Thank you for your reviews. And elfmage, who reviewed every single chapter. *g* That's what all lurkers should do. *g* lol. All right. Enjoy. Review. Do you think you all could get me to a hundred reviews? *pouts* Please? I'd really like that. Maybe it'll help me complete the next story faster. I'd take all the help I could get.
Forgive me if I've forgotten anything. Remind me, too. That might help also.
*scrubs hands across face* Sorry. Read, enjoy. I'll talk to you all next time.
Chapter 18
True Friendship
Each second felt like an eternity. Every moment stayed far longer than it was supposed to and stretched to remain as long as possible. Death was staring him in the face and time was crawling.
Most people, the elf observed, would be thrilled.
After all how many people wanted to rush towards death? Elves rarely considered it, being immortal, but humans thought about it all the time, or at least he thought they did. They were always looking to live just a little longer, get just a little more done, gain just a last bit of power or wealth. For centuries he had hated them, seeing only the bad. Never before had he the chance, reason, nor inclination to contemplate the subject. Now, though, he found himself with not only time, but with a unique perspective he had never had the opportunity to experience before. It was one he did not particularly care for, either.
Stuck, with no where to go and the very real, very strong desire to escape, to move, to go somewhere else, faced with almost certain death if the tunnel collapsed the rest of the way--or worse, a slow and agonizing death if it did not--he thought he understood why humans tried so hard to escape death, worked so hard to gain power, and insisted on growing up so quickly. He understood, yes, and could even manage to condone it--to a certain extent--but he did not like it at all. Feeling like you were running a race you were doomed to lose and one day lose everything, erased from existence, was certainly not an appealing feeling. It made him feel ill, which was another feeling he was not familiar with and did not like.
He also had no desire to become familiar with it.
Now all that needs happen is for me to feel cold and I could count myself human! the elf thought in somewhat disgruntled frustration. I must remember to be more understanding of Aragorn's limitations.
That was, of course, both easier and harder to accomplish when it came to his friend. The human was so elvish it was sometimes difficult to remember he could not do the same things as elves, and at the same time, it was so difficult to forget that one day soon, the human would not be around, a fact that hovered from time to time at the back of him mind, an insidious plague that ate slowly through his awareness, creeping forward even as time creeped up on Aragorn. It would be too soon.
That day will come a lot sooner than we thought if that human does not return and get me out soon, grouched Legolas inwardly, his helpless position shortening his temper drastically. He has been gone ages! He shifted, pulling at his trapped arm compulsively as he arched his back, the only movement he was capable of, before collapsing back against the ground bonelessly. He sighed and looked towards where he had last heard the human's voice. Hurry back, Strider. Please.
The relief he had felt upon discovering his friend was not only still alive, but awake, had been enormous. All those countless minutes that had turned into hours when he had thought he would never be able to speak to his friend again had come crashing down around him, the tension that had built up washed away as if by a spring shower. So great was his relief, that he had momentarily forgotten he was in a cave, trapped, and the fate of their tormentor unknown. Everything--for a few brief moments--had been great.
Now, the terrible dread that he would die here was returning, the fear that Aragorn would never return to help him burdening his heart. All the foul whispers he had ever heard about men--how greedy and selfish, how untrustworthy, how contemptible--all slithered back into his mind, casting shadow over the faith he held in Aragorn.
He won't come back, it whispered. He will never come back. Men save their own skin; they care nothing for Elves. He will leave, leave you to die.
NO! No, Aragorn was different. He knew Aragorn was different. He had seen the differences, the compassion that resided inside his friend. Never once had Aragorn abandoned anyone in need of assistance, be they elf, dwarf, or man, and the ranger would not start now, not with his best friend. I am not alone.
But the voice, the traitorous voice, would not be silenced, its laughter at his assurance threatening. You were always alone, it whispered.
No no no no no no no, he repeated, refusing to listen. Those stupid things the elf never wanted Aragorn to do were proof enough that he was not alone, that his friend was with him, for they were not obligations. They were little things one friend did for another to make their life easier. It always bugged him when Aragorn mothered him, but it proved his kindness and friendship everytime. Legolas knew that if Aragorn ever did not insist on helping, he would wonder what was wrong. It was one of those little things that annoyed him to no end, but that he would miss when Aragorn was gone.
