Leading into Battle

A/N: The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug is out on DVD and Blu-ray. Yippee! All the behind the scenes of the filming, especially the stuff of Orly as Legolas (what can I say? I love that blond elf) got me thinking. What actually happened to Legolas in the Battle of the Five Armies? So I dug out my copy of the Hobbit (I say dug out, it is in pride of place next to my bed with all my other LOTR books), and read through the final chapters regarding the battle, imagining what Legolas would have done. The films will offer their own view when they finally come out, but for now, this is what I think happened. Or rather, this is a story of what may have happened that fulfils my need for angst and seeing Legolas injured. Again.

Disclaimer: I really don't like writing these (disclaimers, not fanfics. I love writing fanfics). They just remind me, again and again, that I don't own a single piece of them!

0-o-0-o-0

The elves were the first to charge. Their hatred for the goblins is cold and bitter. Their spears and swords shone in the gloom, so deadly was the wrath of the hands that held them. As soon as the host of their enemies was dense in the valley, they sent against it a shower of arrows, and each flickered as it fled as if with stinging fire. Behind the arrows a thousand of their spearmen leapt down and charged.

Thranduil watched from his position high on one of the spurs of the Lonely Mountain. Below him a volley of arrows was released, the great elven bows singing in the gloom. He turned slightly as there came a great cry from below him, and his spearmen charged against the black tidal waves of the orcs.

The shadow had returned, and right now Thranduil felt the chill of Mordor more keenly than he had felt it since the day when Isildur cut the ring from Sauron's hand. He shook his head bitterly. He had known this would come to pass. Ever since Dagorlad, the light from the sun had been dimmed. Thranduil had been expecting this. And he knew it was only the beginning.

The Elven King gazed out over the valley with keen eyes, watching the bright charge of his warriors. Somewhere, probably at the front, ran his son, Legolas.

0-o-0-o-0

Earlier that day

The Elvenking stood on the top of one of the spurs of the valley. Some of his captains were clustered around him, relaying orders. His sword swung idly in his hand as he watched the amassing of the troops below. Rather like the scurrying of ants, he thought absentmindedly. A messenger picked his way up the rocks towards him.

"Greetings, my Lord" said the messenger, hailing the King.

"Greetings" replied Thranduil. "Did you tell him?" The messenger suddenly appeared very nervous, avoiding the icy gaze of his King. "Aye, my Lord, I did."

"And?"

"He…well, he refused to come, my Lord." The messenger took a step backwards at the flash of fury in Thranduil's eyes. "He told me to say that he was staying with his warriors further down the valley. He is going to lead the spearmen when the first charge happens."

Thranduil began to pace restlessly. "He said that? He refused?" His sword spun in his hand. "Tell him… say it is an order. He cannot avoid it."

"With respect, my Lord, I had guessed his reply and told him that it was a direct order for him to come to you immediately, rather than a request. He refused that."

Thranduil sighed. He should have guessed that would happen. He should have gone further down the spur himself, but there was too much to organise. He still had tactics to finalise, and Mithrandir to talk to. He looked over; the wizard was bending over, talking to the perian. Thranduil was surprised. He had not expected Master Baggins to be in the battle, let alone stand with him, the King of the Woodland Realm. He should have guessed it though; the perian was full of surprises.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Aye, he did my Lord" said the messenger nervously. "I tried to persuade him, and unfortunately, it simply angered him. He asked me to relay this message directly to you."

"Well?"

"Lord Legolas asks you to stop being so over-protective, and says that he is going to stay with his troops regardless of what you do. He then calmed down a bit, my Lord, and said that he would give you all of his luck for the battle, and that he loves you dearly."

Thranduil nodded, his anger dissipating from those last words his son had relayed. "You may go" he muttered. He should have known Legolas would refuse to leave his troops and the forefront of the battle. He should have realised his son would have been angered by his request.

Thranduil sighed as he watched the armies, trying to catch a glimpse of his son. "I only want to keep you safe" he whispered.

0-o-0-o-0

Gandalf, from where he stood next to the King, smiled slightly at Thranduil's look of worry as they watched the battle below. "Fear not" he murmured softly, so only the elf could hear him. "Legolas will be fine."

Thranduil snorted softly. "His definition of 'fine', Mithrandir, is very different from ours."

Gandalf chuckled. "Aye, but remember he is an accomplished warrior, mellon-nin. And it has been decades since he was last seriously injured."

"This is not a skirmish in the forest, Mithrandir!" said Thranduil. "This is war. He has never fought like this before."

"Settle down, Thranduil" said Gandalf calmly. "He is your most skilled warrior, and will lead those elves well."

Nodding anxiously, Thranduil watched the battle. He leant forwards, unconsciously urging on his warriors as they charged, before sighing with some kind of relief as he saw the goblin ranks waver underneath their bright spears. For countless minutes he watched the raging battle in the valley below, hoping desperately for a quick end to this nightmare.

A shout behind him made the Elven King turn. Goblins had climbed the rocks above them and were now dropping down onto the elves like spiders, their black swords clanging harshly against the bright metal of the elves. The King knew the battle was going ill; the goblins had come in far greater numbers than even Gandalf had known about, and the armies seemed overwhelmed. Thranduil glanced quickly at Gandalf, who nodded, before they both drew their swords and joined the fray.

They fought on for what seemed like an age. No matter how many goblins they cut down, still more appeared, shrieking with delight as elves, men and dwarves fell to their foul blades. Thranduil pressed forwards, his long sword whirling in his hands as he fought to hold their ground against the black tidal wave.

