Rated T for semi-graphic battle, gore, and blood

. . .
THE BOUGHS HAVE WEPT
. . .

Somber whispers fell into the wind, entwined with a melody of parting and farewell. Laments flitted amid the river's slowing rush. With every rustle of the leaves upon the dirt, the ravenous, insatiable call for sadness grew, building with every pound of a mourning heart. As if meeting the forest's summons, raindrops dripped from the sky almost as tears of the heaven's grief, cleansing the bloodstained ground of its muddled crimson stains.

Death had come amid the trees—drifted into the wood of ashy green and shadowed light, kissed its faded boughs, condemning it to a fate far darker than oblivion.

And he stood amid it all, hood drawn over his eyes, yet still he saw it time and time again in a never-ending reminder of what had only just occurred. His chest was tight, arm drawn close to his side. Jaw clenched and gaze fixated on the empty air, he could only just keep his looming emotions contained. It would be too costly to falter—to waver in his stand against the onslaught of numbing pain. He was to be an emblem of strength. A hope that others could look to.

But here as he stood, cloak catching about his legs, the weight of a thousand griefs seemed to have set upon his shoulders. Facing the river front, he felt the soft movements of his comrades behind him. Few spoke unless it be a murmured word. They all seemed of the same mind, displaying their feelings as minimally as their will allowed. The forest was at war—and death came with battle. Such had they all been told before taking their vows as a warrior; but that did not temper the cool, harsh, merciless sting of the reality that had so cruelly leapt upon them.

They had been unable stay near the battlefield, the lingering smell of combat too liable to attract some tainted scavenger. In the clearing which they stayed, they could only stay for a short time, but that respite would do them well in easing troubled spirits.

He wanted to reassure them; he wanted to offer some variant of comfort.  If such feeling came to him, he would give all the assurance vested in him to those around him—but as it was, there was naught to give and even less to draw upon. Too much guilt had come upon him, not of blame but of his own lack. A heavy sadness that hung above him, blinding his thoughts yet darkening the shadows of his mind.

A hum came from behind him, and with a hard swallow he turned, to face a dark gaze shadowed by untamed hair escaped from the confinement of propriety.

There was an understanding in the gaze, one which sentiment would engulf should it be given the chance.

The ellon's voice was low; tone soft; words gentle. "The forest grieves."

Legolas drew his cloak tighter to him. "Aye, gwador. It feels this loss so dearly as we—or what goodness lingers in these trees does."

A sheer veil of silence fell between them, extending into a distant melancholy. The company had lingered for too long already—they should continue to the on their journey. And yet there was still too much to consider; too much that had yet to be said.

So it was with a thick tongue that Legolas spoke again, heart constricting even as he voiced the words of his thoughts. "I did not know his name." There was a pause, no answer to the statement arising. Seconds passed filled only with quiet huffs of breath. "He was of our company—under my command—but as I kneeled beside him, held him in my arms as he faded from this world.—I had no name to call him by. Only useless comforts and empty promises."

Forven did not speak—seemed to have no cause to. Instead, the lieutenant stepped closer to Legolas, bringing one arm to rest on his shoulder. Even should Forven speak to him, Legolas did not know if he would hear, for his mind was slowly drifting into the captivating tides of memory. Colors blurred, swirling into a bleak mix of black and white. Pulled into a reminiscence of what could hardly be considered past but only a distant present, Legolas found himself amid the fight.

New warriors had been with him, coming from one of the village outposts—their expertise in regard to land and enemy activities was valuable. The mission was to have been simple. A patrol of the border—kill the small parties of enemies they found. The battle began much the same as the others, but as hours passed, the battles end began to turn.

Weapons split the air, fighting orc and spider in a whirlwind of unbridled fury. He spun on his heel, barely catching the blow of his enemy upon his blade.  The battle was coming to an end—few creatures of darkness remained to resist the elves that had come upon them.

