Summary: Legolas, believing the deaths of Haldir, the other Elves, and the lives lost because of the breach in the wall to be his fault, takes drastic action against himself. Can Aragorn help him realize it's not his fault before it's too late?

Yuck, yuck, yuck. Anyway, you know the routine—PJ, NLC etc. owns all. If you sue me you'll get…um…(counts pocket change)…a quarter. Oh, wait. That's not even money. It's a game token. Is it really worth it?

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Angst. There is NO SLASH.

Chapter 1—Guilt

Legolas, son of Thranduil, of the royal line of Mirkwood and heir to its throne, sat gazing down over the fallen dead standing on one of the highest place of what remained of the mountain behind Helms Deep. The afternoon sky was just beginning to pale in its time, the sun was just barely starting to show signs of receding over the hills.

He offered a glance to the great breach in the wall which had caused many deaths both in the act of blowing up and in allowing to come through what it did.

A single tear slipped down his cheek as he recalled the previous night's—nay, also the early morning's—events. As he thought of the great explosion along the wall which had sent many an Elf and man to their deaths, the great chunks of solid stone which struck the unfortunate, the creatures which the breach permitted entry to, which killed innumerable more, the force of the explosion itself.

He had stared helplessly at the body of Haldir, his lifelong friend and ally, just after the battle. He remembered numbly kneeling to close the Elf's open eyes, remembered the haunted, shocked expression there as he knew Haldir must have only just realized the evils and pains of death as he died. He would never forget hearing Aragorn cry above the tumultuous noise of battle, "Haldir! Haldir! No!"

He saw his friend fall. He shot arrows in the direction but they never made it three yards past where the Elf was standing; the mass of orcs had been too great. Aragorn had been with Haldir when he'd died. He'd tried to talk with Legolas about his death, about the death of all the Elves, afterwards, but Legolas wouldn't listen. He didn't want to talk.

"What would you understand of the deaths of immortals? You are only a mortal yourself, son of Arathorn. What would you know?" he had snapped angrily before turning his back away and storming off. He knew he probably shouldn't have snapped at his friend, but Aragorn would have to understand there were some thing he just would not understand. There were some differences between Elves and mortals. Between Aragorn and Legolas.

No matter. Aragorn would understand his outburst later. They were friends.

Just like your little fiasco earlier? A little voice taunted. Telling him his kinsmen were all going to die—very nice way of expressing friendship.

Shut up, Legolas snapped irritably, we were reconciled later. He became even more irritable as he realized he was talking to himself.

So he'd climbed to the highest point he could find, here high above the scene of the battle. Of death. He had ignored Gimli's mutterings of "Crazy, stupid Elf," ignored Aragorn as he tried to get Legolas to join the men in their celebration of the orcs' defeat, and instead went to be alone, all alone on a jagged cliff of rock twenty feet above the highest wall of Helms Deep.

To think.

It was his fault. He knew that. He was sure of it.

"I could have stopped it," he said softly. A breeze rippled gently, tossing his hair lightly about his face.

He could have shot that one orc. He could have. He'd shot and killed countless others. Why not this one? It would have taken two seconds to fire. He had hesitated. And because of that, the wall blew up and hundreds were killed.

"It's all my fault," he whispered. "I should have taken him down. I did not."

The bodies of the dead lay strewn across the now-blood-stained fields and plains. Huge chunks of rock were still scattered about. Beneath them were even more dead bodies. And all were Legolas's fault. He had the blood of hundreds on his hands. Hundreds.

Most of the dead had had families. Wives, children, babies. Mothers had lost their sons. Wives had lost their husbands. Some had lost both. And the other children…little boys and girls had lost older siblings. He had seen the terrible grief and anguish on the faces of the little ones who had suddenly discovered their beloved brothers and fathers would never return. Many of them would not have had to suffer their losses if it were not for the Elf prince whom many called great.

He had passed through their midst with Aragorn and Gimli, and many had called out to them.

"Thank you for saving us," one would call, while another would say, "We would be dead if it were not for you and the others."

He would give a quiet smile but their praise only made the lack thereof others worse. There were those who would look at him with grief-stricken eyes, and though they would nod with their comrades' words of thanks, they would offer none themselves and Legolas knew these were the ones who no longer had loved ones living among them.

His heart cried out silently for them, but he could do nothing. He had seen friends fall in combat, he'd watched his father become fatally wounded, had seen his brother lie unconscious for days. Valar, one of his brothers had died in an attack on Mirkwood. These people, however, were not the warrior that he was. He could deal with things they could not. He had seen grief like they had never imagined. But their pain could have been spared. Their loved ones did not need to have died.

