This can't be real- Part 3

A/N: This is the final part to this miniseries, and I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this. This was a little harder for me to write about- after all, this is a little more of a sensitive and delicate topic, and I wanted to definitely get the ideas and emotions right. So thank you all for your kind words about this miniseries, I really appreciate it.

As I said before, this is a sensitive topic, and what I have written so far is rather sad. Hopefully this chapter will be a little different- I want to try and end things on a hopeful note, and I think this chapter will do that.

As always, reviews are very welcome. Thank you again to those who have stuck with this. Hopefully the longer story I am working on will be up within a month, though I am having trouble finding the time to write now I am back at school.

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

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25th of March, Year 3019 of the Third Age

It was over.

It was done.

Around them the armies of Sauron scattered, the orcs running heedlessly away from the bright swords of the men of Gondor and Rohan, as well as the small group of Dunedain, one hobbit, the sons of Elrond, an Elf and a Dwarf.

The Eagles had already disappeared into the East with Gandalf, searching for Frodo and Sam. There was still hope for them, still hope that they could be found and brought back. Some of the men Sauron had bought to fight for him were still pressing on the army, but with the fall of Sauron, with the destruction of Barad-Dur, a new hope was given to their army now, and they fought fiercely.

Legolas had long since run out of arrows, and was at the forefront of the battle, his knives spinning and slashing in his hands. The orcs had run, some groups breaking off and chasing after them. The men in front of him, the Easterlings and Haradrim that were still disillusioned of Sauron's power kept fighting, but they were wavering.

Over to the left of him, Aragorn raised Anduril with a rallying cry and their army surged forwards. Finally the men broke, their line scattering as they turned and ran. Their leader, a huge swarthy man with tangled hair, fell to his knees in front of Aragorn.

It was over.

Legolas watched as Aragorn, fully the King he had been destined to be, stepped forwards. He stood tall, taller than anyone else on the battlefield, and the strength that Legolas had seen in him for a while was now visible for everyone to see. And in that moment, Legolas felt a strange pride for his friend.

He glanced around quickly, his mind still on full alert for the battle, the adrenaline still buzzing. Gimli was safe, walking across the dusty plain that was strewn with bodies, both orcs and their men. Aragorn he knew was alright, and Eomer was there as well, coming to stand beside the soon-to-be King. Imrahil was limping but didn't look too bad, and Elladan and Elrohir were standing together a little way away, speaking quietly. Both looked tired and dirty, but otherwise unhurt. He couldn't see Pippin, but Legolas was sure the small hobbit was fine. He would be hard to see in the crowd of men anyway.

The adrenaline started to fade from him as he took in the aftermath of the battle. It was bloody, as always, and messy. A lot of people were dead, a lot of good people. A lot more were wounded. Nearly everybody would have some sort of wound, including himself. Legolas could feel the sting of small cuts over his arms and blood trickling down his leg, but he knew they were only superficial, maybe needing a stitch or two at the worst.

Of course, it wasn't actually over. There was still so much to do, so much to clean up and repair, to make the land whole again. There would be wounded from today, and the dead to bury, and orc carcasses to burn, and…so much more to do. But it was over, in the sense that the Ring had been destroyed and Sauron had fallen, and the darkness they had been fighting for all of their lives was shattered. Sauron had fallen.

Legolas stared, and his keen eyes found the mass that was Orodruin in the distance. It was still belching out smoke, but Barad-Dur, the dark shape that had stood nearby, was no more. He slipped his knives back into their sheaths as he stood there and stared.

Was it over?

Was this real?

He wanted it to be, of course. He wanted this to be real, for this to have really happened. But he had spent so long fighting it all, had spent so long with two knives or a bow in his hand, had spent so long with the shadow of Sauron hanging over his head, hanging over his home, that for it to be gone...

His legs felt weak and they buckled. Legolas fell to his knees on the bloody battlefield, amidst the corpses and the dust. He didn't think he had the strength left in him to get back up. It had just drained out of him, just fled when he realized that maybe this was real. Maybe they had actually won.

He heard startled voices from nearby, and then the sound of running feet. A figure appeared in front of him and Legolas recognised Elladan crouched down in front of him.

"Legolas?" he was saying, and the sound was almost muffled. "Legolas, are you hurt?"

Legolas blinked, and shook his head. "No," he said softly. He put out a hand and pushed himself up from the ground, avoiding the patches of dark blood. He stumbled slightly, the gash in his leg throbbing fiercely as he put weight on the leg, and Legolas felt a hand grab hold of his arm and haul him upwards until he was standing.

"Legolas!" Elladan was shaking his shoulder now, looking concerned. Legolas felt the grip on his arm vanish and then Elrohir was in front of him as well. "Legolas?"

The blond elf shook his head. "Is this real?" he asked softly, his gaze taking in the blood and the carnage surrounding them. "This can't be real."

"What?" asked Elrohir. He looked down and suddenly noticed the blood trickling down Legolas' leg. "You are hurt," he said pointedly, crouching down and pressing down gently on the gash.

The sharp pain helped jolt Legolas back to the present time, and he grimaced slightly. "It is not much," he said. "Nothing compared to what others may have. It can wait."

