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Chapter Eleven

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It was as though time had ceased to exist.

The battle raged on, and the soldiers and the evil men and the Elves continued to fight – but the sounds of it, and the sight of the chaos; it all faded to grey. Faded to nothing. There was only Aragorn. Aragorn, sliding off of the hideous longsword and falling to his knees. Clutching desperately at scarlet red. Not once had his friend looked away from his eyes while he'd waited for his life to end, and still he stared at him, even now, his eyes tearing into Legolas' flesh.

He ignored the roar in his head to throw himself to the ground and forced his legs to keep running, stumbling desperately towards his friend.

No no no no no—

"No!"

Darcyn's furious shout was faint, but Legolas heard it nonetheless and his eyes flitted briefly to the other Elf. He clutched his longsword and stared at him in horror. Legolas did not care. He knew in another time he would have taken his chances with his poison-addled skills and met him; unleashed on him the rage that writhed alongside the agony of watching Aragorn try to hold his life inside his body with his hands. Not now. Now, as Darcyn began to sprint towards him, Legolas watched his bleeding friend; only his bleeding friend. He did not stop.

Darcyn was ten feet from Legolas when a flash of silver leapt from the wall of men and collided directly with the Elf. Haythalm had taken his leap at a running start, and the strength of his own rage shown by like fire under the sun as he nearly flattened his enemy underneath him, kicking him hard in the legs. Darcyn held fast to his balance, but the captain did not give him even a moment to breathe as he spun under the Elf's sword and nearly took off his head with his own. Darcyn stumbled back once more and Haythalm used the second of advantage to unleash another attack, his sword and his feet driving the surprised Elf back into the chaos. Handfuls of soldiers swarmed between them and blocked them from sight.

Through the horror that roared through his mind and nearly cast him down himself, Legolas whispered a silent thanks to the man of Gondor. Then again his eyes moved to Aragorn and he felt the first sob find its way from his chest. The man had fallen forward and now lay with his head on the stones, one hand covered in blood on the ground and the other buried underneath him. He was still. Legolas could not believe how utterly terrified he was that right then, right there on the stones of the first level of Minas Tirith, he had lost him.

Ilúvatar cannot be as cruel as this.

"Please." The word fell mangled from his lips as he finally, finally reached him, dropping to his knees and throwing his sword. He could hear that Aragorn was still breathing and the way it was choked and wet made his skin crawl. He knew the sound well. He turned the man and pulled him onto his legs as the acidic, coppery smell of blood burned his nose.

"No; Valar–" He folded Aragorn into his chest with one of his arms, pressing his other hand desperately into the warm mess of the wound. "I'm so sorry, Aragorn; please–"

"Stop," Aragorn choked out, "Legolas." He raised a wet hand and touched the Elf's chin, his eyes bright with love even through his pain and his fear. "You're alive."

"Yes." Legolas tried frantically to calm himself as he spread his fingers farther apart, ignoring the fact that his friend's blood would drain whether he did so or not. "I'm alive; so are you – you stay with me."

"We have the cure." As he knelt there holding the dying man Legolas thought of how Aragorn had always been the strongest person he had ever known. He watched his beloved friend struggle to breathe around the blood in his throat even as he clenched his jaw and gripped his arm with a strength that belied the state. His eyes were full of so many things, but first they were commanding. "It's in the Houses; we believe it's real. Go now – I care not if you have no faith, I have studied it and I do. I expect you there first, understand? Find–"

"Look at me." Swallowing his tears and clenching his jaw, he waited until Aragorn focused on his eyes and said, "Take a deep breath; I'm carrying you there."

"Legolas." Aragorn instantly shook his head. His brow, earlier tight with pain, was now still. Legolas knew what that meant too. "You can't stop this; I wish you'd never–"

"It will not be me," Legolas said through grit teeth. "It will be your healers. Just as they saved Arwen – now you."

Aragorn's eyes filled with tears. He was completely still now in his arms, but he reached up and grabbed the front of the Elf's tunic to cling to him. "I'm so sorry I failed you."

"No," Legolas forced out. "We must go now–"

"I never should have let him take you. I'm so sorry I stood there… stood and watched them take you away. I have let so many people die–"

He could hear instantly the panic that had leapt to life behind Aragorn's words. His friend's eyes were dark with fear. Legolas knew well what it felt like to slip farther and farther back into the abyss of quiet and still, into that unknown chasm that was death. He wished he could control the way his own chest continued to heave with sheer terror as he clung to him, trying to hold him back from that ledge, pressing his forehead to his friend's. "Listen. I will take you to the House, and I will come back to you once this fight is done. Are you ready?"

Aragorn's tears left rivulets of skin in the blood on his face as he shook his head. His eyes were glossy now. They both knew that he was bleeding to death, but still denial roared like a furious beast through Legolas' chest as he glared at him. "Yes, Aragorn."

"Don't kill him." There was pleading in Aragorn's eyes. Legolas could no longer feel his heart; it ran red between the stones alongside the blood of the King. "Get them… out. Get them out of my city, but do not… don't kill him. He deserves a cage; he does not deserve that place in your mind. You must heal from this; my friend, you must understand – you must learn how to heal from what he's done to us. To you. I am so sorry–"

"Enough," Legolas said, his voice thick with tears. "This is not a time for goodbyes. We go."

