I'm just re-posting this to correct a couple of mistakes that viggomaniac was kind enough to point out to me. Thanks!
Title: A Light in the Darkness
Series: Book of Days (basically, it's a series of missing moments. Little scenes between Aragorn and Legolas that will take place throughout the trilogy – please read author's note (2) for more info.)
Author: Erika
Rating: PG
Summary: Legolas and Aragorn reunite after many years of wandering separate paths.
Timeframe: Takes place in Rivendell, before, during, and after the Council of Elrond.
Spoilers: For the FOTR, as if any of you haven't seen it.
Category: Angst, POV.
Disclaimers: It would make me the happiest person in the world to be able to truthfully say that Aragorn and Legolas belong to me, but alas, it is not so. I make no money from this, and it is written (against my will) for entertainment purposes only.
Feedback: Both positive feedback and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated and will be cherished!
Archive: Please ask and send me a link to your site so that I can check it out. D
Author's Note:(1) It's been a few years since I last read the LOTR in its entirety so these missing moments are basically based on the movies. I apologize in advance if I contradict anything that's stated in the books; any mistakes are purely accidental. (2) So far, this series consists of the following stories: "A Light in the Darkness", "A Friend Such As You", "Darkness", "The Comfort of Listening", "There is Always Hope", and "Fall of a Friend."
Legolas:
My heart was tortured. I could feel the misery spreading further within me with the passing of each day. Sometimes the sadness was so acute that even the trees held no solace for me. The trees. Being so intangibly bound to them was a gift I cherished above all others but it was also a curse. I felt what they felt. When they lifted their silent voices in mirth, I rejoiced with them. When they wilted and sang of loss and despair, I mourned with them. Now, I shared their invisible tears at witnessing such ugliness.
Mirkwood was not what it had once been. All of Middle Earth was changed. What had once held beauty beyond the heart's wildest fantastical imaginings was now overrun with sickness. My people were leaving these shores. We were sailing to the Grey Havens, to the Undying Lands, to a sanctuary where we could forever thrive in the beauty of nature. This was my home though. For thousands of years, I had lived upon these lands. I could not witness their destruction, could not know of the peril that lay ahead, without feeling utter despondency.
Even now, Sauron was growing stronger. Even now, his evil was seeping through the world. What if he could not be stopped? There was no alliance between elves and men anymore. There would be no vast armies of my kin to help men in their battle. Dwarves could surely not be trusted to come to their aid. What could men, scattered and leaderless, do? What if the free peoples of Middle Earth fell? What if everything I had come to love perished?
I lifted my burdened gaze to Rivendell and mercifully felt my mood lighten.
It had been too long since I had last allowed myself to contemplate things not related to the darkness descending over Middle Earth. In times as foreboding as these, it was difficult to forget, even temporarily, the evil that threatened to destroy everything I held dear. However, Rivendell, in all its undying magnificence, brushed away that ever-present sense of gloom and replaced it with memories of idle tranquility.
As always, the way the streaks of sunlight seemed to bathe this sanctuary in a beauty that remained untouched by the creeping shadows reminded me of a time spent here when I had also been out of worry's reach. Though it was the person I had spent the time with that had made me feel so safe, Rivendell had since evoked a sense of peace whenever I was within its boundaries. Despite the reason of my arrival, it was no different now.
The six months I had spent here with Aragorn prior to his twentieth spring formed what I considered to be the most serene period of my life. Coming at a time when the approaching danger could be heard in the whispering of every tree, and the death of a dear companion had nearly destroyed me with despair, my friendship with Aragorn had been a light in the darkness for me. Throughout the many long years in which we had known each other he had served as my most trusted companion and my dearest confidant. I loved him as a brother.
It had sadly been nearly seven years since I had last seen him. Though we had both made a valiant effort to keep in touch, the ever-flowing tides of evil had made it increasingly difficult to find time for letter writing. As a consequence, I knew very little of Aragorn's comings and goings as of late, though I had always found ways of at least keeping myself informed in regards to his wellbeing. He had most certainly done the same for me.
Knowing that Aragorn had not yet managed to lose his life soothed me but I had still missed him terribly. Though the reason was dark, it was of comfort that Aragorn was here in Rivendell. I was most eager to be in his company once again, even if the gravity of the situation would most certainly rob us of any opportunity to reacquaint ourselves. As desperately as I wished that my current visit to Rivendell could be marked by the same long hunting expeditions Aragorn and I had enjoyed upon the first forging of our friendship, I knew the current state of affairs would prevent us from spending our time so idly. I would content myself with simply seeing him again.
