Feedback: Please. celli@fanfic101.com
Rating: PG for references to violence.
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Archiving: ask, and I'll probably say yes.
Disclaimer: Tolkien's. New Line's. Not mine.
Spoilers: Movieverse (FotR and TTT), with a side of book
canon.
Summary: Missing scenes from the first two films; Legolas
learns about death, and hope, and his heart's desire.
Author's notes at the end.
***
Shines Like Hope
by Celli Lane
***
Even the great gates of Rivendell were crowded. More
arrivals came hourly, called from all the corners of
Middle-Earth to Elrond's Council; old grudges were set
aside in this time of dire need. The delegation from
Mirkwood clustered near the entrance, observing the chaos.
"Who is the Man standing with Lady Arwen?" someone asked.
Legolas looked up from where he was tending to his horse.
"He is a Ranger," he said. "They call him Strider."
His companions studied the couple carefully. "How does a
Ranger know Arwen?" one asked.
"He does not dress as a Ranger," said another.
Legolas simply smiled. "I did not say he was only a
Ranger."
The others looked at him curiously, but a party of Dwarves
rode through the main gates just then, causing a stir
throughout the group. Most of the Elves in the Mirkwood
party found some reason to follow the Dwarves, ignoring the
dark looks they received. Old grudges might be set aside,
but not yet forgotten by any who bore them.
Legolas waited until Elrond called his daughter away, then
moved closer to Aragorn. "Well met, my friend."
Aragorn's wistful expression broadened into a smile.
"Legolas Greenleaf! I had not thought to see you here."
He clapped a hand on the Elf's shoulder in greeting. "It
has been many years since we last met."
"Mirkwood has been quiet without your attempts at archery."
Aragorn laughed, a rare show of emotion indeed. "My
bowcraft is not so bad."
"No, it's quite good. For a Man." Legolas raised a brow.
"And why is a humble Ranger dressed in such finery?" He
gestured at the velvet tunic, cut in the style of the
Rangers but made with the craft of the Elves.
"I fear that Strider has no place in these halls now."
Aragorn's hands settled on his belt, where a sword would
normally ride. "I am told that Aragorn, son of Arathorn,
must attend this council, whether he will or no."
"You have been Strider for many long years, my friend.
Perhaps Aragorn can be of service in what lies ahead."
Another horse's hooves rang through the gate. Both Aragorn
and Legolas turned to watch the Men ride in. "The leader
carries the Horn of Gondor," Legolas said.
"That would make him of the line of the Stewards. Either
Faramir or Boromir, by my guess."
The new arrivals trotted past them, casting only a curious
gaze or two their way. Aragorn's hand settled back on
Legolas's shoulder. "Your thoughts are easy to see,
friend Elf. You would have them bow to me and call me
King."
"It is your right and privilege," Legolas said quickly.
"It is my duty and responsibility, as you well know,
*Prince* Legolas," Aragorn corrected mildly, but the hand
on his shoulder tightened. "And like another of my line, I
have turned from both."
***
The ground was cold, colder still after the heat of Moria
and the flaming menace of the Balrog. Even an Elf should
be chilled, but Legolas barely noticed the snow.
Gandalf was dead.
He occupied himself with the practical concerns of tending
and comforting the hobbits, and he could see Aragorn and
Gimli in the new dimness of his vision, doing the same.
Boromir he would worry about, if he had any room in his
mind for worry; his grief seemed nearly as great as
Frodo's, and Legolas was not sure why. Boromir had never
seemed that fond of the wizard.
Gandalf was dead.
The hobbits were curled in on themselves more from grief
than from cold, but soon they would feel it, too. And
simply surviving Moria did not mean the danger was past.
Shelter must be found. Gandalf should--
--perhaps Aragorn had taken this path before and could help
them find some small measure of safety.
They walked on. The fear of pursuit ebbed after a few
hours, and the grief returned, dragging at their steps.
