Grumpy: *claps* You got it. That was obviously far too simple a hint. I shall have to work on that. Hehe, aren't nightmares so wonderful? Lol. I doubt Aragorn would agree. Hersheys bars after a nightmare? I hadn't thought of that, but then I guess that's cause there are never any hersheys bars in my house. *pouts distractedly* Mm, I don't know what's in the tea. Ask Elrond. If he'll tell you.
Deana: You don't expect to find out soon, do you? *frowns slighty* Where would be the fun in that. *smiles* Wow. I like wow. Can you tell I liked that particular nightmare? Thus the fact that it keeps repeating. *grins evily* Gee, wonder what it could mean, if it means anything at all.
Bill the Pony: I think you have a popular name. *shakes head* Thank you, thank you. A dream about Aragorn's nightmares? *looks shocked* Do tell. I wanna hear this. *g* lol. The last one wasn't a cliffie, was it? *bites lip thoughtfully* Em, I think one's a cliffie, though, if not on the same order as some other, more evil cliffies written by a certain someones I won't name. *g* I don't think it's hard to guess who. Lol. But that's a different story.
Now onto this one. Well, in a minute. I have news. My other story, the sequel to this one, is taking forever to write. It doesn't help that I somehow got started writing another one. Completely different, requiring a different mind-set. One muse turns of the other, and when they fight, I can't write either one. Hehe. But the first five chapters are rather good, even if I do say so myself. *g*
Now I'm really done. Your next chapter...awaits..... *sweeps out arm and steps out of the way*
Chapter 11
Always a Price
Aragorn opened sleep blurred eyes and was gifted with the sight of blue eyes, blonde hair, and pointed ears less than two feet away, staring at him curiously. He blinked, thinkg maybe he was hallucinating and that when he opened his eyes again, the elf would be gone.
He was not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, then, when he opened his eyes to find himself still looking into the face of Legolas. The young man blinked once again, just for good measure, and wondered why he hurt so bad.
"Good morning," the elf greeted brightly, oblivious to the man's discomfort as he reached out to smear something shockingly cold against his cheek; he jerked back to escape but it followed him.
He glared, but decided that took too much effort. "Is it morning?" he asked.
Legolas glanced away, out a window in the side of the hut which had been opened, before smiling back down at him. "Actually it is a bit after noon," he offered. "Which means we both missed breakfast."
"We?" Aragorn demanded, interrupting before the elf could continue his obscenely cheerful diatribe. However bad his friend had been doing yesterday, he was obviously faring quite well today.
Faint embarrassment crossed the other's expression, gone quickly, but not before Aragorn noted it. "Ah, well, I seem to have over-slept the dawn, as well," he admitted.
Despite everything, the ranger chuckled, turning his head away into the pack which had served as his pillow before pushing himself up into a sitting position. Now that he could see better, he noticed a small bowl cradled in the efl's hand which contained a thick white cream. He frowned. "What's that?"
"Cream," the other answered.
Aragorn glared at him warily. "For what?"
"Your face."
Aragorn blinked slowly, trying to comprehend that last, which made no sense. Why did he need gunk on his face? If this was a joke, he would have to find an appropriate retaliation quickly. He frowned.
Apparently, Legolas saw what was coming, foresight or no, for he immediately spoke up. "You scratched your face last night," he explained. "I figured they might start burning or become infected or something if they went untended."
His scowl shifted slightly as his tone became incredulous. "You're fussing over what is--for once--truly 'just a scratch'?"
A smile twitched at the corners of Legolas' lips. That actually had not occured to him, but now that it had, he was having a difficult time keeping a straigth face.
After a moment, Aragorn, too, began to smile; he shook his head ruefully. "And you compain I mother you."
"You do!" Legolas protested indignantly.
Both eyebrows raised, the ranger looked at the elf expectantly. "And what, pray tell, do you do to me?"
That smile threatened again, and this time, the elf prince could not hold it back. "I do not mother you," he denied, the amusement in his words matching the smile on his face.