Gracefully dismounting my horse, I tied the reins and gently smoothed back her soft fur as I whispered my gratitude for her faithful service to me. When several servants approached the group in which I had arrived, I allowed them to lead my steed away. I knew she would be well tended to.
Glancing up towards a terrace that overlooked the entrance gates, I caught sight of Lord Elrond and Gandalf exiting to a side room blocked from my view. The council that the elf lord had called together would not meet until the morrow but I had need of speaking with him before then. It was time to learn what truth the frightened, hushed whispers that had reached my ears held.
Leaving behind the man and dwarf I had chanced to arrive with, I hurried to climb a flight of stairs that would lead me to where I had seen Lord Elrond and the wizard. I succeeded in locating them both just as Gandalf departed Lord Elrond's company.
"Gandalf," I bowed to him as he approached me.
"Legolas," he responded solemnly, "It pleases me to see that you have arrived safely. I trust you met little trouble in your journey?"
I could not help but frown. As severe as I knew things to be, I found the manner in which the wise old wizard addressed me to be disheartening. Always before he had greeted me with twinkling eyes and a warm smile. Now, there was very little joy behind his politely uttered salutation, only a grimness that served to further sadden me. It was another reminder that times had indeed grown grim.
"I was attacked by a small band of orcs just after I departed the lands of my father, but by the grace of the Valar I escaped unscathed," I replied sorrowfully, wishing to see the light return to the wise one's eyes.
Gandalf smiled, but it was a wan, empty smile. "I am glad. If you will excuse me, there are things I must tend to."
I bowed again, "Of course. I will see you at the Council tomorrow."
Gandalf nodded and left the room.
"Lord Elrond," I turned to the elf lord, bowing to him as well. "I would speak with you, if you have a moment to spare."
Lord Elrond smiled fondly, though I could see the worry that darkened his eyes. Usually severe in appearance, he now seemed foreboding and most distressed. "Of course, Legolas. It has been far too long since you last rested in Rivendell and it gratifies me to see you again. I wish more pleasant circumstances had brought about this meeting."
"As do I," I tried to return his smile but failed. "Please…Lord Elrond, I have heard the rumors. I beg you, are they true?"
Lord Elrond sighed deeply, motioning for me to follow him as he turned and walked deeper into Rivendell. "It saddens me deeply to tell you that they are indeed. Sensing that its master's time of rising is at hand, the One Ring has reemerged."
My steps faltered, bringing me to an unsteady stop. It was as I had feared. A dreadful coldness of spirit was born in my heart and quickly spread through my body, chilling me with a familiar sense of desolation. I had hoped – prayed – it was not so. If the One Ring had resurfaced it could mean only one thing: Sauron had grown more powerful than any had dared to imagine.
I felt a gentle hand grip my forearm. Lifting my gaze, I saw that Lord Elrond had stopped and turned back towards me. Though he said nothing, there was an understanding comfort in his touch.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to speak. "Where is the Ring?"
Lord Elrond nodded ever so slightly, as if he had been expecting the question. "It is here," his words were heavy, "in Rivendell, to have its fate decided in the morrow."
"Here?" I repeated disbelievingly, "How can this be?"
"If you come with me, I shall explain," Lord Elrond released my arm and again began walking.
I silently followed him, lost in a tumult of thought.
The Council had been called to decide the fate of the Ring, the fate of Middle Earth. Truly, though, there was little to be decided. The Ring would have to be destroyed. The risk of it falling into Sauron's hands was simply too great. If he found it, if he drew it too him, all hope would be lost.
Hope was already a fragile thing. Like the dying flame of a flickering candle it leapt and fell, constantly in danger of being extinguished entirely. As of late, it had barely withstood the ravages that threatened to destroy it. Its light had faded in my heart. Now, I knew not what to think. It despaired me to know that the One Ring, once believed forever lost, had again made itself known. However, it also gave me reason to hope. Sauron did not yet have the Ring, by whatever grace of fortune, it was in our possession. We had been granted an opportunity to forever destroy it. Surely any chance, no matter how small, was reason enough to keep that fading candle lit?
"Legolas?" Lord Elrond's questioning voice drew me from my thoughts and I found myself standing before the doorway to the elf lord's quarters. He was waiting for me to enter but I had been so distracted that I had not noticed our arrival.
