A complete rewrite of the story with lots of changes, though the main plot remains the same. I thank all who have followed, liked, reviewed on the first version. You have encouraged me and I have tried to work with the advice.

Thank you Aminmela for being so kind to beta-read and encourage me on that first journey.

My very special thanks go to Ruiniel for helping me with rewriting this story. I could not do this without you! And I could not wish for a better beta-reader.

This story has grown out of the wish of exploring the Southern Lands - Harad - and its people, who often get this touch of evil and darkness. Because I so love Tolkien's universe, I wanted to discover their beauty. I wish to draw some light into the unknown Lands of the South.

I attempted to write an OC who would have somehow an impact, and yet, who has to be fleeting, just brushing past, without changing nor capturing the free spirit and independence of the elf, nor the main course of the original story. It is thought to be filling in between, like events untold. A small tale spanning between the history of Middle-earth, around and during the time of the quest.

When Aragorn and Legolas speak together alone, or elves speak together, they speak elvish. Even if I write in English, because of everybody's understanding, and because I have very, very poor knowledge of elvish :)

Everything of Tolkien's fantasy world belongs to him and so do his characters. I own nothing apart from the OC's, my interpretation of the Lands of the South and the events I made up with my own mind.

The first five chapters 'The Desert' are pre-LotR, and for all who know Cassia & Siobhan's Mellon Chronicles, could be settled some few years after the MC's The Stars Of Harad. Which triggered the idea of writing this. Thanx to Sio for answering my Mail and allowing me to make reference. The sexual abuse referred herein could be what happened in the MC 'Captive of Darkness'. For whom does not know that series: It doesn't matter for the story, although I can recommend to read them ;) It was my first access into LotR-fanfiction.

The Desert - Storm

For years Aragorn had not seen the family who so warmly accepted him when he had been captured and sold as a slave in Harad. And so, he felt the urge to visit them. They were now a free people and he needed to see how they fared and if, hopefully, they were safe and keeping their hard won freedom. Legolas had not hesitated to accompany him once more. It was a joyful reunion.

They spent a wonderful time with the tribe; participating in their everyday life, helping the shepherds on the fields with the mûmakils and spending the evenings in talks and music, with the rhythmical, uplifting songs of those people who had once been slaves.

Life for them had gone on quietly, since the overtaking of control through evil was focused on other regions. Aragorn and Legolas had sent prayers of thanks to the Valar, for keeping their family safe through these times, and a prayer of pleading, that it might stay that way for times to come.

Parting had been difficult and emotional, as it is when one bids farewell to loved ones without knowing when, and if, you would ever see them again.

Soon they were on their way, taking the path of the grasslands through which they had travelled before on horseback. The many signs left behind by recent Orc encampments and a sudden warg attack - that they, fortunately, managed to fight off, but had caused their horses to shy and take flight - made them change their route.

That is how they came to be journeying at the border of the desert on foot. They headed north, towards home, following a dry streambed on its lowest point; a dead, sandy valley...

The elf sorely missed his home. He did not understand this strange land they were crossing. Only moments past the air had been searing hot and deadly dry. And Anor seemed to burn the naked earth angrily from the sky. Then, that same sky had turned dark as night, and the temperature suddenly dropped.

The wind lashed the sand in billows against anything in its way. It whipped into their faces which they tried to protect with their cloaks. It entered into their noses, their mouths. It pierced through the fabric of his clothes and it felt like thousands of needles pricking his skin.

This place felt unspeakably alien to him, unfriendly, ominous, a mass of extremes. First raindrops fell, not even wetting the sand, but evaporating from its heat. The thick drops increased, soon hitting the ground with small splashes.

The cliffs far behind grew threatening and black against the dark grey sky. Sudden lightning reached down like slashing fires into the earth with deafening explosions, illuminating the fictitious night with dazzling light.

All his senses were screaming to him. Something tremendous was boiling up here. They were in the worst possible place - too low! - and soon it would be too late… a mad fear took hold of the elf.