"No?" Aragorn asked. "Then I suppose your friends have always put ointment on your scratches?"
The elf snorted. "Strider. I am an elf."
"So your father did it instead?"
Legolas laughed, dropping the bowl as he stood. "You're impossible!"
The young man smiled as he watched the elf move across the room, then frowned as he tried to turn his mind back to last night's events and found nothing. He had no idea how he had managed to scratch his face. Legolas turned his attention to the tray of food that had been set down just to the right of the door.
Uneasily, Aragorn found his memories of the night's events sketchy, at best. Vague images floated through his mind without any particular order or care, succeeding in doing naught but confusing him further. None of his memories made sense. The last clear memory he had was of putting Legolas to sleep, and then lying down beside him on the floor. His frown deepened as apprehension curled through him, telling him to let it go; he could not.
"Legolas?" The elf turned and looked at him, apparently unconcerned as he lifted the tray with juice, fruits, and bread piled on it, and brought it over. "What happened last night?"
The elf froze. Had he not been watching, he would have missed the breif tension of his friend's frame, would not have seen the breif hesitation that preceeded the elf kneeling not far away from him and depositing the tray between them. But he was, and he did. Apprehension jumped the last step to fear.
The elf shook his head slightly. "Nothing overly important, mellon nin. Merely a nightmare." But Legolas did not meet Aragorn's eyes as he spoke, and the reassuring words did naught to ease his fears.
Instead of voicing his incredulity, however, he merely nodded and let it go, hoping he would be able to reconstruct the events in his mind without help from the elf; he had a feeling Legolas did not want him to remember, and so would tell him nothing.
Without conscious thought, he accepted the peach the prince handed to him, and mechanically started eating.
Almost of its own volition, his hand drifted up to his face, contacting the stripes he could not see and was only just beginning to feel, multiple lines down his cheeks that were more or less evenly spaced. He could see nothing in the room that could have been responsible for such marks, and the chances of doing the same thing repeatedly with even spacing was slim to none.
He spread his fingers to measure the distance and trace their paths, his fingertips fitting perfectly into the tender grooves. He froze with the realization that he had inflicted this upon himself. With that knowledge came the rest of the momories, the truth Legolas had sought to conceal from him. HIs jaw tightened in pained frustration.
Anguish-illed eyes turned to the elf who sat calmly, picking at a loaf of bread. His eyes fell on the bandages that wrapped the other's chest, guilt flowing through him with the knowledge that it was his fault; if only he had been faster. Worse knowledge pounded through his mind, threatening his destruction. He swallowed painfully, tears pricking his throat. It was not safe for him to stay with his friend. He would have to leave.
The front tarp was pushed aside, a lazy flopping sound signaling its reclosure; both the elf and ranger looked up, one expectant, the other pained.
Before them stood a young woman of maybe eighteen summers with vibrant golden curls that cascaded down her back to her waist and pale green eyes framed by dark lashes. She was lean and her dress was ragged, old and worn from work with evidence of many patches and fixed stitching. Her feet were bare despite the cool air that heralded the approaching winter.
She curtsied. "The people of Meertown request your attendance at our annual festival, always held this time of year at the full moon. May I tell the Feast Planner to expect your presence?"
The words failed to truly register in his mind, but the inquiring look Legolas sent him was too familiar to be missed. He nodded without understanding what if was he was agreeing to, but had not the energy to care.
Legolas turned back to the girl standing nervously before them. He smiled. "We would be honored to attend," he assured her.
An answering smile lit her face, slightly relaxing her posture. "Someone will be by in about three hours to lead you to the event," she returned, curtsying again, a blush coloring her cheeks before she hastily left the small building.
The elf chuckled, then turned to look at Aragorn again. The young man's face was pale, his eyes distant and uncomprehending, as if they were more focused on the past than the present, thier normal silver color once again dulled to a dark gray. His smile slipped, worry replacing amusement at the young one's embarassment.
"Aragorn?" he called softly, testing the other's attention. Aragorn did not even twitch. A frown creased his brow, and he turned his head to trace the other's line-of-sight, hoping to discover what had his friend so enraptured.