~*~
"Are you alright?"
"Fine." They had been walking for hours. Normally, that would not have bothered the elf prince, but the last thing he felt like doing right now was walk. Every step he took, every twitch, sent fire shooting up his back to knife through his brain in its fury, causing lights to flare behind his eyes and obscure his vision. It had been a long time since he could properly view his surroundings, but he was sure not going to tell Aragorn that and give him reason to mother him.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," he ground out, his annoyance poorly concealed in his voice.
"Are--"
"Strider," he interrupted before the human could go on. "Be quiet."
For several minutes, they walked on in silence. Despite the pain, which was consuming nearly all his attention, he felt a sense of victory. Really, he should have known better, but the pain was clouding his thoughts and he never noticed when Aragorn disappeared from view. He was too grateful for the silence to pay much attention to the reason. It was folly.
Suddenly his legs were pulled out from under him. Tension shot through his frame along with adrenaline as his stomach fluttered with the feeling of falling, surprise freezing what reactions pain did not.
Then he hit the ground, and the fire which had been shooting up his spine was nothing in comparison to the agony which engulfed his senses now. Distantly, very distant, he heard screaming. He twisted in on himself to try and escape the pain. It did not seem to working, but eventually the pain faded into the background and he became aware, once more, of his surroundings. He opened his eyes to see guilty, worried, silver eyes staring down at him.
As soon as Aragorn saw he was okay, his expression changed to include that annoying you-were-wrong-and-now-you've-paid-for-it look Lord Elrond was so fond of whenever they did something stupid. "Fine?"
Legolas groaned in response and looked past him to the trees that were swimming in and out of focus above him in time with the blood pounding through his veins. He looked back at the face above him to see the worry firmly back in place, guilt hiding along the edges. He felt something under his head and wondered how long he had been on the floor.
A hand brushed along his forehead, drawing his attention away from his musings. He was caught off-guard, then, by the grief he saw in his friend's eyes. "Where does it hurt, Legolas?" Aragorn asked softly.
"What?"
"Those injuries you did not tell me about and would not let me treat."
Legolas took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh without voicing his protestation, deciding compliance was the better part of valor in this instance. "My back," he answered, not entirely sure what was wrong with it. His breath caught as the ranger carefully helped him roll onto his stomach. A few minutes passed and the pain slowly ebbed away, his eyes glazing and drifting half-closed as he danced toward elven dreams. . . .
How much time had passed before he next woke, he was not sure, but the moon had traveled high in the sky and a cheerful fire burned nearby. Without moving, he looked for the human who had to have started it.
He rolled over and looked around, spotting the young ranger sitting near his feet, legs crossed, head bowed. A smile pulled at his lips. It was not often that he caught his friend asleep when he was on watch. He pushed himself up, noting with relief that his back was only stiff instead of on fire, and inched towards the human. He reached out to lower his friend to the ground, only to have a hand (quicker that he would have expected) grab his wrist and stop the motion. He stared into mostly alert eyes that were red from lack of sleep.
"What are you doing up, Legolas?" he asked with a slight frown.
The elf prince smiled. "I am well, Aragorn, truly. The pain is gone."
He was eyed closely, searchingly, for a few minutes, his friend's silver eyes glowing from the light of the fire. Legolas sighed, then turned though he had not been asked. After a moments hesitation, he felt a gentle touch, the sliding of fabric against skin, and then a soft chuckle. He turned.
"You find something amusing, mellon nin?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"How did you guess," answered Aragorn, voice dry. Legolas smiled and Aragorn leaned backwards to gaze up at the stars. "I was just wondering which of the Valar was sadistic enough to stick us together."
Legolas frowned, not entirely sure what the human was getting at. Aragorn burst out laughing. Soon, Legolas joined him, unable to keep a straight face when he realized why the human laughed.
~*~
He turned his head again, looking for some sign that his friend had returned, that he was not alone any more. Yet his keen eyes were thwarted; no one moved near. The only sounds he heard were the distant rumble that vibrated almost imperceptibly through the stone and his own breathing.