"Estel, we must get out of here!" Legolas shouted against the noise of the increasing storm.

He knew not if Aragorn had heard, since even his elven ears could barely hear his own voice. He reached for the ranger, grabbing his tunic with a frantic hand, jolting the man to a wild run towards the boulders and rocks at the border of the valley preceding the vast, rocky face behind.

Then it seemed as if the sky had opened to empty itself; the rain poured down in streams. Legolas could not even see an arm-length ahead of him. The sand had turned into mud, and rivulets of brown water ran over the sloppy ground. They were completely encased by a curtain of rain, dripping wet within a breath. His hair and his clothes were plastered to his skin. The water raged, and the lightning in the sky left the earth grumbling under their feet, sending shudders up his limbs.

They climbed over stones, toward large boulders and rocks, where they could make for higher ground. Legolas led, glancing back to assure that Aragorn was right on his heels. He knew the task for the man was more tedious than it was for him. Aragorn climbed and often stumbled but - to Legolas' relief – he kept pace.

But then, when he turned once again, Legolas saw how the ranger's foot slipped on a mud-covered stone. "Estel!" he called in dismay, as from his position above on the rock, he had to watch Aragorn reach out to get a hold on the rocky surface. But finding no purchase, his head hit the rock hard. Legolas choked out a cry, seeing his friend motionless, slumped on the stone.

Through the pouring rain, the elf scrambled back down the slope. He froze in horror as he saw blood trickle down the stone from beneath the man's head. The fear seemed to choke him, and he dared not breathe while his fingers searched the vein at Aragorn's throat. He exhaled in a rush of relief as he found a pulse.

He brought his face close to his friend's, whispering in his ear, "Estel, are you with me?" There was no response. "Estel!" he insisted, rubbing the man's shoulder. "Estel, can you hear me?"

And then Aragorn blinked and groaned. "Legolas…" he croaked. He looked miserable, and his eyes were alarmingly glazed. But at least he was conscious.

"Clumsy human," Legolas gently reproached, reassuringly ruffling his friend's hair, trying not to let him feel his despair, "Can you rise?" he urged.

Aragorn lifted his head slowly, and pushed himself up against the stone, but then he slumped back and groaned in frustration.

"My leg is trapped… I cannot move it!"

Legolas bent to inspect the crack in the rock. He pushed and pulled and tried hard to shift the stones that pinned the leg until his hands hurt, and disheartened, he had to admit that he could move nothing.

Trying hard to keep his voice steady, he said, "I need to find something for leverage!"

His eyes darted through the rain, but even for him it was impossible to see more than the closest surroundings. But he refused to yield to despair and so he reached out his senses, earnestly searching for something, anything - a thread of hope.

He must have been standing there unmoving for a time, enough to stir Aragorn's concern, because the man suddenly shouted at him with a voice too loud and frenzied for his injured state.

"Legolas! The water is rising!"

Legolas startled, gazing at his friend, taking in the sight of his glazed eyes and the widened pupils. But he had sensed something, and he held up his hand, still staring at the man, unblinking.

And then he felt his reflexes take over, his muscles tensed and he was leaping up the rock. "Please Estel, hold on, I will be back as fast as I can!" he pleaded with a concerned glance at his friend, wincing at leaving the man behind in this state under the rain which was pouring cold and merciless.

There was something calling to him; a thin voice, strangely persistent. And he climbed towards it, on and on through the storm.

And finally Legolas saw a small, meagre tree, growing sturdily between the rocks, against all odds in this land of extremes. He touched her gently as she shivered in the storm. She had felt him, she had called him, she knew of the fragility of life in these hard surroundings. She could spare whatever he needed from her, to preserve a precious soul. He felt she understood as he cut into her living wood, squirming at the pain he caused. But her delicate voice soothed him and spoke of strength and steadfastness. She could weather the pain. Legolas' heart swelled for the small brave tree as the rain poured over them relentlessly. He spoke to her his apology and gratefulness, and then he was off, hurrying down towards Aragorn.