His gaze fell on the blood-stained wall, and the elf's heart sank. It seemed he had forgotten to clean it. When he had fallen asleep next to the human after the nightmare, he had forgotten to do a lot of things, including treating the man's face and hands.
He resisted the urge to curse and moved to kneel next to him, extending his hand to rest on the young Dúnadna's shoulder. His heart ached when Aragorn cringed away from his touch. Reluctantly, he dropped his hand. "Please don't push me away, Aragorn," he pleaded. "I want to help."
Slowly, looking almost as though he was fighting something, Aragorn turned his head. Dark gray eyes looked at him, and the elf's breath caught. The pain and despair he saw hurt more than his injury had. Worse, it looked to him as if the young ranger had given up. Desperately, he searched his friend's face, hoping to find something else, hoping what he thought was false.
Aragorn licked dry lips. "Legolas," he breathed, his voice cracking. "You have to leave me. You were right, my friend; you were right." The human looked away, tears shimmering just beyond his dark lashes.
Legolas felt the other pull away, physically and mentally, seeming to put up a barrier between them that could not be seen, a wall that he did not know how to scale. The urge to reach out and pull Aragorn back, shake him until he came back to his senses beat strongly against the elf's resolve to honor Aragorn's desires. He swallowed thickly. "Right about what?" the elf prince asked, suddenly sure he was not going to like the answer he was given.
"About me, us. You were right. You would be much better off without me. I'm just going to get you killed if you stay with me."
"Don't say that, Strider," he demanded. "Don't say that. You know it's not true."
"Do I?" the ranger asked, turning to look back at his friend. "You had a perfectly normal life before I came along. You said so. No near-death poisonings at the hands of Orcs. No--"
"Strider!" he exclaimed, interrupting the ranger, whose eyes suddenly looked straight at him, instead of just past him. "None of that is your fault. It's the Orcs', it's Hebrilith's, it's every other person we've somehow managed to get on the wrong side of. But it is. Not. Yours."
The elf watched as something flickered in his friend's eyes--flickered, and was overwhelmed. The same dark eyes stared lifelessly back at him, unmoved. "Not yet," Aragorn said. "Not yet have I killed you, but it will happen. I have seen it."
Legolas sat back, surprised by the vehemnce, the absolute conviction of the sentiment. Not yet have I killed you, but it will happen. He watched, frozen to the spot, and the ranger stood and crossed to the cot, watched as a shadow seemed to fall over his friend's usually vibrant features.
What was wrong with him? He knew something had to be, but he could think of nothing that would perpetrate such a drastic change in the ranger.
Drastic? A little voice in the back of his mind scoffed. "There's nothing drastic about this. Aragorn has always blamed himself for the least little thing that goes wrong. The only thing different from then to now, is that he will no longer listen to reason, nor to comfort. He has shut you out. He would not listen to Elladan and Elrohir, nor Elrond, and now he will not listen to you. Something drastic will happen. But it has not occurred yet.
He feared what that drastic change would be, then, if it had yet to strike. And the ranger's behavior was certainly changed. He had always been more or less willing to listen to Legolas. At least so far as it did not endanger the prince.
Legolas blinked. What did the ranger fear would happen if he stayed in the other's company? That they would be attacked? Enough had happened over the years that the young man had to realize their parting ways would not ensure safety for the other. Surely that was not it.
Then the wording sank in: No yet have I killed you. I killed you. Horror shot through the elf's body, followed quickly by adamant denial. Aragorn would never hurt him! The ranger would die before hurting his friends, any of them, and especially his best friend. Surely he did not believe he would actually do anything to harm the elf prince.
Even as he denied the idea with all he was worth, the truth of it sunk into him. Aragorn feared he would hurt--even kill--Legolas, and so he would do his best to ensure that never happened. He would force them to seperate before he would allow harm to befall his best friend; even if it killed him to do so.