"Forgive me," I said, immediately going inside.
"There is no need to apologize, I more than understand your surprise and concern," Lord Elrond followed me. "If you'll sit down," he gestured towards a comfortable sofa, "I will tell you all you need to know."
I left Lord Elrond feeling only more downtrodden. Aragorn, with Arwen's timely assistance, had succeeded in bringing the hobbit, Frodo, and therefore the Ring, to Rivendell. While it pleased me that the halfling, who fortunately was well on his way to recovery, had managed to resist the Ring's evil and carry it safely here, everything else I had heard increased my worry.
Sauron, sensing the Ring as surely as it had sensed him, had sent the Nazgûl to retrieve it for him. The Black Riders had very nearly succeeded and, though undoubtedly incapacitated for the time being by Arwen's use of her people's magic, I knew they would not relent. In addition to that, Saruman the White had betrayed us and was in the process of creating a fowl army to unleash upon Middle Earth. Whoever embarked upon the quest to destroy the Ring would have many perils to overcome. Taking the Ring, such a powerful instrument of evil, into the heart or Mordor was an unlikely task. Who could be entrusted not to succumb to its evil?
Aragorn was stronger than he believed himself to be, but if given physical possession of the Ring, would his strength endure? Gandalf himself refused to touch it; for him the risk was greater than for most. He would do terrible things if the Ring overcame him. I would not take hold of it myself. To slowly succumb to its evil was a fate I would rather die than face. Who then, could we trust with it?
Slowly, I drifted towards my room – the same one I had been given upon my every visit since Aragorn's twentieth spring. It was very near my friend's quarters and, as I passed, I could not help but check for any signs of his presence within. To my surprise, the door was ajar.
My woes momentarily forgotten, I lithely pushed the door open and slipped quietly into the familiar room. Not having expected Aragorn to be there, I was delighted to see that he was sitting on the side of his bed, his back facing me. He appeared to be rummaging through the contents of a traveling pack.
Choosing to stay silent, I took this time to simply observe Aragorn and regain my sense of him. In many ways he remained unchanged. His well-muscled form, the slightly unkempt, frizzed dark russet hair, and the rather uncertain withdrawn demeanor, were all qualities I had associated with him for a good many years. Something was different though. He seemed…more weighed down. If I had to put a name to it, I would say he was fatigued, weary from the constant doubts he shouldered.
I let out a soft sigh of sadness. I had not expected Aragorn to have overcome his uncertainties in our time apart but it always filled me with sorrow to witness his anxiety.
Aragorn stilled in his examination of the knapsack and very slowly turned to look over his shoulder. For a brief moment, disbelief flickered across his face but it was soon replaced by an indescribable look of joy. Light literally sparked in his eyes, causing them to twinkle with almost boyish enthusiasm, and a broad grin swept across his lips.
Setting the pack aside, he stood up and turned towards me. "Legolas," he whispered, almost too softly for me to hear. Lingering a couple paces back, he spent a few long moments just examining me with his piercing, curious gaze, the one that always seemed to give him such an understanding of my thoughts and emotions.
Accustomed to his appraising scrutiny, I let him study me.
I was struck by how much older he looked. Specks of grey were beginning to crop into his hair and his once smooth skin had given way to wrinkles of time and worry. Though masked by his current elation, the lassitude that marred his features with shadow was what seemed to have aged him the most, giving him the appearance of a man who had experienced too much turmoil for one so young.
The differences in his appearance were admittedly slight but they were blaring to my eyes for it distressed me to see signs of his mortality. Aragorn was the closest friend I had ever been gifted with but the slow decay of time would take him from me. It always pained me to think that if he did not fall in battle, I would lose him to a foe that I would never have to face myself, save through him.
When Aragorn was satisfied with his observations, he closed the distance between us and pulled me into a tight embrace. I immediately responded by wrapping my arms around him and drawing him close. Reveling in the comfort of being near him, I allowed my contentment to wash over me and cast light on the despair that had darkened my soul. Though my happiness was undoubtedly more subtly shown that Aragorn's, I felt my heart overwhelmed by an exultation more pure than any I had felt in many years. How wonderful it was to see him again!
Simultaneously, we both drew back and gripped each other's shoulders. "You are exactly as I remember you, mellon nîn (my friend)," he murmured thickly, his voice raw with emotion.
I tried to smile but could not. Instead, a small cloud of sadness intruded on my joy. I wished I could say the same in return but I could not deny how the ravages of time had affected Aragorn. His elvish blood gave him strength and vitality but it was not enough to combat the fact that he was mortal.
