Title: When the World Ends
Rating: PG-13, despite earlier warnings, I doubt its ever going to reach an R rating.
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 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 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 is 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: You are forced to suffer through my "bloody awful poetry" if I may borrow a 'Spike-ism.' I am incredibly sorry. And yes, I am drawing on one of my favorite myths. I also must impress upon you that the journey from Legolas' home to Anduindale is a short journey, about three hours at a trot (eh... about twenty miles me thinks). A slow gallop is about 15/20 miles per hour. Just a little note in case anyone wonders why the distance seems to change. The next chapter should be up soon (only two more pages!) and unbeta-ed copies will be posted in my fic/art LJ www.ceffyl_dwr.livejournal.com/.
Chapter V
When Legolas awoke, he was still swimming in the pleasant mist his dreams had left behind. He reached over to feel his lover's warmth and found it gone. The haze cleared, and he searched with flashing, tear-filled eyes. There was no indent in the grass near him, no garments or tools lay on the ground. It must have been just a dream, nothing more. Was Irmo so cruel as to lay this temptation upon him?
His preparations for departure were swift. The clothing and supplies were crammed into his saddle bags, the daggers and bow sheathed. Legolas' possessions packed, he whistled for Mothnár. The chestnut mare pranced toward him, head bowed and knees high. The load was secured to her back, and it was then that Legolas paused to look back at the monument. He would mourn here no more. The grief wrought by his memories would be allowed to fade until they were naught but a nightmare. The past would stay here, as Legolas moved forward into his visions of the future – and when his task was complete and he was bound to Middle-earth no more, he would die.
It was as though in a trance that Legolas approached the monument. He clasped the hilt and bowed his head against the pommel, its smooth metal a reassurance that perhaps, all was not quite lost. He cast one lingering gaze at the stone as he departed, he would see it nevermore in the real world, though it was sure to haunt his dreams, and be present in his long lingering memories.
He swung atop Mothnár, and galloped from the grove, looking back over his shoulder the entire time. Now that he was letting go, he was loath to release it, for the past had everything he could not find now, everything – that despite his attempts – he could not forget.
-
Námo sought the eyes of his wife. "I feared this would happen. He believes his dreams to be taunting him. For him all is in the hands of Aragorn."
"The threads of fate are twisted and coiled in many knots. It is not always for us to untangle them; sometimes they must do it without aid. Aragorn will not waver from his path, and all Legolas must do is find himself once more." Vairë looked up from her weaving. "All will not be in vain. Put your trust in them."
"I wish I could bestow my faith upon them as easily as you have. If they do not unite, the end will come, for us and Middle-earth."
"They will not fail."
-
Having placed several scrolls in his packs, Aragorn was headed out of the heart of Lothlorien. His destination was the small glade that Maude said was the resting place of Anduril. He walked lightly, his hand ever upon the hilt of his hunting knife. It was not his wish to fall prey to foolishness. Every crackle of brush, and every sigh of wind startled him into action. Truth be told, finding that house had made him more than a little uneasy.
He cut his own path through the undergrowth, rather than following the winding trail towards his sword and his destiny. As he traveled he sang a haunting melody under his breath, that was all the more so as it was a requiem for himself.
"The ruler of our people was Aragorn,
And it is him that minstrels do mourn.
A lament for the man who has died,
For the man of strength, valor and pride.
With mercy he did rule these lands,
Though he was ready with sword at hand."
The song continued on in this manner for several more verses, extolling his virtues and despairing over his fate. Finishing the morose ballad he began a walking tune he had learned from Bilbo. Aragorn let his mind wander as he hiked through the woods. Only when it was too late did he realize his error.
The glade was spacious, sheltered by trees leafed with every shade of gold. A large granite boulder that was certainly not natural lay in the middle, and from it spouted Anduril. The sword gleamed the hue of a cardinal in the fading light, the same way it did after a battle when it was still bathed in the humors of those who had fallen before it. Aragorn lay down his packs and the poorly hewn broadsword he carried was dropped to the loam. He walked in wonder towards the boulder, before stopping, perplexed. How was he supposed to get a sword out of solid rock?
Before he could contemplate this, the glade was flooded with orcs. Already the way to his packs was blocked by the milling creatures. He was armed with a hunting knife, and two boot daggers. The host that had encircled him could never be stayed by those. On instinct alone his right hand reached back for his sword, while his left palmed the curved knife at his waist. Anduril slid from the rock as it would have from its sheath. With sword in hand, a battle fury coursed through his limbs. The sword still felt perfect in his hand and with this feeling he launched himself into battle.
