Disclaimer: Characters, Names, Places, and anything else you recognize
belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
This story was written by a good friend of mine, Aeron. Positive Criticism is greatly appreciated! So if you could take the time after reading this chapter, please review with any comments you have. =) Thank you, and enjoy.
centerThese Tears We Cry/center
The sky was as black as a starless midnight, even though it was midday. Clouds of angry black and purple roiled o'erhead, lit occasionally by white- hot forks of lightning. Torrents of rain poured from the heavens, cold as rivers in the clutch of winter, drenching any who dared to step out of the shelter of homes in mere minutes. And below, two friends fought for each other and their own lives.
Legolas spun, twisting his lithe body in full rotation and plunging his twin knives in the stomach of Orc, ripping them out and barely managing to dodge the swipe of a longsword aimed at his head. Wisps of golden hair, pale as the summer moon, escaped the two delicate braids that held half of his hair back and clung to his cheeks, but Legolas was too caught up in battle to notice.
Aragorn swept an Orc sword aside, his blade a silver fire in the night as he cleaved foes left and right. His swept his sword in a wide arc, cleaving a head off of an Orc's shoulder and stabbing another in the stomach, his breathing coming hard and fast.
They had never meant to be caught in the frenzy of battle as they were now. They had set out from Rivendell two days ago, meaning to spend some time in Legolas' homeland of Mirkwood. For the first day, their journey had been peaceful; Lord Elrond, Aragorn's adoptive father, had done well in keeping the western side of the Misty Mountains clear of foes, at least near his beloved valley, but it was the next noontide that their luck left them. They had camped beneath a rocky overhang to protect them from the foul weather common this season, though none had come upon them. Just as they were breaking camp, contentedly oblivious to the fact that they were being watched was when they were ambushed.
They did not think the battle would be so long. At first, it had been a mere handful or so of the black creatures, but just as the clouds o'erhead darkened the sky, so did more of the creatures darken the land until the two friends were surrounded.
Orcs were no creatures to be intimidated, plunging ahead before they thought of whatever dangers lay before them, but even they were wary of the strength of the Fair Being and the man. Their dead lay about them, black blood mixing with the mud beneath them. The Orcs had thought the two would be dead by now, but still they fought stoically, standing back to back and circling as they killed the dark creatures.
As much as Aragorn was loathe to admit it, he was wearying. Though young - one-and-twenty and in the prime of his youth - his body was not as strong as an elder of his kindred, and the numbers they were up against were staggering. He watched as his friend twisted and dodged, side-stepping swinging swords with the grace of a dancer, his steps light despite the mud that sucked at his own boots.
He knew Legolas' body was made to endure, for the Elf was several hundred years his senior, but even Aragorn was surprised he had lasted so long. Though Orcs hated all creatures of good will, their hatred for the First Born burned the brightest; they did not often kill what Elves they fought, yet took them captive to be twisted into darkness, such as they once were.
Dancing away from an Orc sword, Aragorn knocked the blade away before plunging his own sword into the Orc's stomach, biting through leather and chainmail and skin, before he ripped it back out, ignoring the warm splash of blood on his hands.
He never saw the sword.
"Aragorn!" The cry came from Legolas, just as the creature, it's longsword raised high o'erhead to cleave the human in two, advanced towards him. Aragorn turned, struggling to see through the rain, before a strong, slender body collided with his own.
Aragorn reeled, his arms cartwheeling in an attempt to keep his balance, but his weary body went against him and he crashed to the ground. Wiping mud from his face, he struggled to sit up, shaking water and hair from his eyes, just before they widened in horror when he saw Legolas.
The prince was standing stock-still and clutching his stomach, where the sword protruded, his hands tight around the hilt. His own eyes widened as realization struck him. He was going to die. Already, he could feel Death's icy hand creep over him. His body felt weightless, but even so he slowly dropped to his knees, his breathing shallow.
"LEGOLAS!" Aragorn shouted, jumping to his feet. The few Orcs left alive closed in about him, determined to keep the human from aiding his friend, but Aragorn's fury outmatched even their own, and Orcs fell left and right beneath his blade. Yanking a dagger from his belt, he ran towards the Orc who had struck Legolas, burying his knife in the creatures black heart. He shoved aside the heavy body as it fell, before he dropped to his knees beside his friend. "Legolas."