Aragorn nodded knowingly, his insight into my mind having remained acute.
"I missed you more than words can say, Legolas," he said, fingers tightening around my shoulders.
"As did I," I finally spoke, my words shaky; "The ills of Middle Earth have kept us apart for far too long."
"Let us not think of that now," he urged fervently, "let us enjoy the time we have." His eyes blazed with sincerity and for a moment he even seemed to be Estel again – the young man he had been before he had learned of his heritage, before the night had descended and his perceived weakness had darkened his once perpetually bright eyes. Even now, there was an ever-present melancholy in their depths, lurking just behind his joy.
"Nothing would please me more," I leaned forward until our foreheads were touching.
"Come," he pulled away after a short while and urged me to sit down on the side of his bed, immediately taking the space next to me. "Let us reminisce."
So we did. We spoke of our adventures together when he was but a young man and recalled how are friendship had evolved. Hours later, when all the stories had been told and all the deeds recounted, we sat side by side in silence, able to enjoy one another's company without the need for words. It was, after all, a blessing just to be together again.
"I cannot tell you how pleased I am that your father sent you to represent Mirkwood in the Council tomorrow," Aragorn said at length, "I had feared we would not see each other for another great many years."
The words 'if at all' were left unspoken but resounded so loudly within me that it was as if they had been shouted. I studied Aragorn with a sidelong look. Never one to forget his troubles for long, I was not surprised to see that most of the joy had ebbed from his face. My presence soothed him, but it was not enough to truly assuage his turmoil. Nothing was. Proving himself wrong was the only thing that ever would be.
I reached over and threaded our fingers together.
Sighing, Aragorn smiled sadly. "Thank you."
He squeezed my hand for a moment and then released it. Slowly standing, he walked over to the window that lighted his room and stood there, wordlessly staring out past the terrace. My gaze fell to the discarded pack that lay opened on the bed. Peaking out from inside the leather confines was the tip of what appeared to be a mahogany colored bow. It was an odd color finish for a bow. Curiously, I lifted it from the pack. To my surprise, it was quite small. Child size, in fact. Running the smoothly carved weapon through my hands, I studied the markings that had been engraved lengthwise on its grip.
The cold chill of surprise passed through me.
This was no ordinary child's bow. Though I had not seen it in many years, the memory of fashioning it was fresh and vivid within my mind. This was the bow I had painstakingly labored over for a four-year-old Estel the day before I had returned to Mirkwood after an extended stay in his home.
After having been rather severely wounded in battle, my father had sent me to Rivendell for treatment and recovery. Mirkwood was already the victim of many orc assaults at the time and Ada had believed that some time spent in relaxation would do me good. I had, of course, protested, but it was to no avail and I soon found myself as Lord Elrond's guest. He had personally seen to my injuries and ensured that all my needs were met.
One night, shortly after having recovered most of my strength, Estel, escaping his father's supervision, had come to my room. Apparently, Mirkwood had always fascinated him and his brothers had made certain that the young one – barely four at the time – knew that I was prince of that realm, and that I was an expert with the bow, another one of Estel's interests. As a result of Elladan and Elrohir's doubtlessly exaggerated tales of my bravery, the child had developed an admiration of me that was evident even when he first peeked through my doorway.
Estel had been a precious child. The pudgy roundness of his face and dimpled cheeks had endeared him to me immediately. As had the shoulder-length tangled locks or raven colored hair that had dangled about his face in an almost angelic manner and the undeniably cute cleft that stood directly in the center of his chin. It was his eyes, however, that had made him absolutely adorable. Framed by a fringe of long black lashes, they had been beautifully large and colored a striking shade of deep, piercing blue.
He had been so young at the time, yet behind the naivety of his innocent eyes I had sensed, even then, an inherent wisdom about him. A suggestion that though he was as much a child in spirit as he was in body, he also held a seriousness not encountered in many his age.
Immediately intrigued by the child's intense gaze, I had indulged his blatant hero-worship and agreed to instruct him in the art of archery. At first he had, with amazing determination, hit everything save the designated object. Estel had been eager to learn, though, and was not to be deterred by his failures. Though not quite as adept an archer as most elves, he had progressed astonishingly quickly.
