Title: The Song of the Star
Tags: Romance, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Adventure, Soul Bond, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Major Character Injury, Injury Recovery, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Light Gore, Racism
Summary: Legolas and Aragorn are soul bonded lovers, and have been tasked by Gandalf to escort and protect the ring bearer, Frodo, from the outskirts of the Shire all the way to Rivendell. This story depicts the various events of Trio's trials and tribulations throughout Middle Earth. Also Includes: Gimli as racist Dwarf who hates Elves (Legolas only serves to royally piss him off), a Fellowship that dwindles down to the Trio (plus Gimli) and a path to Mordor that makes no sense.
Injury Warning: It's basically Canon-Typical Violence/Gore (if the LOTR movies are any indication). The injuries within the story are briefly described, but can be considered graphic and the blood warning should be obvious.
Note #1: Title taken from the translation of the lyrics for Aniron (Theme for Aragorn and Arwen) by Enya. I know, I'm assuming the lyrics talk about stars because of Arwen Evenstar but I found the star metaphor appropriate for Elves in general.
Note #2:
Elvish language: Legolas and Aragorn occasionally speak in Elvish. When they use an Elvish word/phrase (written in Elvish) or have entire conversations (written in English), the dialogue will be Italicized. Translations are provided for each chapter.
Examples:
"This is what it'll look like," Legolas said, "When I'm speaking/conversing entirely in Elvish."
"Mell nin," Aragon responded. "This is what it'll look like when I use an Elvish word/phrase in a sentence."
Translations:
My beloved = Mell nín
BETA: TheSupernova
Chapter 1: Fateful Meetings
Unlike most Hobbits, Frodo held a certain curiosity about the world outside of the Shire. Between Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf the Grey, he'd heard many stories about everything from the nearby settlements to the farthest reaches of Middle Earth. One of the most intriguing was of the elves: immortal, beautiful and wise. They were the finest archers in the land, most seeming to prefer living with their own kind, in isolation, surrounded by nature; deep within the forests.
Having left the Shire, Frodo wasn't sure who or what he would encounter but looked forward to their trip to Rivendell (to meet the elves and deposit an evil golden ring) with his friends: Samwise, Merry and Pippin. The latter two were unexpected, having been stealing from Farmer Maggot (again) when Frodo and Sam were bowled over by the two hobbits running away with their goods. Dogs barked in the distance and his leisurely walk through the crop fields had now turned into a desperate run for their lives.
Fleeing far enough into the woods, well out of sight of the farmer's lands, finally gave them a chance to relax. As Gandalf had duties to attend to when Frodo first set out on his journey, they had agreed to meet at the local inn in one of the nearby settlements, Bree, before they headed to Rivendell.
As it was, they still had a ways to go; it was still a day's walk to the river crossing, and from there they needed to take the raft a few miles downstream. It all sounded simple enough, but he really should have known better than to think a journey with an evil ring in his possession could mean anything but trouble.
They eventually stumbled upon a gaggle of mushrooms growing on the forest floor, and having been walking for quite some time they decided to stop for dinner (as it was getting well towards early evening). Luckily, they had managed to bring along some crops from the fields and Frodo had packed his own bag of food-including his own horde of vegetables, some dried meat and a slew of spices, along with a cooking pot.
Vegetable soup it was (they were going to save the dried meat for later). Merry and Pippin began heating up the fire, busy skinning and cutting up the vegetables while they waited for the water in their pot to boil.
It would be a while yet before the soup would be ready, and as to stay out of the way, Frodo took out his pipe, choosing to relax along a on low hanging tree branch as Sam had found a log to lean against, completely at ease. It was still light out; this time of the year the daylight would last longer, the nights shorter than usual.
The two cooks were engrossed in an argument between what spices to put into the soup and eagerly attacking each other's intelligence, which wasn't that unusual for those two. Admittedly, once they got going, Frodo usually lost all track of the conversation and somewhat guiltily ended up tuning them out until the sounds of yelling and mild fisticuffs finally died down.
