Listen to Enya's A Day Without Rain if you have it while you read this. According to Gackt no hime, it adds to the effect.
I don't own anything but the idea.
This takes place in an AU. Elves are gone, and Gondor is in ruins. It's just a quick thing that came to me today, that had been trying to get out for a little while now. I hope you like it, find it bittersweet, or anything, but please reply. It really means a lot to me, since I'm so unsure about this fic.
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Inside a fallen city, there rests a ruined castle. An elderly man walks through this building. Although no one has been to the castle in years, he knows exactly where to go. Pushing open a massive set of doors, the old man enters a once grand hall. Now the giant room is charred, damaged by smoke and fire. In the middle of the room is a pile of rubbish. The man crosses over to the pile and picks up on large piece. It is the remains of a painting, a beautiful young man laughing as he plays in a lake. The old man fingers the damaged picture lovingly, flashes of dreams and memories returning. The young man had been an elf, trapped in the world of dreams. He could only visit one person, however, Gondor's king, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Through paintings and sculptures, Aragorn had given the elf life, until one day he was able to walk out of the world of dreams and into the real world. The old man sighed, setting the picture aside and reaching for another. He was Aragorn, and he remembered the elf as if they had never been parted. A simple portrait this time, the elf holding a flower, was what Aragorn recognized in the charred remains of this painting.
"Ah, Legolas. Remember this one? It was my first of you. I had mistaken you for a maiden when I first saw you, which is why I put you in a dress. You always hated this one, for that reason."
He smiled, remembering the old days, as he cast the portrait aside and reached for another. He frowned. This image was still relatively intact, compared to the others. Legolas surrounded by fire. Tracing his fingers over the painted flames, memories were called back.
"Seize him!"
"He is a demon!"
"BURN HIM!"
Aragorn dragged Legolas through the halls of his castle, trying to flee the angry mob chasing after the fair elf.
"Aragorn, where will I go?"
Aragorn halted, turning to pull Legolas into his arms.
"I do not know, Legolas, I do not know. Anywhere you go, you will be chased out eventually, unless you can hide your pointed ears."
Legolas reached up to finger one of his ears, tracing the sharp point lightly.
"When I was young, everyone wanted to have pointed ears. It was a sign of grace, beauty, and wisdom. Now it is a sign of demons and evil. I am not evil, I am an elf!"
"And the last of your kind. It has been many a year since elves were last seen, Legolas. No one alive today had ever seen one until you came along. We thought elves were merely myths, not actual creatures who once lived."
Cries rang out from the great hall, which was not far from where the two stood. Jeers and shouts rang through the halls.
"Burn them!"
Legolas and Aragorn crept down to one of the doors leading into the great hall. Peering through a small crack, they watched as the mob piled the pictures and statues of Legolas into a pile, then started lighting the pile on fire. Cheers and shouts of encouragement filled the hall as the art blazed merrily.
"Oh, Aragorn, they're burning your work!"
Aragorn pulled Legolas to him again, kissing the elf firmly.
"Better my work then you. Come, let us flee, while they are occupied."
Aragorn cast the picture aside. He had hoped he would be able to save Legolas, but luck was against him. A portion of the mob had entered the castle from the back, sneaking up on the two. He had only a few moments more with Legolas before they were caught. He sank down onto the pile, clutching his head.
"Why you Legolas? Why you? You were so perfect! You did not deserve your death!"
A hot tear traced its way down the old man's face. He reached up to wipe it away, remembering the last time he had cried. Legolas' death was the only other time tears had come to his eyes in his long life.
"What are you going to do to me? Where is Legolas?"
Aragorn did his best to sound regal and imposing, despite the fact that he was being dragged down a corridor. His captors said nothing; they only threw him out onto a balcony. Below him, a group of townspeople were stacking wood around a stake. Tied to the stake was Legolas, who was struggling against his bonds. One of Aragorn's captors finally spoke.
"He is a devil. He has bewitched you. The only way to free you is to kill him, and have you watch."
With that, he nodded to the men on the ground with torches. They nodded back, then touched their torches to the dry wood around Legolas. The wood burned fast, and soon Legolas was choking on the smoke as the flames licked closer to his feet. Over the jeering crowd, Aragorn could barely make out Legolas' last words.
"I love you, my king. I shall wait for you…."
He trailed off as the flames crawled up his body, not letting a scream escape his lips. Aragorn broke free of his captors and ran to the balcony's edge, but would not be able to get to Legolas in time to save him. He met Legolas' steady gaze, feeling a tear course down his cheek.
"I love you too, dear Legolas. I shall wait for you always."
Aragorn felt his heart break as Legolas managed to smile at him. A small smile, but still. The elf seemed unaware that most of his body was consumed by flames. As Aragorn watched, Legolas' smile faltered, and his eyes fluttered closed. Legolas had died. The flames continued to consume him, as Aragorn sobbed brokenly.
"I gave you life, only to have it be taken from you. I told you I loved you, yet only watched as you burned before me. Can you ever forgive me Legolas?"
Aragorn had made his way to the balcony he had stood on when Legolas died. Looking out over his lands, he only saw flooded plains and crumbling cities. This majestic city had started to crumble the day Legolas died. Droughts dried the fields, allowing wild fires to race across them, ravaging the lands. The treasury was depleted trying to bring some food to the people. Buildings crumbled because there was no money to pay for repairs. People fled as they realized that Gondor wasn't going to get better. Even Aragorn left, becoming a ranger known as Strider. He spent his life searching for remnants of the ancient elven civilizations without luck. When he left Gondor, the rains returned. At first, people rejoiced. It appeared that Gondor's streak of bad luck was over. However, the rains did not cease. They poured water relentlessly. Anything that tried to grow was quickly drowned.
Aragorn tilted his head back, feeling the rain wash across his face. He sank to his knees, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the balcony railing. As his eyes fluttered closed, he heard a voice.
"Let's go home."
Despite his closed eyes, he saw Legolas standing in front of him, with one outstretched hand reaching for him.
"Legolas…"
Legolas smiled, stretching his arm a bit more.
"Come Aragorn. Take my hand. Let's go home."
Aragorn smiled and reached for his elf. Together, they climbed the stairs into heaven, to rest together for the rest of time.
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The torrents of rain over Gondor finally stopped. After decades of constant rains, it was amazing that Gondor wasn't completely under water.
One single sunbeam pierced the clouds and illuminated the King of Gondor. Aragorn smiled in death, his hand reaching for something. No one ever knew what he was trying to reach when he died.
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