In all honesty, I grew quite fond of him. Admittedly, the way he took to constantly following me about Rivendell had been aggravating at times. Mostly, though, I had enjoyed his company. His innocence and unadulterated joy and love of life had soothed a soul troubled by the recent happenings in Mirkwood. I had found that when I was with him, I was able to be happy without the burdensome trappings of my worries weighing on my mind.
Yes, even then he had driven away the darkness that marred my soul…
I had come to anticipate the spontaneous hugs he would give me after a particularly successful archery lesson and even the way his trembling arms would cling to me when he was frightened or sad. At first his need for physical contact had surprised me. Elven children, perhaps due to their innate connection with nature, did not have such a need for comfort and reassurance. I had soon found, however, that I enjoyed soothing him, especially when I was rewarded by the shy glow of gratitude in his wide, soulful eyes.
Due to the flourishing bond between myself and Estel, I had chosen to remain in Rivendell for perhaps longer than was wise. Finally, after an urgent communiqué from my father, I had no longer been able to ignore the threat to Mirkwood. My people needed me defending the borders and I loved the forests of my home too much to not fight for them. Allowing myself only two more days in Imladris, I had bid Lord Elrond goodbye and set myself upon the difficult task of informing Estel of my imminent departure.
As I had greatly feared, the child had not taken my news well. He simply did not understand why I had to leave and mistakenly thought that he had done something to incur my anger and disappointment. In tears, he had forlornly begged me not to go. I had tried to reassure him but Estel simply would not be consoled and in the end I had been forced to leave him with Lord Elrond, trusting that the boy's father would know how to comfort him.
Loath to leave my young friend so miserable, I had worked for countless hours on the bow I now held in my hands. Instead of resting as I knew I should, I continued through the wee hours of the morning until the weapon – flawless in every sense of the word – had lay completed on my desk. I had hoped that when he calmed enough it would be of solace to him.
Upon the shining of the first rays of sunlight, I had prepared to leave Rivendell. Lord Elrond, complying with my own request, had brought a very distraught Estel out to see me off. It had pained me terribly to see the boy in tears but I had, with false cheer, presented him with my gift nonetheless. He had barely glanced at it before throwing his arms around me and again pleading with me to remain.
Heartbroken that he was reacting with such desolation, I had gently promised him to return. Then, I had wrenched him from my embrace and mounted my steed. Without looking back, for I did not think I could bear the sight of the young one staring at me through large, tear-filled, beseeching eyes, I had spurred my horse on towards Mirkwood.
Despite my promise, the threat to Mirkwood had been too great and I had not returned for nearly sixteen years. By then, Estel had all but forgotten his childhood hero. Even still, we quickly re-forged our friendship. The bond we created then was greater than it had ever been before and a joy to us both. As a young man, Estel provided an intelligent and thoughtful companion that as a boy he had not. And, of course, having arrived at Rivendell with a dying companion, I would never forget the comfort he had been to me. In truth, I would not have survived my friend's death had it not been for Estel's caring. He was doubtlessly my closest friend.
Slowly lifting my gaze from the bow, I looked up to meet Aragorn's curious eyes.
"I did not realize you had saved it," I confessed, reaching forward with the bow.
Aragorn grasped the proffered weapon and examined it for a moment. When he again met my eyes, his look was one of pleased fondness. "I adored and worshiped you as a child. Though the memory of your face and identity faded, the remembrance of a person whom I had idolized beyond logical reason did not. That this person – my childhood hero – had personally made an engraved and polished bow for me was more than I could have dreamed of. Always, I treasured this gift. Always, thinking of it filled me with joyous awe." Aragorn's fingers traced along the inscription, "The fact that we later united in friendship only increases its value to me."
My throat constricted. His words were so heartfelt and honest that they made my chest ache with happiness and gratitude at holding such a place in this man's heart. Unable to express the depth of my emotions, I smiled contentedly at him. Words did not need to be spoken.
"If possible, I always carry it with me," he confided, coming to sit next to me once more. "It is of comfort when times are dark."
I swallowed thickly. Touched, I covered his hand with mine. "I am glad," I said simply, trusting Aragorn to know how much his words meant to me.
"Legolas…would you tell me the story?" he murmured after a brief silence, thoughtfully appraising the bow.
I smiled. Aragorn, frustrated at not being able to remember our first encounter, had often asked me to tell him of how a four-year-old child and a centuries-old elf had become friends.
"Ah, but Aragorn, I have told you that story so many times that you must know every word of it yourself," I teased gently.
