The Touch of a Friend Chapter 3
Rose G
A/N- A 3rd chapter as requested by several people. This is NOT intended to be slash, which is why I have no intention of changing the rating in response to one review.
The scream echoed off the stone walls of Moria, ringing in their ears as the wizard plunged to his death. Even the hideous screaming call of the Balrog was drowned out by it. It was a scream of unbearable loss, of grief for the life that he had lived and loved and the friends he was leaving behind. Mutely, Boromir and Aragorn looked at each other, the Ranger's face bewildered and terrified, the other Man more in control of himself and so more alert to the danger of lingering in grief.
'Come, Aragorn, we must leave him. There is nothing to be gained by staying here. Hurry.' And with that the heavily built Man of Gondor lept away with the hobbits and Gimli behind him. In a small group they bolted towards the eons old steps of Moria - Kingdom of the Dwarves, battleground for Orcs and now a tomb.
Aragorn stood still, Anduril still lifted as though he had forgotten what to do with it. In bitter mockery of his grief, a ray of sun filtered through and touched the wreckage of the bridge where his life had fallen into ruin with the body of his friend. His gaze was fixed on the remains of the bridge, the deep chasm where Gandalf's cry was still echoing in the darkness. Only Legolas remained in the mines now, and he walked softly up to Aragorn, touching him on the arm. Hopelessly, he turned to face the Elf, shaking his head. 'Come, Aragorn.' He pulled the Ranger's arm gently and led him away from the bridge before the Man shied away from the touch.
Silently, he followed the Elf out of the mine, blinking from the sudden bright light and he glanced back at the shadowy entrance to Moria. The Doors raised high above even his head, fantastically carved and edged by plants even in the midst of winter. To him, it looked like a tomb, a grand elaborate one but a tomb nonetheless, that Gandalf now shared with the Dwarven kings. The others were far ahead, well out of bowshot if any Orcs were foolish enough to still be in the area. 'Aragorn, hurry up. Orcs are still prowling in there, and how are we to know that they do not have another cave troll?' Legolas spoke harshly, more so than he had intended to.
His legs shook and buckled under him as took a few steps at a run, and Legolas had to support the weight of the Ranger as he fell. Shaking, Aragorn got to his feet again and walked on slowly, dizzily, looking older than ever as the wintry, icy cold sunlight burnished his greying hair to molten silver. The Elf slipped his arm around Aragorn's waist in an effort to keep the man on his feet.
Frodo turned to watch them, having heard from Boromir about Aragorn's reluctance to leave and he was surprised to see Legolas and the Ranger walking side by side, the blonde Elf seeming to support the Ranger. It had not been a secret that the pair had been uncomfortable in the darkness of the mines and had spent most of their time together, yet he had supposed that Aragorn would have been happy, even eager to take on the leadership.
Legolas found that he was weeping as he run unlike Aragorn whose grey eyes showed only a curious blankness. He run hopelessly almost blinded by his own tears and the bright sunlight. Like most of his Silvian kindred, Legolas was unfamiliar with mortals and death was not part of the Elven understanding of the world. Perhaps even more so than mortals, the Firstborn fear what lay beyond the stars.
'Legolas, whatever you do when you reach the group please do not show your grief. I could not bear to see you suffer alone, so I would come to your side, but I cannot afford to let my attention wander from the Fellowship that I have found myself leader of. Understand that we cannot afford to show weakness or grief in front of them. Later perhaps but not now.' Yet a sob rose in his throat as he spoke.
Without breaking his gait, Legolas reached across and brushed a tear from his friend's face. The Ranger did not flinch from his touch and Legolas heard his protest, his commanding baritone thickened with grief. 'Why, Legolas? Why did he have to die?'
Sam watched as they reached the Fellowship and noted the way that they would not meet each other's eyes. For a long moment they halted, the hobbits weeping openly and Aragorn stood in front of them, long hair blowing over his face. He shivered and raised his sword in salute with bowed head, after the fashion of the Men of Gondor. 'Farewell, Gandalf. Farewell, my friend.'
As they began their journey towards Lothorien; Legolas dropped back to where Aragorn was bringing up the rear of the group. As in Moria, their eyes meet briefly and the silent promise they had made there was renewed in those grief-stricken glances. A promise that no matter where the road might lead them, no matter what they might face, they would be together, there for the other.
There, I've written chapter 3, and if anyone would like chapter 4, it's already written and typed. I'm just waiting for a few nice reviews. Hint, hint.