Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own either Legolas or Aragorn...

Author´s note: This is a companionpiece to Sleep, my Child. I´d recommend to read that first as it makes more sense, even though this story could stand alone as well.

Enjoy (and, as usual: please review)!

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By Your Side

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Faint screams echoed through the darkness. He listened intently, trying to determine where they had come from and who had been screaming, but he felt himself drifting off to another place again, immediately forgetting what he had just heard.

The darkness kept him, drowned out every bit of light he had ever known; panic started to surge through him then, for he knew he could not live without light. He tried to escape, but moving was impossible and blackness was everywhere.

Just as despair threatened to overwhelm him, something seemed to brush past him, something that he immediately wanted to hold on to; it was a voice, and a familiar one at that. He strained his ears, for it seemed so far away; listening intently, he clung to the sound of it as if it were a lifeline, for it seemed the only way out of the darkness. Eventually, the voice became stronger, but with it came pain. He hesitated; he remembered the pain now, it had flared through him like a flash of red hot anger before the darkness had claimed him. He did not wish to go back to it, but the voice did not allow him to withdraw now; he heard his name above the pain, spoken in a somewhat shaky but otherwise gentle voice, a voice he had learned to trust a long time ago.

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With an effort, Legolas opened his eyes. The bright daylight blinded him at first, but then a figure moved into his line of vision and shielded his eyes from the onslaught. It was Aragorn, whose features betrayed immense relief at seeing his friend awake. Blinking, the elf looked up at the Ranger: "What happened?", he queried, unaware of how faint his voice was.

"Wolves", Aragorn replied; his eyes lingered on Legolas´ pale face for a moment, then travelled over the prince´s bloodied body. The elf had lost too much blood for comfort; he would see to the wounds as best as he could and then make for Rivendell with haste.

Legolas gasped as Aragorn cautiously opened the elf´s tunic to have a proper look at his injuries; he had received two deep gashes, one just underneath the ribcage, the other one right next to the hipbone and across the belly. The Ranger felt queasy when he assessed the wounds, knowing that they would very likely claim Legolas´ life if not treated properly. He took several deep breaths to regain his composure, then sought the elf´s gaze; the brilliant blue eyes were glazed over with pain, but full of trust.

Aragorn took his friend´s hand in his own, squeezing it reassuringly: "I will tend to these wounds as best as I can", he said with more optimism than he felt. "I just need to get my pack first." He rose, but Legolas held on to his hand: "Where are you going?", he whispered, sounding very young and frightened. Aragorn knew it was a reaction to the shock, but the Ranger´s heart clenched nevertheless, and he sought to set the elf´s mind at ease: "I am not going far", he thus replied softly. "My pack is strapped to my saddle, only a few feet from here."

Legolas drew in a shaky breath and nodded, still clutching Aragorn´s hand. The man leaned forward and stroked the elf´s temple: "You need not worry so, Legolas", he said soothingly. "I am not going to leave you, do you not know that?"

This time, Legolas let go of his friend´s hand; it was all right. Aragorn would be there.

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The End

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