Frodo was so deep in thought that he almost missed the ethereal singing gliding along the wind. The sound was so beautiful that there could be only one race able to exhibit such sonnets
"Do you hear that, Sam?" Frodo asked quietly, as if unwilling to disrupt the music filling the air.
"Elves?" Sam said, uncertain.
"Wood elves," Frodo corrected. He had never seen an elf before, but deep inside him, he just knew. They were beautiful and elegant, shining so ethereally in the distance; the elves carried a certain presence about them that spoke of immortality and an inherent grace.
"They're crossing to the Grey Havens. A pilgrimage across Middle Earth, to the harbor beyond the white towers," Frodo added unconsciously. It meant the time of the elves was soon to be a distant memory; their existence turning into unbelievable legends and stories. For how can you explain what it truly meant to be a grandiose and immortal Elf, to explain in words the most beautiful thing you will ever see? No language would be able to describe that feeling.
Sam sighed morosely. "It makes me sad, to see them leave these shores."
Frodo silently agreed.
Merry and Pippin were arguing, their voices carrying heavily in his ears, but the song of the elves overwhelmed him, drowning out all other distractions. The background noise and elements muted themselves in awe. But all things must come to an end. Although Frodo couldn't say with any certainty that the elves would ever meet the end of their immortal story, to disappear from this world forever, this succession was certainly at its end, the music becoming a distant melody.
The end of the cortege broke the enchantment held over them, because in all of their white elegance lay a break in the chain. The white aura around the cortege hadn't extended to the very last elf, and Frodo couldn't help but wonder why. And instead of formal attire, this elf was wearing a cloak of deep forest green with the garments of a ranger underneath, made mainly of cloth and leather accessories: gloves, forearm armor, a belt and a small leather pouch attached to the side of his leg. A large bow and quiver of arrows were carried along his back; an archer, then.
Of course, leave it to Merry and Pippin to shout their excitement so loudly (over who knew what) that it created a minor echo throughout the forest. The song never wavered. Frodo saw two of the Elves look their way, a brief nod in greeting, before turning their attention back to the forward progression.
The trailing Elf from before stopped and turned towards them; this took the notice of the two boisterous Hobbits behind them and they immediately quieted down. Why had he stopped? Was this Elf upset over the commotion? Frodo couldn't see why. As the age of the elves was ending, news of their pilgrimage would spread-if it hadn't already-to the far reaches of Middle Earth. The Elves were bound to encounter obstacles like this at some point on their journey. Not everyone would be so reverent or tolerant of the elves.
The last few of cortege turned to the Elf, as if in question. A silent exchange happened, and Frodo saw the others nod, before resuming their journey, leaving the last of their kin behind.
"What's he doing?" Merry whispered harshly. The Hobbit had yet to master the art of secrecy. "Why'd he stop?"
Frodo shook his head. "I don't know, but I think we're about to find out." He gestured to the elf. "He's coming our way."
The sound of the pot bubbling over caught the two Hobbit chefs' attentions, momentarily torn between finding out what this elf wanted and saving the soup. Frodo counted up to three before they ran off in a panic towards the pot.
The elf walking towards them was stumbling a bit over the roots upon the forest floor, which was worrying. Elves were more comfortable surrounded by nature than in stone cities and the crowded settlements of men.
"Are you Hobbits?" The Elf asked as he neared, before falling to his hands and knees. The moment his left knee hit the ground, it immediately gave way, and he landed with a groan onto his side. Frodo was up in seconds, Sam behind him as they ran towards the injured stranger.
"So you are Hobbits, then."
Frodo nodded, kneeling down beside the elf. He was unsure what to do with his hands, hesitating to touch the stranger, for fear of making the injury worse. "Tell me how I can help."
The stranger smiled, using his right arm to push himself up, sitting unsteadily between from them.
"Do you know Frodo?" He asked; his breathing uneven, irregular. "I'm seeking a Hobbit named Frodo. I am a friend."
"I am," Frodo answered truthfully. "Introductions later, you need help."
Frodo motioned for Sam to help him escort the Elf to the fire. There was blood running down the stranger's left arm, staining the bandages that ran from the upper shoulder, winding down to cover the palm of his hand. Frodo doubted if they were attacked, that the elf would be much help.
