The Night's Wanderer

33. Victory and its Costs

The tower fell.

Turning to rubble and ash it crumbled away from the base and worked up to the fire filled eye as the pupil widened in horror.

The enemy of all the races in Middle Earth had been defeated

Frodo had succeeded on his quest that came about a year past. The quest that brought together ten people from all races and lives.

With cheers from the soldiers as the orc army fell into the opening ground, Arda swallowing up those that tainted their land, Aragorn beamed at the success. Relief flowed through his veins, a weight he carried on his shoulders for decades lifted as he peered around for those he deemed his friends.

Gimli had his axes resting on his shoulder as he laughed with Merry and Pippin. After all of their adventures and battles he was glad for the friends he had made, and the stories that had been shared.

Gandalf had already been picked up by the Lord of the Sky, the large eagles heading to Mount Doom in hope he could save the Ring Bearer and his Loyal Friend.

And Legolas was . . . kneeling on the floor?

With his brows furrowed and smile quick to drop Aragorn strode past those celebrating around him, drawn to the blonde hair low to the ground and dark armour laying in the dirt. He still matched the name Strider which Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin had met in the Prancing Pony in Bree many months ago.

Legolas sat on his legs with Morel's head lying on his lap. Her body laying limp on the earth, the dark armour hiding the rise and fall of her chest. He had already torn the end of his tunic to wrap around the wounds that bled heavily on her legs, knowing they would be at risk of infection while a fear that Morel is losing too much blood trickled into his brain.

Small elvish words were whisked away by the breeze as he begged her to open her eyes. Calling her by the newly forged nickname but her ears didn't even twitch.

He couldn't lose her.

He had known there was a chance such a thing would occur, but now it seemed more real than a small concern in the Wanderer's mind.

Unknowingly a few tears welled in his eyes, trailing down his face before dripping off his chin. As the water droplets landed in Morel's hair he realised he sat crying but made no attempt to hide it.

Kneeling down beside his friend Aragorn quickly sat his fingers on Morel's neck to find her heart beat. It was slow and weak but consistent.

"What happened?" Aragorn questioned Legolas as he looked over the wounds on her leg. The last he had seen or heard of Morel in the battle was her yell of protest and scream. He had not come to aid due to fighting an orc that had managed to push him to the ground.

"That hoard focused solely on her. I fear she over exerted herself with her magic." Legolas spoke quietly. His eyes then sat on the blood seeping through the strips of his tunic. "I failed at being her eyes once again."

He was holding back sobs which formed a lump in his throat. He couldn't bear to think what could possibly be. Especially that he failed protecting her as he vowed to.

Suppressing the cold feeling in his chest Legolas couldn't break his eyes from Morel. Her face, although holding smudges of dirt and blood, remained calm and peaceful.

She is beautiful.

The silver hair remained unkept and grime covered, pale skin shining in the sun as it seeped over the darkened sky. Legolas swallowed an audible cry while his thumb brushed over Morel's cheek, dark blood smearing as he registered the warmth of her skin.