Through the streaming rain, Legolas heard the ranger's voice calling his name. His heart tore at how desperate and broken it sounded, and he sped up his descent even more.

As he finally reached his friend, the gravity of the situation hit him. He had to act quickly or Aragorn would drown in the streaming water that already reached his chest. Legolas forced the branch between the stones, attempting to loosen them. He felt his own heart pump hard with effort and panic, the blood charging through his veins. Beside him he saw how Aragorn tried, with all the strength he had left, to pull his leg free.

As if all was not yet enough the rain turned into hail, beating down on them violently. Legolas plunged into the torrential water that now reached Aragorn's shoulders, to get down to the pinning cliffs. As he resurfaced gasping for breath, he saw Aragorn fling his arms over his head in an attempt to protect himself from even more harm. For a second he thought to take his soaked cloak off, to throw it over his friend's head as a shield from the fury of the storm. But he quickly dismissed anything that could cost him time.

His hands tightly clutched the precious piece of wood. He was fully aware that if the water ripped it away, he would see Estel die.

Legolas fought against the streaming water, pushing and pulling against all reason. Defeat was no option to him, no matter how futile it all seemed to be. The fear of losing his friend drove him mad and gave him a strength he did not know he possessed. He could not imagine watching Aragorn die here; this was horrible beyond anything.

And as all his struggles seemed in vain, suddenly the stones shifted considerably under the pressure. He resurfaced again, out of breath, panting, lungs burning, and he brought forth a strained cry: "Estel, pull!"

But Aragorn had no more strength to free himself. He was gagging and coughing, swallowing water that had reached the last level before drowning him.

Legolas heaved himself out of the stream, hooked his arms under Aragorn's shoulders and pulled him up onto the firm stony ground. In his exhaustion, the sway put him off balance and he slumped back against the rock. He was crushed under the weight of his friend but had effectively cushioned the fall for the man. He held Aragorn tightly clutched to himself, his arms slung around his chest. He breathed for a long moment. His limbs felt heavy and numb, but relief washed over him and restored his power. It was not yet over, he knew. He felt Aragorn trembling in his grip. Very slowly, Legolas eased his hold on him. The man rolled over and tried to rise but could not do so on his own.

Legolas gently lifted Aragorn's arm over his shoulders, braced his own arm around the man's waist and pulled him to his feet. He went on, climbing and stumbling up the slope while carrying Aragorn's full weight as the man's legs crumbled. At times Legolas slipped on the slick rock and hit his knees or his wrist, trying his best to smoothen the impact for his friend. The pain that slashed through his joints and tore his skin on jagged rock then, he ignored.

Finally, after a time that seemed endless even to Legolas, he found shelter at the entrance of a cave in the rocky massive bordering the streambed. Legolas eased Aragorn gently to the ground. The man did not move nor stir anymore, his skin was ice cold, and his lips had taken on a bluish tinge. Legolas' heart nearly stopped, but as he checked, he felt that his friend still breathed.

'I have to warm him,' Legolas thought, alarmed.

His lean fingers were bloodied and trembled as he frantically rummaged through their packs. Everything they carried was dripping wet. There was no way to make a fire either. The only source of warmth he could think of was his own body. Though drained from the ordeal, he was still warm. He did not give it a second thought. Urgently he peeled Aragorn out of his soaked clothes and stripped off his own wet garments that were clutching to his skin. He lay down close to his friend, wrapping the wet cover around both of them. His arms closed the cold, shivering body protectively against his own warm skin. He had tried to keep the man awake, but he gave up with a resigned sigh as all his effort proved in vain. The ranger had slipped into unconsciousness.

Legolas held his friend tight, keeping watch over the state of his vitals. He listened intently to the fast, shallow breathing and the erratic beating of his heart. He dared not relax, but he did not know what else to do than to lie there and wait until the storm calmed and the night would come and pass. The elf did not know how long they lay like this, but he was slightly relieved to feel the ranger's body was warmer, and even though his pulse was too fast, he regained some stability.