Legolas tried to compose a song for his fallen friend, but
music could not comfort him. Songs were for Elven heroes,
those who had died in battles long ago, or traveled to the
Undying Lands in the twilight of a full life. Gandalf had
lived generations, yes, but to die now, when the quest to
return the Ring had barely begun...none of the songs spoke
of this.
Next to him, Pippin stumbled. Legolas swung the young
hobbit back onto his feet. "Are you all right, my friend?"
he asked.
"No," Pippin said quietly, "but I'm not hurt."
Legolas kept one hand on Pippin's back. When he looked up
enquiringly, Legolas said, "The ground is rough."
Pippin returned his gaze to his feet. "Yes."
Legolas left the hobbit alone with his thoughts. His gaze
fell on Aragorn, walking at the head of their group, one
hand resting upon Frodo's shoulder in a familiar gesture of
support.
Frodo's parents were dead, Legolas remembered suddenly. As
were Aragorn's. He had heard them discussing it once.
They knew death, although from their faces he could tell
familiarity was no comfort. Legolas had lived many of
their lifetimes, and yet death was alien to him. Would it
still be this arrow in his chest if little Pippin died
before him? Or brave Frodo, Ringbearer? Or Aragorn?
His eyes narrowed as he took in Aragorn's face, still
turned down towards Frodo. When they had first met, upon a
royal visit to Rivendell, Aragorn had been a child still,
though tall as a grown man, and years later, Legolas had
taught him archery in Mirkwood. Aragorn did not look older
now, but he looked less young than he had in those days,
swearing at his arrows and allowing Legolas's sisters to
braid his hair on lazy afternoons. In an Elf, that would
mean only that he had entered the prime of his life, and
had centuries left to celebrate. In a Man--
Gandalf was dead.
Aragorn -- would die.
Legolas stumbled.
Now Pippin was trying to hold him up, futile as the effort
might be. "Legolas!" he cried.
Legolas righted himself, to find the entire fellowship
staring at him in shock. "I--I--" He avoided Aragorn's
eyes and took a deep breath. "My grief makes me clumsy,"
he said finally, and they seemed to understand.
Fool, he told himself as they walked again. Clumsy *fool.*
Of course Aragorn will die. They all will. He is not an
Elf. You knew that. There are more important things to
think of now, and more immediate threats to all our lives.
When night fell, he volunteered to take a long patrol, to
scout for any of the enemy that might somehow have crossed
out of Moria and followed them. Aragorn let him go, and
Legolas was himself again by dawn.
***
Night had long since fallen on Lorien. The songs of the
Elves had died away, and most of the Fellowship slept.
Legolas ignored the temptation of oblivion, and remained
staring into the fire.
A slight noise behind him had Legolas turning. "You should
be asleep," he said softly.
"So should you." Aragorn knelt next to him. He also
pitched his voice low; the Hobbits slept not far away.
"Have you slept since Moria, Legolas?"
"I am not tired."
"I did not ask if you were tired. Why are you studying the
trees so intently?"
He could say he longed for the woods of Mirkwood. He could
say he was thinking of Gandalf, and composing a song in the
wizard's memory. He could speak the truth.
"I have not felt easy since Boromir spoke."
"Galadriel tested him as she tested us all. Boromir wants
only to help his father and his people. He believed for
that moment that if he abandoned the Quest, Gondor might be
saved, and yet he still stayed."
"Perhaps he does not understand that it was only a test.
He worries me still, Aragorn."
"And me as well. But Galadriel sees into our hearts, and
she meant to unsettle us."
"Yes."
"She has the right to test us."
"I agree." His voice was harsher than he had intended.
Aragorn stayed silent.
Legolas sighed. "Not all of us have hope to keep us
company on this journey, Aragorn. Not everyone has their
heart's desire waiting as a reward when we are finished."
More silence. Then Aragorn said, "Arwen has left
Rivendell. She will sail to the Undying Lands."
Legolas shook his head. "She will not."
"What?"
"You have too little faith in yourself, my friend. Arwen
will wait for you. You will have your success and your
desires all in one at journey's end."