"Aye, I suppose it can," said Elladan. Elrohir quickly pulled a strip of cloth from the hem of his tunic and wrapped it around Legolas' leg. He stood up again, and turned to look around the battlefield.

"It is over," he murmured. "It is done."

"Does any of this feel like it isn't real?" asked Legolas hesitantly. "Like this isn't happening?"

"Aye," muttered Elladan. "But it's over. It really is." The three elves stood there, amidst the wounded and the dead, on the edge of the army that was slowly drawing together around the three banners.

Legolas drew in a breath. "I almost don't want to believe it," he said. "Just in case, just in case it isn't true, or the darkness comes back." And it was true. He guessed he was afraid of it not really being over, of the darkness returning and the ensuing despair. It was like his mind was not letting him fully believe it, because it was so good, because it didn't want to fall that far if it turned out to be untrue.

"All my life," Legolas murmured. "I never believed I would live to see this day. I always thought I would die defending my home, die under the trees of Mirkwood. I never believed I would be alive at this time, let alone here, outside Mordor. It is still hard to believe."

Elladan's hand found Legolas' shoulder and he gripped it tightly. "What are we meant to do now?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," said Elrohir. "I never thought I would live past this point," he added with a morose chuckle.

"Me neither," said Legolas with a small smile. "I don't know what to do now." He just couldn't quite believe it was real. But then Legolas saw Aragorn out of the corner of his eye, saw the banner that Arwen made, the banner of the King, high up on the hill. The banner of Rohan, the running white horse on green, and the banner of Dol Amroth, the white swan ship on blue, stood beside it.

Ai Valar.

It was real. It was over.

Elbereth.

His legs felt weak again and Legolas willed them to support himself. He couldn't think anything else, didn't know what else to think. It was over. It was done. It was real.

Elladan looked over to where Aragorn was directing people in a thousand different directions, probably sending out people to look for wounded and others to do all the other things that needed doing right now. As Elrohir and Legolas turned to look, Aragorn glanced over and saw the three of them together. He nodded at them, and the three elves, sharing the same mixture of pride and worry for the man, nodded back.

"He will need help," said Elladan softly. Without asking each other, the three elves began to make their way over to where Aragorn was standing.

"That is what brothers are for," pointed out Elrohir. "And friends," he added, grinning at Legolas. Legolas smiled back, stumbling slightly as he jarred his wounded leg, and Elrohir caught his arm.

They didn't say much else; there was no need to. All of them understood how the others were feeling. After all, they had all been fighting for so long, and now a strange mixture of relief, pride, doubt and a weary sadness was settling over them.

The relief was because it was over. They didn't have to fight Sauron and his forces anymore, not really. There may be skirmishes, battles to drive out the last of the orcs, but the war was over.

Pride, because they had won. They had done it; they had beaten Sauron and had destroyed the Ring. All of those that had been lost over the years, they hadn't failed them. They had done it.

The doubt was there because still none of them were completely sure that this was real, that they weren't dreaming. It was a strange feeling, like walking through a dream and knowing that you should wake up. And Legolas found it strange that it almost felt like hope, the feeling, though of course they were not hoping for this to not be real. Though maybe, in a small part of their mind, they were, because for it to be real was huge and terrifying, as well as wonderful.

And then there was the weary sadness, because it was over, finally, and they could stop. They could stop running, stop fighting, stop defending and protecting what they loved with their lives because that was the only way to keep it safe. And yet so many had died on the road here, so many had fallen, and maybe there was a little guilt in there as well at this thought. After all, why should they deserve to be here, and not those who died waiting to see this day?

The three elves reached Aragorn, and he briefly pulled all of them into an embrace, before looking at them with a small, exhausted smile. "Is this real?" he asked softly. "I am having trouble believing all of this."

Legolas chuckled slightly, seeing on his friend's face the same strange mixture that was running through him, and he allowed the relief and the joy to fully run through him, dispelling the doubt, or the hope, whichever it was called. "It is real," he confirmed. "It is over, mellon-nin. It is done."

0-o-0-o-0

Hope is a survival technique. Hope is what can keep you going in a situation when you cannot see the end of the tunnel, when you are not sure that an end even exists. Hope doesn't always give you strength, but it can keep you on your feet for just a little longer.

Yet hope can be a sly thing as well. When things go wrong, when despair and guilt and a thousand other human emotions take over, hope is there to point out that maybe things aren't real, that maybe this isn't really happening. And this is still survival- you cannot cope at that moment with how bad things are, with what is happening, so you turn to hope, and allow yourself a few precious moments where you can think it isn't real. But anymore than that and it is dangerous. Hope cannot change a reality into a dream.

But sometimes, this feeling that it isn't real does not herald something so bad that you cannot cope. Sometimes, you cannot believe it is real because it is too good, because things are finally going right, for once. You do not want this to be snatched away from you, letting you fall and hurt yourself, so the doubt, or hope, is there to stop you rising too far. But this is when it doesn't hurt to believe it is real. This is when you can wake up from the dream instantly, because the protection your mind is offering you is not needed, not on a good day.

Hope cannot change reality into a dream. But sometimes, on a good day, it doesn't have to. Reality works just fine.

The End