More than once Legolas found himself drifting; his exhaustion pulled at him painfully. He fought to resist it. Trying to concentrate on Aragorn's breathing, on his heartbeat, on the rain that suddenly, he realized, had calmed. There was the repetitive sound of water dripping from the cave's ceiling to the ground, as it gathered in rivulets at the rim of the cavity. The sound calmed him and he felt his own heart pounding strong and steadily; his breathing grew deep, and Legolas felt, for the first time that night, a welcome softness taking hold of his limbs. The pain and anxiety faded…

… The next time he blinked, he felt heat, and crisp light struck his eyes. He started, confused. He was with Aragorn, the man had been undercooled, Legolas had been holding him tight to warm him, had surveyed his pulse and his breathing, but now the man in his arms was burning up. He was feverish, and they were both wet with perspiration. Legolas knew he must have fallen asleep. He scolded himself for letting it happen, for giving in to his exhaustion.

He gazed with concern upon the beloved face close to his own. His friend's eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed with heat, and he shifted uncomfortably in his restless dreams, whining softly. His fast, ragged breaths sounded painfully whistling. Aragorn was ill, Legolas realized. The ordeal of the previous day had been too much for a human, even for one with Aragorn's strength. Sickness had claimed him, had infected his lungs. Legolas saw the pain in his friend's face with every breath he struggled to take. The fever was high, too high. And Legolas was afraid. If it was injury, he could cope. He had ever had to deal with it on the field. But human sickness scared him. He felt alone, he was alone to deal once more with his friend's mortality.

Dear Eru, what was he to do? How should he lower the fever in the heat of the desert day? - Then, the thought suddenly pierced his mind; 'The stream of last night!'

Legolas hurried to the edge of the cave and peered down into the ravine. The stream was gone, though still water gathered in the deeper sections, forming wide, clear pools. Their glittering surface sent particles of light soaring and reaching him strangely. He was puzzled and at the same time, a sensation of awe and relief overcame him.

Fast and furious, the water had broken into the dryness of the desert. Merciless, with ferocity, it had threatened to swallow them. Precious and quiet it glittered now, like crystal in the warming sun. Water to drink, water to heal, water to wash the heat of a fever away, water to stir athelas on a fire, for a weary body strained with illness to revive. And he found hope.

Outside the cave, Anor was burning in all its brightness from the sky, pouring its searing heat and drying perspiration before it could even show on the skin.

Aragorn's usually strong body was weak, ill with fever and burning lungs. Legolas was strained with worry, trying to cope with the unfamiliar conditions of this strange land. He enveloped the man in their shirts, light fabric, to avoid dehydration. Patiently, he moistened the ranger's chapped lips and trickled water into his mouth.

Legolas never rested. He fetched water again, climbed rocks in the simmering heat. He cleaned Aragorn's head wound, replaced his bandages, kindled a fire, stirred athelas... and carefully he checked his friend's pulse repeatedly, felt his brow for the temperature. The elf spoke soothing, comforting words to him, and he feared… he feared the worst.

There was only one thought in Legolas' mind; 'He must recover, he must survive.' And the next thought was that maybe he was still not doing enough...

As he worked incessantly, the world around him started spinning and gradually disappeared, covered by large, black spots dancing across his vision. He felt his legs give way under him. He shot a last glance at Aragorn, who lay completely unaware, as he fell. As if from far away, Legolas registered the impact and the pain that spread through his limbs. For a time, he lay sprawled on the ground unable to rise, or even move.

Only then he realized, that he had not drunk anything since the day before, with the extreme physical effort he had taken upon himself.

Only then he realized, that his knees and hands were bleeding from climbing the rocks.

Only then he realized, that he was beyond drained.

Aragorn would have already forced him to rest for a long time now if he had been in any shape to do so.

Legolas managed to push himself up on his hands and knees. He felt miserable. Crawling over to the waterskin, he reached, and then, holding it shakily to his lips, he drank in long gulps. The water slid down his burning throat, and he relished how pure and refreshing it felt. Slowly he rose and carefully began to clean and bind his own wounds. He had to take better care of himself if he wanted to be of help to his friend.

