A/N: Yet again, I have shamefully promised you, and shamefully failed. Though to be fair, I was at my nan's for two weeks, and I actually have 3 GCSE exams coming up, one on the 14th, and two on the 18th, so I've been revising like mad! I still think I'm going to fail at least History but oh well. I confess that fangirl29 is right, I need to wait before I can swoon on David Tennant. I HAVE to keep with his story, because the ending I have in mind needs to be written! This chapter doesn't really have a cliffie to be honest, but still. (plus, not that anyone's mentioned it, I know starcrossed is actually spelt "star-crossed", but that doesn't really look effective, know what I mean?) Oh, and can I add SNOW SNOW SNOW! We had three off-school, snow days in a row, and that literally never happens in England. Read on...
Starcrossed
Confessions
The first thing to hit Legolas Thranduillion as he woke was pain. Not the same excruciating pain as before, no, but a constant throb, residing in his head. It felt as though his brain had been set alight, and even as his eyes flickered beneath shut eyelids, further flares sparked to provoke a groan from him.
The cool touch of a hand on his forehead stilled him, and he subconsciously leaned into as it slowly moved to his cheek, revelling in the comfort. A flash of disappointment swept through him as the hand moved away, but only to be replaced with a damp cloth, dabbing at his burning cheeks and forehead. His lips curled marginally upwards in a brief smile, and he allowed a small sigh escape him before relaxing. Keeping completely still as the cloth retreated, he was relieved as the burning faded, albeit a little. The cool material pressing against his eyes also seemed to help… material?
His brow furrowed into a frown, his slender slowly reaching towards his face, his breath slowing his apprehension. With trepidation, his fingers found and carefully scoured what they sought, brushing against the crisp softness of cloth; cloth wrapped tightly and securely around his eyes.
Like a bolt of lightening he short upright from the bed, exclamations of surprise ringing like bells in his head as he somehow managed to roll off the bed in his haste. He hit the floor with a dull thud, pain shooting his side as he scrambled. Reassuring pleas yelled out over the din of panic, but his mind was already gripped in the throes of fear. His hands yanked at the cloth, ripping it from his head with one vicious pull. Nothing prepared him for what followed.
Before he'd even had the time to adjust his eyes did a blinding beam of light hit them, eliciting a cry of pain. It felt as though his very eyes had caught fire, and he yelled aloud as pain tore through them.
He threw his arm over them, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face into the small burrow they made, attempting in vain to smother out the light.
It took a moment for him to hear the sobbing, and another to realise that it was he who was sobbing. And yet he couldn't stop himself, he could only tremble and cry, praying to the Valar that the suffering would stop. Soft arms wrapped around him, pulling him deep into them and towards a body too slim for a Gimli, and with clothing too soft for any other than a woman. He let the arms envelop him, feeling comfort in the warm embrace as the tears slipped unrelenting from beneath the cloth and rolled mockingly down his cheeks.
He knew that soon the hands would replace the cloth. Not that he cared. Not that it mattered,
Because he may as well have been blind.
.
.
Gimli son of Gloín sat passively in an armchair, settled comfortable in the cushioned object as he continued to gaze across the room, watching.
Legolas sat cross-legged on the bed, his pillows strewn abandoned behind him, the mattress untouched before him, staring down at his hands. Only, he wasn't staring, not really. Rather, his head was bowed as the white cloth, wrapped neatly around his eyes, blindly faced his lap. The elf wore a fine, white nightshirt, but bandages were still visible past the loose neck, binding Legolas' torso tightly. The very sight made Gimli's blood boil.
He wanted to use every orc to make a broth, and then feed the vile stuff to Saruman even if he to shove it down the foul snake's throat himself. He felt stringing them all in and hanging them upside down, before making sure that none of them would ever have… offspring.
In fact, he felt like doing a great deal of things to Saruman and his cronies, but all he did now was silently worry for his friend.
Legolas had begun wringing his hands and fiddling distractedly with the sheet, a slight crease visible on his brow as he frowned. Gimli sighed heavily, digging out his pipe before thinking better of it and stashing it back away as the elf opened his mouth to speak.
"I know what you want me to tell you, Mellon nîn," He began, his voice almost a whisper, "but I cannot… there is nothing to tell."
"Legolas," Gimli growled, "I have just witnessed you shriek in pain, for reasons unknown to me! The very light ye so love burns your eyes, and still you say there's nothing to tell???"
The elf remained silent for a few moments, fiddling anxiously with the sheet, and it was a while before he replied
"Moria." He muttered, "It began in Moria."