"Remind them often of my love." His friend continued to choke out words as if he had never spoken. "Please, help them bring my city back to peace. This suffering should never have come here. I know you–"

And Aragorn's eyes slipped suddenly shut even as he said the last word. Legolas stiffened, his stomach leaping up into his mouth. "Aragorn," he said sharply. He tried to ignore how the man had gone limp. "My friend, can you hear me? Estel."

His fingers were slick with blood, sliding against the King's neck. Agonizing seconds of terror slid by as he waited for that faint knock of life against his hand. It did not come. "Absolutely not," he gasped. "You will not go, you ridiculous man; keep breathing and forgive me for this."

Legolas grit his teeth, inhaling every shred of agony and terror he felt and trying to ignore the dead look on Aragorn's face as he struggled to shift the man into an easier grasp to stand. He forced his focus upwards and outwards and had to blink tears from his eyes as he took in the chaotic courtyard. A hollow thrill of pride swept through him at the sight of handfuls of Gondorian men, fighting hard and fighting in sync, holding steady a wall of defending silver against the screaming enemy.

To his shock he watched as Haythalm suddenly burst from between the soldiers, sprinting towards them. His blood ran cold as he shouted, "Is he following you?!"

"They have him all the way up the alley." Haythalm did not have to speak loud as he reached them and fell hard to his knees. His eyes were wild with fear. "He needs Ruhin; let me take him–"

"I take him," Legolas snarled. Guilt instantly overcame the feral instinct at the look on Haythalm's face. "I'm sorry, mellon nin, but I am faster than you and I need you to find Elladan or Elrohir and tell them to follow me up the main road."

Haythalm's eyes were full of tears as he quickly reached forward to help hold some of Aragorn's weight so Legolas could stand. "The poison–"

He felt as though his tongue choked him as he struggled to gather Aragorn's limp, bloody body completely into his arms. "You have to trust me. Go, Haythalm; go–" But no longer could he wait; his entire body and mind roared with breathless refusal to accept this truth and it propelled him into a desperate run, his feet pelting the stones of the road. He could feel the warmth of Aragorn's blood soaking the front of his tunic and he knew that the rough jostling of running this way could harm his friend further but he told himself that Aragorn was not like other men and he would surpass all expectations and reach the House long before any permanent damage was done. Yes, indeed this was true; any other possible outcome was unacceptable. Sweat mixed with the tears in his eyes, burning them as he started to gasp words out to his unconscious friend while he ran.

"There is so much more. So much more, Aragorn. Do you hear me? Today you do not die. Today you have saved your city. Today we make peace. Soon this will be behind us as though it never happened – you will be free to rule these lands just as you were before him. Hear me. This is not your end. You are not done here. And I will not walk this Middle-earth without you. Please–"

"Legolas!"

He could have wept for joy at the son of Elrond's shout. Whether it be full of grief or not, it was a welcome balm to Legolas' heart to hear the voice of someone he trusted; someone he knew would fight as furiously as he would to keep the King alive. Almost instantly he felt his knees begin to buckle and he stopped, pulling Aragorn farther up his chest and burying his face between the man's cheek and shoulder, breathing in the smell of blood. "I will see you when you wake," he choked out, "I will be there when you open your eyes, Estel. Please forgive me for what I must do now."

Suddenly Elrohir was at his side, his voice hard around the fear that shone in every crevice of his face. "I do not at all understand why you would act as though you have anything left to do but follow me to the House so we can save you both. Per usual."

The attempt at a fond jab was hollow. Legolas was beginning to see black spots at the corners of his eyes, but he glared defiantly at the Peredhel over Aragorn's head and felt his fingers itch to snatch Elrohir's bloodied sword. "Take him."

Elrohir's eyes were full of tears as he instantly reached out, gathering his brother's limp body into his arms and dropping the sword to the ground. Legolas hated himself for it as he crouched and wrapped his fingers around the hilt, refusing to look back and let his guilt weaken his resolve. "Get him there and do not let him forget that I'll be there too."

He saw Elladan after he had taken only three steps. He knew then that it was over. His old friend's eyes were broken, and tired; pleading. "Do not make me hit you."

Legolas internally cursed himself for his own stubbornness as he tensed his body, ready to run anyways. "Move."

"Legolas, you are dying, and I do not want to put you down while you are dying."

"Move."

"Ai Eru Ilúvatar Legolas sometimes I want to absolutely throttle you. You will not fight him this day. You will follow him to the help he requires and the cure that will save you. You will be with him when he wakes. You have absolutely no choice in the matter and I plan to carry you whether you are awake or not, so please drop the sword and let me–"

Legolas did not bother replying again. He ignored the anguish in Elladan's eyes and sprang up – truthfully he impressed himself; he got higher and farther than he'd thought he would. As he flew through the air, to his utter shock he heard a violent sob burst from his lips. More followed as he watched an Elf run a Gondorian youth through with a spear down the street before suddenly everything was black and he knew no more.

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TBC

A/N: Fewer things more bittersweet than writing of how the fierce bond of love between friends can also tear one in two. Thank you for your time, dear reader.