Title: When the World Ends

Rating: R for later chapters

Summary: About 500 years after RotK Legolas is the only elf still in Middle-earth, bound by a promise to the dead Aragorn. When mysterious portents begin signaling the end, Legolas starts to wish he had left for 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. And violence.

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: Not saying a word. Just go read the chapter. Longer letter later. Alliterations are amazingly annoying. 

Chapter IV

"I regret to say she is dead. Lady Adelaide passed away giving birth to her only child four years ago, during the second year of our marriage," Aran said. His hair had lightened from sun, and his hands had callused from work since he took up the sword of the general despite the pleas of his advisor. Now he addressed the diplomat with a tact that had not been present six years prior. The uncomfortable, yet required small talk out of the way, deliberations began on a land purchase.

"Are you ready to sign, my lord?" The messenger said, holding a sheaf of papers to be signed, as well as a quill pen.

"I must confer with my advisor before this purchase is made final."

"And where is your advisor my lord? Does he not always attend such meetings with you?" The messenger questioned, annoyed at being detained.

"He is on personal leave, he had a family issue that needed attention. We did not expect your presence for another week or more, otherwise I would have asked him to stay." Aran wondered where his advisor sojourned to each year, but was loathe to ask. He guessed it had something to do with his love from elder days. Old memories had no place in the present and the past had died, and nothing would allow it to come back. Aran had learned four years ago that pondering the past was sure to drive any man to madness.

-

Aragorn did not like this wood. It had been a vibrant place once, now it seemed blanched of true color and the serenity that had acted as mortar seemed to have been chipped away, leaving the rest ready to fall at a breath of breeze. The golden leaves appeared to close in around him. He felt trapped in amber.

He was tempted to turn back, he had never wished to return to this place, not since the passing of the elves. For Aragorn it had been a place of great joy, yet this too had been stolen. Since the Lady's passing the woods had been a foreboding image, for her magics were swiftly unraveling. Dark creatures encroached on its borders, held back only by the fear of what might already lie within, waiting for its next meal. Aragorn shared the creatures' phobia - these woods were too still, the winds too serene. He could sense a presence, but it, too, was cloaked in sadness to tell of its nature and such despair could be dangerous.

Aragorn clutched the hilt of his sword, which had protected him through many scuffles that would have brought another man to his doom. He was forced to wonder why he had not suffered any wound larger than a shaving nick since his 'awakening,' as Maude had called it. What powers were pushing him through this life? Was it truly so dire that a man of Numenorean blood take up the throne of Gondor? The quest set before him, he did not desire taking and yet he was made to. He had found the first two artifacts required of him, now he needed only to find his sword from the days of old and he would have all he needed to demand his place as the rightful king of Gondor.

In sooth he did not wish to regain the throne, ruling once had nearly driven him beyond mad, to rule again, and this time without Legolas, would be a task no man deserved. Only the prophesying of Maude kept him upon this path. The path now leading him through the abandoned woods of Lothlorien.

Ever was Aragorn wary of the Ghost of Lothlorien, whatever form it truly took. Be it elf, phantom or wizard, Aragorn had lived too long, and through too much to be caught off guard by a harpist's tale. He believed the Golden Ghost was in some form real, as all fairy stories were. He dreamed, perhaps, that Legolas was the Ghost, holding true to the boon of his passing day. Yet in his heart he felt that Legolas had died with him on that day. Aragorn did not begrudge him, the promise had been to give Legolas a happiness, he never had expected any great threat to Middle Earth, what he had wanted was a chance for his beloved to live once more, free of a dead man's shadow.

Fallen leaves, once a rarity in Lothlorien, littered the ground, and yet Aragorn passed over them without leaving a sign of his presence. The talans of old, he noticed, were decrepit and discolored, all save one. It would not be noticeable to the untrained eye, and it was hard for even Aragorn with his skills of a ranger, to recognize that this had been lived in lately. The resident had known how to track, otherwise he could not have created such a well disguised home.