Looking at the dejected husk the normally vibrant young man had become, he found it hard to believe humans could not die of a broken heart, for surely that was what was happening to the young Dúnadan he had befriended so many long human years ago. Aragorn could not just give up their friendship any more than he could. He just had to figure out how to make the young man see that.
He sighed. And Lord Elrond and the twins had thought he could help Aragorn. Somehow, he felt he had made everything worse.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hours later, exactly when the young woman had said, another duo appeared, this time in the form of two elderly women also dressed in rags and bearing two towels.
The one who appeared to be the elder stepped forward and curtsied. "Master Elf, Master Human: We have been asked to prepare you for this evening's feast. If you would please follow us?"
"As you wish," Legolas agreed, standing easily from his position on the floor. As silent as he had been all afternoon, Aragorn followed. The idea of a feast, though, did not seem to sit well with him.
They were lead out to a nearby stream roughly a mile from the village. The women ordered them to strip and scrub, disappearing with their clothes, dirty and blood stained, then reappearing minutes later, just as the elf and ranger finished bathing, with new clothes.
It seemed rather odd to Legolas why the villagers, who wore ragged clothing, would offer them fresh-made clothes when they wore old but obviously had no need to. He told her so.
She smiled. "You are guests, and we would wish you comfortable while you are with us."
"Nay, Lady," Legolas denied with a shake of his head. "We would be more comfortable in similar dress to your own than in finely made clothing."
"Ah, but we insist," the woman replied firmly, then her tone turned slightly teasing. "It would do the ladies well to see two young princes at their table instead of merely the commoners they are used to."
The elf accepted her arguement with a rueful incline of her head. Apparently satisfied, the two women left to see to other things while their charges dressed themselves. The "young princes" comment made him chuckle, for he had an idea the women had no idea how true her words had been.
He glanced over to Aragorn. The young man was yet in the water, waist deep, staring off into the distance as if it was a window to the past, or perhaps the future. It seemed likely to the elf that the ranger did not find what he sought, for Aragorn turned and began slowly making his way up out of the water, his shoulders slumped, his steps weary.
Watchful, the elf rubbed a towel quickly over his form, watching as Aragorn collapsed to the floor, his legs braced before him, and ducked his head between his knees. Legolas finished drying off and pulled his trousers on, nimbly securing them at the waist; he shifted uncomfortably against the foreign fall of the garment before moving over to his friend.
He rested his left hand against the other's back and knelt by his side, unconscioiusly leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of Aragorn's eyes. "Strider? Please, mellon nin, do not do this. Our time together is already too short to be shortened needlessly."
The man before him remained unmoved. He frowned, and looked up quickly, half-wishing it were night so he could take strength from the stars, silently begging Illúvitar to help him get through his friend's thick skull to make him see reason. He moved closer, then paused, and let out a sigh which seemed to deflate him.
Without another word, he quietly began drying the man, who moved whenever he was instructed but instigated no movement of his own. Once finished with that, Legolas helped the ranger into his own trousers, too worried to find amusing how cooperative the Dúnadan was in this state. When he was done, Aragorn sank once again to his previous position.
The elf prince walked over and picked up his own shirt, slipping it over his head, before pulling on his own soft shoes, which had been left as they were still in excellent shape. Slowly, he made his way back over to the human's side, running words over in his mind in an effort to come up with something to say to which his friend would respond.
He sat beside the man, facing him. "Strider. Tell me what you saw last night in your dream. Tell me what you saw that troubles you so." He waited. Just as he was about to despair of ever getting a response, Aragorn spoke.
The man's voice was quiet, and difficult to understand. "Everything was gone," he said. "The world was black, and there was nothing around. I was alone. Then, in the distance, there appeared two figures. They were fighting. Slowly, I could see clearer, and discovered one to be you, Legolas." Aragorn paused and cleared his throat, though his words were no clearer than before when next he spoke. "You stumbled, and the next blow that fell struck you, killed you."
Here, the other stopped. Legolas frowned. "Who was the other?"
