't happen again, and reassurances that everything would be fine in the morning. Looking at Aragorn now, clearly spent by the effort it had taken to bring Frodo back and burdened by his responsibilities, Legolas longed to do the same again, to carry him away to a place of rest and reassure him that everything would work itself out. But he reminded himself that he looked on the Estel who had become Elessar, now, and that his other friends were depending on the exhausted and overwhelmed man before him. So he placed both his hands on Aragorn's shoulders, looked straight into his eyes and said:

'Aragorn, son of Arathorn, listen to me. You have the hands of a healer and of a king. More importantly, you have the mind and spirit of one too. We all trust you to make this decision and to do what you need to do. We will do everything in our power to help. You can, and you will.'

Whether it was the miruvor working its way into his system, Legolas' words, or both, Aragorn took a deep breath, and nodded. Legolas held out a hand to help him up, but he set his jaw, got to his feet unaided and began to move purposefully between Frodo and Sam, placing a hand on each forehead and concentrating deeply. He then addressed those anxiously watching him- Gimli was shifting from foot to foot, aware that time may be running out for Pippin.

'They both have enough strength for the next few hours, at least. I'll go to Pippin now.'

Gimli gave a sigh of relief and made for the exit. Aragorn turned to Legolas and Gandalf before he left.

'They're both dehydrated, so get some water inside them if you can, and keep them warm. They won't wake, but the nightmares will start and I have neither time nor strength to guide their sleep yet. Just watch over them and comfort them.'

'How?' Legolas was ashamed of the question, especially given his earlier words to Aragorn, but was suddenly terrified by the prospect of watching a hobbit tormented in dark nightmares and being helpless to stop it.

'Talk to them. They might not hear you, exactly, but they will sense the comfort of a familiar voice and soothing words. Sam will be easier. Just talk to him about the Shire, his Gaffer, his garden. Remind him of everything he loves and holds dear. I heard Merry teasing him about a girl, I think…'

'Rosie Cotton,' Gandalf chipped in.

'Alright. And Frodo?' Legolas urged.

Aragorn looked over his shoulder, being practically dragged away by a stressed and impatient Gimli.

'Frodo…just tell him there's hope.'

Legolas and Gandalf stood together for a moment.

'What hope is there for Frodo, Mithrandir?' Legolas asked quietly.

'The hope that remains for him is also yours, Legolas.'

Legolas was startled. 'What has my hope to do with anything?'

Gandalf sighed. 'Because of what he has borne, the Valar are calling Frodo as surely as they call you. Peace lies not in Middle Earth for either of you, but across the sea.'

Legolas shook his head. 'But…you know that I intend to stay.'

Gandalf looked back to Frodo, his expression dark. 'But can he?' Just then, Sam began to cry out, and Gandalf rushed to his side, leaving Legolas to keep watch over Frodo and ponder what he had said, whilst attempting to coax some water into the hobbit's parched throat.