This place wanted to show him the limits of his elven strength...

(Aragorn)

My head throbs, I can feel it is bound. I try to clear my mind. Slowly, I blink. A piercing pain flashes through my head as crisp light dazzles me. I struggle, push myself up on my elbows, but strength is not on my side. My stomach churns violently.

Suddenly I feel a hand to my chest, and gentle pressure, holding me down. I hear a soft, familiar voice, "Hush, take it easy my friend. You have suffered a major concussion and just survived a serious lung infection. You were very ill, Estel. I feared losing you." - It is Legolas.

I carefully crack my eyes open, slowly focusing on his pale, handsome face.

"Legolas? Where are we? What happened?" I flinch at my own croaking voice.

There is stone all around and bright beams of light strike through an opening. The brightness painfully crashes against my vision, and I shut my eyes.

Are we in a cave? – The walls are narrow, and the back of the cavern is a dark hole. - Goodness! We are in a cave! I cannot believe it.

"If you found shelter in a cave, it must be dire, no other options left..." I murmur, smiling faintly, but not daring to open my eyes again. - As much as I try, I cannot remember how we came to be here.

"We are only to the entrance of the cave," Legolas corrects pointedly, "And yes, there was no other option."

He recounts all that has happened. And as I listen, blinking slowly, I finally manage to adjust to the harsh daylight. Patches of memory then return to me.

I sigh in consternation. "Here we are again, my friend! How on Arda do we always get into such situations?"

Legolas shrugs and then beams a bright smile at me, although his features look sunken and edged with fatigue.

"I just thank the Valar that it is over now and you are recovering. That is all that matters."

I am exhausted and hurting and despite the heat, I shiver. I know from experience how situations with us can get from bad to worse. But I cannot leave it, and so I tease him.

"We are still far from home, my friend. Thank the Valar, but dare not pretend it is over..."

Legolas takes a deep breath and releases it with a long sigh.

"Yes, mellon-nìn. How could I forget! Walking with you that far south, and thinking we would make it out with no more trouble, is quite improbable, if not impossible!"

His laughter rings clear and uplifting as the weight of the last days wears off him. I feel a pang of guilt at the distress and strain I have caused him. But nonetheless, I counter, "I fear you are confusing something. How many times did I get you out of trouble?"

Legolas ignores the challenge. Instead, he is already up, helping me to get further into the cave, away from where the rays of the burning sun would soon fall.

"Wait here, Estel. I am going to fill the water skins," he announces, already in motion.

"And where should I go in my present state, gwador-nìn!" I point out affectionately.

"Oh, with you... One never knows what you are capable of. Further trouble might be waiting behind the next rock already," Legolas parries, laughing out merrily.

He will not tell me, but I know that he has gone through a tearing experience because of me. I can see the relief clearly written on his face.

He stands now at the entrance of the cave, tall and golden, lit by the streaming rays of Anor, peering down into the ravine. And he speaks fair words as if he sings a song. I cannot but wonder at how he always finds happiness in the simplest of things, even after the strain has almost bent him.

"The desert... since we entered it, it has not ceased surprising me; the burning heat of the day, the freezing chill of the night, all-claiming dryness shimmering in the air, and the next moment water in streams drowning the sand. See now! In the seemingly vast lifelessness, life blossoms against all expectations. What beauty to my eyes!"

He is truly a star. He is a ray of light in the dark... What would I do without him…

And then I think wryly, that I probably would be dead by now.

"By all the beauty that your elven eyes do see, you cannot deny, that it is a bloody trap indeed," I say wearily.

"Aye, that it is," he smiles unperturbed, "but still -… I am in awe!"

And then he swings over the ridge and is gone.

As I am alone, I cannot resist slowly crawling forward to peer down into the ravine with my own eyes. What I see leaves me open-mouthed, to say the least.

