Author's Note: My own take on Aragorn's fall at Helm's Deep. Movieverse, I suppose, since it never happened in the book, and I take liberty with Legolas's age. This is either a one-shot or a two-shot, depending on how many reviews I get. I haven't decided whether it's going to be any kind of A/L or not (and even if it was, it would probably be slight and mostly hints). Whoever reviews the most, pro-slash people or no-slash people, will probably get to decide. So put in your vote.
Forever Waiting
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas could sense each of the other comrades of his fellowship in his mind. Each of them had a scent, a sense of power and energy, and sounds that were all their own. The hobbits always smelled to him of clean dirt and sunlight, fresh growing things, and their energy was always close to the ground and deeply connected to the ground they walked upon. Their steps were soft, rabbit-like, and so was their breathing. He had missed the sounds and scent of their passing in the Rohan, but it did his heart good to know that the little ones, Merry and Pippen, were safe.
The other mortals always carried a heavier, more solemn sense of power, one that reminded him of destructive things, swinging swords and sieges. To him, Gimli smelled like cold stone, mossy with age, and the musty parts of the deep places of the world, places without sunlight. It wasn't a bad smell to him, but not particularly one that left him fond memories, either. It was a smell that reminded him of Moria. Boromir had always smelled strongly of bonfires and smoke, and the scent had even lingered with him after death. Aragorn would forever smell to Legolas like pine trees, freshly sharpened steel, and shade.
He could not scent that now. Even with the new silence of the battlefield, he could not hear Aragorn's breathing, rusted with the smoking of many pipes, but as individual as a footprint in the mind of an elf, a creature of the senses.
His voice took on a more panicked edge. "Aragorn! Speak, if you are whole or wounded! Aragorn!"
The elf sprinted to the place where he had last saw Aragorn engaging the orcs. The chief of the Dunadain was no where to be seen. His smell was still a faint whisper here, but Aragorn was gone.
There was a thick, choked laughing behind him. From a mortally wounded orc.
"You're too late. He's fallen, fallen. He could not resist the strength of the beast. He dropped like a rock into the river. He's dead as dreams."
Legolas whirled around to face the orc. Gimli had heard and come up to the orc, pressing an ax to an already torn throat.
His eyes flashed as he stepped forward and kneeled next to the dying soldier. "If you lie, I'll make you wish that you had been stillborn, you dark thing."
"Too late. I'm going now. But I don't lie-the mortal is gone, dead...dead..." The orc stilled.
Legolas glanced at Gimli, then ran to the edge of the cliff, looking over it. All he could see was roiling water and bloodied foam.
"He lies, he lies, he lies..." Legolas whispered, searching the waves with his sharp, eagle eyes.
~Immortal or mortal, creature of light or dark, not many things lie with their dying breath, Legolas son of Thranduil.~
"Legolas!"
The elf turned back. Gimli had taken something from the hand of the orc. It shone like a captured star.
His heart sank. ~Please do not be what I think it is...~
But he knew, even without going closer for another look. It was the Evenstar. Legolas also knew that living, Aragorn would not be parted from it by any means. His throat seemed to close up; it became hard to breathe. His head ached. He glanced back at the water, as if expecting Aragorn to appear from the waves like Amroth. He blinked his eyes fiercely, trying to keep them from blurring, not with tire, but with tears. He heard Gimli come up beside him.
"Legolas..."
Legolas glanced at him angrily, on the verge of tears. They glimmered in his eyes, but did not fall. An elf cried maybe a handful of times in the long ages of his life. This was threatening to be one of those times. And Legolas was yet young, for an elf.
"I will find him. I will see him, in the water. And then I will fetch him, and you must get a brazier going to dry his clothes. He will be cold. You must give me a moment, Gimli!"
Gimli trailed off, backing away. Theoden himself came up beside the elf, looking at him.
"Legolas, come, help to gather our men. Leave the dead."
The elf's head came up, blue eyes bright with unshed tears, as uncomprehending as a child. He cocked his head slightly, as if he did not understand what the king had said.
The king of Rohan put his hand on the elf's shoulder, meaning to comfort, but Legolas could not help but pull away. He had allowed no mortal except those within the Fellowship touch him, and even then only select ones among their party.
Gimli came up and had to reach up to touch Legolas's shoulder, where Theoden had been shaken away. He pulled down slightly, bringing the stricken elf down to hear him.
