Rating: PG
Summary: After your heart is betrayed and nights of pain come, what do you hold onto?
Warnings: TISSUE ALERT! Lots and lots of fluffiness and warm fuzzies with a twinge of angst. May I emphasize my big ol' NOT SLASH comment on my profile? places the paragraph in italics, bold print, and underlines Thank you for being considerate!
Soundtrack Recommendations: Add "Forever" and "Cry On My Shoulder" by Overflow to the list. I LOVE these songs and they are the biggest (and in all likelihood the ONLY) reason why I could write this chapter. If you don't have them, e-mail me privately and I will send them to you or show you where you can find them online. They are beautiful, beautiful songs.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of LOTR, in this story especially these characters help me come into terms with a lot of things. I also own none of the quotes I use, or the lyrics from the music group Overflow. They inspire me; therefore I add them so parhaps you can be inspired as I was. ;D
CHAPTER 2
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"The language of friendship is not words but meanings."
Henry David Thoreau
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Aragorn could not mount his horse the next morning. The skin on his hands had been torn harshly by the rocks and through the night they had stiffened painfully. The Man could barely flex his fingers; much less pull himself up onto his horse's back. If something were to happen and the gelding bolted, his chances of falling increased dramatically.
Knowing this and feeling all too responsible for his friend's discomfort, the Elf took over. He took great care to pack away all of the Man's belongings along with his own on the gelding, and taking the reins, mounted his own mare to offer Aragorn a hand up.
Gripping the Elf's forearm as much as he dared, Aragorn bounced a few times and barely managed to gain the mare's back. He winced hard after the small exertion, or so he thought, as he settled behind Legolas, his hands trembling.
Legolas sensed it, looking back. "Estel?"
Aragorn resisted the urge to lean forward, small stars dancing across his senses. "It is just my hands-"
"Here," the Elf said gently, facing forward again and reaching back. "Let me see."
The Man did not bother resisting, he was in a far too precarious position to even attempt. He placed his bandaged hands into the Elf's and scooted closer to accommodate the distance change, allowing Legolas to pull them forward on either side to better see to them.
When Legolas had first cared for the injuries to make it through the night, he had used two separate layers; a thick padding wrap that wound around the fingers and absorbed most of the blood, and a heavier, stronger bandage covering it to keep the fingers immobile so they could heal. In mounting the mare, Aragorn had forced his bandages to grate against his wounds and the barely healing sores burned, not ready yet to handle even such light contact.
Undoing the first wrap on the ranger's left hand, the Elf studied the under-wrapping. Much of the bandage over the fingers had been stained both red and black. Peeling part of the thick bandage back, he saw that some of the fragile blood scabs had broken. Soon the under-wrapping was both worn from time and use, quickly worthless.
Calling Aragorn's gelding to come closer, Legolas reached into his pack and fished out a fresh roll of the wrap and a pouch of salve that he had used. Removing the soiled padding, the Elf spread the salve over the broken gouges in the Man's fingers, ceasing any blood flow just long enough to wrap Aragorn's hand again.
The Elf repeated the process on Aragorn's right, until both sets of wrapping were clean again. "Better?" he asked of his friend, rolling the bandage up again to store back into his pack.
"Yes," the Man behind him whispered. Even though his hands were little more than stumps with the bandaging, they really did feel better. The pain had faded to a stinging he could easily ignore. "Thank you."
The Elf did not answer, hardly trusting his voice. He did, however, keep Aragorn's arms around his waist, holding them in place. Somehow, he felt more in control with his friend next to him. Lightly tapping his heels against the mare's side, he told her to walk on. The gelding followed, matching the mare's slow, thoughtful gait. When the cave they had stayed in the previous night slowly vanished from sight, Legolas fell silent.
The dawn had come with no visible sun. The sky was overcast and grey, clouds heavy with rain obscuring any blue. Not long after they had set out, it had begun to drizzle ever so lightly.
Neither of the companions were concerned. After years in the wilds, they knew what to listen for as a warning for any storm of consequence. There was little rain and the birds were still out. It would be a day, parhaps two, before any heavy rain would come. The forests around them just looked bleak and chill.
"Legolas," Aragorn caught the Elf's attention after they had traveled some distance in silence. "Where are we going?"
It was a good question. They were leagues away from Mirkwood, which lay on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and Rivendell lay some distance south. Either home was days and miles away. Yet from the looks of it, Legolas was not leading them in either direction.
Already fearing the man thought less of him after confessing such a large part of himself, Legolas had resisted speaking. Even now, he could barely force himself to say anything. Quietly, so quietly, he whispered, "I am not sure."
Truly, he did not know where he wanted, or needed, to go. He felt drawn to some place, but in the midst of his raging emotions he could not discern where he was being called. Frustrated at his own helplessness, the Elf felt a now familiar swell creep up from the depth of his despair. He fought it, beat the feeling back down until it lost life and faded again. He refused to cry again. Not so soon. Not when he didn't even know what he was crying for.