A huge crash filtered in past his concentration, making him whip his head around in search for the noise. Thranduil watched out of the corner of his eye as the great stones crashed down from in front of the gates of Erebor, and the thirteen dwarves, minus Master Baggins, charged out in glittering mail. That thought made Thranduil spin around, searching for the small perian that had indeed risked much over the past few months. He saw no sign of him, but did not know whether to be troubled or relieved at this. After all, the hobbit may have simply gotten to safety before the goblins had overwhelmed them.

As Thranduil continued to battle tirelessly against the horde of goblins, he felt the slight sting of despair creep into his heart. There were too many. There was no way they could win this. Already, Thorin had stupidly pulled many of the dwarves and men, as well as some of his elves down into the valley. He had pushed on, regardless of any tactics, and had paid bitterly. Even the Elven King, with his keen sight, could not see Thorin Oakenshield anymore. And he could not come to his aid. The sheer number of the goblins had isolated the remaining elves on the spur of the valley. They could not push through the hordes to help their kindred. It would be over soon.

Then, seemingly from nowhere, a shrill voice piped up amongst the stained rocks and black bodies, mingled with the fallen bodies of the elves, their light now extinguished as they lay still among the corpses of their enemy.

"The Eagles are coming!"

At these simple words, hope kindled a fire in Thranduil's heart. He lifted his head and saw to his surprise and joy the specks in the sky, growing ever larger as the eagles came. He took up the cry.

"The Eagles! The Eagles are coming!"

0-o-0-o-0

Thranduil's gaze swept over the battlefield. The sun was now sinking in the sky as he wearily picked his way through the black corpses of the goblins. His heart sunk lower whenever he saw an elf, man or dwarf lying among the rocks.

The Elven King's gaze lifted to find Gandalf already below him, journeying steadily through the valley. Thranduil picked up his pace, neatly jumping a large boulder to come and walk beside his friend.

"Mithrandir?" he asked, concern etched across his face as he saw the wizard's arm clasped tightly to his chest.

The wizard just shook his head. "It is simply a flesh wound" he muttered. "It can be bandaged later. Right now, we need to find out what has been happening."

Thranduil nodded in agreement. His keen sight allowed him to spot Bard, standing with a few men among the corpses and rocks. He lifted a hand in greeting as the bowman turned towards them.

Bard, Gandalf and Thranduil met in the midst of the valley. Bard stepped forwards, his grim face troubled.

"Thorin fell."

Thranduil looked at Bard in shock, who tried to elaborate. "He breathes still. Beorn bore him from the field, but there is little hope. He has the night, maybe part of the next day, at a guess. "

Thranduil turned to Gandalf. Strangely, the wizard did not seem surprised.

"You knew, didn't you Mithrandir? You knew this would happen."

Gandalf looked up at the Elven King's soft words, sighing deeply. "Aye" he said simply. "It is what I feared. In my heart, I think I knew this quest would claim his life."

Bard nodded at the words. "What of the Halfling?" he asked. "It would be a sore blow indeed if we had lost one so innocent in this accursed battle. Thorin asks for him, but if he is dead…" He sighed. "He has heard of his nephews already."

Thranduil looked up sharply. "They are dead." It was not a question, merely stating facts.

Gandalf blanched slightly. "Fili and Kili as well" he murmured. "That is a heavy blow. So young. And the last of the line of Durin."

Bard glanced at Gandalf questioningly. "Thorin had no heirs? No sons?"

At the word 'son', Thranduil blanched. Ignoring the questioning look on the face of Bard, and the deeply troubled one on Gandalf's face, he spun around, his eyes roaming the battlefield. He could see no glimpse of his son, and a cold icy hand gripped his heart. Where was he? Where was Legolas?

Thranduil turned back to the small group, his gaze searching out a young man standing behind Bard. He beckoned him forwards. "Are you injured?" Thranduil asked quietly. The young man looked down at the floor, nervous to be in front of the formidable elf. At a shake of his head, the King continued.

"I need you to find any of my people, any elves that are uninjured. Tell them that their King says that they must find Legolas and bring him to the tents. And search for the perian as well. He must be found and brought to Thorin."

The young man frowned. "My…My Liege?" he asked quietly. "I do not know the elven tongue."

Thranduil cursed softly under his breath, trying desperately to remember the Westron name Bard uttered. "Halfling" he said finally.

"His voice was last heard near Ravenhill, that watchtower where the elves stood" said Gandalf. At Thranduil's frown of confusion, Gandalf turned to him. "He was the one who first saw the eagles. I'd know his voice anywhere."

The man bowed deeply. "We will find the halfling and… and…"

"Legolas" said Thranduil impatiently.

The young man nodded. "Of course, my liege." He turned and nearly ran from the small group, leaving behind one incredibly worried Elven King, one injured wizard and a confused bowman.

Bard sidled up to Gandalf as Thranduil turned and began to walk down to the camp. "Who is Legolas?" he muttered. "And why does he want him found?"

Gandalf sighed as he wearily trudged down to the camp. "I think if you were in Thranduil's position, you would do anything to find him" he said softly. "Legolas is his son. He led the first elven charge."

Bard paled. "But then…then he was in the valley, was he not? Thranduil's son was in the valley." He did not need to say any more. Both he and Gandalf knew that many of those who had charged into the valley had paid with their lives.

To Be Continued

I didn't realise until finalising this that this ending is actually a bit of a cliffie! Woops, never mind. This will get rather angsty in the next chapter or so, so be warned.

Thank you to everyone who has read this, and a double thank you if you review. This will probably come out as about 6 chapters. The next chapter will be up tomorrow.

Hannon le!

Elvish translations (for entire story):

Mellon-nin- my friend

Perian- hobbit/halfling

Saes- please

Hannon le- thank you

Mitho orch, Oropherion- kiss an orc, son of Oropher (Thranduil's father. It is one of Thranduil's titles)

Ada/Adar- dad/father

Penneth- little one

Ion-nin- my son