The elf could not understand how it happened. How was it that every time--almost--he and Aragorn traveled together, he ended up in a cave? And not only that--why did they always have to cave in? Surely the Valar were not so sadistic as to be continually sticking one of the firstborn--especially one who had so much reason to detest them--in caves, on purpose? Surely, it was an accident.
Good one, Legolas, a little voice laughed, this one different from the one who whispered darkness and sounded suspiciously like Aragorn. Of course the Valar do things on accident!
Legolas frowned. Perhaps the Valar would not make such a mistake. But surely it was not on purpose. No one would do that, put someone somewhere they hate, repeatedly and on purpose. It was cruel.
And Orcs are simply so nice and sweet and fair, came the voice again, taunting. He really did not like that voice. Why could not he delude himself if he wanted to? He was free.
If you overlook the boulders pinning you in place, that is, came the voice, and Legolas suddenly knew who it really sounded like, as it was not Aragorn; even the human was not so unswervingly annoying. No, that singular honor could only belong to one.
He grimaced. Shut up, he ordered the voice, glaring into the dark. I have enough to worry about as it is.
He would have gladly gone with a different reply than he got.
Suddenly, the ground started shaking, shifting the boulders that held him and sending some of the smaller stones falling down around his head to connect painfully with his shoulders or stomach. He brought his free hand up to protect his head as best he could, even as he tensed in pain. He was reminded, forcefully, of the earth-shake he had experienced several years ago in Rivendell, and was pretty sure he knew which experience he preferred, even if one of them did include a wicked injury. All he wanted was to be gone.
Just as quickly as it had begun, thankfully, it was over, and the silence that reigned was more complete than the one it followed. He held perfectly still, the silence making him distinctly uncomfortable as it was somehow worse than the disgruntled rumbling. His hair stood on end and a strange prickling sensation walked up his spine, feeling like someone had just run their cold fingers up it. He shuddered helplessly.
Please, hurry up, Aragorn. Hurry please, he begged again, trying to will the message to the absent human. Anything, anything, had to be better than this . . . waiting, forever, unsure if or when it would end with conflicting emotion pulling him apart. He desperately wanted to move, so desperately his muscles kept tensing, but he did not dare.
"Come on, Strider."
He did his best to relax. . . .
~*~
"Come on, Estel," Elladan said, laughing. "Relax. It's not that hard."
Estel glowered. "Then why don't you do it?"
"I've already done it," the elf replied. "It won't hurt."
"Why don't I feel relieved?" the human replied dryly, squirming once more. Elrohir and Legolas grinned; Elladan mock-scowled back at them.
"Don't worry, little brother," Elrohir assured, still smiling. "Elladan would not dare do anything permanent. Ada would kill him."
Legolas burst out laughing.
Estel glared at the fair haired being. "You are not helping." The twins burst into laughter and Estel squirmed harder, his attempts bordering on frantic before he slumped, defeated. Large silver eyes regarded the elf prince. "Legolas. Please."
Something in the plea touched him. He looked at the human, then back at the twins. "Maybe we should just let him go," he suggested, though he had no real idea what the twins planned. "We could wait until he's fully healed."
"Oh, no," Elrohir objected. "If we wait, we'll never get the opportunity again."
"But since you feel this way . . ." Elladan said, walking close as he watched Estel thoughtfully. The young man was watching the elf just as closely. "Perhaps we can come to some kind of agreement."
He was just about to agree when Estel's eyes widened in realization--but it was too late. Quicker than he would have believed possible of the Noldor elves, he was tied up, just as securely as Estel, and placed next to the human before the widely grinning twins. He swallowed compulsively and suddenly understood--completely--his friend's unwillingness to be at their mercy. He even felt guilty for helping them catch him.
Elrohir spoke first, his eyes twinkling. "So glad you decided to join in the fun, Legolas. The more the merrier."
"Oh, yes. But, alas, we cannot spare the time to chat."