And the worst part of it was that it was his fault. All Legolas's fault. A huge amount of guilt welled up in his chest. He felt sick. He wished he had never been born. It would have been better for the world that way. All those Men…all the Elves…his kinsmen, and Aragorn's…all dead. Because of Legolas. Because the renowned archer-prince of Mirkwood who was known throughout Middle-Earth for his immense skills with a bow could not bring down his target when the need was greatest.

Legolas clenched his long-fingered hands into tight fists, the nails digging so deep into his flesh that it drew blood. It didn't matter. All that mattered was his terrible, terrible crime. He wished he could compensate for their lives. He couldn't. Or could he?

Slowly Legolas brought his open palm to rest upon the rough, jagged rock of the cliff. It was sharp, sharp enough to cut skin. He suddenly brought his hand crashing downwards, running it along the sharp ragged rock. He crashed to his knees, the hand bleeding freely from cuts all along his fingers and palm. He stood and did it to the other hand. Blood stained his tunic, but he didn't care. He stayed on his knees for a few minutes this time, feeling his pain, letting the tears that now flowed mingle with the blood.

He stood up, looked over the edge of the cliff, down, down, down. It was a long way down. He drew a deep breath. It was the only way.

He jumped.

D

Aragorn saw the figure in mid-fall. He hadn't any idea how far up he'd been when he fell, just knew that he fell. Breaking into a run, he sprinted towards where the person had fallen.

But by the time he'd gotten there, whoever it had been was already gone. The only thing there was blood. The blood made Aragorn's eyes narrow. It was deep crimson blood. Like the blood of an Elf.

He lurched to his feet and began to run with all his might towards Legolas's sleeping quarters.

D

No man could have survived the fall. None. Not even Aragorn. But Legolas was no man. Though the appearance of his light Elven body would seem to contradict the possibility, it was strong and durable, able to withstand many things a mortal could not. And falling twenty feet onto a hard stone wall and breaking merely an ankle was one of them.

For a minute Legolas just lay there, stunned. It hadn't worked. He'd tried to kill himself and it hadn't worked. He'd just thrown himself off of a rocky cliff and gotten away with a broken ankle and a lot of bruises. Oh, well. No matter.

He got up determinedly and made his way, limping, back to his chambers. He was very careful to avoid to most commonly used ways and managed not to be seen. Once in his room he went to the window and looked out. He could just barely see the crag in the mountain where he'd been standing only minutes before. The crag that overlooked the men that had died. The men he had killed.

It didn't matter. In a few minutes he'd be able to make a personal apology to every single one of them.

He drew one of his long Elven knives and made careful slits along the pale skin of his left wrist so they bled profusely. Then he placed the tip of the knife to his chest, where he could feel the beating of his heart, and prepared to drive the blade right through.

D

Aragorn didn't know why he thought this had to do with Legolas. The last thing the Elf would do was fall of a cliff. The only drop of evidence he had was the blood, which he possibly could have mistaken for a Man's.

He raced the entire way to Legolas's room, and flung the door open, where a sight more horrendous than any battle he'd seen greeted his eyes.

Legolas stood near the window. The shades covered it so that no light escaped. He was covered in blood and holding a long knife, already gleaming red with blood right to his own heart. The blood was obviously his own, and the Elven knife had apparently been used by the Elf to hurt himself.

"Legolas! What do you think you're doing?" Aragorn screamed.Before he really knew what he was doing he had hurtled forward and tackled Legolas onto the floor, wrenching the knife from his cold-fingered grasp and sending it flying across the room.

Legolas struggled violently against Aragorn, trying to regain some control. He actually managed to seize his other knife from its scabbard before Aragorn knocked it from his hand.

"Let me go," Legolas snarled, struggling for all he was worth. But Aragorn had always been the larger and stronger of the two, and Legolas's fall had weakened him considerably. In less than a minute Aragorn had flipped Legolas onto his stomach, had straddled the fighting Elf and was holding his arms firmly behind his back, pinning him to the floor.

"Let—me—go," Legolas panted, the strain from the struggle showing in his face and voice.

Aragorn ignored the demand and instead questioned, keeping his voice as calm and even as he could, "What were you doing, Legolas?"

Legolas stopped his thrashing for a moment to smile sardonically, a bitter and angry look gracing his fine Elven features. "Wasn't it obvious?"

"You were trying to kill yourself," Aragorn stated, fighting to keep the extreme worry and panic he felt at saying these words out of his voice.

"Yes," Legolas said defiantly, still trying valiantly to free himself. "Now get off me."

"I will not," said Aragorn softly.

"How dare you," seethed the Elf. "I order you, as the prince of Mirkwood to let me go!"

"And I," Aragorn said quietly. "As the rightful king of Gondor order you to remain where you are. I do not take orders from suicidal friends. Stop struggling, Legolas; you cannot win and you will only fatigue yourself."