With light feet and careful eye did Aragorn approach the great mallorn, taking on the persona of his old ranger self. Strider he was once more. The spiraled ramp was surprising strong for all the years it had survived. He had no doubts, something inhabited the talan, and he was curiosity bound to find out what. The walls of the building had been coated with moss, colored with mud, shaved pickax. The roof had been disarrayed, but not so much as to reveal the canvas cover beneath. Inside however was the most important clue. Many of the backwater inns had been dirtier than this. There was a pallet bed, several baskets of garments, and an ornate writing desk. More baskets held scrolls, and there was a whole room filed with just the scrolls. A bow hung near the door, next to it a quiver of arrows with fletchings in a bold green. The chair by the desk held the residual warmth of a body. A person had been here, and lately. Aragorn picked up the parchment on the desk, it was still covered in damp ink. Silently he read the words.

//The duke continues to play at being a general, while ruling his lands. He knows not what awaits him if he continues upon this path. I have heard more dark rumors from the mountains, yet I know not the details. The danger has heightened since I first scried it in the Mirror. I do not envy those who live in the mountains, not only because of my distaste for cliffs, but because of the danger they will soon be living in. My heart yet grieves, I fear it shall never heal. I oft wonder how Aran has made it through since his wife's death. He does not seem to feel the pain of loss any longer. I wonder why my grief cannot pass as his has. Certainly a reprieve is needed from this sorrow of centuries.//

The other scrolls were read and cast aside. Aragorn noticed how similar this hand was to his lover's. He saw accounts of the changes of Middle Earth that dated back centuries, back almost until the days of his passing, all in the same pen. Could it be, that Legolas lived here?

-

For years Legolas had visited Aragorn's memorial on the first of March. The most emotional had been six years past, he still bore the marks, a white line of scar tissue down each palm. The blood had been cleansed from the blade in less than a year, but the raw emotion still spilled onto Legolas' soul. Every year his visit was harder to bear, a bit of him being stripped away, 'til he was a strange sort of wraith, a slave to memory, not any mystical ring.

He hated to admit it, but his annual return was partly in hopes of Aragorn returning to him. Legolas knew it was impossible, but he felt that if he mourned and prayed enough the Valar would take pity on him, and allow his love back. It could not happen - not while the seasons still progressed. So Legolas made other excuses to return to the monument.

He would return to his old residence, and scry, finding the futures of many, the futures that would come in a day or a century and rest in a bed of safety, where he no longer felt threatened by the shadows of cloak racks. Politics had always made Legolas ill at ease, even more so since the assassination of Aragorn. No matter how lush the mattress or how soft the pillows, his bed may as well have been made of rocks.

The dark threat of origins unknown had not eased Legolas' wary mind. Shadows were sent to bring their master the elf's head and any orc was as the coming of doom. His dreams had been darker of late, as had the messages from other manors. He wished Aran would stay safely behind the walls of his castle and cease his hunts. Not only did hunting endanger the duke more than necessary, it cut down the game in the woods, game which would be needed if the castle fell to siege. And it would fall to siege, this much Legolas knew. He no longer needed to use the Mirror to See, for premonitions had begun to enter his mind without warning, striking as a dream in which he could feel, taste, touch. Scenes from these visions had passed in time, he remembered the sensation of existing twice, of knowing what would happen and yet being unable to stop it.

-

The great walls of Anduindale, which had never been broken through, were rubble, and dark creatures swarmed through. In places where the wall was not yet breached, siege towers came forth in a mockery of how the trees of Fangorn had beaten back the hillmen at Helm's Deep. Inside the castle babes cried for their fathers, pudgy wine-stain arms gripping at their mothers' hair and dress. Between the barricade and the structure was a dumping ground for refuse. Bodies of men at arms lay scattered about as leaves. The workshops of tradesmen were charred timbers and scorched stone. Much labored upon crafts were now little more than piles of ash. The once proud city was now a flaming landmark.

-

Legolas shook away the vision, his blonde hair whipping out from the cloak of shadows, creating comet trails across his face. He had seen the vision many times and each time the cries seemed more desperate. Kismet was ever against him, destroying all he knew. From the inside to out he, also, was being destroyed. The sick feeling rose up in his stomach, and Legolas' lunch climbed its way up his throat. The bile lay on the monument, slowly dripping down through the rocky crevices, as Legolas tried to clean his mouth of the taste of loss. His ills were not of the flesh, but of the mind.