"The bandages, Sam," he told his friend. "Hurry."
With a quick nod, Sam was up, disappearing behind the large, thick tree trunk where they stacked their collective bags.
"They're coming... the Shire, they found..." The elf started to list dangerously to one side, and would have fallen over if Frodo hadn't caught him. His words were fractured, and Frodo was having a hard time making sense of them. "You. I'm supposed to find you... help you- help you escape."
Escape? Escape from what?
He eased the elf down, laying him by the fire. Merry and Pippin had divvied the soup out for themselves, but Frodo saw that three full bowls were now placed by the small cooking pot instead of two (one for the elf, two for Frodo and Sam).
Frodo and Sam readily went to work on unwrapping the elf's stained bandages; some of the blood was a pale red-the wound must have opened again, because they saw fresh blood seeping between the cracks in the hardened blood on the Elf's pale skin.
A large gash ran from the palm of his hand, circling around bottom of the thumb and tore its way up the arm to his shoulder. Ripped, shredded skin lined the trailing wound, exposing fresh tissue and muscle to the open air. The small slivers of bone peaking through the lower arm made Frodo's stomach churn.
But Frodo held back, quickly regaining his composure, instead focusing on cleaning the fresh blood best he could; Sam however, had run off to the bushes to throw up. Merry and Pippin were looking away, mindlessly picked at the remnants in their bowls.
They had used all of their bandages on the elf, but already Frodo could see fresh splotches of red.
As the Elf finally fell asleep, Frodo and Sam finally sat down, taking a short breather while attempting to eat their dinner. Sam hadn't been all that hungry afterwards, but when Merry threatened to eat Sam's share, he hastily coveted his bowl and began slurping his soup, under the watchful eyes of a begging Hobbit. Frodo quickly finished his, not quite having an appetite either, and placed his bowl to the side.
Out of the corner of his eye, the fire lit a mysterious mark on the elf's pale neck. Sam looked at Frodo curiously as he reached his hand to gently lower the neck of the shirt. The red mark was actually a ring of raw skin, abrasions not from rope, but some sort of collar worn for an extended amount of time.
"It's nothing," Frodo said to Sam, smoothing the shirt over the mark. "I thought I saw something."
It was past nightfall when they had all fallen to sleep. The moon had risen high above them, shining a dim, white light through the leafy canopy above. Frodo kept awake, wanting to watch over their injured charge and keep an eye on the campsite, when he was startled with the stirring of blonde hair and a soft moan.
"Are you okay?" Frodo asked, scooting over to help the elf to sit up. He was greeted with a small shake of the blonde's head; Frodo let the left lean heavily against him, although it was slightly awkward with their height difference.
"My name is Legolas." The elf studied him for a moment. "You'll have to forgive me for asking again, but which one of you goes by the name of Frodo? Is it you?"
Frodo nodded. He didn't blame the elf for not remembering his name from their earlier encounter. Legolas hadn't been entirely lucid.
"I'll get you some soup and something for the pain. My herbal pain remedy is only strong enough to take the edge off, but not much more than that. Your injury is too great."
Frodo had saved the last of the soup for Legolas, by covering the pot with a small cloth until he was ready to eat. Trying to avoid waking the others, Frodo crept silently to their backpacks, digging through each one until he found a small baggy of various medicinal flowers and herbs. Frodo mixed it into the soup. It wouldn't make the food taste that appealing, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. Neither of them spoke while Legolas ate, and Frodo took to watching as the moon crossed the night sky overheard.
After a time, Frodo just about decided to strike up conversation when the stranger interrupted him.
"You're being hunted, Frodo. I am not the one able to explain it to you, but we should get moving as soon as the sun rises."
If Frodo wasn't mistaken, Legolas was becoming increasingly nervous, constantly looking around; often focusing his attention backs towards the Shire, though it had long since passed from sight.
"They come for you." The elf looked towards Frodo's pocket. "For the evil you carry with you."
Legolas instinctively reached out his hand towards the Hobbit's pocket.
"Legolas?" Frodo inquired gently.