"Hm." Aragorn shifted next to him; Legolas kept his eyes
fixed firmly on his own hands. "Do you really think any of
us will receive our heart's desire? That Galadriel's
reward will be made real?"
"You will. And perhaps Sam, with the garden he spoke of."
"I would like that. Sam should have whatever his hobbit's
heart desires. And you, Legolas? Will your reward be
waiting for you?"
Galadriel's voice echoed again in Legolas's mind.
*Aragorn's part in this quest will destroy him. You can
save him from his fate. Take him away, far away from the
Ring, from Gondor, from the Enemy, and sail West. Simply
leave the Fellowship, and Aragorn will follow.*
And the image that accompanied her words: Aragorn, standing
tall and proud, the Evenstar shining like a beacon against
his cloak. His face was free of the sadness that Arwen
brought to it, free from the grimness the knowledge of his
fate had worn into it. He was smiling as he had in youth.
Smiling at Legolas.
*You can save him, Legolas of Mirkwood. You can free him.
You can--*
"No." He forced himself to turn and look at Aragorn. "If
more of us live than die in this adventure, I shall
consider it reward enough."
***
He dreamed of the Evenstar that night. Of Galadriel
holding it out to him. "It shines so for love," she said.
"The love Aragorn bears for his lady; the love you bear for
him as his friend."
In Lorien, even under her harshest gaze, he had not
faltered. In his dream, he could not meet her eyes. "It
is not the love of a companion I bear him," he admitted.
Her fingers were cool on his cheek. "It shines for you
yet, Legolas Greenleaf. And while it shines, there is yet
hope in the world of Elves."
He woke to the sound of hobbit voices, and Gimli's rumbling
laugh as Merry spoke to him. But his gaze strayed often to
the jewel at Aragorn's neck, and he wondered at his strange
dream.
***
"We must rest."
Aragorn slowed his headlong dash to a brisk trot. The sun
was beginning to set, turning the plains of Rohan into a
strange and shadowed land.
"No, Aragorn. We must rest."
Aragorn stopped and wheeled on Legolas. Gimli was some
steps behind. They could hear his harsh breaths on the
night breeze.
"You do not cry for mercy, my friend," Aragorn said. "I
have not yet seen an Elf who must sleep before a Man."
"Gimli needs rest."
There was a reckless glint in Aragorn's eye. "Let him
rest, then."
"We will need him when we overtake the Uruk-hai. We must
rest," Legolas said again, and Aragorn's head bowed.
"A quarter hour only. Gimli, rest," he said as the Dwarf
approached.
"If you insist." Gimli did not lie down so much as
collapse where he stood. He rolled himself in his cloak
and began snoring.
"I will keep watch," Aragorn said.
"No. Rest." And Legolas stared at his friend, until
Aragorn shrugged and lowered himself to the ground.
Legolas perched on a nearby rock and scanned the area. No
one within range of his eyes or ears. He took a deep
breath--Elf or no, running for days was wearying--and his
gaze strayed back to Aragorn.
The young King was still as death, but even in sleep, the
lines of worry lay deep on his face. Beneath the scents of
dirt and sweat that marked all of them after such a run,
Legolas could still smell Boromir's blood.
And the memory of the battle with the Orcs, and following
the scent of blood to Boromir's death, the clear anguish in
Aragorn's eyes...that was not a comfort on this dark night.
Instead, he concentrated on the face before him, bending
all his gifts of sight to draw this image, this memory into
his mind. The line of Aragorn's nose, the fall of hair
from his brow. The coarse spread of his beard along his
cheeks, so unlike the Elvish look he had adopted in his
youth. His eyes, tightly closed against dreams now, so
sharp and fearless in battle, so bleak when he spoke of
Arwen.
Aragorn's eyes opened. Legolas started. Aragorn simply
said, "It is time," and stood.
"Indeed," Legolas said, and moved to wake Gimli.
***
The water that struggled into Helm's Deep formed something
of a stream. The women of Rohan clustered on its banks.