Ponds of crystal-clear water are pooling in the previously dry streambed beyond. All around, plants unfold, and flowers are crowning them. Bushes between the rocks, that had seemed dry and dead, are now green with tender, slender leaves.

I watch the spectacle, unable to divert my gaze.

After a while, I realize how heavy the sun beats on my still aching head. I push myself back into the shade of the cave. The effort causes a coughing attack, which is pure agony when even the smallest of movements hurt.

Legolas returns with filled water skins. And I know as soon as I see him that everything is not right. His face looks ghastly pale and haunted. He does not speak. His eyes avoid meeting mine. He sits, his back against the wall at the opposite side of the cave, staring into the void. His breathing comes shallow and fast, his body is tense. I frown. I am appalled at the sudden change.

"Legolas? What is it?"

Legolas stares at me. His eyes are strangely glazed. - What has happened? I do not understand.

"Orcs!" he suddenly hisses, narrowing his eyes, "I have seen orcs and men. Evil is camping in this place! They have prisoners. Children laid in chains! Human children of about seventeen summers, to my guessing. What they do to them... - I have heard it, Estel! I have seen it. It is horrible! - I must stop them!"

Gone is the lithe, shining creature. Gone is his fair, joyful song. His words are sharp, his voice is hard. And I dread what it means.

I am overwhelmed. I know not what to say. I can only imagine how close this hits him, what long-buried emotions resurface.

He had healed, he had buried it all, I have been support and witness. - Yet buried is not forgotten.

His voice is flat, toneless, "I cannot allow... just cannot allow that to continue!"

His words burn into me and I feel such pain at the extinguished litheness and music he emanated before.

"We will stop them, gwador-nìn. We will stop them, I promise!"

"You are injured, you cannot fight," Legolas protests, "You need rest. - They are many!"

"I am better already," I assure him - anything to calm him! - "And if they are many, do not even think once, that I will let you go alone!"

My gaze is serious, "Legolas, just keep an eye on them. Make sure that they leave not without our knowledge. Give me some time to recover. For goodness' sake, just promise me you will not pull any stunts on your own!"

I clasp his forearm and I see the anger burning in his grey-blue eyes, both extremes together, fire and ice. He pins me with it. He gives not the slightest reaction, his eyes keep burning, stirring up my unease.

"Legolas, promise me!" I insist.

And then he sighs, perhaps calmed by my touch and my determined presence.

"I promise," he whispers, allowing his muscles to relax.

Since that incident, Legolas uses the cover of the night to fetch water. From time to time he climbs close to the bigger cave where the men and the orcs are camping, to survey.

Every time he returns from that scouting, he is in obvious distress. He seems to never even relax anymore, every muscle of his body is tense. He finds no rest.

He cares for me, changes my bandages, brings me water and what he can find to eat so that we do not have to use up all our provisions. And I can do not a thing to help him, because I am still weak, and it unnerves me. He changes his own bandages just to keep himself busy - because in fact his wounds are already healed. That done, he sits, his back to the wall, his knees hugged to his chest, staring into nothing at all.

I observe him quietly. I ask him to share with me whatever terrible knowledge he had gained. Obviously, it is a great effort for him to speak, but I learned patience, and in the end, it all tumbles out of him.

"The men are northerners, they are speaking Westron. I heard how they insulted the children as dirty Haradrim, saying they deserve this treatment. They are beating them... I heard how they hit them... I heard the distressed whimpering and the suppressed screams, fearful to awaken more cause for further beating. They... are touching them... they tease them anytime they feel like it - men and orcs alike. It seems they have order not to leave visible injuries, since the Lord they are headed to wants them unmarred... for his own use."

Legolas spits the word with disgust. He sets his jaw, hissing, "I will kill them all!"

My stomach clenches as I imagine the horrors unfolding so very close to us.

I witness Legolas' reaction to a nightmare he is in a way reliving. It is surely unbearable to have to leave those children to their fate. But we are significantly outnumbered. It would be folly to rush an attack. We need to act with caution, await the right time. At the moment, I am in no shape to fight.