Legolas blinked, struggling to clear his blurry vision. Slowly, it cleared, and the face swimming above him came into focus. "Aragorn..." So he was alive. Legolas managed a weak smile, for it had been Aragorn for which he stepped infront of the sword. Legolas closed his eyes and shuddered as a spasm of pain rent through his body, clutching the leather of the Ranger's worn overcoat.
"Shh, Legolas," Aragorn said, his voice as soothing as it could be as he squeezed the Prince's hand. "All will be well... I will get you back to Rivendell... Just stay with me..." he murmured, even as he reached for the sword hilt protruding from Legolas' stomach.
"Don't," Legolas gasped, clutching his wrist tightly and pulling it away from the wound. "I-It is too late, Estel..." Indeed, it was; blood steadily spread a crimson stain over the deep green of his tunic, a beautifully horrific sight. "It is my time..."
"No!" Aragorn said fiercely, holding the Prince tightly as if to keep the spirit of his friend still inside of him. "It is not your time, Legolas! It never will be your time!"
Legolas smiled weakly up at Aragorn, his body curled protectively around the Elf's to shield him from the rain. "It is well," he murmured, blinking furiously to keep his eyes clear. "I... I could not let the sword hit you, my friend... You... have years ahead of you... You are too young to die..."
"Legolas, do not say such things! You will live... You must. I beg you to stay with me."
"I cannot," he said softly, his vice-like grip on the human's overcoat easing as the candle of life within him began to waver. "Estel... Tell my father gently... A-and promise me you will not grieve..."
"Legolas..."
"Promise me!"
Aragorn closed his eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. "I promise," he whispered, opening his eyes once more.
Legolas smiled, resting his head wearily in the crook of Aragorn's arm. "I am cold, Estel..." he murmured, holding the human tighter as shivers wracked his body.
Aragorn cradled Legolas close, his arms tightening around the fading Prince. Legolas could not be dieing... He was an Elf... He was to live forever... It was he who the sword should be sticking from, not Legolas!
"I'm sorry, Estel... I cannot..." Legolas whispered, his eyes slowly falling shut. "I'm sorry..." Legolas' voice slowly faded, and the body within Aragorn's arms went limp as the immortal spirit fled.
"Legolas? Legolas!" No matter how Aragorn pleaded, the Prince would not respond. Sobs racked his body, and this time Aragorn did nothing to hold them back. His tears mixed with the rain still pouring down from the sky, soaking the green tunic Aragorn's face was pressed in.
Slowly, slowly, the storm blew itself out; as Aragorn's sobs slowly died, the sky began to clear, and a single beam of sunlight pierced through the charcoal gray clouds and fell upon the human kneeling in the mud, cradling a fair body against him.
Tenderly, Aragorn laid Legolas upon the ground, brushing stray strands of blonde from the pale face, the same face that had once glowed with life now so very still. "Be at peace, mellon-nin," Aragorn whispered, leaning down to press his lips against Legolas' brow, before he slowly drew back and wiped tears from his eyes.
Aragorn slowly stood, sliding his bloodied sword into the sheath at his hip. Dazedly, his eyes and body aching, Aragorn scanned his surroundings. The land around them was trampled and muddy from the battle, and the bodies of the Orcs littered the ground, and the single beam of light that had pierced through the clouds fell upon Legolas' still body.
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, calming his fiercely aching heart. Just as he did, he felt something enter him, robust and fierce, gentle and full of light; Legolas. Even if his friend had left Middle- earth, he was still with him. Unfastening the star-shaped brooch at his throat, Aragorn pulled off the deep green cloak he wore over his coat and covered Legolas' body with it before he bent down and lifted him into his arms. He refused to leave Legolas here, to be eaten by carrion and to feed the earth as the Orcs would do. No; he would see to a proper burial, even if he had to carry him all the way back to Rivendell.
His body ached, but somehow his heart did not pain him as much as it had. Holding Legolas close to him, Aragorn began walking, leaving behind him the bodies of the Orcs.