That seemed to shake the Elf's out of his trance, immediately withdrawing. Frodo had seen that reaction before. Gandalf had done the same thing, back in Bag End, when Frodo first picked up the ring; the wizard reached out his hand, fingers barely grazing its golden rim when he pulled his hand back, as if on fire.
Frodo could hear the ring calling his name; a dark, luring voice in the wind.
"Frodo."
Legolas grabbed Frodo's arm harshly; he looked over, only to see Legolas' attention drawn once more towards the Shire. "They're coming. They've found you."
"Who?" Sam asked sleepily. "What's going on?"
"We must go!" When Legolas attempted to get up, a streak of pain rushed his body and Frodo moved to catch the elf before he could hit the ground.
"Let me help you," Frodo said. To Sam, he shouted. "Get the others up, now! We're leaving!"
Sam nodded, turning over to stir the others. As Frodo helped Legolas to stand, he was surprised at how lightweight the elf was in his arms. Frodo shook off the thought. He placed his body against the Elf's in preparation to help him move about.
The sound of hoof beats in the distance finally caught their ears, and in the midst of trying to get their bags packed a high-pitched wail shrieked in the distance. It was coming closer now, increasingly louder.
"Run!" Legolas screamed, "Now!"
They scrambled to their feet, rushing out towards the river crossing, but it wasn't enough. The shrieking was directly behind them, surrounding them; closing in.
The riders around them were terrifying and dark. Evil. Hooded robes covered their faces, and they held their swords high, glinting in the moonlight. Frodo ran faster, occasionally tripping himself up over the trees roots, barely managing to keep himself and Legolas from plummeting to the ground.
Horse whinnies surrounded them, and Frodo felt a continuous icy chill rush the back of his neck as the riders moved in and out of the trees.
"Down!" Legolas called out, and Frodo barely had time to duck when a sword swung directly overhead, embedding itself within the tree. Bark and wooden splinters sprayed across their faces and hair.
The roots kept tripping him up and it was frustrating, because he wasn't normally this clumsy, even in a panicked run. But he had been too lost in watching where they were going and avoiding the riders surrounding his front that he failed to notice-or hear-the horse rearing up behind him. Frodo screamed as he was pushed out of the way, landing with a heavy thunk on the ground.
The horse geared up again, and he rolled out of the way in time to avoid the hooves, which had landed in the dirt where his stomach had been. As the horse moved to stamp again, arrows began whistling through the air at its rider, and the horse turned to its new target.
As he was scrambling to stand up, Frodo found himself forcefully pulled back by his shirt. A sticker bush held him fast, twisting itself within the folds of the fabric and began to panic as he struggled to free himself.
"Hurry!" Merry shouted from behind him. He kept pulling on Frodo's shirt, and the shirt began ripping around the twined threads and thorns. A huge tear split the back of his shirt, and he could feel small pinpricks dotting his back, and knew there would be droplets of blood smearing across his skin.
Frodo heard Legolas' frantic cry behind him.
"Run! Run now!" Legolas' frantic cry clashed with the swing of his sword, singing through the air as he fought with a dark rider behind him. Frodo turned, but he and Merry held their ground; Legolas was losing, slowing down. Frodo saw fresh blood running freely down the elf's arm, body shaking with effort to stay standing, to keep fighting.
"Not without you!" Frodo yelled, but he hesitated. He had no sword, no way to fight back if he got too close but he wouldn't run without his new companion. It wasn't in him to leave people behind if he could help it.
When the rider held his sword aloft, striking down in an arch towards the elf, Legolas raised his sword to counter the blow, but Frodo saw his arm spasm, stopping mid strike. His sword clattered to the forest floor. Legolas spun his body to the side just in time for the blade to strike the tree trunk; sticky sap poured out of the open bark like a bleeding wound.
Legolas twisted in agony as his bandaged arm took the blunt force of his pitch around towards the rear of the tree. Frodo and Merry took the rider's fleeting distraction with pulling at his now sticky sword to run to Legolas' side, carrying him awkwardly between them, heading on towards the river.
Frodo guided them through the trees, crossing and twisting about, making it harder for the horses to follow. A few riders had even dismounted to chase them, but taking a winding route saved them precious seconds that allowed them to reach the river first. Sam and Pippin had readied the raft, motioning them franticly along, shouting in panic.