Aragorn's eyes sobered. "Many years have passed since last I heard it. Many years have passed since last we shared each other's company." The seriousness of his voice told me that there was something different about this request. Yes, he wanted to hear the story again, but this time it was because we had been kept apart for so long, because Middle Earth was in such a desperate state, because he wanted some distraction from the turmoil he faced inside himself every day.
Oh Aragorn, I thought sadly, if you could but see your strength the way I do, you would not feel so inadequate. Being the descendant of Isildur – the man whose failing had prevented the destruction of the One Ring – my friend feared that he too would fall to the same fate, that he would fail as his ancestor had. I, however, knew that if my worst fears came true and Middle Earth was destroyed, it would not be any fault of Aragorn's. He was strong and determined. I only wished he could see that.
I squeezed the man's hand. "Of course, Aragorn." I was willing to do almost anything to help him. "You are troubled; allow me to lift your thoughts to lighter times." It pleased me that I could be of comfort to him, just as he always was to me.
"You are most kind," he thanked me very quietly and with the utmost gratitude.
Kind… Sometimes I truly believed that any kindness I possessed would amount to but a few stray grains of sand when compared to that which resided inside of Aragorn. The consideration with which he had treated me just after my protégé's death had never faded. Whenever we were together, he was ever observant of my moods and health, always ready to offer support or help. No friend had ever been kinder or gentler to me. No friend had ever had such respect or understanding for me. "No kinder than you, mellonen (my friend)." I responded tenderly.
Drawing our united hands against my chest, I met his troubled gaze and began recounting the tale I had only just recalled. While my narrative skills paled in comparison to Aragorn's, I was confident in my ability to distract us both from our troubles and as soon as I began speaking I lost myself in memories.
"Thank you," Aragorn murmured softly into the silence left by my tale's fading words.
Peering through the semi-darkness that had descended over my friend's quarters, I studied the sadness in my friend's eyes. My recollection of our first meeting had distracted him, but it was as if the conclusion of my story had left a void for the troubles of the world to intrude upon. Aragorn was yet again lost in desolation.
"You're welcome," I responded sorrowfully.
Guilt shadowed the man's eyes. "I am sorry, Legolas. I wish I could be happy here with you now, but–"
"Do not offer me your apologies, Aragorn," I cut off his regret filled words, "There is no need. I simply wish there was something I could do to lift your spirits for more than a moment's passing flight."
"You have done enough," he assured me, "Simply sharing your presence with me is enough."
I smiled.
The soft whisper of cloth gliding against the floor's smooth tiles warned me of her approach and I turned just in time to see the Lady Arwen gracefully enter Aragorn's room.
"Legolas," she greeted me with a smile.
"Lady Arwen, it pleases me to see you again." I returned, disappointedly perceiving that my time with Aragorn was coming to an end. I had hoped to stay with him a bit longer but I understood that my friend would want to spend time with his lady.
"Aragorn," I stood, "We shall see each other once more in the morrow."
Aragorn rose to his feet and pulled me into a quick embrace. "I cannot say what joy it has given me to see you again," he whispered.
"Nor can I," I smiled, withdrawing from his arms.
"Goodnight," I bid them both farewell before leaving them to each other's company.
After leaving Aragorn's rooms I wandered the halls of Rivendell for many long hours, trying in vain to allay the melancholy sadness that darkened my soul. The great city of Imladris – as well as my reunion with my dear friend – had temporarily succeeded in mitigating my troubled thoughts but in the wee hours of the morning I found nothing could soothe me.
The Ring had been found and I was torn between thinking it a great fortune or a great curse. If we sent someone to attempt its destruction and that person failed, all would be lost. Sauron would claim dominion over Middle Earth for all eternity. My people would be safe in the Grey Havens, but everything else that I had ever cared for would be destroyed. There was a chance, a chance so small that it was but a fleeting ray of light in the dwindling hours of dusk, that Middle Earth could be saved, but now, as darkness grew ever more pervasive, I could not feel it. Could not truly believe it.
It was with a downtrodden spirit that I retreated into my chambers to claim a moment's rest. Though slumber found me quickly enough, my disquietude followed me into a restless sleep. I passed a fitful night, waking several times to horrifying images of Middle Earth wreathed in flames of darkness. I rarely dreamed, but tonight I was assaulted by visions of the Ring, by endless battlefields covered with corpses, by the burning woods of my home, by death and darkness.
I went to sleep in desolation and awoke feeling utterly hopeless.