Bringing the life of an orc to a swift end, Legolas furrowed his brow as a strange tone entered the air. His gaze darted amid those around him—searching—

Where? Distress, fear, despair, courage—encapsulated in one—one elf—one among them—somewhere—near? Far?

And then he saw him, pressed against a tree, enemies around him—no escape—

Legolas bit his tongue, setting his feet in the dirt, suppressing the urge to shout his anger, to vehemently curse the Shadow that ruined so much of what might have remained beautiful.

He ran—uncaring of the blades that attempted to reach him, cutting through leather before biting his skin. He stayed upright, unwilling to fumble. He must succeed. Drawing an arrow, he loosed it across the distance. Hoping, praying—

—but he was too late already.

The weapon's descent was slow, agonizing. His footsteps echoed in his ears, not fast enough. The arrow sped through the air, but it would arrive too late. Too late for what mattered.

He flinched, seeing again the ellon's end.  It seemed as if icy tendrils came upon the fallen warrior, instantly pulling the breath from his lungs. The sword in chest had spread an eerie portrait of oncoming doom as red stained green to be a dull, lifeless brown.

The wrath of the elves came then. Vengeance surging into their weapons, they fought the evils around them until only mutilated corpses remained, the stench of death tainting the clearing. Tears sprung to the firstborns' eyes, the imminence of a passing piercing their fea as deeply as their own death. The expanse dimmed as sadness grew, all eyes turning to their fallen comrade.

Slowly, Legolas came to his knees beside the ellon. He would call him by name, bring a warmth to his final moments... but he had not learned the ellon's name. Not asked it, not wondered of it, not so much as pondered it. Not knowing what to say, yet aware that few precious seconds remained in the ellon's life, he clasped the other warriors' hand, pressing it to his own chest and bowing his head. "Well done, brave warrior. You have defended the forest with honor. Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta."

The warrior smiled, his eyes alight with a dimming fire. What once was youthful innocence faded to final peace, a silent thank you forming on the warrior's lips. Legolas felt a tear slip down his cheek—

—and felt the life slip from the hand he held.

"Few did."

The voice piercing his thoughts, Legolas straightened. "Goheno nin... Did what?"

Forven stepped away. "His name. Few knew it. He was quiet, kept to himself. Perhaps it is no excuse, but if it may bring comfort..." The lieutenant shrugged, a smile barely appearing on his lips. "He has graced the Halls of Mandos now, though. You know as well as I that he should find peace there."

Legolas nodded his acknowledgment. "It is no excuse. No reason could justify my lack—no more than his death can be done justice. This cannot be allowed to reoccur, so long as I have command over any of our own. No warrior should be nameless, as if the blood they offer if for naught.

Forven clasped his shoulder in what seemed to be approval. "Then that is enough."

For a moment, the rain felt to cease its fall, pausing as a small burden lifted from me. Only time would create peace, but for the present, I would allow it to be—to rest. "Do you know his name?" The thought came in a rush of impetuousness, begging to be spoken into the damp air.

The warrior looked down, chuckling softly. "I wondered if you would ever ask." Bringing one hand to brush damp strands of hair from his eyes, he smiled, true with unrelenting assurance. "Serre'huin—at peace in darkness. You might remember such."

And Forven walked away, murmuring brief commands to the warriors he passed. Grief still hung about him, but hope held in it, passed from lieutenant to captain. With such attitude grasped, Legolas looked at the warriors around him, their eyes turned to him in anticipation of orders. New vigor in his voice, Legolas spoke. "I know you all heard him. We would all do well to remember it."

The night was filled with hummed songs of parting and sadness—but sometimes, in the lulls, a peaceful hymn awoke new light in the warriors' hearts. 

. . .

Translations:
Mellon : friend
Goheno-nin : forgive me
Gwador: brother, of a non familial type
Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta : May your ways be green and golden

. . .

Oof, the urge to completely rewrite this was almost insatiable, but I did say I would leave the stories as is (beyond proofreading) so... here it is.

Horrific? Mediocre? Let me know!