"Hurry up! Come on, Frodo! Merry! Faster!"
"They're right behind you! Don't stop! Hurry!"
Legolas was barely conscious by the time they reached the river, and it took all four of them to bring him safely on board. They immediately pushed off from the docks. The riders didn't come near the river as they set off downstream towards Bree. In order to get to Bree, they would first have to get to the crossing, Brandywine Bridge, which was twenty miles, give or take.
Frodo thought the riders would have followed them downstream, but he looked back to find they had vanished. For the moment, they were safe, and that was all that mattered.
The night was quiet again, the slow rush of the river below them and the occasional owl and brustle in the grasses.
"Bridge ahead!" Sam shouted, pointed excitedly ahead of them.
The bridge was a mere speck in the distance (and Frodo wasn't entirely convinced it was the bridge) but Merry and Pippin gave a brief cheer regardless. They went so far as to engage in an argument, proving a minor distraction and to lighten the mood. A touch of home in unfamiliar surroundings. Frodo wasn't paying attention overly much, concerned more for Legolas, but the distraction helped.
Turned out it was the bridge. Frodo was surprised to find that more miles of river had passed than he realized.
Legolas stirred about fifteen minutes from the bridge crossing, and Frodo helped Legolas sit up, again letting the elf lean against him for support.
"We're almost to the Prancing Pony inn. I'm sure someone there will be able to help us," Frodo said.
Legolas tried speaking, but his words came out in murmurs, though Frodo thought he heard something in Elvish about a 'ranger' and a vague reference about a man with dark hair. Frodo also didn't bother to check Legolas' wounds, because his right pant leg was turning red and damp along the edges.
Frodo took Legolas' hand gently. "Thank you, back there. For helping us."
Legolas responded in Elvish. "I am meant to protect you. And I will give my life to do so."
"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Frodo said lightly. "Merry, do we have anything left our packs that can help us?"
Merry took a moment to sift through the bags, pulling out a bed sheet, a waterskin and the last of their herbal medicinal bundle. With Sam guiding the raft, Merry and Pippin began tearing the sheet into strips for makeshift bandages with the aid of a small cooking knife while Frodo mixed up some healing water.
They made quick work of changing the bandages and cleaning the wound; a large scrap of fabric and some water to clean the arm best they could, before wrapping it up. It helped somewhat, but the new blanket-bandages were only a temporary measure.
As they reached the docks near Brandywine Bridge, Frodo saw no sign of the riders from before, which allowed him to breathe a sigh of relief. Legolas was walking fine-if not a bit unsteady—on his own, though Frodo wasn't sure how long that would last.
Walking to Bree had taken longer than Frodo expected, and by the time the gate came into view, their pace had slowed to a crawl; Legolas was gradually slowing down, but that he made it this far was incredible.
Legolas pulled up his hood when they finally reached Bree. An Elf in a small settlement like this would draw more attention than they could afford; men and hobbits were common, but Elves rarely traveled to these parts.
"Its better I keep my identity a secret." Legolas sidled up near Frodo's side, whispering into his ear. "I find it wise that you do the same."
Frodo responded with a grin. "Gandalf said the exact same thing." His face dropped when he turned back to the gate. "I wish I had met you under more pleasant circumstances."
Legolas nodded. "And I you."
The gatekeeper let them pass with no trouble, but the night sky had turned dark, and he could smell the sea salt in the air as Frodo felt drops of water sprinkled down onto his face. Legolas' arm had started bleeding again, and he could see the blood running down the back of Legolas' hand, sliding down through his fingers.
It didn't take long for the sprinkling rain to pick up.
"What do you want to do?" Frodo asked Legolas, looking around cautiously. "It's not good for you to stay in this rain, but you're bleeding again and it'll attract more attention than you might want, walking into the Inn like that..."
Sam nudged Frodo. "Let's get a room, then. You stay here, and I'll come get you when I've found us one. We can take him straight there then and find a healer afterwards."