Some filled water skins for the soldiers on the wall;
others rinsed blood from wounds and clothing. Legolas
could see a mother scrubbing mud from her child's hair,
scolding when he tried to wiggle away. It nearly made him
smile. Men and wizards and Orcs might clash, but children
must be scolded and scrubbed.
He made his way to an empty spot, ignoring the curious
looks from those on either side of him, and knelt, the
Evenstar a heavy weight in his hand as he bent to work.
The Orc blood was as stubborn as he who had shed it.
Legolas cupped his hand in the stream and poured water over
it again and again, but the black blood remained until he
feared the jewel was simply stained.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. There
was no use. Arwen, even in Valinor, must know by now; the
Evenstar could not comfort her. Helm's Deep was doomed,
and even Elves were not immune to Orc arrows. Why try to
save what would soon be buried in blood and earth?
"My lord?" The woman to his right laid a tentative hand on
his shoulder. When he looked over, she offered him a scrap
of cloth. "For...for your jewel, sir."
"I thank you," he said, very softly. He stared at the rag
for a moment, then applied it to the Evenstar.
It took a deal more work and most of the cloth, but finally
it was clean. Legolas held it to the light.
"It glows." There was reverence in the woman's voice.
"It shines," Legolas said.
It shone like friendship. It shone like love. *And while
it shines...*
"Legolas!" Gimli's voice, ringing loudly across the keep.
"The scouts bring word! Aragorn! Aragorn returns!"
It shone like hope.
Legolas pressed the cloth back into the woman's hands.
"Thank you." He kissed her cheek and stood, hurrying for
the gate.
--the end--
Author's notes: I have a lot of people to thank.
Rhysenn, who provided the challenge and prodded me into
joining;
Alissa, who read every draft and was encouragement
personified;
Mel, my Style Goddess, who provided some of the best lines
and made me take out all the worst;
Caro, who caught the little things;
Diana, who provided the title and much-needed reassurance;
And Shelley, my evil twin, who listened and listened and
listened.
Rating: PG for references to violence.
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Archiving: ask, and I'll probably say yes.
Disclaimer: Tolkien's. New Line's. Not mine.
Spoilers: Movieverse (FotR and TTT), with a side of book
canon.
Summary: Missing scenes from the first two films; Legolas
learns about death, and hope, and his heart's desire.
Author's notes at the end.
***
Shines Like Hope
by Celli Lane
***
Even the great gates of Rivendell were crowded. More
arrivals came hourly, called from all the corners of
Middle-Earth to Elrond's Council; old grudges were set
aside in this time of dire need. The delegation from
Mirkwood clustered near the entrance, observing the chaos.
"Who is the Man standing with Lady Arwen?" someone asked.
Legolas looked up from where he was tending to his horse.
"He is a Ranger," he said. "They call him Strider."
His companions studied the couple carefully. "How does a
Ranger know Arwen?" one asked.
"He does not dress as a Ranger," said another.
Legolas simply smiled. "I did not say he was only a
Ranger."
The others looked at him curiously, but a party of Dwarves
rode through the main gates just then, causing a stir
throughout the group. Most of the Elves in the Mirkwood
party found some reason to follow the Dwarves, ignoring the
dark looks they received. Old grudges might be set aside,
but not yet forgotten by any who bore them.
Legolas waited until Elrond called his daughter away, then
moved closer to Aragorn. "Well met, my friend."
Aragorn's wistful expression broadened into a smile.
"Legolas Greenleaf! I had not thought to see you here."
He clapped a hand on the Elf's shoulder in greeting. "It
has been many years since we last met."
"Mirkwood has been quiet without your attempts at archery."
Aragorn laughed, a rare show of emotion indeed. "My
bowcraft is not so bad."
"No, it's quite good. For a Man." Legolas raised a brow.
"And why is a humble Ranger dressed in such finery?" He
gestured at the velvet tunic, cut in the style of the
Rangers but made with the craft of the Elves.
