Title: When the World Ends
Rating: R for later chapters
Summary: About 500 years after RotK Legolas is the only elf still in MiddleEarth, bound by a promise to the dead Aragorn. When mysterious portents begin signaling the end, Legolas starts to wish he had left for the Valinor - until he sees someone he didn't expect holding the key to the world's salvation... if they can ever figure out how to make it work. A/L slash
Warnings: This is *slash.* If you don't like it, don't read. Also there shall be ANGST, and heavy emotional torture.
Spoilers: All LotR with a slightly AU RotK, and some of The Silmarillion
Distribution: Want, take, have. Just ask first so I know where I can find it. This way I can go Wow, look, my story's on a page that isn't mine or FF.net.'
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing is owned by me. Owned by me is nothing. I don't even own the title, it's from the DMB song of the same name.
Author's Note: *In the style of Monty Python* I'm not dead yet! *Martin Luther King Jr. Voice* I had a dream that someday my computer would work again. *Regular voice* And guess what? It is! Working, I mean. They replaced about half of my computer and it cost CompUSA over $1,500. I love extended service agreements. Otherwise I'd be paying the cost of a new computer. Thank you reviewers - without you I'd probably still be holed up in my room refusing to talk and having only caffeine in copious doses. ¡Oh! I'm writing a large majority of this on Yom Kippur so I may go into a long pointless paragraph about lambas bread or other food as a place for me to put my hunger.
Review Responses:
cherryfaerie: I had this clearly marked as A/L so don't say you weren't warned. I'm glad you like my fic enough to keep reading despite the slashiness.
Snuffles2: No worries on the continuing front, I have several chapters mind mapped. Thank you so much for support during my computer crisis.
Kil Krazee: The line is actually a complete original unless I unintentionally referenced - and the quote is important in the *looks at tentative outline* near future.
judy: Thanks for the complements. This story actually hit me, because I was sick of seeing only slave or mpreg fics, and I wanted to write something different.
Radiion-hobbitwarrior: I'm glad you like my story and thanks for the computer support. And no I don't think they have leg hair, but I could be wrong.
g: I'm glad you like my writing style (my English teacher sure doesn't) and the concept. On the mortals/Halls of Mandos thing - Beren was a mortal and he went to the Halls of Mandos (Of Beren and Lúthien The Silmarillion). As for my closet, literally it's in my room (though it's impossible to see past the clutter) and it contains clothes and empty boxes. Figuratively it resides in a tiny niche of my computer and contains parodies of all types, one of which is posted.
Noriel: Here it is!
Angsty Elf Thankies. Angst shall continue to make up a largish part of the fic, even when things start looking up for our poor elf.
Chapter II
The darkness faded in about him, a welcoming cloak of death and disappear. E'er since the death of his beloved had he worn it, but at times it wrapped tighter, stilling all joy that touched him. But through the wool he could still see, for not yet had he been stifled. Gleaming bough seemed to him, but shades of gray, blinded to color in his grief.
The despair was a constant, and in that Legolas took comfort. As long as the pain of loss lingered, so did his life and his oath was not betrayed. More often than not he was almost swayed to surrender, almost allowed himself to pass into the encompassing void that was death. For years Legolas had bound himself to Middle Earth with a promise, but it seemed to unwind as a poorly spun thread. Reduced to matted clumps of flax was the oath now. It held no sway over grief and its train of death.
So Legolas succumbed to the grief - his world became a palette of gray monotone. The world appeared as shadows.
Though the tree and the shrubs the elf saw a foreigner. The man. He knelt over his lover, his body's hunched form and creased brow belying the grief that he felt. Pulling up the hood of his black cloak Legolas approached, urging his horse into fast trot The man's eye darted to the rider and muttered. What do you want?
What grieves you so? The thick cowl hid the elve's features, making it seem as though the words were issued by a void. He slid from his horse and approached the man.
The man regarded Legolas' black clad form as he strode closer. Are you death?
I am not death, though it draws near to me and has long wrought its ruin upon my heart. Legolas knelt in the moist earth beside the woman. His fingers found her wrist and paused there, catching the pulse. Two punctures, both still leaking blood, sat on her upper arm. She yet draws breath, though her blood is tainted by a strong poison. If you allow it, I shall try what I can to save her.
Do it, do anything as long as you save her, the man cried, frantic with grief. His nails dug furrows into the damp soil, as sweat slid down the slope of his brow in a slow moving waterfall. Legolas lifted the limp maid, placing her across his mare's withers and leapt on behind. The man took to his own mount, and thus they set off, galloping through the fading trees.