"He's gone, Legolas. We must aid the wounded." Gimli's voice was a sad, resigned rumble.
"Yes..." Legolas whispered, his face set into a grim expressionlessness. He gazed down where Gimli still held Aragorn's jewel. "Please give me the Evenstar. I will hold it...for Arwen."
~I will hold it for when he returns.~
Gimli heard the hesitation in Legolas voice, but accepted it. He handed the gem over to Legolas.
Legolas folded his fingers over it, feeling the delicacy of it. It would take him no effort whatsoever to crush the fragile thing.
He didn't. He slipped it around his own neck. It felt as cold as grief over his heart, cold as all the heartless, cruel eras he had ever known.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So this is where you were, master elf..."
Legolas lifted his head slightly when Gimli spoke, though he had heard the approach of the dwarf for some time. He knew that Gimli had paused, hesitated, not knowing how to hail him.
"Yes."
Gimli stood next to him, not looking at the elf, but at the stars overhead.
"Such a clear night, to behold such death," Legolas whispered, lowering his head.
"Aye..." Gimli replied, not knowing what kind of comfort to give his most unlikely of comrades.
Legolas sang, softly:
**Elessar has gone to darkness
he fought for freedom, and so he fell
the Evenstar for him shines, it does not fade
though for the grief of him, no words can tell.**
There was a period of silence. Legolas broke it by laughing, a broken, choked sound, and Gimli could have sworn there was tears in his voice, though none showed on his face.
"Not as good as Frodo or Aragorn himself could have done. Does not do him justice by far. I will have to get the halfling to give him a proper verse."
"You could not save him, Legolas."
The elf stood and whirled on him, a flaxen storm. "How are you to say what I could or could not have done, Gimli!?" He turned back out, looking over the plains of Rohan before returning his eyes to the river. "I cannot believe he has fallen," he added, in a softer voice.
"I know, Legolas. But he has. And no amount of you staring into that water is going to make him rise from it. You're tired, you haven't had anything to eat since yesterday morning, you're bloodied from the battle. Come, I'll tend you," Gimli offered in a gruff rumble. He didn't want to show it, but he was worried about the fair-haired elf. He didn't care how old Legolas was, the elf still looked like a boy to him, and Gimli couldn't help but treat him that way.
Legolas had been standing at the cliff where Aragorn fell ever since he had finished helping to see to the wounded, and he could not be dragged from it once he had returned there. His gazed down into the flowing waters, still stained slightly red by battle farther upstream, his eyes fierce and unblinking as a hawk.
"You have to eat, Legolas. And look-you're bleeding. Don't be stubborn, you pointy-eared twit."
The elf did not reply. Still he sat, gazing into those waters as if he could do it forever. Gimli hated that look on his face, on the face of any elf. That cold, sorrowful determination, as if he was prepared to wait for Aragorn to return for all the ages of the world, if that was what was required.
"It's getting dark."
"...I know."
"It's getting cold."
"I do not feel it."
"Crazy elf. You're bleeding."
"Let me be, Gimli, or wait in silence with me. Be silent and still, or go back to the courtyard, master dwarf. I am listening for news of Aragorn on the wind and the water, and both speak very softly."
Gimli sighed. "You cannot wait forever."
Legolas raised his eyes to the dwarf for a moment, a small, strange smile turning his mouth. "I can, if I must." He glanced back over the water, seemingly mesmerized by the turning foam and the ripples in the grasslands as the wind touched them. The long grass whispered in a thousand voices only he could seem to hear. He was so still and unblinking Gimli was sure for a moment that he had fallen asleep, eyes open as he dreamed his strange elvish dreams. But then Legolas reached up, rubbing his eyes for a moment in a curiously childlike gesture, and went back to his watching. Gimli could not bear to wait in silence like this. He did not think there was any reason to wait.
"I'm going back, master elf. Come in soon. You'll be ill," Gimli said quietly, beginning to walk away.
Legolas only laughed softly in return. He stood immobile at the cliff throughout the night, as still and immovable as a statue. There was no sense that Legolas had stopped moving; it was as if he had never moved, had always been there, standing there for the ages. No sense that he would ever move from the spot again. Only the wind blowing his hair slightly from moment to moment or the sparkle of the Evenstar around his neck as he breathed shallowly in and out could convince anyone who saw him that he wasn't some kind of beautiful gargoyle, watching over the tired, frightened people of Helm's Deep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Review, and I might just bring Aragorn back.
