Fic: For Honour
Author's Note: So you know how sometimes a thing makes no sense and you still wind up writing it just because? Yeah. That.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: At the Woodland Realm's most fateful hour, her Prince is elsewhere.
For Honour
Saeldur mounts his horse in one easy, graceful movement.
The moment has come, the moment they have awaited for centuries, the moment when they ride to battle to determine, once and for all, the fate of the Woodland Realm.
He never thought it would come like this. Legolas was meant to be leading the archers into that fateful battle, with the setting sun glinting on his golden head like a beacon they would all follow to the very ends of Arda. Saeldur was meant to be riding at his shoulder, at his order, not commanding the archers who had sworn the loyalty of their immortal lives to their beloved Elf-prince.
But Legolas would not be Legolas if he did not make those infuriating, reckless, audacious choices that made them all proud of him. Saeldur knows, with a grim certainty, that this is what was always intended for them.
If only he could see whether they will all live to meet again this side of the Sea.
But he does not have the gift of prophecy. What he does have is this day, this hour, this battle.
Saeldur makes his way to the front of the courtyard. He can sense that the archers are not entirely pleased to go into this battle without Legolas, who has had their unwavering faith since the moment he was proclaimed their commander. They will obey Saeldur, but he is under no illusions: he cannot inspire them as Legolas does.
Fortunately, he does not have to.
"I miss him," he says, looking around at the gathered warriors. Aeroniel and Rochendilwen and Colfind are closest, waiting for the word to lead his columns out. "I wish he were here." Saeldur does not bother to specify who 'he' is; they all know. "All the same, I am glad he is not here. He would not be the Elf I have loved and followed and sworn to obey if he had not chosen as he did. Legolas has gone to do what he always does. He has gone to take the battle to the Enemy instead of waiting for the Enemy to come to him."
Saeldur pauses, glancing to the South. Somewhere, past the forest, past the unholy ruin of Dol Guldur, past the vast plains of Men, is Sauron's greatest stronghold in Middle-earth. Saeldur knows, with the certainty of all their years of shared battles, that Legolas is alive, somewhere to the South. If there must be only one of the Firstborn facing the power of Mordor in this most decisive of wars, who better than one of the finest warriors Elvendom has produced in the Third Age, the heir to the last remaining Elven kingdom of Middle-earth?
But Legolas is not alone. The sons of Elrond are with him, the peredhil marking the end of the Time of Elves and the dawn of the Time of Men. And here, in Mirkwood that was Eryn Galen, are the archers who serve him.
Saeldur turns back to the archers. "Legolas is there," he says, and although he speaks quietly, his voice carries in the still air. "Legolas fights for our cause, fights the power of the Enemy, possibly at the very Black Gates of Mordor. And if he can have the courage to challenge the Enemy before his greatest stronghold, we, who have had the honour of riding at his command, will have the courage to challenge the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. Legolas will return to us in victory, and he will have no cause to be ashamed of what we have done." Saeldur raises his bow in his hands as he did on that long-ago day when he offered it, along with his oath of loyalty, to his Prince. "For Legolas. We fight!"
"For Legolas!" comes the echoing response.
And, possibly for the last time, the archers of the Woodland Realm ride to battle.
THE END