His words only incensed the Elf further. After a few minutes, however, when it became clear that he could not wrench himself free from Aragorn's vise-like grip, Legolas gave in and stopped twisting and turning.

"Let me go, Aragorn," he said in a small voice. "I've done as you requested."

Aragorn hesitated. "Are you going to…to try to run away or get your knife?"

There was a pause. Finally, "No."

'

Sighing with relief at the Elf's acquiescence, Aragorn moved and helped his friend to a sitting position. As Legolas moved to push a strand of hair out of his eyes Aragorn noticed a severe bleeding. He caught the slender wrist gently in one hand and examined it. Legolas, he realized, was already beginning to show from the loss of blood. He quickly removed his own shirt and, tearing it into strips, bound it about the Elf's wrist tightly so as to stop the bleeding. Legolas weakly tried to tug his hand away from Aragorn but gave up quickly as Aragorn finished and kept his hand there to secure the cloths.

"We'll have to have healers look after your ankle," Aragorn told him. Legolas flinched. Apparently he didn't want to be looked after.

Legolas sat with his back to the wall, shivering. Aragorn moved closer to him and put his arm around the elf's shoulders.

"What drove you to do this, Legolas?" he asked softly. "I thought I knew you better than this."

Legolas didn't answer. It took Aragorn a moment to notice that tears had suddenly begun to fall from the elf's sapphire eyes.

"Whatever is wrong?" Aragorn asked worriedly. "Please, Legolas, please, tell me what's wrong…"

"It was my fault," Legolas burst out suddenly, his voice choking.

"What was your fault?" Aragorn asked curiously.

"Helms Deep," Legolas whispered, a haunted look coming over his face. He slumped away from Aragorn and looked away from his friend. Aragorn suddenly realized how thin and ragged Legolas had been looking of late. "I…I didn't kill him…that one orc…and all those deaths…those ones that happened when the wall blew up, and let the creatures in…it was my fault…if I'd killed him it would not have happened…I don't deserve to live, Aragorn."

"What?" Aragorn's grip tightened unconsciously on the prince's wrist, causing him to wince with pain. Aragorn, feeling this, quickly slackened his hold.

"It was my fault. I should die. I should!"

"Legolas, Legolas…" Aragorn murmured, disbelief coursing through his body as he numbly took in his friend's words. "Mellon-nin, you fought bravely. Have you not heard the praise of the men who fought alongside you? They marvel at your abilities in battle. And the women and children, too. They look at you in wonder. You fought valiantly. You did all you could to slay the enemy. There was nothing more you could have done. All that was in your power to do you did."

"No," Legolas whispered faintly. "No, Aragorn, that is not true. How I wish I could say it was true. But it is not."

Aragorn looked into his friend's eyes and saw within them emotions he had never before witnessed so strongly in the crystal blue eyes: despair, confusion, anger, and most of all—guilt.

He shook his head sadly and stood up. "Come on, Legolas," he said, tugging gently on the elf's wrist.

"Why?" the eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Where are we going?"

"To the hospital wing," Aragorn said firmly. "You need rest and your ankle need attention, as do these slashes in your wrists."

Legolas fairly panicked. "No! No! I will not!"

"Oh, yes, you will," Aragorn said grimly. "We have been over this before, Legolas, and you should know from previous experiences that when your life is on the line I am not simply going to sit around and wait for you to die. If you do not come I shall be forced to drag you there myself."

Slowly Legolas stood up. Aragorn was amazed; threats such as the one he had just delivered had never intimidated the elf before, not unless it was delivered either by Lord Elrond or the Prince's own father. More often than not he, Elladan and Elrohir had had to literally wrestle the elf into bed to get him to rest, or force him to drink medicine or something of the like.

So that was why Aragorn was instantly suspicious of the elf's apparent acquiescence and submission.

His suspicions were not, unfortunately, misplaced. The second he had regained footing and balance Legolas had lunged across the room to where his deadly Elven knife had landed, snatched it up, and had begun to cut himself wildly with it.

"No!" Aragorn growled. In a second he had followed Legolas and was once again prying the knife out of Legolas's grasp. It was not a difficult task. Legolas was by this time very weak from loss of the blood and his fall.

"I am sorry I have to do this, mellon-nin," Aragorn said softly. He drew back his fist and hit Legolas solidly on the side of the head. A blow which would cause a bruise, but nothing worse. The blow had the desired effect; Legolas slumped into Aragorn's arms, unconscious.

Aragorn picked the elf's light blood-covered body up and, trying to ignore the lump in his throat, took him to the hospital wing.

"I will talk with you later,' he told to Healer shortly. "Keep any sharp objects or anything remotely dangerous away from him if he awakes before I return."

The man gaped at him but Aragorn ignored him. He strode out of the room. He had to find someone.

TBC if there is enough interest…