Title: Love's Labor's Lost (Epilogue)
Author: Isys (inner_frostbite@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG-13
Genre/s: Slash, Angst, Romance, Semi-AU
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Summary: Set in TTT movie, in the middle of the battle in Helm's Deep, right up to the early events of RotK. The wall has been breached and Aragorn temporarily loses consciousness... but forever loses something else.
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, including all characters, names, and concepts herein. The title "Love's Labor's Lost" comes from the play of Shakespeare of the same title. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is purely for entertainment purposes only.
Notes: This fic is especially written for the Library of Moria's April Archivists' Challenge, specifically for the topic dark fic. Majority of the earlier parts is from Legolas' POV, and the rest should be easy to figure out. Composed of two parts - the former the main story, the latter an epilogue.
Many thanks to Alura for the excellent (and truly encouraging) beta.
* * *
It was beginning of the fifth day since the conclusion of the battle at the Deep, and the first rays of the sun were slowly streaming a golden path down the mountains of the east until they came to rest on a dark stone edifice, casting long, foreboding shadows like claws on the mountainside: the walls of the Dunharrow, situated south of the capital of Rohan as lines of black, marching stones - some tall, some short, some leaning, like frozen soldiers scattered in the midst of battle.
Such were the worn walls that were the work of long-forgotten men and where the people of Rohan, torn from their homes at the call of war, sought refuge from the battle at the Deep.
The day also saw the departure of Gandalf with the Théoden King from Helm's Deep to north. As the sun rose ever thither to the sky, it cast a shadow upon a lone figure, bright and stark against her pale hair - of Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, Lady of Rohan. For to her was entrusted the responsibility of guarding over the Lord of the Mark's people - like any woman's hands could - while he journeyed north to contend with unfinished business.
Éowyn, however, beneath her fair face and feminine stature, was no mere woman shrouded in a timid veil. She had hands that could tend and heal as well as wield a sword, and a fiery spirit to rival even the greatest warlords - impassioned and free, waiting at its own pace for an opportunity to burst forth with all its strength and will. For the people of Rohan, for her uncle and King, or even just for a chance to prove the worth she would never find behind the bars of a cage.
As she had told him, Aragorn, the long-awaited heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Men, when he asked.
[What do you fear, lady?]
[A cage. To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire...]
No truer statement could she have spoken. And now, as Éowyn stood motionless outside the camps she and the people had set up and watched the sun rise, she could feel the cold, cruel hands of that very fear growing over her, chilling in its reality.
Her gaze strayed to the cluster of tents to her right, one of which Lord Aragorn himself was staying, in the beginning of his fifth day of recovery ever since the unfortunate injury at the Deep. She could hold the memory like a ruthless painting before her eyes - of Legolas, his arms supporting Aragorn's wilted, lifeless body, carrying his comrade to the inner caverns of the Hornburg. The Ranger's face was starkly pale, devoid of blood like earth drained of rain, and a trickle of crimson was visible from a wound on his forehead. When Éowyn, her own face growing white at the sight of him, asked Legolas urgently of what had happened, the elf had given no reply except for the sorrowful, stricken look in his usually impassive eyes that spoke more than the injury itself. Distraught, Éowyn despaired to seek the answer herself, though completely unprepared for the truth.
Aragorn had lost his memory.
In the several days since that fateful night, Aragorn's recovery by her hand had been swift so far, coming nearer and nearer to the man she had first met - the man who had so struck her by the fire in his eyes and the leader in his soul - at that time back in King Théoden's hall. Closer, and closer, and Éowyn, with strange reluctance, knew that in any moment's time he would then take leave once more to battle, leaving her with the same emptiness and doubt she felt whenever her brother or the king departed - an uncertainty if she would ever see him again. Although it had been long since she had hoped of winning Aragorn's heart for her own, his welfare had been her sole thought every day.
Gandalf himself had spoken to her ere he and his company left the Deep - of what to say to Aragorn should he question their absence.
Think not of dark tidings, Lady of Rohan, she could still hear his wise words as clearly as yesterday. Trust his will, as I trust you with him.
And with that thought to heart she anxiously watched the camp where he rested, waiting for him to emerge. The gray elven cloak that had been draped around Aragorn's cold, bruised shoulders that night was in her hands, freshly cleaned and folded, along with the leaf-shaped brooch that had held it in place.
As if in response to the call of her thoughts, the entrance flap parted and he stepped out into the morning sunlight. Despite her private concerns, Éowyn moved to his side at once and greeted him politely.
"Good morning, lady," he said quietly, accepting the cloak in her proffered hands.
Finding nothing more to say, Éowyn left to attend to the other people, who were already starting to wake, as Aragorn unfurled the cloak. Éowyn missed the perplexed look that crossed his eyes until he called.
"Éowyn."