Forever Waiting
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas could sense each of the other comrades of his fellowship in his mind. Each of them had a scent, a sense of power and energy, and sounds that were all their own. The hobbits always smelled to him of clean dirt and sunlight, fresh growing things, and their energy was always close to the ground and deeply connected to the ground they walked upon. Their steps were soft, rabbit-like, and so was their breathing. He had missed the sounds and scent of their passing in the Rohan, but it did his heart good to know that the little ones, Merry and Pippen, were safe.
The other mortals always carried a heavier, more solemn sense of power, one that reminded him of destructive things, swinging swords and sieges. To him, Gimli smelled like cold stone, mossy with age, and the musty parts of the deep places of the world, places without sunlight. It wasn't a bad smell to him, but not particularly one that left him fond memories, either. It was a smell that reminded him of Moria. Boromir had always smelled strongly of bonfires and smoke, and the scent had even lingered with him after death. Aragorn would forever smell to Legolas like pine trees, freshly sharpened steel, and shade.
He could not scent that now. Even with the new silence of the battlefield, he could not hear Aragorn's breathing, rusted with the smoking of many pipes, but as individual as a footprint in the mind of an elf, a creature of the senses.
His voice took on a more panicked edge. "Aragorn! Speak, if you are whole or wounded! Aragorn!"
The elf sprinted to the place where he had last saw Aragorn engaging the orcs. The chief of the Dunadain was no where to be seen. His smell was still a faint whisper here, but Aragorn was gone.
There was a thick, choked laughing behind him. From a mortally wounded orc.
"You're too late. He's fallen, fallen. He could not resist the strength of the beast. He dropped like a rock into the river. He's dead as dreams."
Legolas whirled around to face the orc. Gimli had heard and come up to the orc, pressing an ax to an already torn throat.
His eyes flashed as he stepped forward and kneeled next to the dying soldier. "If you lie, I'll make you wish that you had been stillborn, you dark thing."
"Too late. I'm going now. But I don't lie-the mortal is gone, dead...dead..." The orc stilled.
Legolas glanced at Gimli, then ran to the edge of the cliff, looking over it. All he could see was roiling water and bloodied foam.
"He lies, he lies, he lies..." Legolas whispered, searching the waves with his sharp, eagle eyes.
~Immortal or mortal, creature of light or dark, not many things lie with their dying breath, Legolas son of Thranduil.~
"Legolas!"
The elf turned back. Gimli had taken something from the hand of the orc. It shone like a captured star.
His heart sank. ~Please do not be what I think it is...~
But he knew, even without going closer for another look. It was the Evenstar. Legolas also knew that living, Aragorn would not be parted from it by any means. His throat seemed to close up; it became hard to breathe. His head ached. He glanced back at the water, as if expecting Aragorn to appear from the waves like Amroth. He blinked his eyes fiercely, trying to keep them from blurring, not with tire, but with tears. He heard Gimli come up beside him.
"Legolas..."
Legolas glanced at him angrily, on the verge of tears. They glimmered in his eyes, but did not fall. An elf cried maybe a handful of times in the long ages of his life. This was threatening to be one of those times. And Legolas was yet young, for an elf.
"I will find him. I will see him, in the water. And then I will fetch him, and you must get a brazier going to dry his clothes. He will be cold. You must give me a moment, Gimli!"
Gimli trailed off, backing away. Theoden himself came up beside the elf, looking at him.
"Legolas, come, help to gather our men. Leave the dead."
The elf's head came up, blue eyes bright with unshed tears, as uncomprehending as a child. He cocked his head slightly, as if he did not understand what the king had said.
The king of Rohan put his hand on the elf's shoulder, meaning to comfort, but Legolas could not help but pull away. He had allowed no mortal except those within the Fellowship touch him, and even then only select ones among their party.
Gimli came up and had to reach up to touch Legolas's shoulder, where Theoden had been shaken away. He pulled down slightly, bringing the stricken elf down to hear him.
"He's gone, Legolas. We must aid the wounded." Gimli's voice was a sad, resigned rumble.