The ranger rocked back and forth, like a child whose emotional distress was so great it could not be contained in a body so small. His hands were clasped about his knees, his face pressed firmly into his kneecaps, almost as though he was seeking to crush what he knew, destroy it. Finally, he stilled. His voice, when next he spoke, was so low Legolas almost missed it and had to lean forward to catch.
"Me."
Whatever response Legolas might have made to that startling, yet not unsuspected, pronouncement was cut off with the arrival of their hosts.
The two women bustled back in, their voices cutting through the air, making the elf start guiltily and look up. They bore more supplies with them, and the two friends were set upon with combs, their hair set firmly in order, and their faces were powdered. Something sweet was sprayed on them, among a dozen other things that neither could follow.
At times, Legolas could have sworn there were more than two of them, so much did they do and so quickly did they move, first in one place and then another. Six could have accomplished the same no faster than they.
When the activity finally stopped, the elf prince had to blink at the abrupt change. He glanced at the ranger and was relieved to see the young man looked just as perturbed as he felt, and not only because the young one had seemed uneffected by all that had transpired in the last several hours; it was not good for elven pride to be unsettled by two mere women dressing him.
Then, their appearance finally in order, the elf and man were lead to another area of the village, this one closer to the mountains and far away from the trees. When they arrived, the sun had just touched the tops of the trees in its descent until the next morning.
Tables were set up with benches running down their length. Plates heaped with food were spread at intervals, and goblets were set before each place. Dozens of men, women, and children moved happily among the tables, talking about the harvest and the coming season.
Everything seemed joyful enough, yet the prince could not escape the feeling that something was off. He glanced around, then dismmissed the feeling as worry for his friend as nothing seemed out of place.
A group of widely smiling men waved them over, and both man and elf aceeded by slowly making their way over, glancing among those gathered for the event. Women seemed to be the most prominent among the group, all wearing well worn dresses that were scrupulously cleaned before-hand. The men wore garments similar to those the visitors had been given, but were obviously used instead of new. The children who ran, and dodged around all present seemed to wear outfits handed down through a family line. They laughed and played, occassionally glancing up at the sinking sun.
He smiled gently at one of the young ones, then glanced curiously back at Aragorn. He looked pale and drawn, but the activity and antics of the children seemed to revive him, and he managed a couple small smiles for the children, getting shy smiles in return.
Then they arrived at the table, and the three men who stood there bowed, the center-most and leader spoke quietly, his voice smooth and low. "Welcome, strangers. You are fortunate to have come at this time of year and are thus able to partake of our feast. It is the best we have to offer through all the year."
Surprising Legolas, Aragorn spoke up before he could fashion a response. "Your hospitality is greatly appreciated, but you have already done more than enough. We would not wish you inconvienenced."
"It is no inconvience, good sir--"
"Strider."
The man smiled. "Strider. We are glad of your company. So few beings come through here, and we rarely travel, it is truly a rare gift to meet new people."
One next to him smiled as well. "Indeed. So unused to it are we, that we have forgotten to introduce ourselves. I am Kyrol. The good fellow here is Niriss, and that one on the end is Briit."
The young man nodded. "You were the ones who found us. I thank you for allowing us shelter. I fear my friend, Legolas, would not have made it through the night without aid." As he spoke, he gestured slightly to the elf by his side.
"Truly, we are glad to be of service. Now, please. Make yourselves comfortable, and try and enjoy the festivities."
He bowed with a smile and a quiet thank you, Legolas calmly mirroring the gesture, content to let his friend resume the role he generally claimed when dealing with races other than elves. The fair being took this as a sign that Aragorn was recovering, and prayed it was not a temporary reprieve.
Then his attention was called away by the joyful shrieking of children as they played at their games. Horseshoes were thrown at a stick that was placed in the ground. Blindfolds were put on and they chased each other in a clearing, adults assuring they ran into no trees. Occassionally they would collide and fall laughing to the floor.
A couple hours passed this way, with the children enjoying various games while the sun finished its trip down into the trees. Then great fires were lit at intervals around the clearing and the group took their seats around the table. Aragorn and Legolas were sat side-by-side on one side of one of the tables along with another group of men, and on the other side sat a group of young women.