This story was written by a good friend of mine, Aeron. Positive Criticism is greatly appreciated! So if you could take the time after reading this chapter, please review with any comments you have. =) Thank you, and enjoy.
centerThese Tears We Cry/center
The sky was as black as a starless midnight, even though it was midday. Clouds of angry black and purple roiled o'erhead, lit occasionally by white- hot forks of lightning. Torrents of rain poured from the heavens, cold as rivers in the clutch of winter, drenching any who dared to step out of the shelter of homes in mere minutes. And below, two friends fought for each other and their own lives.
Legolas spun, twisting his lithe body in full rotation and plunging his twin knives in the stomach of Orc, ripping them out and barely managing to dodge the swipe of a longsword aimed at his head. Wisps of golden hair, pale as the summer moon, escaped the two delicate braids that held half of his hair back and clung to his cheeks, but Legolas was too caught up in battle to notice.
Aragorn swept an Orc sword aside, his blade a silver fire in the night as he cleaved foes left and right. His swept his sword in a wide arc, cleaving a head off of an Orc's shoulder and stabbing another in the stomach, his breathing coming hard and fast.
They had never meant to be caught in the frenzy of battle as they were now. They had set out from Rivendell two days ago, meaning to spend some time in Legolas' homeland of Mirkwood. For the first day, their journey had been peaceful; Lord Elrond, Aragorn's adoptive father, had done well in keeping the western side of the Misty Mountains clear of foes, at least near his beloved valley, but it was the next noontide that their luck left them. They had camped beneath a rocky overhang to protect them from the foul weather common this season, though none had come upon them. Just as they were breaking camp, contentedly oblivious to the fact that they were being watched was when they were ambushed.
They did not think the battle would be so long. At first, it had been a mere handful or so of the black creatures, but just as the clouds o'erhead darkened the sky, so did more of the creatures darken the land until the two friends were surrounded.
Orcs were no creatures to be intimidated, plunging ahead before they thought of whatever dangers lay before them, but even they were wary of the strength of the Fair Being and the man. Their dead lay about them, black blood mixing with the mud beneath them. The Orcs had thought the two would be dead by now, but still they fought stoically, standing back to back and circling as they killed the dark creatures.
As much as Aragorn was loathe to admit it, he was wearying. Though young - one-and-twenty and in the prime of his youth - his body was not as strong as an elder of his kindred, and the numbers they were up against were staggering. He watched as his friend twisted and dodged, side-stepping swinging swords with the grace of a dancer, his steps light despite the mud that sucked at his own boots.
He knew Legolas' body was made to endure, for the Elf was several hundred years his senior, but even Aragorn was surprised he had lasted so long. Though Orcs hated all creatures of good will, their hatred for the First Born burned the brightest; they did not often kill what Elves they fought, yet took them captive to be twisted into darkness, such as they once were.
Dancing away from an Orc sword, Aragorn knocked the blade away before plunging his own sword into the Orc's stomach, biting through leather and chainmail and skin, before he ripped it back out, ignoring the warm splash of blood on his hands.
He never saw the sword.
"Aragorn!" The cry came from Legolas, just as the creature, it's longsword raised high o'erhead to cleave the human in two, advanced towards him. Aragorn turned, struggling to see through the rain, before a strong, slender body collided with his own.
Aragorn reeled, his arms cartwheeling in an attempt to keep his balance, but his weary body went against him and he crashed to the ground. Wiping mud from his face, he struggled to sit up, shaking water and hair from his eyes, just before they widened in horror when he saw Legolas.
The prince was standing stock-still and clutching his stomach, where the sword protruded, his hands tight around the hilt. His own eyes widened as realization struck him. He was going to die. Already, he could feel Death's icy hand creep over him. His body felt weightless, but even so he slowly dropped to his knees, his breathing shallow.
"LEGOLAS!" Aragorn shouted, jumping to his feet. The few Orcs left alive closed in about him, determined to keep the human from aiding his friend, but Aragorn's fury outmatched even their own, and Orcs fell left and right beneath his blade. Yanking a dagger from his belt, he ran towards the Orc who had struck Legolas, burying his knife in the creatures black heart. He shoved aside the heavy body as it fell, before he dropped to his knees beside his friend. "Legolas."