"Yes..." Legolas whispered, his face set into a grim expressionlessness. He gazed down where Gimli still held Aragorn's jewel. "Please give me the Evenstar. I will hold it...for Arwen."
~I will hold it for when he returns.~
Gimli heard the hesitation in Legolas voice, but accepted it. He handed the gem over to Legolas.
Legolas folded his fingers over it, feeling the delicacy of it. It would take him no effort whatsoever to crush the fragile thing.
He didn't. He slipped it around his own neck. It felt as cold as grief over his heart, cold as all the heartless, cruel eras he had ever known.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So this is where you were, master elf..."
Legolas lifted his head slightly when Gimli spoke, though he had heard the approach of the dwarf for some time. He knew that Gimli had paused, hesitated, not knowing how to hail him.
"Yes."
Gimli stood next to him, not looking at the elf, but at the stars overhead.
"Such a clear night, to behold such death," Legolas whispered, lowering his head.
"Aye..." Gimli replied, not knowing what kind of comfort to give his most unlikely of comrades.
Legolas sang, softly:
**Elessar has gone to darkness
he fought for freedom, and so he fell
the Evenstar for him shines, it does not fade
though for the grief of him, no words can tell.**
There was a period of silence. Legolas broke it by laughing, a broken, choked sound, and Gimli could have sworn there was tears in his voice, though none showed on his face.
"Not as good as Frodo or Aragorn himself could have done. Does not do him justice by far. I will have to get the halfling to give him a proper verse."
"You could not save him, Legolas."
The elf stood and whirled on him, a flaxen storm. "How are you to say what I could or could not have done, Gimli!?" He turned back out, looking over the plains of Rohan before returning his eyes to the river. "I cannot believe he has fallen," he added, in a softer voice.
"I know, Legolas. But he has. And no amount of you staring into that water is going to make him rise from it. You're tired, you haven't had anything to eat since yesterday morning, you're bloodied from the battle. Come, I'll tend you," Gimli offered in a gruff rumble. He didn't want to show it, but he was worried about the fair-haired elf. He didn't care how old Legolas was, the elf still looked like a boy to him, and Gimli couldn't help but treat him that way.
Legolas had been standing at the cliff where Aragorn fell ever since he had finished helping to see to the wounded, and he could not be dragged from it once he had returned there. His gazed down into the flowing waters, still stained slightly red by battle farther upstream, his eyes fierce and unblinking as a hawk.
"You have to eat, Legolas. And look-you're bleeding. Don't be stubborn, you pointy-eared twit."
The elf did not reply. Still he sat, gazing into those waters as if he could do it forever. Gimli hated that look on his face, on the face of any elf. That cold, sorrowful determination, as if he was prepared to wait for Aragorn to return for all the ages of the world, if that was what was required.
"It's getting dark."
"...I know."
"It's getting cold."
"I do not feel it."
"Crazy elf. You're bleeding."
"Let me be, Gimli, or wait in silence with me. Be silent and still, or go back to the courtyard, master dwarf. I am listening for news of Aragorn on the wind and the water, and both speak very softly."
Gimli sighed. "You cannot wait forever."
Legolas raised his eyes to the dwarf for a moment, a small, strange smile turning his mouth. "I can, if I must." He glanced back over the water, seemingly mesmerized by the turning foam and the ripples in the grasslands as the wind touched them. The long grass whispered in a thousand voices only he could seem to hear. He was so still and unblinking Gimli was sure for a moment that he had fallen asleep, eyes open as he dreamed his strange elvish dreams. But then Legolas reached up, rubbing his eyes for a moment in a curiously childlike gesture, and went back to his watching. Gimli could not bear to wait in silence like this. He did not think there was any reason to wait.
"I'm going back, master elf. Come in soon. You'll be ill," Gimli said quietly, beginning to walk away.
Legolas only laughed softly in return. He stood immobile at the cliff throughout the night, as still and immovable as a statue. There was no sense that Legolas had stopped moving; it was as if he had never moved, had always been there, standing there for the ages. No sense that he would ever move from the spot again. Only the wind blowing his hair slightly from moment to moment or the sparkle of the Evenstar around his neck as he breathed shallowly in and out could convince anyone who saw him that he wasn't some kind of beautiful gargoyle, watching over the tired, frightened people of Helm's Deep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Review, and I might just bring Aragorn back.