Green Cloaks || Legolas

Forty Eight

It was not long after the beacons had been lit that the sight of riders were visible from the battlements. The silver trees of Gondor on their chest as the remains of their army fled back to the city. Fell beasts and their Nazgul riders plaguing their tail. The dragon-like creatures black against the blue skies. At the sight of them, Gandalf grabbed Pippin by the shoulder and hurriedly steered him towards the stables. "Luin!" He called back. His plan clear. 

"Yes!" Luin shouted as he vaulted straight off the battlement, shocked cries from the watching guards following him down as he fell. The air tugging on his cloak as one sword flicked out of it's sheath and under his feet. He soared up out of the dive and over the city just as the white form of Shadowfax burst out of the front gates. 

"The White Rider!" A cry went up. "The Blue Wizard!" 

Gandalf and Merry rode out to meet the remains of the forces. As they grew closer, the wizard held out his staff and white light burst from the tip. Luin picked up speed in the sky above as light burst behind him like a star. The three Fell beasts shrieked and shied away from the glow. The second of distraction all Luin needed. 

He launched himself from the blade, jumping high through the air as his free hand drew his second sword. The Nazgûl hissed as he landed on the scaled back of the beast and a shadowy hand reached for it's sword. A blue light burst from the end of his staff as he drove it through the ghostly chest. The Nazgul howled and burst into nothingness, shadow fading under the light. As the shadow faded, the sword still in the air flicked round and chopped off the head of the beast in one clean stroke. The body dropped, wings limp in death. Luin jumped back onto his flying sword and turned to the next one.

The other two beasts were retreating from Gandalf's light, the wizard below guarding the survivors as they rode for the city. Luin threw his sword. The blade spinning through the air in a glowing arc of silver and blue Qi. The second fell-beast did not get a chance to shriek before it's head was separated from it's body. The Nazgul vanishing back to Mordor as the body dropped. The sword continuing it's ark round through the air and slicing the wing off the third beast before returning to Luin's hand. The beast screeched in pain, remaining wing flapping uselessly as it spun into a dive. The crack as it hit the ground sounded like death. Luin hovered above it's body, watching for a twitch. It was dead, the Nazgul on it's back gone. Satisfied, he glided back towards the white city. 

The survivors of Gondor's army were already in the courtyard when he glided down. A man was speaking to Gandalf as his sword descended, and he looked up with visible awe in his eyes upon spotting him. His face was familiar but Luin was having trouble placing it. Then it hit him, Boromir. He looked like Boromir, they shared the same sandy brown hair and blue eyes. It must be his younger brother. "Illuin", The man, Faramir ruin recalled, breathed. The elvish word something Luin did not expect to fall from his lips. "The blue wizard. I saw how you slaughtered those beasts. Thank you". 

Luin's sword stopped and he stepped onto the ground as it sheathed itself. He nodded with a slight smile then glanced at Gandalf. "Luin", Merry grinned. "Faramir has seen Frodo and Sam. Not two days ago!" 

Luin looked at them with sudden hope. "Tell me", He stated. 

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He was cleaning he blades, legs dangling off the battlements less than two hours later. Above them the sun was shining and the sky was clear yet a dark cloud still lingered over the distant shadows of Mordor. Between Minas Tirith and the dark was the glider of blue that marked the river and the settlement of Osgiliath. The two now a wreck inhabited by orcs. The land was flat enough that if he concentrated, he could just about make out the little black dots that were the groups of foul creatures. 

Down behind him, in the city, the clatter of horse hooves on stone and the clink of armour made him turn. A precession was making it's way through the streets. Faramir leading the soldiers towards the gates as the civilians watched silently. Luin abandoned the rage he had been using to wipe the blood from his blades and sheathed them. Bounding off the wall and racing down the steps towards where Gandalf was standing. The white wizard watching the small army pass from the sidelines, sadness on his face. 

"Gandalf!" Luin exclaimed. "They cannot be going back out there". 

"The Steward has ordered for Osgiliath to be retaken. Faramir is obeying his father". Gandalf's tone and face was grim. 

"Does the man not care for his son? This is suicide!" 

"Denethor is blind but it is their choice. We should not interfere". 

Luin huffed as the last of the horses passed through the gates. The wood creaked as the doors shut behind them, blocking them from sight. He turned from Gandalf and unsheathed his sword,  jumping on as it lifted. The air carrying him up over the city and towards the citadel. When he reached the courtyard of the white tree, he stepped off and walked passed the trunk to the very edge. The whole city laid out before him and the distant line of men charging towards Osgiliath a blur. He stood in silence, even the city below seemed still in mourning, and watched as the line collapsed. 

Luin watched from his perch right at the edge of the courtyard. He stayed watching as a the distant shapes of Faramir's army fell and dwindled. Not moving even as a small figure left the Citadel and joined him on the edge. Pippin in his guard's uniform, a haunted look on his face. "Is there any hope?" he asked after a few seconds. The wind tugging at his curls and brushing Luin's hair over his cheeks.

"They are giving us time", Luin said. Voice calm but gaze sad. "Keeping the army of motor occupied while we wait for those from Rohan". 

"But this is not the army of Mordor", Pippin pointed out. 

"Their full forces have yet to gather either. All we can hope for is that this distraction has some benefit. It is a hopeless attack and they knew it". As he spoke, Luin placed a hand over his heart. A small pulse miles away, too far away, resonated in his heart. A jewel far in the distance glowed and an answering hand cupped it to his chest before following Aragorn into the dark tunnels of the dead. Back in Gondor, Luin watched as the survivors fled back to their gates. The orcs on their tails. 

unedited