Civilization had done little for Legolas, simply made him better remember his losses. Every amorous advance made towards him, of which there were many, made him yearn more for Aragorn. There was a time when he would take up every offer, hoping to feel something - anything - that would instill in him a will to live. After each encounter he felt only deep wracking guilt; Aragorn had given him so much, given up so much for him, and now he tarnished his memory with meaningless screwing. Legolas hated himself for giving into base desires under eloquent pretenses and unkept promises. He'd been no better than a man who visited a brothel while his family slept, telling himself that each time would be the last. He so wanted to pass beyond, into the halls he had visited once before, but it was denied to him until he completed the task set before him, whatever it may be.

-

The Halls of Mandos were cloaked in the darkest of satins. Its lord and lady wore raiment of black yet they seemed to glow in the darkness of the Halls.

"He truly wishes death upon himself. His despair is greater than I believed." Námo rested his head in his palms. "Does he not understand that passing to this world would only increase his pain? To make him believe he will be reunited with his love only to find that they will be parted for many more years would destroy him further."

Vairë rested her hand upon the arm of her husband. "He can See, yes, but has not been imbued with the power to see everything or to see what he chooses. Legolas does not know that his lover lives."

"He cannot pass on without my bidding, but I worry that he is becoming unstable. If he hasn't the conviction to live then his quest shall be doomed, for him as well as those who accompany him. He needs to trust that when he sees Aragorn it is no spell or mirage. I do not believe he could do that now."

"Ask your brother, have him send a dream which tells of Aragorn's return and instills hope within him once more."

"Would a dream be enough?"

-

Legolas knelt at the base of the monument. His eyes leaked with tears that created dark trails through his dust coated face and muddied clothing. The monument had been cleaned of the vomit and the stone was clean aside from a layer of lichen that covered the north side. The scars on Legolas' hands seemed strangely bright, like the glow of Eärendil on a moonless night. The plaque was deeply shadowed by the trees and the letters could barely be made out. The twilight filtered through the branches of pines and oaks casting everything in a ghastly glow.

The ranger watched the scene silently. To still be so mourned centuries after death, left Aragorn shocked. He did not want to interrupt, but seeing Legolas alive and so open, almost waiting upon his return, made him need to speak to him.

"Legolas."

The elf shot to attention, jumpy as a bunny in wolf's den. His eyes flicked around before resting on Aragorn. "It can't be. You died, I saw you. It was that poison."

"The Valar sent me back." Aragorn took a step closer.

"You're a mirage, or a tool of the dark powers."

One more step. "I'm neither; the Valar sent me back. They said my task was not done and that you needed me."

Legolas took his first step. "Oh Valar, I cannot believe it. You are alive and well and..." The tears started flowing now, harder than ever, and these summoned Aragorn.

The embrace was long, each gripping the other with all the might they possessed. Legolas tried to make up for centuries of loss, drinking in the scent and feel. Aragorn tipped his head up and leant in for a kiss.

-

A/N: Yes, I am an evil person. What of it? Like the Alias/24 style twist with jumping years? I did, I tried to write in the same time frame as the first three and it started rebelling against me. I'm actually not over fond of the last bit, I'm not good at writing mush or reunion scenes. Or at least this reunion scene. And I am oh so very sorry about the delay, but this chapter hates me, I'd turn on my computer and try to write but I could barely get more than a sentence done. My attention was also diverted by this strange need to work on my private school applications since I have been given an ultimatum. Update time should improve soon, once the REAL plot starts. And three cheers to my wonderful beta, AntipodeanOpaleye.

Review Responses:

Katja - Thanks for the many complements, I aim to please.

Seelenspiel - So very sorry to keep you waiting, but real life calls and unfortunately takes precedence over fanfic. You got a tiny little glimpse of what it was like, and more will be offered in the time to come.

Radiion-hobbitwarrior - I cut the confusion and trouble, simply because it wasn't writing well. Or at all, I seriously wrote all of five sentences before realizing that I couldn't force twelve more pages of it. The past hasn't been forgotten, and there is this amazing little device called flashbacks that I will be using on a regular basis. And I must apologize about updates - stupid real life.

Mon2 - I'm feeling guilty now. Every review I read said something about update soon, and this was a far cry from soon. But wow... You really thought I sounded like Tolkien. *Gulps, falls over, goes into shock* Can you write a reference for me? Please?

AntipodeanOpaleye - Ah, yes... dragging it out... this chapter is incredibly deceiving in many, many, many respects. Don't take anything from here at face value. Thanks for the e-mail review (if I didn't thank you in the reply) I will posted the reedited 1-3 as soon as I figure out just how to get word files running on my computer.