Branches beat them mercilessly, scraping and tearing at their skin. Welts bloomed in crazy patterns across the man's face - Legolas' was well protected by his cloak. Golden Lorien leaves were churned into miniature tornadoes by the horses' hooves. The man found himself falling behind, the woods had been memorized by Legolas many years past, and the path they took wound through many thickets and turned sharply to avoid tree trunks. Fallen logs and swollen creeks created an intricate obstacle course. Legolas pulled up sharply at the tree which supported his talan, the mare skidding to a stop, tossing her red dawn mane in a violent sea spray. The man pulled up behind him, jumping from the saddle before his horse had even fully stopped. Legolas slid down gently, holding the woman lightly in his arms, beckoning the man to follow him up the spiraling path to his home.
In Legolas' dwelling the woman was laid down and a fire was kindled. Herbs of every hue, were minced and ground, some mixed into a salve, others placed in the pot above the flame and boiled to make a medicine. The house smelt of brimstone and elanor. The salve was rubbed into the skin of the woman's upper arm in liberal doses. It was intended to draw out poison that still lingered near the wound. The mixture on the fire reached a rolling boil, and it began changing colors, first a light lavender, then murky green, finally resting on a butter yellow. Legolas ladled the drink into a crystalline goblet and waited for it to cool. Steam wafted out in thin tendrils, reaching for the clouds beyond the thatched roof. Soon the surface rested and the steam ceased, and it was then that Legolas poured the drink down the woman's throat. Instantaneously, she began to thrash and writhe, her body waging war with itself. Shivers wracked her body, as limbs began to twitch franticly and of their own accord. She struck out at everything and yet she hit everything in range. Her hair and nails grew and pallor stayed on her face.
This poison is stronger than I expected, yet she still overcomes it. Be not troubled by her thrashing, it is the only way for her to stop the poison's spread and fight its death grip, Legolas informed the man. The spasms slowed until they were nothing more than a slight twitch. A healthy flush crossed her cheeks and her breathing evened from its shallow gasps, although she did not awake. She shall live, for her battle ends and she has not passed. The man's face shone as though with the light of Eärendil. For the first time, Legolas took note of the man's face. Sandy locks were tied back with a leather thong, showing red cheeks and full lips. Dark honey eyes sparkled with the precursor to tears. He wore a noble's tunic - crimson dye was sparse and fabric that fine, rare. A fine sword was slung in his belt, but Legolas could tell it had never been washed in blood. The leather on the hilt was as new as it had been stripped from the cow, and the man's hands were smooth from only ever wielding a pen. This was no mind for swordsmanship or battle tactics, this man had a skill for figures and facts.
May I ask the name of my lady's savior?
I am Cúloron.
Cúloron, that is Elvish, is it not? By any means, I am Aran, duke of Aduindale. Should you e'er need my aid in any matter I offer it gladly.
Legolas inclined his head in acknowledgment of status. When she wakes, she shall still be quite weak. You may stay here until she is well enough to travel, Legolas offered. Your aid is most welcome. Look, your lady stirs. Indeed, the maiden seemed to go through the motions of waking. When she awakes your lady shall be weak. I offer you the hospitality of my home until you are both well enough to depart.
I accept your offer, though I yet have a question. Why are you so kind to us? You live in an abandoned wood, last inhabited in the third age, ere the elves left, and seek not any company.
The elf took a deep breath and lidded his eyes. I lost someone... close to me to a poison. It was a horrid death. No one deserves that death, whether they are known to me or not. The only reason I am yet alive is promise, and I seek no human companionship because I desire none. The hood was wrapped closer about Legolas' face, so that not even shadows could be seen.
Whose death affected you so much that you retreated to solitude?
I'll start making a pallet for you.
-
Black shadows were etched into the mossy green of Druadan Forest. The branches hunched in around the trail, creating a great hall through the woods. The horses padded silently on the muddy carpeting of grass. The king had shed his heavy traveling jerkin and was wearing a simple, faded, black shirt. It was a leisurely ride through the woods, neither man nor elf overeager to return to Minas Tirith. So they meandered aimlessly through the forest, watching leaves fall and deer freeze before skittering back into the underbrush.
A high whistle pierced the serenity of the forest. A black fletched arrow lodged itself at feet of the king's horse. The bay reared and plunged, however the man held his balance. Another arrow spun towards the king. A swarm of easterlings burst through the trees, swords glinting in the forest light. Their battle cry came out in a sickly rasp, each syllable a guttural screech. The elf drew his bow, and thus the first line of attackers was slain. The king unsheathed the sword of his kin, twirling it in graceful sweeps, that effectively barricading him from the war hungry easterlings. The might of the enemy fell before the skill of the man and elf, working together with a mastery honed by years of fighting back to back and the bond of lovers.