Legolas blinked, struggling to clear his blurry vision. Slowly, it cleared, and the face swimming above him came into focus. "Aragorn..." So he was alive. Legolas managed a weak smile, for it had been Aragorn for which he stepped infront of the sword. Legolas closed his eyes and shuddered as a spasm of pain rent through his body, clutching the leather of the Ranger's worn overcoat.
"Shh, Legolas," Aragorn said, his voice as soothing as it could be as he squeezed the Prince's hand. "All will be well... I will get you back to Rivendell... Just stay with me..." he murmured, even as he reached for the sword hilt protruding from Legolas' stomach.
"Don't," Legolas gasped, clutching his wrist tightly and pulling it away from the wound. "I-It is too late, Estel..." Indeed, it was; blood steadily spread a crimson stain over the deep green of his tunic, a beautifully horrific sight. "It is my time..."
"No!" Aragorn said fiercely, holding the Prince tightly as if to keep the spirit of his friend still inside of him. "It is not your time, Legolas! It never will be your time!"
Legolas smiled weakly up at Aragorn, his body curled protectively around the Elf's to shield him from the rain. "It is well," he murmured, blinking furiously to keep his eyes clear. "I... I could not let the sword hit you, my friend... You... have years ahead of you... You are too young to die..."
"Legolas, do not say such things! You will live... You must. I beg you to stay with me."
"I cannot," he said softly, his vice-like grip on the human's overcoat easing as the candle of life within him began to waver. "Estel... Tell my father gently... A-and promise me you will not grieve..."
"Legolas..."
"Promise me!"
Aragorn closed his eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. "I promise," he whispered, opening his eyes once more.
Legolas smiled, resting his head wearily in the crook of Aragorn's arm. "I am cold, Estel..." he murmured, holding the human tighter as shivers wracked his body.
Aragorn cradled Legolas close, his arms tightening around the fading Prince. Legolas could not be dieing... He was an Elf... He was to live forever... It was he who the sword should be sticking from, not Legolas!
"I'm sorry, Estel... I cannot..." Legolas whispered, his eyes slowly falling shut. "I'm sorry..." Legolas' voice slowly faded, and the body within Aragorn's arms went limp as the immortal spirit fled.
"Legolas? Legolas!" No matter how Aragorn pleaded, the Prince would not respond. Sobs racked his body, and this time Aragorn did nothing to hold them back. His tears mixed with the rain still pouring down from the sky, soaking the green tunic Aragorn's face was pressed in.
Slowly, slowly, the storm blew itself out; as Aragorn's sobs slowly died, the sky began to clear, and a single beam of sunlight pierced through the charcoal gray clouds and fell upon the human kneeling in the mud, cradling a fair body against him.
Tenderly, Aragorn laid Legolas upon the ground, brushing stray strands of blonde from the pale face, the same face that had once glowed with life now so very still. "Be at peace, mellon-nin," Aragorn whispered, leaning down to press his lips against Legolas' brow, before he slowly drew back and wiped tears from his eyes.
Aragorn slowly stood, sliding his bloodied sword into the sheath at his hip. Dazedly, his eyes and body aching, Aragorn scanned his surroundings. The land around them was trampled and muddy from the battle, and the bodies of the Orcs littered the ground, and the single beam of light that had pierced through the clouds fell upon Legolas' still body.
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, calming his fiercely aching heart. Just as he did, he felt something enter him, robust and fierce, gentle and full of light; Legolas. Even if his friend had left Middle- earth, he was still with him. Unfastening the star-shaped brooch at his throat, Aragorn pulled off the deep green cloak he wore over his coat and covered Legolas' body with it before he bent down and lifted him into his arms. He refused to leave Legolas here, to be eaten by carrion and to feed the earth as the Orcs would do. No; he would see to a proper burial, even if he had to carry him all the way back to Rivendell.
His body ached, but somehow his heart did not pain him as much as it had. Holding Legolas close to him, Aragorn began walking, leaving behind him the bodies of the Orcs.