She turned instinctively at the urgent note in his voice. Aragorn, the not yet donned cloak still in his arms, was holding the brooch under intense scrutiny, turning it over on his fingers, its sharply etched, detailed relief worn like windblown sand dunes, and gazing at it as though reliving a hazy, far-off dream. "What is it, my lord?"
"Where did you find this?" he asked, his tone distant yet oddly pleading.
Surprised, Éowyn approached him to see the brooch and the cloak he held. They were of the ones fashioned by the elves in Lothlórien, one that she had seen Aragorn with far longer than the time since she had made his acquaintance. Although the lustrous surface of the brooch had faded with age, the workmanship was plainly distinct as one from the elves of the north. "It's from the forests of the Golden Wood, my lord, crafted by the elves," she replied as succinctly as she could, carefully concealing her worry at the expression on the Ranger's face - wiped clean of emotion, or of anything else, except for the piercing gaze as though the brooch and the cloak had caught fire. "You have had it for a long time."
"Nay, lady," Aragorn said; his eyes left the items in his hands for the first time to hold her gaze. "These are not mine."
And Éowyn had naught left to say, her words dying in her throat, to answer the question in his eyes. Had Aragorn not worn the cloak, when he first set foot in the halls of Meduseld many days ago? Was it not about him during the attack of the wargs of Isengard? And was it not over his back when Legolas took him to the safety of the caverns five nights has passed? Éowyn stared at him with carefully concealed alarm - never before had she seen him so blank, so void like he was but an empty shell, but the persistence in him as he held the cloak with paling hands was disquieting.
"Are you certain, lord?" she asked cautiously. "Have you not possessed these long before?"
"True, my lady, I had donned one just like this ere I arrived, and so had the rest of my company," he replied. "But I know beyond recall - for I treasured it as a gift both in war and slumber - this is not the gift the Lady of the Golden Wood had bestowed upon me."
... so had the rest of my company. The words struck a chord within Éowyn, and she looked up suddenly. "Others of your company had worn such a cloak, then?" In her mind's eye she could visualize the group of four that had entered Théoden's halls, that day. "Master Gandalf, Master Legolas, Master-"
He spoke so unexpectedly swiftly that Éowyn barely finished. "My lady," he said, his tone very low, and evidently severely held in check, like a raging tide trapped within a cage. The shadowy, heated appearance was back on his face. "Whose name did you just speak of?"
She could not mask her bewilderment this time around, nor her unease. Her hand clutched Aragorn's rigid one, forcing him to face her, and she nearly gasped. His eyes were wide and dilated, as though finally awakening from a long, troubled sleep, and the hand held in hers was chilly - almost of death. His stare bore through her like a sharp blade, thirsting to sting and cut, and it terrified her.
"My lord, what is wrong?" she pleaded through the tears that were welling in her eyes. "Why do you ask such questions?"
Aragorn remained still, like a statue of ice under the slow agony of the sun, his arms beginning to shake. "Who was he, my lady?" he demanded, his voice rising like she'd never heard before, and the desperation in them was frightening. "Who was he?"
He? Frantic, Éowyn recalled of what she had said ere Aragorn asked. Master Gandalf, Master Legolas...
Legolas. Many times had she seen the elf that rode ever by Aragorn's side, and seldom were they ever without the company of one another. Little she knew about him - for never before had she dealt with his kindred - and he rarely spoke; oft he seemed bereft of any emotion or distress spare the indefinable sparks in his eyes. He was very beautiful in a quiet, unspoken way, as the tales of men had always so described, but Éowyn merely saw him as part of Aragorn, and little else.
Yet to Aragorn he now seemed so much more. Éowyn took a deep breath, with one hand she hastily brushed her tears away. "Legolas, my lord."
Even breathing seemed to be torturous for Aragorn, who appeared to be fighting savagely to retain his composure. "What knew you of him, lady?"
"He was an elf, one of those in your company," answered Éowyn, keeping her voice as calm as possible. "He rode by your side for days twelve times twelve, through your mission, through pursuit and war. He was your companion, your brother, your friend-"
She had yet to finish when Aragorn fled from her side, and she was certain she had heard him choke back a cry.
* * *
"My lord, what is wrong?" She was clearly despairing, her hand on mine in a vise-like grip so mirroring the icy fingers that had already clutched at myself. There was a deafening roar in my ears, like the relentless stamp of horse hooves on the unyielding ground, that I had to strain to hear her, much less through the pounding of my own heart.
It had started all so simply, I remembered, awakening to a beautiful sunrise and fresh mountain air that I had almost forgotten what was happening leagues from where I and the people of Rohan were - what was stirring at the east where the sky had ominously darkened to a fell shade of black, randomly exploding in a bright scarlet as the cone of Orodruin burst forth in its wrath yet again. I had almost forgotten about the others who still stood valiantly against Saruman's massive army and were now fearlessly facing the next hurdle - the battle at Minas Tirith, for the men's race.
