Tomorrow Never Comes
PG-13
Summary: Attacked by a small group of orcs, Aragorn and Legolas defend themselves in what looks like an easy victory. But there will be no dawn for one person. CHARACTER DEATH.
Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all it's recognizable characters and places belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I make no profit off of this. I write this for the sole purpose of enjoyment.
A/N: Thanks for all the reviews you guys! They were sooo wonderful!! This was the first story I posted and I never knew how great it felt to read reviews.
Guess what? I wrote another chapter. Whoa, huh? *waits for world to stop turning* I know this is like ten years later that I'm finally doing another chapter, but...when I first wrote it, I never expected people to want more. I had to think about what to do next...so yes...a month and a half later, here's chapter two. *sheepish grin* Sorry. Enjoy. :-)
Chapter Two
Lord Elrond of Rivendell walked out to the balcony connected to his room and placed his hands on the wet railing. The gentle rain that had fallen all day had finally stopped and the leaves on the trees shone brightly in the setting sun, the droplets of rain catching the rays. He lifted his head slightly and closed his eyes, letting the soft wind blow gently through his dark hair. Taking a deep breath of the clean, fresh air, Elrond tried to sort out his thoughts. This day had been a terrible one indeed.
*Earlier*
Hearing the desperate shouts of his son Elladan, Elrond rushed out into the courtyard as quick as he could to see what the trouble was. When one of his sons yelled like that, it usually was not good because someone was most likely hurt and in need of Elrond's attention. Knowing that both Elladan and Elrohir were safe at home, the other person that came to mind was Aragorn. Aragorn was due back any day now from his visit to Mirkwood with Legolas and Elrond could only begin to imagine in the short time it took him to get to the courtyard what could have happened.
When he did finally get outside, the scene he saw made his heart skip a beat. There sat Aragorn motionless upon his horse, clutching a figure with golden hair tightly to his chest. The front of the figure's green tunic was stained scarlet with blood. Too much blood.
The horse was walking slowly into the courtyard and stopped only when Elladan rushed up and grabbed the reigns. Elrond had stopped running for only a moment; a moment in which he whispered the name of the one who he most feared Aragorn was holding.
Legolas.
And there was a cold fear that gripped at Elrond's heart that he could not explain. Something was terribly wrong. Aragorn had not arrived galloping in, yelling loud enough for all Rivendell to hear, as he had done on previous occasions when Legolas needed care. It could only mean one of two things. Either Aragorn, too, was injured, or...Elrond did not even want to consider the fact that the second option was a choice in this situation. But it was the one he dreaded greatly.
He rushed to the other side of Aragorn's horse. Aragorn's head was bowed, his dark tresses falling in tangles in front of his face and hiding his forlorn features. He was soaked from the rain but did not seem to be bothered by it. One arm was tightly encircled around Legolas' waist (Elrond saw now that is was Legolas). Legolas, too, sat slumped forward, his hair spilling off of his shoulders and concealing his pale complexion.
Sensing the others around him, Aragorn slowly raised his head. Elrond could not see the tears that still fell down Aragorn's cheeks, for they mingled with rain, but he could see the heartbreak and sorrow in Aragorn's eyes. Emptiness replaced the normally bright orbs of his adopted son.
Neither Elrond nor Elladan could speak.
Aragorn's arm seemed to tighten protectively around his unmoving friend. His voice choked and barely above a whisper, Aragorn confirmed Elrond's fear. "He's dead."
*Present*
Elrond ran a hand over his tired eyes as he recalled the day's events. The Prince of Mirkwood was dead yet Elrond barely knew how. Rivendell mourned for the loss, but Legolas' people and his father had yet to receive word of his passing.
Elrond remembered how Aragorn had refused at first to let Elladan take Legolas away as he mumbled incoherently about something Elrond and Elladan could not make sense of. They could only catch one word that fit as an explanation for Legolas' death. Orcs.
And after what seemed like forever, Aragorn had allowed Elladan to pick up the Prince and take him away. But getting Aragorn out of the rain, Elrond soon discovered, was another matter. When Elladan had left, Aragorn slumped miserably to the wet ground as he began sob again. His frame shook with remorse and guilt, although Elrond was completely unaware of this particular emotion that rested needlessly, yet heavily, upon Aragorn's shoulders. After minutes of gentle coaxing, Elrond managed to persuade Aragorn to come inside and out of the once gently rain that, with the news of Legolas' death, seemed to fall colder and crueler.
When Elrond led Aragorn to his room, Aragorn had simply walked inside in front of him and closed to the door silently. Not wanting to press Aragorn, who clearly was not ready to discuss anything, Elrond had let him be.
Elrond's concern raised a notch. Of course he had been worried before, but reality was still sinking in and things were still hitting him with full force. Neither Elladan or Elrohir had been able to talk to their distraught brother and Elrond decided it was time to comfort Aragorn in his time of grief. Turning slowly around, taking one more deep breath of the air, he headed towards Aragorn's room.
~~~~~~~~
Elrond knocked softly on the door and was somewhat surprised to hear Aragorn allow him to enter. He spotted Aragorn sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off towards the veranda. Elrond took a seat on the bed next to his son and made a mental note that Aragorn had not yet changed out of his damp clothes.
Blinking with the sudden weight on the bed, Aragorn turned slowly to look at the Elven Lord. His cheeks were stained with tear tracks and his eyes, uncharacteristically blank, were red and puffy. "It was my fault," he spoke softly. "I was not being cautious and it cost him his life. Why must I be so careless? Why, Ada?" Aragorn's voice was pleading, begging for an explanation that Elrond could not give.
"Legolas' death was not of your doing, Aragorn." Elrond said gently, trying to offer as much comfort as possible. "You did not kill him."
Aragorn did not look reassured. "Not directly, no." He spoke as if suddenly annoyed, his voice raising. The sudden change in his manner stunned Elrond. "But my negligence was his undoing. He alerted me to danger that I was not heeding and in the process it distracted him."
"Aragorn, you mustn't blame..." Elrond tried to say, but Aragorn cut him off.
"You were not there! You did not see what I saw! You know nothing of what happened! How can you say it was not my fault!?" Aragorn was yelling now at Elrond and he stood up quickly from the bed. He had begun to cry again, and he breath came in short. He looked brokenly at Elrond, his features softening. After a moment, he spoke again, but this time, his voice was almost inaudible. "I listened to him comfort me about how it was not my fault when I should have been comforting him." Aragorn tried choked back a sob and brushed the hot tears cheeks back in vain. "I held him in my arms as he bled to death, Ada. I watched him gasp for air and held him still as he struggled to rid himself of the pain. I watched all this knowing there was nothing I could do. Nothing." He shook his head slowly as he repeated the word over and over. Standing up, Elrond pulled Aragorn into a tight, but affectionate hug.
"No one blames you, Aragorn. It was a mistake. Nothing more."
The room was again quiet for a moment, save for the sound of Aragorn's weeping.
"Then...then why," Aragorn spoke after a few minutes, his voice muffled into the soft fabric on Elrond's shoulder, "do I feel as if they do?"
~~~~~~~~
Elrond held his son for a long time. He had not seen Aragorn cry like this since he was much younger, and it broke his heart to know his son was in so much pain. The best comfort, Elrond reasoned, that he could offer at the moment, was what he was doing at this very second: offering a shoulder to cry on. And Aragorn needed simply that.