With that, they went to work, smearing stuff--exactly what, neither Legolas nor Estel could be sure--but it was fragrant. Each smell individually could have been charming, but all together they were overwhelmingly horrible. After several minutes, the twins walked away, laughing hysterically, just before other elves emerged, curious as to the cause of the fuss.
They found two beings--one man, one elf--in a partially secluded area of the gardens. Estel's hair was bright red, bordering on pink, with streaks running down onto his shoulders. A white paste was smeared all over his face with red smeared around his mouth and half-moons under his eyes. Legolas' once golden hair was a vibrant purple with streaks dripping down his face, some of it also streaking the white paste that covered his face with a purple streak down his nose and another down his chin. Both stared at the crowd that gathered around them. Chuckles, poorly concealed, sounded around the group, and smiles could be seen throughout the crowd.
The helpless friends merely stared at them, too stunned and perplexed to remember they wanted to be released. It was not until Elrond and Glorfindel arrived, both fighting smiles (and almost succeeding), that they snapped out of their stupor.
"Lord Elrond," Legolas acknowledge, a clump of white falling as he talked and earning amused titters from the onlookers. Estel echoed, "Ada."
The lord of Imladris studied them in silence for a few moments, completely ignoring the smirking elf beside him. "Dare I ask what it is you are doing?"
Estel looked at Legolas, who looked back. "Us, Ada?" he inquired. "We are sitting. Mayhap you should ask after the twins."
His lips spasmed. "Mayhap I should." He stared at them without moving, Estel staring right back. "Is something on your mind, ion nin?" he asked, amusement coloring his tone.
The question perplexed the human, which gained more laughter from the elves around them. The human nearly said no, but a kick from Legolas changed his mind. "Er, please, Ada. Could you untie us?"
Elrond laughed slightly and waved his hand slightly in a shooing gesture. The remaining elves dispersed, chuckling and talking amongst themselves while Elrond and Glorfindel untied the two victims. "I suggest you go change."
Legolas nodded quickly and took off, Estel quick on his heels.
"Hey, Legolas! Wait up!"
~*~
He had been embarrassed, and was glad for the paste that covered his face as it kept his humiliation from the other elves. A grown elf, bound and filthy and subjected to the scrutiny of many elves. His father would have had a fit at the lack of decorum--would have, that is, until he gained experience with the foursome in his halls. Then, he was glad if that was all they did.
Aragorn had not understood, at first, well used to his brothers' antics and the attention it garnered after more than twenty years at their side. The human had been startled when he had gone straight to his room without a word. He had stood outside the door for fifteen minutes--still filthy--before Legolas found the courage to let him in.
~*~
"What do you want?" Legolas asked, his hair down and his face nearly clear of the twins' embellishments.
Estel opened his mouth, then closed it and mutely shook his head. The elf sighed and moved into the room. Estel followed, closing the door behind him. His steps were hesitant as he watched his friend, who was silent.
"I think I know how to get the color out of your hair," the human offered after a minute.
Legolas nodded. He did not trust himself to speak, to open his mouth, and not have his voice betray his humiliation. Estel did not need to be burdened with that; it was not his fault. The elf refused to turn and meet his friend's piercing silver stare. There was the possibility that he would see.
The young man guessed anyway. "Thank you," he said.
Legolas whirled, startled. "For what?"
"For . . . for staying with me." The elf merely blinked at him blankly, so he continued. "For helping."
"But I didn't," the elf prince denied. "They still--"
"You did," Aragorn interrupted firmly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again and made as if to sit on the edge of the bed, but thought better of that, too. Legolas watched him, perplexed and slightly amused, as the human ran his hand through his hair and had it come away red. "You did," he repeated.
The elf prince shook his head slowly. "How?"
"By being there," Estel answered, staring straight at him. "By being with me."
"I don't understand," Legolas said slowly, feeling that perhaps he was beginning to, that understanding hung just out of reach.
Aragorn sighed. "Why did that bother you so much, Legolas?"
The elf did not answer immediately, glancing down at his hands and biting his lip. Could he truly tell this human? Could he . . . yes, he could. He looked up. "It was unbecoming," he said simply.
"It was embarrassing," Estel translated. Legolas nodded. "Well, it's no fun to be embarrassed alone."