For my race.
Yet strangely enough, although I felt so helpless unable to fight, I hadn't resisted.
After all, I had every reason not to. I knew what fate had befallen me the moment the Uruk-Hai had destroyed the walls of Helm's Deep - and what it had taken from me. I was fighting to earn it back, little by little. Yet, though under the Lady of Rohan's gentle care, I felt different, unreal, like a mold cast in the likes of me but hollowed out like a chasm deep within. Like a faceless mask whose true identity was still somewhere else, seeking, for what I didn't know.
I felt like a creation of trickery, forged inexplicably by someone else, but I kept my silence... until now.
"Why do you ask such questions?" she was asking, tears shining in her eyes. It pained me to see the panic in them, but it was quickly numbed by the knowledge she had unknowingly revealed, so sudden and swift like a razor-sharp blade of ice.
Even I myself could not answer her in her distress, as I could no longer do little else anymore but ask, "Who was he?"
So slowly, carefully, honestly, as though one flaw could splinter my already fragile resolve that I was nearly driven to my knees, she answered.
Legolas, she said, and that was all. A myriad of colors flashed past my eyes, as though the mere word escaping her lips had my very soul consumed like a moth in a flame. Like flesh and blood set on fire, and only one thing could give it respite - the soothing relief of water, and for me, the answer to my question that only she could give. Legolas, she said, and that was enough.
I wrenched myself out of my reverie soon enough to hear that she was still speaking. "... through pursuit and war. He was your companion, your brother, your friend - "
From there I could not bear to hear any longer. I felt my composure crack under the burden of accepting where my mind had failed days ago and finally shatter, giving way to the dark numbness of sheer instinct. One thought - one memory unfazed - however invaded and overshadowed me above all else: a brief snatch of conversation, little more than a few words, a testimony to a truth I myself couldn't accept.
[Who are you?]
[A friend.]
As though the very memory had burned and chased after me, I ran, the cloak still clenched in my fingers, blindly, as far as I could get from the camp.
As far away as possible. I could not let Éowyn see me like this.
Legolas. So that had been him - the stranger, the elf who had born me away from the clamor of battle when I lost consciousness. The one who had tried to rouse me back to my senses, unable to leave me alone. The one who I had pushed away, farther that I could ever think of, with so very few words. Heartless, I mocked myself, as memories of the elf flooded in, burning hot like liquid fire. What had I done?
Finally, the seemingly endless labyrinth of rocks opened to an empty outcropping, a narrow ledge stretching away from the steep face of the mountain towards the horizon. Unlike the stone-strewn ground where the people of Rohan had erected their tents, this place was devoid of anything more than a carpet of lush green grass, warmed by the gentle breath of the rising sun. I let myself drop to the ground, like a lone snowflake coming to rest, and allowed the wind to blow past... allowing it to wash everything away - the troubles of the days past, the beckoning of the days to come.
Yet it was the ache of what already was that remained nigh.
Heavy footfalls sounded behind me; Éowyn approached, breathing hard from her pursuit, with much worry in her eyes as she knelt beside me. "Lord Aragorn..."
"He has gone, has he not," I said quietly before she could ask any further.
Not even I could explain how this I knew - that Legolas had left. He wasn't with Gandalf, or with Gimli, beloved a friend as he was. Many times had Legolas spoken so fondly of the Sea and the blessed realm beyond, his face so akin to the sunlight and his eyes the music of the stars. Great was his desire to sail, this I knew, as I knew that there he would be when we finally part ways. I never expected it this soon, and I never expected him to take a part of me away as well.
So somehow, I knew that he was no longer around. Never will I hear the songs he used to sing, the sweet voice of the star-goddess Elbereth mirrored in his own. Never will I see him, his eyes brightly clear, the only one I knew who could wield a bow with such flawless skill, slaying as fast as he could bring my spirit to life. Never will I hear him whisper words of comfort when I find myself bitterly spent, finding little hope in what I had to face.
All I had now was a small shred of his clothing, and the formless memory of the last words we shared, and even that failed to bring me repose. How much I had hurt him, I couldn't even fathom myself. Had he known that I had not meant those cruel words, as I never would? Or had he believed that I truly didn't recognize him back then and I had unknowingly set him on a sorrowful path to the Undying lands?
Éowyn said naught, and naught was all that I needed. For what could her answer do to reverse what was already done, what had already been frozen and immortalized by Time? Legolas - my friend, my brother, mine - was gone, and try as I might to drown it, it would never change.
Neither did I think I could keep going. Fate, destiny, my rightful position as the king of Gondor... all empty promises, that was what they were. Little could I care if the wind grew, blowing and chilling me until I was little more than flesh and blood with a void heart of stone. One could call me selfish, but that wasn't what I was anymore. Selfish persons knew who they were, and what made them. I did not.