Quickly and efficiently, plates were placed before them, Aragorn and Legolas always served first of whatever was passed around. Their plates were full and a red berry wine was placed before them.
Everyone began eating, and Legolas turned to his meal, hungrier than he would have thought, pausing occassionally to ask questions or answer questions asked of him. The young ladies, while nervous and obviously hesitant, were friendly enough. He was half-way through his meal before he even realized something was wrong.
"Do you not like it?" a quiet voice asked, and he looked up quickly to see a lady who had introduced herself as Alyvia focused worriedly on Aragorn.
The young ranger had looked up, as well, his fork still hovering about the plate where it had been moments before. His plate, Legolas saw, was still mostly full. "No, it is very good."
Legolas frowned slightly. "You need to eat, Strider. Are you ill?" He vaguely remembered that humans often did not feel like eating when they got sick.
"No. No, I am well. I, It . . . is just a little overwhelming," he said, stumbling slightly over his words.
Legolas frowned, but Alyvia smiled, accepting the comment without question. "I'm a little overwhelmed, too," she admitted with a smile, blushing a bit at the admission. "It's not often we get such, mm, handsome," her blush deepened, "guests." Her gaze fell to the table, and she immediately turned her attention back to the food.
Meri, the girl to her right, spoke up to take attention away from her friend. "Maybe you should try the veal. My mother makes marvelous veal. If you just try, surely you will feel better."
Aragorn offered a weak but genuine smile, and nodded. Meri blushed and went back to her own meal, downing a generous portion of her wine. The girls beside her giggled happily.
Legolas chuckled, earning a half-hearted glare from his friend. Growing up around elves, who were considered the fairest beings on Middle-earth, Aragorn lacked an appreciation for his dashing appearance. He had won many a woman's heart with his good looks, charming smile, and considerate words.
Glancing at his friend, assured he was eating, Legolas, too, returned to his meal. Only this time, he watched that Aragornw was truly eating. The young man needed to eat; he had not regained the weight he had lost after he had been poisoned.
When most were finished, and those that were not nearly finished, one of the goblets was picked up by Niriss and tapped repeatedly with his fork, sending a ringing out over the company to gain everyone's attention. Both elf and man looked towards him.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, and Guests of all ages!" he cried, standing on one of the benches to be easily seen by all. "I welcome you to the five hundredth annual Full Moon Festival!" Wild cheers sounded from all sides, and the two guests clapped politely. When it quieted down, Niriss continued. "And now, we have come to the most important aspect of the feast: the toast!" Most laughed.
Legolas started as a fresh goblet was placed before him, filled with wine. A similar goblet was placed before Aragorn and everyone else at the table as ten maidens walked down the the rows, distributing the goblets for toasting.
As soon as everyone had their wine, Niriss included, the young man stood, raising his goblet into the air. "As we honor tradition this night, we take the time to be grateful for each family member still with us, for each blessing we have had, for new friends we have made and old friends we have kept. This night is a celebration of life, and an expectation for the future. So here: to life, health, and happiness. May we each find tomorrow, more happiness than we found today."
A couple "hear, hear"'s and cheers could be heard. Then everyone tipped back the goblets and downed the contents in a single swallow. Both Aragorn and Legolas followed suit, the fine wine sending pleasant heat down their throats to pool in their bellies.
The elf looked around as he set his goblet down before him. He blinked a couple of times as his vision blurred, then turned his attention to Niriss. He was confused to see the young man looking at him coolly, pity and indifference evident in his brown-green eyes.
Legolas had just enough time to wonder at the expression before the world around him grayed out. He just made out the form of Strider dropping to the ground next to him, and then the blackness rushed up to welcome him into its grasp.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Niriss watched the elf and ranger fall, then turned to his fellow villagers. "Bind them and finish preparing them for our lady. She will be here by midnight."
A group of men and women coallasced around the two still figures, moving quickly to transfer them to a different location. Within moments, they were spirited away, gone where none ever returned from.
On the edge of the clearing, sad gray eyes watched everything.