He was confused; about where he was supposed to go, what he was supposed to do, and... what his friend thought of him now. The night was past; the Elf did not know what to think. It was still so early into their friendship and Aragorn had just witnessed his open, bared soul. He trusted the Man so explicitly already, but if something had changed in the way his friend thought about him after hearing what was said, he did not know if he could take it, a type of betrayal he could not name.
He was not only afraid of rejection, he was also sick of it. He was sick of being wrong, sick of being told he was so foolish, sick of being left behind and forgotten. Sick of being told that even though he loved to learn, excelled at everything he loved, and was more than worthy of chances to prove himself, he could not even try. Too young, too reckless. Over exaggerated, parhaps, but still, often unwarranted... and all this from the same person. He was not immature and he was not stupid, but right at that moment, he felt exactly like what he was told he was. Suddenly all the pain he had still with him felt silly and childish. It left him empty, searching, not knowing what he should feel.
"Do you want to go home?" the Man asked, desperately trying to piece together parts to the puzzle while remaining calm at the same time.
Mute, the Elf did not respond, though his head seemed to hang a little more.
Aragorn sensed the distance growing between them despite their close contact. Not knowing what to say but knowing he had to do something, he shifted one of his hands out of the Elf's grip and used it to cover one of his friend's. Trapping the Elf's hand between his two, he held it firmly, yet gently, as though it could be cracked and broken should anything else touch it again. A moment later, he was gratified to barely feel fingers wrap lightly around his own, weaving them together.
"Do you want to talk to me?"
This time, Legolas did respond, nodding his head ever so gently. "Yes."
Aragorn sighed, letting his arms tighten around his friend in encouragement. "Then speak. Do not hold back."
"Are you ashamed of me?" the Elf's voice was so soft, as though he could barely ground out the words, paining him physically to speak.
"For what?"
"For what I have confessed to you."
Why would you think I would be ashamed of you for feeling? The man wondered, hurting that the Elf would even think that of him. But given present circumstance, he could not blame him. "No Legolas." His voice was gentle, full of truth. "I have never been ashamed of you."
Legolas sounded confused, as though he could not believe such a thing were possible. "Why not?"
The Man looked up at the back of the Elf's head curiously. "Why should I?"
The Elf's free hand now woven into his mare's thick mane tightened in its hold, again fighting his tears. "I disappoint everyone. Why do I not disappoint you with my weakness?"
"Because I am not ashamed of true displays of emotion," the Man stated simply, though heavily, believing the words he spoke but frustrated that so few others would be so different in thought. "-whether they be my own or someone else's. Holding things inside only serves to deaden the soul. You care enough about yourself to let me know you were hurt. Why should that disappoint me, when it is something you need so much?"
The Elf attempted to raise his head a little higher, as though he were trying to prove something to himself. "I should not so easily lose control."
"Easily? Legolas, when was the last time you let yourself mourn for anything, no matter how small? How long have you been fighting back the tears? Last night does not count, and do not think I know not."
"I – I know not."
Aragorn let his breath out, shaking his head fondly. "I think, dear friend, that you need to stop saving so many lives and start saving your own. Do not save the healing of your heart for any later."
Legolas looked down over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of his friend's face. "Howcan I do this?"
Aragorn paused, considering his words carefully, saying them with a brief, firm embrace. "Feel. Let go your pain and feel again."
Desperate, the Elf asked again. "How?"
"Forgive. Learn to weep."
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"You have had some hard times
Had thorns placed in your side
I know about what you've been going though
The tears of pain are falling down
It hurts so bad you're crying out
Your problems won't last forever
Let me put you back together
Come here and cry on my shoulder
I'll hold you 'til it's over
I'll rescue you tonight
Let my arms be your shelter
Your hiding place forever
I'll love you!"
Overflow "Cry On My Shoulder"
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That night, Legolas awoke with a start, fringes of a dream still caught in the corners of his mind. Startled by the images still raging in an illusionist's reality, a low moan fled his lips. He jumped up to one elbow, rolling over so his head could hang and come to its senses. The dream faded, though it had left a vivid mark upon the fair being, caught in the malice and the fear. It choked him.
He had not intended to speak at all during this night and the cry was not loud, but on the opposite side of a dying campfire a figure stirred and rose, driven by the sound of distress. The Elf leaned against his elbows and shut his eyes tightly, fighting the ache in him still, attempting to push it away so he could wave his companion off. He failed.
A soft thump of a sleeping mat sounded right behind him. Aragorn did not bother to speak, his actions giving insight to his thoughts. The Man settled once more into the pounded leather, and ignoring the bandages still wrapped securely around his hands, pulled Legolas back off his elbows to lean up against his friend, gently guided into place without a spoken word.
Legolas resisted, suddenly full aware of the wetness on his face and his breath hitching in pain, instinct controlling his actions more than his mind was. "No Estel," he whispered, trying to convince the Man he was fine, beyond the fact that all he spoke was not truth. "I am well. It – it was only a dream."
"Your pride will be the death of you yet, gwador," Aragorn said, his voice so soft. "Do you not think it is time for someone to take care of you now?" He could feel the Elf tremble against his fear, could sense the pain of him holding it within still, even after their talk of the previous night and day. "Your life needs be saved just as much as mine did."