Why couldn't you have waited, Legolas? I could curse you to my dying days for losing hope in me...
Tighter my hand clenched around the cloak, as though in hope to find some distant reply.
"You blame yourself," Éowyn said.
Brokenly, I whispered, "Who else can I find fault in, my lady?"
"In life," she replied quietly. "for existing as unjustly as it does. In time, for insisting to have its own way and forsaking yours. In the world, for turning day by day as though the sun never shone or the moon never waxed and waned upon it. In many other things, which are beyond our power to change, and all one could do is despise them." A sliver of a lighthearted smile appeared in the corners of her mouth. "And in those Uruk-Hai, may I add."
To my surprise I actually found myself returning the smile, the first genuine one in a long, long time, and for the first time since I found out about Legolas, I felt the smallest twinge of hope blossom in the optimism in Éowyn's words, the hope that I so needed right now. The truth, beautiful in its sincere simplicity, was enough; even the sky seemed to lighten with its own smile. "Maybe."
"After all," she continued. "It was they who destroyed the walls, not you."
"Right."
"They were doubtless overcome with envy since they couldn't be as beautiful as Legolas even if they tried."
"Precisely." I could not suppress my mirth at the thought.
There was an impish sparkle in her eyes, bright and teasing. "And they obviously know," she went on, "that whatever hand they may lay on Legolas would be fruitless, since he and you have hearts set for each other."
"Very tru - what?" I turned a startled gaze at her; I had not considered what she was saying before I replied.
The shield maiden of Rohan was unable to keep from laughing, her unbound hair dancing in the sunlit sky. "Pardon my amusement, my lord," she said. "But answer this to me truly - who is Legolas to thee?"
I closed my eyes, as the mere mention of his name pained me, and in the dark I could see his face as clearly as yesterday. And when I opened my eyes again, the image faltered and disappeared; I was back where he wasn't. Tears threatened to choke me as I spoke, reluctantly yet meaning every single word.
"Naught more than what you seen," I answered softly. "Just - the most courageous, most loyal person I know of."
Éowyn was silent, all traces of laughter gone from her pensive face. "I'm certain he says the same of you."
"But he left," I said, a hint of bitterness there.
"Because he believes in you," she replied gently. "Because he knows you will continue with unwavering strength to complete what you are meant for, be he with you or not." She paused, and the next thing she said I valued above all else. Brief though it was, I held that thought close.
"Because he trusts in you."
I could only bow my head in a quiet affirmation, but I could not deny that I felt my heart lift at those simple words and the truth they held. Long years had it been since Lord Elrond told me of my true identity; Legolas knew of that as well, and, unbeknownst to him, had helped me every step of the way. But soon the path would split in two, and narrowed so that only one could tread that path alone.
I knew what path was laid before me - a path that I will walk with all certainty, faith, and the assurance that wherever I ventured, someone would be watching over me. We were but fine dust in the drifting wind; Legolas' time had passed, as mine would, in some day unknown.
I may no longer have my dear friend, but I had his word, and that is all I can ask for now.
Having made my decision, I cast one last glance over the vast expanse of land, over the ridges of the mountains to the far reaches of the Sea... and back to my hands, where Legolas' cloak still lay, folded and silent. Carefully, as though it were made of glass, I draped it over my own shoulders and fastened it with the elven pin.
A cloak against the storm, and the brooch a seal of a promise.
Your friends are with you Aragorn, I remembered him say before the battle at the Deep started, and with that I found the courage to turn away, back to the camp, back where I was needed, where I should be, because, despite our grief, I knew that you, Legolas, spoke the truth. Always. I would not let you or anyone else down, despite the fact that that you have left my side. You have given much; I only mourn that time was not by my side long enough to tell you that.
The cry of a gull pierced the silence - a nameless call, a song carried aloft by the wind and the Sea. Right now the world was waiting, and I had a duty to fulfill, a promise to keep.
I turned to Éowyn, who had remained beside me and whose fair face broke into a smile when I finally asked:
"So, my dear lady, when can I go forth to battle in the east?"
*Finis*
"Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy
Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind..."
-- Kansas, "Dust in the Wind"
Author's Notes (yet again):
According to my research, concussions such as the one that Aragorn [presumably] had do not take a long time to recover whatever memories were temporarily lost. If one checks the timeline in Appendix B of RotK, the battle in the Deep happened on March 3, 3019 and Aragorn went through the Paths of the Dead five days later. Anyway, consider these five days enough recovery time for Aragorn, and the events in RotK resume as usual - however, without Legolas in the picture.
This story is semi-AU because (1) of course Aragorn didn't suffer memory loss in Helm's Deep, and (2) the five days that Aragorn spent in recovery were actually for the time when they go to Isengard with Gandalf.
Thanks for reading and God bless.
Isys