Frodo shook his head, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "No, I'll go. I should be the one to meet Gandalf. I'll be as quick as I can."
Legolas slumped against the pub's wall, Sam immediately helping to keep the elf standing.
"I'd advise you to hurry, Frodo," Legolas said, speaking in Elvish again. "And though I doubt he's here, ask for someone called Aragorn. If anyone can help me, it's him."
Aragorn-or Strider, as he liked to be called—had been sent a message by Gandalf to meet the new ring bearer, a Hobbit by the name of Frodo Baggins, at the Prancing Pony Inn in his stead. Gandalf hadn't said why he couldn't make the journey, but if the wizard was asking for his help, Aragorn wasn't about to say no. But Gandalf hadn't set a meeting time, so it was anyone's guess when the Hobbit would show up.
Aragon kept his cloak on, with his hood pulled up and pipe filled just to past the time.
It was late evening when he saw three Hobbits entering the pub. Two of them hovered off to the side, while the third walked up to the front desk.
The clerk leaned down over the counter to better talk to the Hobbit. "We have fine Hobbit sized rooms, if you are interested. We always cater to the small folk around here. Also got some of the finest ale you'll ever drink, if you're so inclined."
The Hobbit-Mr. Underwood-asked for a regular sized room for five people.
"By the way," the Hobbit asked. "Do you know someone called Aragorn?"
Now that caught his attention. He sat up abruptly; no one around here should know that name. Aragorn had been careful, and cautious about hiding his true identity. When the clerk mentioned he hadn't heard the name before, the Hobbit's expression turned forlorn, before asking about another man which peaked his interest more.
"Do you know Gandalf the Grey? I'm supposed to be meeting him here." The Hobbit asked, somewhat anxiously.
"Hmm..." The bartender paused in thought. "I remember a Gandalf visiting here a few months back, but I haven't seen him since then."
"Thanks, anyways." The smaller man sighed, and exchanged a quick glance with his companions before turning back to the clerk. "How long until our room is ready?"
"A few minutes yet. I'll let you know as soon as I hear word it's been fixed up."
Mr. Underwood exchanged a few words with his companions again, and they rushed off to the bar eagerly, while he walked back towards the front entrance. Aragorn wasn't sure why Mr. Underwood-who was probably Frodo Baggins-was leaving the Inn. It was pouring rain outside but now would be the perfect opportunity to ask questions best left away from prying ears.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't find Aragorn-or Gandalf, for that matter." Frodo shook his head. "But I got us a room for the night. We'll stay there and figure out what to do in the morning."
"The only other place I can think of to keep the ring safe is Rivendell." A cloaked man spoke in Elvish, accompanied by a forth Hobbit.
Frodo instinctively shook his hair out when the rain ran though his hair; a futile effort.
"Why are you speaking in Elvish, anyways?" Frodo sidled up to the man's side. "You were speaking English earlier."
The man speaking Elvish was hidden in shadows, but Aragorn would know that voice anywhere. Aragorn stepped out from the doorway to meet them.
"When he's exhausted or grievously injured," Aragorn interrupted, "he reverts back to one of the many Elvish languages he can speak."
The forth Hobbit was glaring at him. "Who are you? What do you want with us?"
Frodo stepped towards him, blocking Aragorn's view of the man. "Just leave us be."
Aragorn was impressed by the courage displayed by these Hobbits. Through all Aragorn's calm demeanor, he was eager to get these Hobbits to trust him enough to let him closer.
"I'm Aragorn," he said. "You've been looking for me. Haven't you, Legolas?"
Legolas pushed himself away from the wall, stepping past the Hobbits, and collapsed into Aragorn's arms. He ran a gloved hand over the top of the Elf's green hood.
"Mell nín, Legolas," Aragorn whispered. "What's wrong? Tell me."
Legolas shook his head. "I wasn't fast enough."
Aragorn stepped back far enough to see the raw skin around Legolas' neck. It was worse than he had feared, then. The journey into the far lands hadn't gone as planned, and they had been separated for too long.
"I'm here now, Mell nín, and I'm not leaving again." Aragorn wrapped his arms around his beloved. "We are bound to each other, and I would not let you go so easily."