Upon the Branching Years by IgnobleBard

Forlorn Hope

Fighting a losing battle, Legolas gets an unusual proposition.

There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears. - Tolkien

Legolas spun around as the orc attacking him was felled by an arrow from behind. Glorfindel, standing some hundred yards away, bow in hand, gave him a nod before joining the fray again. Legolas frowned back at him. He didn’t need Glorfindel looking out for him, especially in the heat of battle. He returned his attention to the stream of orcs that continued to spill from the surrounding mountains hemming the Black Gate, continuing his onslaught, trying to will his tired muscles to respond with greater speed. They were losing, and badly.
 
After the One Ring showed up in the Shire, Gandalf told the hobbits to meet him in Bree but had then been captured by Saruman. Aragorn found them and was leading them to safety when Frodo was stabbed by the Witch King. By the time Glorfindel showed up they were surrounded by Nazgûl. He and Aragorn did their best to protect the Hobbits but only Sam had the presence of mind to take the ring before the Witch King could gain it. Glorfindel put him on Asfaloth and sent him racing to the Ford as the screeching Black Riders gave chase. Through some stroke of luck he had actually made it without falling off. Meanwhile, Aragorn and Glorfindel took the other hobbits by another route so that, in the end, they all gained the safety of Rivendell. Unfortunately, it was too late for Frodo, and the brave halfling had succumbed to his injury.
 
It was a somber day when Elrond led the council to decide the fate of the Ring. Gollum was still locked up in Mirkwood and Legolas had come to Imladris to relay the news that the Elves had gotten nothing of use out of him. After much discussion and debate, it was decided that the only way to keep Sauron from gaining the One Ring was to launch an attack on the Black Gate. Gandalf argued for stealth, but Boromir of Gondor was keen for war, as was Aragorn after the fate of Frodo. It was too dangerous and would take too long for a party to try to sneak into Mordor and get to the Mountain of Fire undetected. The Men of Gondor and the remaining Elves and Dwarves could, by mustering their armies, force Sauron from his lair to fight. Aragorn reasoned that without the One they had a chance to defeat him. Gandalf and Elrond remained steadfast in their opinions but even the hobbits agreed a preemptive attack was the only sensible thing to do.
 
They had not counted on the sheer numbers Sauron had managed to wield against them, nor did they know that the traitor Saruman was sending his Uruk-hai, along with the Dunlendings, to march through the lands of Rohan and take them from behind. They had also underestimated the force Sauron commanded in the land of Mordor. At their approach, the Black Gate opened and armies marched forth, led by the Witch King. Orcs and Trolls began to spring up from the mountainside, Men of the East and South flanked them from behind with their Mûmakil, sweeping through their defenses like a hot poker through cheese, the rest of the Nazgûl struck from the air, taking out the whole of the forces of Dol Amroth in a single sortie, while all around Men and Elves fell like leaves in autumn to the wretched sound of the Easterling battle horns.
 
Legolas fought on despite the hopelessness he felt. He did not despair dying, for that was surely what would happen at some point this day. He despaired for the darkness that would cover the world and destroy the fair lands and peoples. He wished he had stayed in Mirkwood to fight alongside his father in this terrible war.
 
A cry behind him and he turned again, just in time to see Glorfindel go down under an onslaught of orcs. He ran to help and managed to kill three of the creatures before the others took off toward the rocky pit beneath the mountain whence they had sprung. He let them flee, looking to Glorfindel, but it was too late. His eyes stared sightlessly into the muddy brown sky, a look of grim determination still on his face. Legolas’ eyes clouded with grief and rage and without thinking of the consequences he chased after the orcs, stumbling down into their foul tunnel. His only light was the bleak rays from outside and within a few steps he was almost in pitch dark. Had he not been raised in the caves and dark paths of Mirkwood he would have fared ill, but he was able to see well in the dark, certainly well enough to make his way after the retreating orcs. He could have tracked them by their smell with no light at all, but there was a dimness far ahead he knew was some sort of opening in the solid rock.
 
The tunnel was damp and occasionally his feet found the small puddles and pools caused by water seeping down through the cracks above. As water splashed up from one of these pools, a voice suddenly brought him up short.
 
“Hold, Legolas Greenleaf. I have need of you.”
 
“Who speaks?” Legolas said sharply. “If this is some trick…”
 
The voice became stern and imperious. “I am Ulmo, the father of waters, and you will heed and obey!”
 
“Ulmo speaks from the sea, not some crack in a mountainside.” He tried to maintain his air of bravado but he could feel a mighty presence surround him, and that voice was deep, so deep.
 
“My power runs through the veins of this world. The waters speak their secrets to me and are mine to command. That is why I come to you, and that is why you must be the one to save Arda, if you will.”
 
“What can I do against the might of Sauron or the power of the One Ring? We are losing the battle and when it is over there will be nothing left to save.”
 
“That is true. Your forces cannot win this battle, but there is another way.”
 
“What hope do you bring?”
 
“A hope that will inflict upon you deep sorrow but will turn the tide of this war and destroy Sauron. Will you accept this charge?”
 
Legolas thought of Glorfindel, his love, dead on the battlefield above, and his heart twisted at these words. How much deeper could his sorrow go? If he went back and fought upon the plain above he would die, but he and Glorfindel would be reunited in Aman. If he accepted Ulmo’s edict he did not know what sacrifice he might have to make. Yet he knew Glorfindel would expect no less from him, for he loved Middle-earth more than he had ever loved Aman. Glorfindel had left the undying lands in his youth and often said he never regretted a day of it, despite the many hardships the Elves had suffered.
 
“I accept.” His voice echoed down the tunnel, resolute.
 
“Swear it.”
 
“I swear to obey whatever charge you give me.”
 
“Then follow this tunnel to the end. It will lead you to the city of Gondolin in the days of its glory long hence. By taking part in the battle for that city and allowing Glorfindel to fulfill his destiny you will change the fate of Arda through the Ages to come.”
 
His blood ran cold at these words. One of the most famous and lamentable battles of the First Age. He must go into the hell of that war and face the horrifying creatures of Morgoth, creatures he had only heard of in legend? His courage would have left him if not for the thought of Glorfindel.
 
“What is his destiny?”
 
“Go now to Gondolin and let events unfold as they will. You will know, when the time comes, if you have succeeded.”
 
Legolas immediately regretted his decision to accept a responsibility with no clear direction or guarantee of success. He remembered the admonition of his father about words given in haste. Yet what other choice was there with the fate of the free peoples hanging in the balance. With a troubled heart, he sheathed his knife and trotted down the tunnel for many miles until at last he saw bright daylight ahead.