"I fear that Strider has no place in these halls now."
Aragorn's hands settled on his belt, where a sword would
normally ride. "I am told that Aragorn, son of Arathorn,
must attend this council, whether he will or no."
"You have been Strider for many long years, my friend.
Perhaps Aragorn can be of service in what lies ahead."
Another horse's hooves rang through the gate. Both Aragorn
and Legolas turned to watch the Men ride in. "The leader
carries the Horn of Gondor," Legolas said.
"That would make him of the line of the Stewards. Either
Faramir or Boromir, by my guess."
The new arrivals trotted past them, casting only a curious
gaze or two their way. Aragorn's hand settled back on
Legolas's shoulder. "Your thoughts are easy to see,
friend Elf. You would have them bow to me and call me
King."
"It is your right and privilege," Legolas said quickly.
"It is my duty and responsibility, as you well know,
*Prince* Legolas," Aragorn corrected mildly, but the hand
on his shoulder tightened. "And like another of my line, I
have turned from both."
***
The ground was cold, colder still after the heat of Moria
and the flaming menace of the Balrog. Even an Elf should
be chilled, but Legolas barely noticed the snow.
Gandalf was dead.
He occupied himself with the practical concerns of tending
and comforting the hobbits, and he could see Aragorn and
Gimli in the new dimness of his vision, doing the same.
Boromir he would worry about, if he had any room in his
mind for worry; his grief seemed nearly as great as
Frodo's, and Legolas was not sure why. Boromir had never
seemed that fond of the wizard.
Gandalf was dead.
The hobbits were curled in on themselves more from grief
than from cold, but soon they would feel it, too. And
simply surviving Moria did not mean the danger was past.
Shelter must be found. Gandalf should--
--perhaps Aragorn had taken this path before and could help
them find some small measure of safety.
They walked on. The fear of pursuit ebbed after a few
hours, and the grief returned, dragging at their steps.
Legolas tried to compose a song for his fallen friend, but
music could not comfort him. Songs were for Elven heroes,
those who had died in battles long ago, or traveled to the
Undying Lands in the twilight of a full life. Gandalf had
lived generations, yes, but to die now, when the quest to
return the Ring had barely begun...none of the songs spoke
of this.
Next to him, Pippin stumbled. Legolas swung the young
hobbit back onto his feet. "Are you all right, my friend?"
he asked.
"No," Pippin said quietly, "but I'm not hurt."
Legolas kept one hand on Pippin's back. When he looked up
enquiringly, Legolas said, "The ground is rough."
Pippin returned his gaze to his feet. "Yes."
Legolas left the hobbit alone with his thoughts. His gaze
fell on Aragorn, walking at the head of their group, one
hand resting upon Frodo's shoulder in a familiar gesture of
support.
Frodo's parents were dead, Legolas remembered suddenly. As
were Aragorn's. He had heard them discussing it once.
They knew death, although from their faces he could tell
familiarity was no comfort. Legolas had lived many of
their lifetimes, and yet death was alien to him. Would it
still be this arrow in his chest if little Pippin died
before him? Or brave Frodo, Ringbearer? Or Aragorn?
His eyes narrowed as he took in Aragorn's face, still
turned down towards Frodo. When they had first met, upon a
royal visit to Rivendell, Aragorn had been a child still,
though tall as a grown man, and years later, Legolas had
taught him archery in Mirkwood. Aragorn did not look older
now, but he looked less young than he had in those days,
swearing at his arrows and allowing Legolas's sisters to
braid his hair on lazy afternoons. In an Elf, that would
mean only that he had entered the prime of his life, and
had centuries left to celebrate. In a Man--
Gandalf was dead.
Aragorn -- would die.
Legolas stumbled.
Now Pippin was trying to hold him up, futile as the effort
might be. "Legolas!" he cried.
Legolas righted himself, to find the entire fellowship
staring at him in shock. "I--I--" He avoided Aragorn's
eyes and took a deep breath. "My grief makes me clumsy,"
he said finally, and they seemed to understand.