Legolas' brow furrowed briefly. His friend had not seemed at all bothered by the treatment, the laughter. He had never considered it was his presence that allowed Estel to brush it all aside. It was also something he could not just believe. His friend was rarely bothered by anything the twins did so. . . .
Estel smiled knowingly, the expression somewhat melancholy. "I've learned to accept, and even expect, laughter from Elves. I am Edain. Edain do stupid things, and get laughed at. I simply try to laugh, too."
"And what does that do?"
"It makes it so I'm not alone."
Legolas stared at the human with new understanding and growing respect. At some point, though, the elves had obviously accepted the human among them, as well, for he did not think such incidents made them think less of the human in their midst. Accept to be accepted. Slowly, he smiled.
"Not alone," he echoed. "You look terrible."
Aragorn smirked, and Legolas' smile widened. Not alone. That was a good place to be.
~*~
And right now, he wished desperately that he had just been victimized by one of the twins' pranks instead of trapped inside a mountain waiting for death.
He sighed. If only he could move, get up, walk around. What was taking Aragorn so long?
The ground jolted, trembling, and rocks crumbled, loud cracks sounded near him, and his eyes widened. The mountain was coming down; he could feel it. Dust filtered down around him, choking, and he half rolled (as far as he could) as a chunk of stone fell from the ceiling, landing at about his right shoulder. A cry wrenched from his throat with the movement, the additional jerking of the stone not helping the pain at all, and he bit his lip to stay silent. Just because he was helpless did not mean he had to be weak.
He squinted against the shifting cloud that drifted around his eyes and strained his ears to catch the approach of his friend as seconds passed into minutes. He prayed for an end, but one did not come. Hope is slippery when helplessness abounds, especially to the proud. He squeezed his eyes shut and began muttering under his breath, repeating over and over, "Im avon fir." ( I will not die.)
The rumbling grew louder, increasing, closing in on him as if it desired to smother him, drown him and leave him dead. He clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes tighter, the pain increasing, but he refused to break his chant, a moment of irrationality telling him if he did, he would die. He could not die; he had to wait for Aragorn to come back. He had to.
"Im avon fir," he muttered, determined.
"Legolas!"
His eyes shot open, the dust nearly blinding him. "Aragorn!" Inwardly, in the back of his mind, he cringed at the fear, desperation, and relief that colored his voice. "The mountain is coming down!"
"Hold on, Legolas. Just another minute." Just over the horrible din of cracking stone, he caught a faint clatter, like several objects had been dropped. With something else to focus on, the roar of stone seemed to fade, and he did his best to mark his friend's progress through the stone.
A high-pitched scraping reached his ears, a sound he found familiar, but which took a few minutes to register. When it did, his eyes widened in surprise: metal on stone. What was Aragorn doing?
The stone pinning his arm rocked unexpectedly and he could not withhold a small cry. Actually, it was likely louder than that because Aragorn heard it over the rumble of stone. "Legolas?"
"Just keep going," he ground out. "Quickly."
Almost immediately, the rocking returned, and then the stone was gone, his arm free and tender, filled with pins and needles. Slowly, he breathed out, expelling the pent up air with a hiss. But suddenly, Aragorn was at his side and a cool hand was placed briefly on his shoulder as a show of support, then the ranger went to work freeing his legs.
He studied his friend, only too happy to have something different to focus on. Aragorn was filthy; even compared to his normal levels of dirtiness, filthy was the only way to describe him, and even then the adjective fell short. His hair was a dark, matted tangle that looked as if it was a solid mass instead of thousands of individual strands, the knots inter-tangled to such an extent that little of his hair fell free. His face was streaked with dirt, nearly covered, and sweat darkened parts of it, mingling with blood on his cheek. His hands were just as filthy, and his clothes were irredeemable. Truly, he looked as if he had jumped into a tub of dust, covered himself in it and rubbed it in after dipping himself in water. This was a new accomplishment.
Then pain blossomed in his once numb legs. A hoarse yell flew past his lips to compete with the echoing din of crashing rock. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands in an attempt to distract himself from the pain. Of course, he still was not sure how causing more pain got rid of different pain, but so long as the agony that engulfed his legs went away, and it seemed to, he did not care.