Boromir was a fool! He played the part of a child, eagerly and blindly reaching forward to take the Ring. Did he know nothing of its power? Did he not realize that it could corrupt even those that were pure of heart? The Ring was not a trinket to be easily mastered! It could not be used for good. Even those who took it with the intention of doing no evil would be broken by its power. Even Gandalf refused to touch it!
"It is a gift," Boromir disagreed with Gandalf's proclamation that the Ring was evil. Rising to his feet, he continued with his foolhardy words. "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay by the blood of our people. Are your lands kept safe? Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him."
Frustration quickened in my veins. A brief glance at Aragorn told me he was also annoyed. Boromir obviously had no understanding of the Ring's power, of its evil. He did not realize that Sauron had imbued it with an unimaginable malice. He knew only that it called to him…just as it had called to me when Frodo first revealed it. Even now, I could feel it stirring within me. Giving birth to a temptation that truly terrified me, it whispered seductively in my mind. The urge it created inside me was growing, yet the fear it wrought was greater. I had never felt so cold as when I contemplated the Ring, contemplated its evil. So long as I did not touch it, I could resist. I could resist it. I had to. Boromir, was another matter…
"You cannot wield it," Aragorn spoke with the voice of reason, "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."
"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" Boromir asked dismissively.
My anger flared hot and quick. I would not allow this ignorant man to show Aragorn such disrespect! As a man, it was Boromir's duty to be loyal to Aragorn, to serve and defend him. It was an insult to Aragorn to have his heritage ignored and his wisdom ridiculed.
I quickly rose to my feet. "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."
Boromir turned to Aragorn, "Aragorn. This is Isildur's heir?" he asked, disbelief tinting his words.
"And heir to the throne of Gondor." I looked at Aragorn as I spoke. Though his aggravation at Boromir's words had faded, I could tell that he was…frustrated by my outburst. Feeling shame and uncertainty at his heritage, he would have preferred to have let those who were ignorant of it remain so.
"Sit down, Legolas," Aragorn instructed in my own tongue. His tone was placating but his dissatisfaction was also readily evident.
Hesitating momentarily, I did as he bid. I felt a slight nervousness creep into my heart. I prayed Aragorn would not remain displeased with me for long; I didn't want any tension between us. Especially since so many years had passed since our last meeting.
"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king," Boromir stated contemptuously, looking from myself to Aragorn before retaking his seat.
Aragorn's eyes followed Boromir's movement but then he returned his gaze to me. I could discern a silent rebuke in the dark blue depths. It reminded me of my father, who often chastised me, saying I was too quick to anger. With this, I did not agree. I was not quick to anger…simply alert. However, seeing the Ring and having just heard Gandalf utter the Black Speech of Mordor had pained me…and left me on edge. That, and my great affection for Aragorn had spurred my immediate reaction. Perhaps it would have been better to say nothing, but I found I could not regret my choice to defend my friend, especially since he would not defend himself.
I met Aragorn's gaze resolutely. I would not apologize for my words. I could only hope that he was not truly angry with me. Yet I had so little hope left…for anything.
The Fellowship of the Ring… The words echoed in my head.
It was decided then. Frodo would bear the Ring and the rest of the companions would protect him. We would attempt to take the Ring deep into Mordor and cast it into the molten fires of Mount Doom. I knew we had made the correct choice…the only one we could make, but it did not ease my worries. The risk of failure was almost insurmountable. What chance did we - nine companions – truly have? Frodo had already proven himself somehow resilient to the Ring's evil, Gandalf was wise, Aragorn was a great man, the dwarf was surely a skilled fighter…but what did that all amount to? There were so few of us, and we would have to endure the harsh terrain of Mordor and pass through Sauron's stronghold of orcs… Though I disagreed with most of Boromir's words, I feared he was correct in his assessment of how impossible this task was. Hopeless…
Still, I sighed, we must try. Even if we all died in the attempt, we had to try. Even if it was hopeless…
Hopeless. When had it become so? When had the light in my heart been completely extinguished? Perhaps it had faded with the passing of the night, or one of the many times I had awoken from the ravages of cruel nightmares, or when I had first seen the dreaded Ring. In the end, it did not matter. The result was the same. Everything inside me was bleak. I had never felt so…dead.
"Legolas," Aragorn quickened his pace to catch up with me as I left the Council area.
For a few moments we walked in silence. For the first time, his presence did not comfort me. It was only through sheer force of will that I turned my thoughts back to him. I had disturbed him in the Council. I tried to determine something of his mood but his eyes revealed nothing and his face was a mask. I could not tell whether his frustration had passed.