Fool, he told himself as they walked again. Clumsy *fool.*
Of course Aragorn will die. They all will. He is not an
Elf. You knew that. There are more important things to
think of now, and more immediate threats to all our lives.
When night fell, he volunteered to take a long patrol, to
scout for any of the enemy that might somehow have crossed
out of Moria and followed them. Aragorn let him go, and
Legolas was himself again by dawn.
***
Night had long since fallen on Lorien. The songs of the
Elves had died away, and most of the Fellowship slept.
Legolas ignored the temptation of oblivion, and remained
staring into the fire.
A slight noise behind him had Legolas turning. "You should
be asleep," he said softly.
"So should you." Aragorn knelt next to him. He also
pitched his voice low; the Hobbits slept not far away.
"Have you slept since Moria, Legolas?"
"I am not tired."
"I did not ask if you were tired. Why are you studying the
trees so intently?"
He could say he longed for the woods of Mirkwood. He could
say he was thinking of Gandalf, and composing a song in the
wizard's memory. He could speak the truth.
"I have not felt easy since Boromir spoke."
"Galadriel tested him as she tested us all. Boromir wants
only to help his father and his people. He believed for
that moment that if he abandoned the Quest, Gondor might be
saved, and yet he still stayed."
"Perhaps he does not understand that it was only a test.
He worries me still, Aragorn."
"And me as well. But Galadriel sees into our hearts, and
she meant to unsettle us."
"Yes."
"She has the right to test us."
"I agree." His voice was harsher than he had intended.
Aragorn stayed silent.
Legolas sighed. "Not all of us have hope to keep us
company on this journey, Aragorn. Not everyone has their
heart's desire waiting as a reward when we are finished."
More silence. Then Aragorn said, "Arwen has left
Rivendell. She will sail to the Undying Lands."
Legolas shook his head. "She will not."
"What?"
"You have too little faith in yourself, my friend. Arwen
will wait for you. You will have your success and your
desires all in one at journey's end."
"Hm." Aragorn shifted next to him; Legolas kept his eyes
fixed firmly on his own hands. "Do you really think any of
us will receive our heart's desire? That Galadriel's
reward will be made real?"
"You will. And perhaps Sam, with the garden he spoke of."
"I would like that. Sam should have whatever his hobbit's
heart desires. And you, Legolas? Will your reward be
waiting for you?"
Galadriel's voice echoed again in Legolas's mind.
*Aragorn's part in this quest will destroy him. You can
save him from his fate. Take him away, far away from the
Ring, from Gondor, from the Enemy, and sail West. Simply
leave the Fellowship, and Aragorn will follow.*
And the image that accompanied her words: Aragorn, standing
tall and proud, the Evenstar shining like a beacon against
his cloak. His face was free of the sadness that Arwen
brought to it, free from the grimness the knowledge of his
fate had worn into it. He was smiling as he had in youth.
Smiling at Legolas.
*You can save him, Legolas of Mirkwood. You can free him.
You can--*
"No." He forced himself to turn and look at Aragorn. "If
more of us live than die in this adventure, I shall
consider it reward enough."
***
He dreamed of the Evenstar that night. Of Galadriel
holding it out to him. "It shines so for love," she said.
"The love Aragorn bears for his lady; the love you bear for
him as his friend."
In Lorien, even under her harshest gaze, he had not
faltered. In his dream, he could not meet her eyes. "It
is not the love of a companion I bear him," he admitted.
Her fingers were cool on his cheek. "It shines for you
yet, Legolas Greenleaf. And while it shines, there is yet
hope in the world of Elves."
He woke to the sound of hobbit voices, and Gimli's rumbling
laugh as Merry spoke to him. But his gaze strayed often to
the jewel at Aragorn's neck, and he wondered at his strange
dream.
***
"We must rest."
Aragorn slowed his headlong dash to a brisk trot. The sun
was beginning to set, turning the plains of Rohan into a
strange and shadowed land.
"No, Aragorn. We must rest."