The remaining assassins retreated to the underbrush, like the deer. In this moment, when victory passed over the small battlefield the last shot was fired from a retreating foe. Alerted by his lover's call, the king turned sharply, and the arrow imbedded itself in his lower arm, instead of stomach. To neither the wound seemed fatal, yet it would be the king's bane in times to come.
-
Legolas woke to a feeling that had been foreign to him for many years. Aran was shaking his shoulder violently.
You had been screaming in your sleep, twitching and writhing as Adelaide fighting the poison. You called a name, Aragorn, I think it was, in your distress. I feared to let you dream any longer, it looked as though you would injure yourself with your thrashing, the man offered in explanation.
Legolas checked his hood, making sure his features were hidden. I have been living alone for longer than you could know. I have had dreams far worse than this with no one to wake me and I still live. Your help was most unwelcome.
The man seemed both abashed and arrogant. I'm sorry if I offended you, but I was acting as anyone would, when they saw you convulse so. What could have possibly upset you so much to lash out at me?
Perhaps I was living in the past. Though it may not have been happy, it was a time when those I cared about still lived. The only time I can see them now is in my memories.
What were you dreaming of then that reminded you of the past?
Air rushed from Legolas' mouth in a low stream. The last moment with one very close to me before he was condemned to a death he did not deserve.
Aran mouthed the words condemned to death' several times over before he turned away. So you hide away from society because of crime committed by an old friend and yourself?
Neither Aragorn nor I were criminals. Legolas choked on his breath, realizing he had told a complete stranger the name of the most important person in his life. How does your lady?
She woke while you yet slept, she walked about the room for a while before her strength gave out. I feel that when she next wakes we can take our leave of you.
May you be safe on your journey. I must depart, for I am pressed with errands of great import.
-
The hour ride had brought Legolas to his destination - a small clearing in the forest, carpeted all in grass except for one large boulder in the direct center of the clearing. The craggy rock seemed to almost have a face, so worn were the fissures and bulges. Sprouting, fountain like, from the top was a great sword, its edge somewhat dulled by time and the elements. The hilt was carefully crafted of the best design and make that the world had to offer. The rusting blade still gleamed brightly, splaying light in between the trees. The name of the sword and its bearer were engraved in the rock in the near extinct Tengwar script. Adúril, sword of Aragorn son of Arathorn II, High King of Gondor.
Memorial of one lover and the deathbed of another. Legolas leaned against the rock and waited, as the blackness began to wrap itself about him.
-
The castle at Anduindale was a massive structure, dwarfing all the surrounding buildings. Its walls were made of giant slabs of gray marble, smooth and sheer as the falls of Rauros. No enemy could scale the walls, and never once had the castle fallen when it was besieged. It was to this fortress that Aran had ridden at all speed, having left Adelaide with at a house of healing along the wayside. He would return for her the next day, but now there was the matter of the skulking personage in the woods. I need any information you may have of a man named Cüloron and another by the name of Aragorn who was put to death for a criminal charge, Aran demanded of his steward.
But sir, Aragorn is one of the forbidden names. None has been named that since the third age and the passing of the great king. And never in my years have I e'er heard the name of Cüloron, despite the birthing certificates I receive daily, the steward pleaded.
There must be someone! Search for any records of this man! The man strode away, slamming the door to his study behind him. He pick up the elven text that was lain across his desk and began to search.
Gold Bow, what manner of name is that? Aran mused as his steward burst in, flushed and at a loss of breath. What news have you?
No Cüloron has ever set foot in this land and as I said there has been no Aragorn since the great king. Here is a short text about the king, perhaps this shall bring somethings to light.
The duke's eyes skimmed over the words, his mouth silently speaking the words. The king's consort was an elf? A male elf?
Aye, and nothing is known about what happened to the elf after the king's death. It was assumed he died or left for Valinor, but none rightly know.
Tell me more of this elf, I feel there may be a great connection, Aran requested.
The elf was a prince in his own right, heir to the throne of Mirkwood. He was renowned to be a great archer.
the duke murmured. And his name?
-
To be continued...
A/N: What's with Anduindale, it was never in the books,' you're saying. Five hundred years have passed, borders, politics, and government in general have changed. This is a feudal manor area, that was established 150 years prior to the time of the story and is built on the Eastern bank of the river Anduin. And the OCs?' Just about all of Tolkien's characters have: A.) died, B.) traveled to Valinor. These aren't the last of the OCs, but I promise to make them as anti-Mary Sue as possible, so please don't flee.
Review, or no Aragolas for you. How's it shaping up? I haven't completely killed it, have I? I always kill things in the second chapter, why should this be different?