"Aragorn," I finally spoke, "I will not apologize for my actions during the Council, for I do not regret my words. But if I have caused you any discomfort – or have angered you – I do apologize for that." Bearing my friend's disapproval would diminish my darkened spirits further.
"Legolas," he said severely, "I will not lie to you. You should have remained silent. You know my feelings regarding…my heritage. I prefer to not speak of it, but I also think that it will serve to create unneeded tension between Boromir and myself…"
We met each other's gaze. We shared a concern for Boromir's presence in the Fellowship. We both sensed that he would try to take the Ring, that sooner or later it would overpower him, drive him mad with the desire to possess it. My having caused strain between the two men would hardly improve the situation.
"However…" he surprised me by smiling warmly and turning to grasp by shoulder, "I cannot fault you for the loyalty with which you protect your friends. Indeed, for that, I thank you."
"Then you are not angry?" My tone was not hopeful…it was hollow.
"No," he answered mildly, "I am not."
Smiling, I inclined my head. "That pleases me." It did, but I still felt as if I was standing at the edge of a precipice. Only one false movement would send me tumbling into the abyss…
I read the concern in Aragorn's eyes but just when he would have spoken I broke eye contact and hurried ahead. It took my friend but a few strides to regain his place at my side, but though I could feel his worried gaze upon my face, he did not attempt to question me.
I could not say why I had reacted thusly, why I hadn't allowed Aragorn to express his concern at the desolation that was surely readily evident in my demeanor. Perhaps it was because speaking of my despair would make it that much more real, that much more undeniable.
We continued wordlessly for a few more paces. It was Aragorn that finally broke the silence. "I am glad that you are accompanying us on this quest, Legolas. It is…good that I will have a friend, and someone whom I can implicitly trust, aside from Gandalf." His words were tentative and carefully chosen…he was searching for some indication of what ailed me.
"I am also glad of your company," I readily agreed, though my tone was lifeless. "It is a dangerous quest, but it will be made easier by you presence. We…" I faltered momentarily but continued under Aragorn's encouraging look, "We will look after each other…protect each other from harm." I was chilled and felt another piece of my heart shrivel and die. They were warm words but I knew they lacked realism. It was infinitely more likely that we would both perish and that the quest would fail. It was too perilous a thing to trek into Mordor, to take the Ring even closer to Sauron and yet somehow avoid capture. Hopeless…
Aragorn again reached out to clasp my arm reassuringly. This time he had followed my thoughts. When I looked into his eyes, his gaze was kind. Though he shared my concerns and shouldered additional burdens and worries, he always made an effort to comfort me when I was troubled. Yet, this time, his efforts were useless.
"We will fight for each other, Legolas, and for the peoples and lands we love," Aragorn agreed, his words having the force of a vow and his eyes blazing with emotion.
Abruptly, I came to a stop.
Aragorn immediately turned to face me, concern etched across his face. "Legolas?" he questioned. When I did not answer, he asked again, "What is wrong, my friend?"
I could not bring myself to respond. His words echoed in my head. We will fight for each other and for the peoples and lands we love… Love. Where Sauron felt hate, we felt love. Where Sauron wanted to conquer and destroy, we wanted to save what we held dear. Where Sauron had only his cruelty, we had our friends, family, and homes. Where he knew only evil, we knew both evil and good and thus understood the power of good. Sauron was despair and darkness, but darkness could be kept at bay – could be destroyed – by light. Even the smallest light could obliterate obscurity. And we had that miniscule amount light. We had Frodo and the Ring. It was a small chance, a small hope, but it was hope.
I felt a sudden easing of the turmoil that wracked my thoughts. Light flickered and ignited in my soul and, surprisingly, our quest no longer seemed quite so impossible. Aragorn's words reminded me of what it was we were trying to save and gave me strength to continue. Sauron's forces might be waging war with the brutality of those who cared only to inflict pain and suffering, but the free peoples of Middle Earth had the memory of their homes and loved ones to urge them on. With so much goodness and beauty to fight for, how could we fail?
Aragorn's eyes were still intently fixed on me. "Legolas," his tone faltered, "Please…tell me what troubles you."
"Nothing," I shook my head, laughing. "Thank you, Aragorn."
He frowned, clearly confused. "For what?"
I gripped his shoulders, "Once again, your friendship is a light in the darkness for me."
THE END