Aragorn stopped and wheeled on Legolas. Gimli was some
steps behind. They could hear his harsh breaths on the
night breeze.
"You do not cry for mercy, my friend," Aragorn said. "I
have not yet seen an Elf who must sleep before a Man."
"Gimli needs rest."
There was a reckless glint in Aragorn's eye. "Let him
rest, then."
"We will need him when we overtake the Uruk-hai. We must
rest," Legolas said again, and Aragorn's head bowed.
"A quarter hour only. Gimli, rest," he said as the Dwarf
approached.
"If you insist." Gimli did not lie down so much as
collapse where he stood. He rolled himself in his cloak
and began snoring.
"I will keep watch," Aragorn said.
"No. Rest." And Legolas stared at his friend, until
Aragorn shrugged and lowered himself to the ground.
Legolas perched on a nearby rock and scanned the area. No
one within range of his eyes or ears. He took a deep
breath--Elf or no, running for days was wearying--and his
gaze strayed back to Aragorn.
The young King was still as death, but even in sleep, the
lines of worry lay deep on his face. Beneath the scents of
dirt and sweat that marked all of them after such a run,
Legolas could still smell Boromir's blood.
And the memory of the battle with the Orcs, and following
the scent of blood to Boromir's death, the clear anguish in
Aragorn's eyes...that was not a comfort on this dark night.
Instead, he concentrated on the face before him, bending
all his gifts of sight to draw this image, this memory into
his mind. The line of Aragorn's nose, the fall of hair
from his brow. The coarse spread of his beard along his
cheeks, so unlike the Elvish look he had adopted in his
youth. His eyes, tightly closed against dreams now, so
sharp and fearless in battle, so bleak when he spoke of
Arwen.
Aragorn's eyes opened. Legolas started. Aragorn simply
said, "It is time," and stood.
"Indeed," Legolas said, and moved to wake Gimli.
***
The water that struggled into Helm's Deep formed something
of a stream. The women of Rohan clustered on its banks.
Some filled water skins for the soldiers on the wall;
others rinsed blood from wounds and clothing. Legolas
could see a mother scrubbing mud from her child's hair,
scolding when he tried to wiggle away. It nearly made him
smile. Men and wizards and Orcs might clash, but children
must be scolded and scrubbed.
He made his way to an empty spot, ignoring the curious
looks from those on either side of him, and knelt, the
Evenstar a heavy weight in his hand as he bent to work.
The Orc blood was as stubborn as he who had shed it.
Legolas cupped his hand in the stream and poured water over
it again and again, but the black blood remained until he
feared the jewel was simply stained.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. There
was no use. Arwen, even in Valinor, must know by now; the
Evenstar could not comfort her. Helm's Deep was doomed,
and even Elves were not immune to Orc arrows. Why try to
save what would soon be buried in blood and earth?
"My lord?" The woman to his right laid a tentative hand on
his shoulder. When he looked over, she offered him a scrap
of cloth. "For...for your jewel, sir."
"I thank you," he said, very softly. He stared at the rag
for a moment, then applied it to the Evenstar.
It took a deal more work and most of the cloth, but finally
it was clean. Legolas held it to the light.
"It glows." There was reverence in the woman's voice.
"It shines," Legolas said.
It shone like friendship. It shone like love. *And while
it shines...*
"Legolas!" Gimli's voice, ringing loudly across the keep.
"The scouts bring word! Aragorn! Aragorn returns!"
It shone like hope.
Legolas pressed the cloth back into the woman's hands.
"Thank you." He kissed her cheek and stood, hurrying for
the gate.
--the end--
Author's notes: I have a lot of people to thank.
Rhysenn, who provided the challenge and prodded me into
joining;
Alissa, who read every draft and was encouragement
personified;
Mel, my Style Goddess, who provided some of the best lines
and made me take out all the worst;
Caro, who caught the little things;
Diana, who provided the title and much-needed reassurance;
And Shelley, my evil twin, who listened and listened and
listened.