Parry, reposte, retreat - all came to him without thinking. He whirled away from an orc that had come dangerously close to dashing his head against a sword. Even as he ducked another blow, he slit the throat of one beast with his knife, as he impaled another. A disarmed orc sent a roundhouse to Aragorn's exposed jaw, and copper blood filled his mouth.
There was no way he could finish this fight alive if he lingered. Flight was necessary, though with more creatures at every turn, there was no way he could dash to safety. The orcs fell in a crescent around him, creating a somewhat barrier. Taking the moment's distraction he climbed atop the boulder. Using his new height he scouted the two leaders and prepared to launch an attack on them. They were the largest and had been adorned with the most weapons and best armor. No doubt they would be hardest to dispatch, but without a leader, the orcs would scatter.
The first line of orcs had climbed the boulder to be smote to the ground. The bodies crushed their comrades. Aragorn leapt from the rock, brandishing his sword, and ran straight through the host of orcs leaving a swathe of corpses in his wake. No more did he worry about the captains, he had sighted his escape and was bent on taking it. An orc blade bit into his side, but Aragorn continued his sprint. When he was out of the woods he could poultice it.
-
"You chose a most inopportune time to take a holiday. Several emissaries from surrounding fiefdoms choose this time to come calling."
"I'm sorry milord. I had no idea there was business to be conducted," Legolas answered honestly.
Aran snorted in a least regal fashion. "And where, pray tell, were you that made it necessary for me to postpone all my meetings? In fact you seem to take leave of this place at this time every year. Where do you go?"
"That knowledge is my own and that is how it shall stay." Legolas smoothed his tunic, and flicked a small clod of dirt from his hose.
"I am your lord and shall be treated as such."
"My lord or ruler of all Arda, I retain the right to have my own business, and have said business remain unquestioned by any other. Good day, milord."
Legolas stalked out of the hall, with all its polished metals and gaudy tapestry, into the fading sunlight.
-
He could not hold this pace for long. If he did not wish to return directly into the hands of his aggressors he needed to keep moving. Out running the orcs on foot was futile, they would catch him quickly and he would be too tired to put up a good fight when they over took him. His only real chance of escape was on horseback, and he had no horse.
Aragorn burst through the shelter of trees, on to the flat plains. The first thing he sighted was a small settlement about two miles off. The inhabitants were farmers, mostly, and farmers would have horses to till the earth, pull carts, ride on journeys. They would be loath to part with the creatures, but they would not endanger their lives needlessly. He could find a horse there.
When he'd reached the village, a black cloud was breaking out of the forest and moving fast. The orcs would descend on this place like dragons, burning and cutting, till there was nothing left. He sprinted into what must have been the town square, for a great number of people were there. They stared in surprise at the gritty, blood and sweat spattered man who came dashing into their land. "Orcs are coming," he wheezed having not fully recovered his voice. "They'll be here in ten minutes. Prepare to fight or flee, their force is almost three score. They will raze this village until nothing but ash remains."
"And who are you that brings such tidings of woe to this town?" a robust man with lank red hair and an equally red face bellowed.
"Naught but a simple traveler who fell upon their encampment in the forest."
The red-haired man snorted, then drew Anduril. "This is a fine sword, is it not? And all simple travelers carry blades of this make and bear such injuries, even in times of peace. A warmonger I call you, for you seek to create strife and instill fear where there ought not be any." Aragorn's eyes lay passively calm throughout the tirade.
"The wary rest little, and even then they are on their guard. Too much danger have I seen to walk unarmed through strange country. Will I be a warmonger still when this place is but a forgotten ruin? I bear only warnings, not ill will. Why do we stand quarreling when these orcs shall be upon you before the moon rises?" He spoke with great conviction; the same tone that had lead troops into hopeless battles and brought them through to be victors. "Return my sword, 'twas passed down from my ancient kinsmen and I cherish it greatly."
Anduril was returned to the hands of its king. "That be a great sword. May it protect you through e'ery battle. We shall flee from this place, few among us are fighters and none are ready to battle. Is there anything you need?"
"A swift horse and directions to your lord. He needs to be informed of this."
"You can take my horse, keep him if you like. He's mighty headstrong and ill-tempered, but he has winged hooves if you can get him to go. To get to milord's hall you must go to the edge of the river then ride north until you see the ford then ride straight 'tis not long off from there. May luck ride with you."