Suddenly, he felt someone near him and a hand land on his shoulder. He looked up to find silver eyes staring back at him. "Come," Aragorn said, doing his best to lever the elf prince to a sitting position.
Legolas nodded, and helped in the endeavor. He was so glad to finally be leaving these accursed tunnels that it did not occur to him to protest the aid of his friend, even when the other grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to his feet.
There, however, they encountered a problem: Legolas could not stand. His legs refused to lock and hold his weight as soon as he put pressure on them. Another cry forced it's way past his lips as he sank back to the ground and curled up into a ball. It hurt so bad. . . .
"Legolas," Aragorn called, softly and worriedly. "We must leave. Now."
"I know," he murmured back painfully, and after a moments hesitation began to uncurl so they could try again. He wanted so badly to stand, to walk out under his own power and enjoy his freedom, but wishing does not make things happen, and he could not wish his legs healed.
Aragorn squatted beside him and threaded his arm under the elf's own. "Lean on me, mellon nin." The elf grabbed on with his hand and helped the ranger bear his weight as much as was possible. Once he was standing, he began easing his weight off of Aragorn. His friend waited patiently, or as patiently as he ever waited when everything inside screamed, shrieked, at you to move. Finally, though, all his weight was on his own legs, and Legolas dared to stand on his own. Aragorn's arms hovered near him, ready if the elf collapsed again. Thankfully, he did not.
Then the ranger ducked his shoulder and grabbed Legolas about the knees. Pain flared through his mind, and he allowed himself to fall across the man's shoulders. "Aragorn, what--"
"No arguing," was the terse reply, and Legolas hurriedly grabbed on to his friend's shirt in a effort to assuage the feeling that he would fall as the ranger started moving. "It'll be quicker this way."
Legolas frowned but said nothing, occupying himself with the task of not making a sound despite the hearty protest of his legs and arm. "Broken" was obviously going to be too kind a verdict. "Crushed" felt much more likely, and he cringed inwardly at how much mothering such a diagnosis would bestow upon him, and not just from Aragorn.
He raised his head to look around him, watched as boulders dropped from the ceiling, falling closer and closer. He tensed. "Aragorn. . . ."
"I know, I know," his friend called back, strain evident in his voice. The ranger knew they had the best chance of making it out alive if he carried the prince, but that did not mean he was truly capable. His body was complaining, screaming, burning, but he dared not listen to it. His throat was parched and coated with dust, every gasping breath more painful than the last. But he dared not--could not--stop.
He felt Legolas tense across his shoulder, felt the other's fingers clutch in his tunic, felt the pebbles crunch and slip beneath his feet, but he dared not slow, his consciousness submerging until he knew only two things: run, and do not stop.
The ground shook, the walls rumbled, boulders fell behind them and before. Dust drifted and his panting breaths were drowned out by the roar of crashing stone, marked only by the one who's fate laid with him as he raced for the exit.
To him, everything looked in slow motion, and he moved, dodging obstacles, racing for the end that seemed to grow further away every second, more impossible to reach, a safe harbor that taunted those who sought it. His foot twisted and he cried out, stumbling. A stone crashed beside them, straying chips to bite at them.
Somehow, he remained on his feel. Somehow, he kept running, step after step through dark tunnels he did not know, no light before him to say his destination was near. Nothing but pain and darkness and fear mixed with crashing stone. Nothing, save the light of the lamp he yet held and the glow of the elf he carried, and a distant chant that took him a few minutes to hear.
". . . We're going to make it. We're going to make it. Almost there. Going to make it, almost there. . . . "
Almost as if that was what he had been waiting for, a light appeared before him, dazzling his eyes, and he put on an extra burst of speed, how he did not know, ignoring the stones that reached out to trip him up. The light loomed closer and closer, slowly moving towards him.
He gasped for air, the sound loud in his ears, echoing, the rumble of stones having faded even as his vision narrowed to perceive only his goal, growing, moving ever closer. . . .
Then, with a last impossible effort, they gained freedom. And the mountain fell.