"But Lady Galadriel had healed you." Gimli frowned deeply, leaning forward in his chair.
"She had." Legolas replied dismissively, "But she could not rid the poison; it runs in my veins even now."
"So what of it? What's going to happen, lad?" Gimli demanded, close to falling from his chair as he leaned ever further.
Legolas sighed, his shoulders sagging as he released the sheet, and Gimli immediately feared the worst.
"A year, Gimli." He whispered, "That is all that is left for me."
Gimli froze, staring disbelievingly at Legolas. His friend was going to die; it was inevitable. He may not have believed it, had it not been the Lady of Light herself who'd discovered the ill news.
But for an elf to die was unthinkable; let alone his brave, noble friend. How could it be so? It wasn't long since the elf had been fighting Wargs with the power and skill of ten- and dwarves for that matter, not that he'd admit it. Then he thought of everything else: the wan colour of Legolas' skin, the worrying touch of ribs beneath clothing… part of him wanted it not to be so, believed it not to be, but the other part knew it to be true. He'd never known an elf to lie. Oh, how he wished they would.
"Does anyone else know about this, lad?" He finally found the voice to ask.
"Gandalf suspected," Legolas murmured, "but he does not know. You are the only."
Gimli's throat worked soundlessly for something to say, but there was no use. What could he say? What could he say to a dying elf? Most importantly, what could he say to a dying friend? Should he console him? Should he condole him? Or should he simply be mute and disbelieving, as such.
His lacks of words frustrated him, but a hasty footman, knocking rapidly at the door before entering, saved him.
"My lords," he bowed quickly, "Théoden King asks for you in the main hall… He says Lord Aragorn has returned from the grave."
Shock rattled Gimli. What was this confusing turn of events? One friend dies, the other will soon die, and now the first had come back from the dead? Soon, his brain would explode. He knew not what to feel anymore.
"We'll be there in a moment." Gimli sighed as the footman left, running a weary hand over his eyes as he turned back to Legolas. The elf had also sat bolt upright, gaping at the door in surprise.
"Returned from the grave." He whispered, his voice torn with emotion, before surprising the dwarf by struggling off the bed, "Gimli! Ai, blast this, where are you?"
"Here, Laddie." He called, frowning in puzzlement as the elf whipped around to face him.
"Gimli! You must not tell him!" He pleaded, "You cannot tell him!"
Gimli's frown as he thought furiously. Not tell him? Was the elf mad? The ranger deserved to know what was happening to his closest friend. But Gimli looked into his friend's face and found himself nodding in agreement. It took a moment for him to realise he had to vocalise the confirmation.
"I will not, Laddie." He voiced as sincerely as he could.
Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, before a thought struck him and abruptly brought his hands to his ribs, then his backside, the cautiously to the sides of his thighs.
"Your weapons are safe, Laddie," Gimli reassured him, before picking a bundle up, "and your clothes are here."
Legolas smiled gratefully, allowing Gimli to push the bundle of clothes into his arms. The dwarf himself felt rude, but couldn't help but watch in amaze at the elf's strategic method. He first placed down the clothes on the bed and deftly felt each, putting them in the order of which he'd wear them. His hands worked efficiently through clasps, laces and other fiddly features with the practised ease of one who'd done the same without looking.
Secretly, Gimli envied the perfected limbs of the elf. He'd many a time become frustrated with his own short ones.
Legolas spent little more than minute dressing, and soon the two friends were scaling the hallways and corridors, Legolas trailing his hand cautiously along the wall and Gimli making no attempt to muffle his loud footsteps. It was lucky for Legolas that what he lacked in sight, he made up for in elven hearing. He stumbled at least thrice, and almost walked into a wall on one occasion, but otherwise his physiology aloud him to cope.
Even so, Gimli could clearly see Legolas strain to hear everything, and easily noticed every badly disguised grimace and wince the elf made. He already looked as though he'd done all he could cope with, and Gimli was close to making the elf stop and rest, but they were rewarded with the sight of the main hall doors.
Slowly, gradually, the doors seemed to open of their own accord, and out came striding a tall man, with rich, black hair and wearing the garb of a ranger. What surprised Gimli, more than his even being there, was the state of the man and garb. There were more rips in the fabric than ever before, and through the rips was the visible sight of skin scratched and bruised. The man himself looked in need of a bath and a bed, but the concern in his eyes was evident as they settled on the sight of the elf.
"Legolas, Gimli." Aragorn said softly, "What has happened?"