"And with you. May I know the name of one who is so generous?"
"I am Hamath. Come, the horse is this way."
They passed throughout town and everywhere showed the signs of panic, children screamed, animals pawed the earth. The adults collected belongings and family, preparing to move out on an exodus across the plains. Inside the ramshackle barn was a large horse with his ears pinned against his mud brown neck. "This is Rúthsúl. Nasty temper, but a good ride if you can settle him down." He was already tacked, and as Hamath untied him from the hitching post, Rúthsúl tried to take a bite out of his shoulder. "Be good. Carry him safely," Hamath admonished. "May we meet again."
"Luck be with you." With that Aragorn swung onto the horse. Rúthsúl threw several bucks before charging out of the town, straight into the hoarde of orcs. The host quavered at the sight of Aragorn charging atop a seemingly crazed horse. He cut down several foes with one swipe of his blade, the stallion barreling over still more. Rúthsúl reared like a trained charger, clawing at the enemy with iron shod hooves. Black skinned corpses fell as rain, until their number was much reduced, a mere fraction of what it had once been. Aragorn turned his horse then and fled for the river with all haste. The miles sped past in a puree of soil and grass, churned under hoof. The river grew on the horizon, first a narrow thread, now a foaming blue road, tossed over great boulders. The worst was over. He just hoped that the village was faring as well as he.
When Aragorn pulled up his horse at the halls of Anduin, Rúthsúl was covered in thick white lather and Aragorn was equally sweat sheened. A mottled bruise had started to form where the orc punched him. For these reasons the hostler stared strangely at the Dúnadan as he took Rúthsúl to the stables. But it was in the entryway to the hall that Aragorn incurred the most difficulty.
"A right vagabond you look, why should I let you have audience with Lord Aran?" the doorwarden demanded rather rudely.
"I bring your lord tidings, something evil stirs from the forests of Lorien. Your lord needs to hear this news from one who has seen it himself." Aragorn was rather annoyed; he had hoped to receive a somewhat more courteous welcome.
The doorwarden huffed, "If you wish to enter with your news, show proof of your good intentions, which seems unlikely, or find someone in high regard of my lord who will vouch for you."
"I'm a traveler from Minas Tirith, how could I find anyone to vouch for me? And just what makes my intentions seem so dubious?"
"You come wearing clothes worn to the last thread, a most suspicious bruise is painted across your face and you're coated in blood and sweat. Since your arrival, your hand has not left your sword hilt. And by whatever means, a man of good repute knows others of high status in other cities. I suppose that these questions show that you are unable to produce either proof or a contact, so I suggest you leave, before an ill befalls you." The doorwarden was smirking now, obviously enjoying Aragorn's annoyance.
"If this is who I believe him to be, I shall vouch for him." A previously unnoticed figure stepped from the shadows of the outer stair. It was lithe and catlike and fair, though his face was hidden in the shadows. "Hello, Estel."
-
A/N: Cliffie... hehe... I feel evil. I wrote the last four pages of this in the car on the way to Boston while listening to The Hobbit on CD. This also marks the 65 page of When the World Ends. Go me! If anyone wants to do something kind, nominate me for fanfic awards if you know of any... And yes, the horse is based on my own, except Bruin isn't a stallion, which is a very good thing. And of course review. Because reviews are my friends. And so are reviewers. And it's nice to be a friend.
Review Responses: There were two reviews… Yes, this is a pointed comment.
Gwendolyn Oakenstaff: Thanks for the grudging complement, Kris.
Mon2: I am an evil person, something that will be reinforced in both the beginning and ending of this chapter. I'm going to need to invest in smelling salts if you keep saying that... I'm glad you so eagerly await updates, but am very sorry that it takes me so long to post.
Shards of Evensong: Kill the EBET. It wasn't angst that got her, it was the fact that I have creativity, potential and the ability to show her up in class. Thankies. Make cookies then give them to me!
AntipodeanOpaleye: I feel your pain. AOL used to kick me off virtually five minutes after I got on because I had so much shareware. Thanks, but I told you not to be deceived by the reunion. Hehe
Seelenspiel: I'm continuing… It just took some time to write and my beta was busy, but it's here now.
Shinigami061: Thanks, I was aiming for that. And yes I'm evil, very evil. You're actually the first person who got that… and yes poor, poor Legolas, things just don't go well for him… Updates will hopefully come sooner now…