Stunned, not expecting anything of the sort to come from the ranger's lips, Legolas hesitated, and then finally inclined his head in defeat. All day, he had held back the tears. Only now did they come again. Realizing that his worst moments came during the time when he felt so alone, the Elf found himself so easily captured into Aragorn's wise, tender control. Knowing his friend was so near, some resistance in Legolas faded and grew still; he again knew he needed to be held. Never leaving the circumference of Aragorn's arms, he turned over to face the Man. Wrapping his hands into the warm, soft fabric of Aragorn's sleep tunic and his face into the hollow of the Man's neck, he let go the fear of his harrowing thoughts and their threat to consume him past any hope of a return. He listened to the one thing he knew he could trust, letting his pain fall.
Aragorn tightened his hold around his friend, his arms firm and strong in his desire to comfort. Struck by the strength of his friend's trials and how much they still hurt him, he kissed the Elf's brow and wept with him, whispering words made entirely of encouragement and hope.
When Legolas began to listen to the spoken words, they were different from what he expected. There was no mention of 'It will be all right,' or even 'I am here.' The words Aragorn gave, though simplistic in thought, drove deep into the Elf's mind and heart, breaking through his defenses and allowed him to do what he needed to heal.
"Let it all out, gwador nin. Just let it all go, let the tears heal the parched land of your soul ..." The Man's voice grew rough as he spoke longer in the deepening night, age-old festering pain Legolas had never allowed himself to feel and move beyond, now forcing their ways to be heard in the form of bitter, terrible weeping. "It has no place with you. Let yourself be free of this pain."
Long into the night, he did so, teaching himself to let go, to feel. At times, Legolas spoke words of his own, things he wished he had said or actions he wished he had done, to no one in particular; held in the memory of every pain he had taken under the hands of another, every ache he had chosen thereafter to ignore and never forgive. How they consumed him, ensnared him, forcing him to bring to life memories he had long ago wished to forget. Words that could not be forgotten. Recollections he now struggled to lay at rest, in complete peace of mind. In the passing time of night, they began to bleed away, forgiven in the price of a river of tears.
As the hurt began to lessen, the Elf began to realize and was amazed at the light and the peace beginning to settle in his soul where darkness and chaos had once resided. He was amazed at how calm and full of hope his spirit could be. It was as though he were young again, not yet burdened with cares of the world but purely strong in the wisdom of what he had learned.
Slowly, the words Aragorn spoke to him faded as the Man fell to slumber, unable to resist longer the pull of his weariness and his need to let his wounds heal. The only thing that remained constant for several hours was the embrace Aragorn protected Legolas with. It was the only thing that did not wane in strength as the shadows of nightfall grew long. Mindful of his friend, the ranger barely moved through the long hours as he slept on his side.
Legolas had never felt like this. He had never felt so free, so unable to be caught in any touch of hate. An army of orcs could have burst into their camp at that moment with full intentions to cut them both in two... and their swords finding only air as they tried. As of yet, no other being in this world had made him feel so safe, so free to drop all guard. He would, parhaps for the first time since he was so young, allow himself be encompassed in another's arms while completely letting go of all else. This display of affection, of complete surrender, was from then on reserved for the Man alone.
Slowly, his pain ceased to torment and the tears dried. Worn to exhaustion, weary beyond his recollection, the Elf lifted his head out of the depths of his despair to rest against his friend's jaw and neck, inviting the cool night air to greet his senses. Gentle, tender caresses of the wind fled around his face, easing his flushed skin and bringing back to life the smells of the earth around them. Aragorn's dark hair caught in the wind and brushed up against the Elf's eyes, teasing him lightly. Working one arm out from under the embrace, Legolas folded the hair back under his head where it had been, holding on to its silky softness an extra moment.
Though he knew the Man to be sleeping, the Elf began to speak to him, caring not that Aragorn may not even hear.
"All my life, I have searched for you. Ever since the time I learned the meaning of 'friend', little else have I desired of this world, to find the one I could trust all of myself with. I was promised once that you would come... though at times I hardly dared dream, due to my dark times of late. But you were right; someone did need to save my life. I just needed to wait for the one who would let me save theirs. Forever have I loved you, and now that you are here, for the first time in such a long time, I am not torn."
Expecting no reply but stilled now in mind, Legolas let his mind tread toward thoughts of sleep, but before he did succumb, a soft, clear voice entered his thoughts, and an overwhelming sense of peace settled over any lingering hurt, healing to such an extent that it left no scar.
"Forever have you loved me, and forever I have been protected by you. You have captivated me, healed me so many times of my burdens of fear. Though much will change, this will not. I am bound to you, kindred spirit. You are my treasure, one I will hold and defend even should it mean my life."
Hearing every word, so connected were they, the Elf's arm crept up, wrapping itself around the Man's shoulder. "Forever you will remember me?"
"Before there was time and after it fades. You and I, we belong to each other."
"Estel?"
"Yes?"
"... I want to go home."
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"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art...
It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival."
C.S. Lewis
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The (Real!) End
So NOW... flames? Exile? Tar and feathers? Shall I go into hiding:D To my wonderful readers - I love you all!
