Title: When the World Ends

Rating: PG-13

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: I'm still writing in the car. Road trips make me very productive. The rune stones and the runes on them in this chapter are strictly from my mind. I have no idea if elves even used rune stones, and the runes are based neither on any of Tolkien's scripts, nor on any runes used by ancient peoples.

Review Responses:

Lana G – I try to update quickly, but real-life apparently hates me so all my plans for updating once a week are crushed. And thank –you- for reviewing.

*NiCoLe – I'm a cruel person. But please don't go bald – I wouldn't want to be blamed for that.

Mon2 – Only a dream… but I actually like this reunion so much more… even if readers don't.

Katja - Thanks. I've been posting, abet slowly. I don't intend on letting this fic die anytime soon – I like it too much. Cliffies are fun to write so they usually come out well.

Silvertoeoak – Yup, I'm evil. And I definitely feel for Aragorn, sometimes it feels like that just being sick for a month… imagine being dead for 500 years… yikes!

Kandice – I used to dislike slash until I read a really good fic. I'm glad you like this enough to continue, and I posted, see?

Dieing Star – I update, really.

Seelenspiel – It's real this time, honestly. Legolas was watching the whole interaction between Aragorn and the gatewarden, since Aragon came galloping in. So he's been watching for quite a while and Aragorn's mannerisms are similar enough to pre-death Aragorn's that Legolas is convinced enough to address him as Estel. Thanks, that's what I was aiming for. I tried to make the entire theme/style of the story show illustrate both the character's personal decline and their personal darkness, so I'm very glad that it reads like that.

Tmlange – Thanks, and here be the next chapter.

Shinigami061 –Cliffies are fun to write too. But don't doubt me so much, I do have a tiny bit of compassion hidden somewhere in there.

SavvySiberian – Do you actually live in Siberia? They will eventually… after much harassment by the evil author. ^_^

Altatarilomine - Sleep depravation and sugar high? Sounds like me only it's usually a coffee high. But thanks so much.

Michelle – Everything being right is going to be a long time in coming. Thanks, everyone says I write like someone older than 15, probably because I read so much, but I'm still incredibly flattered when someone tells me that.

Chapter VI

"Estel."

Estel. Hope. "Hope until there is Hope." It made sense now. Hope had not been meant literally, but as a riddle. A tricky wording to confuse him. He felt himself a simpleton now, for having not figuring it earlier.

Legolas' musings were abruptly interrupted. "That is my name to some, though I have not been called that for many a year." This was Aragorn, make no mistake. "May I inquire as to who you are?"

"Do you not remember me? It is I, Legolas." A disbelieving smile crossed Aragorn's face.

"I'm sorry my old friend, your face was hidden and your voice seemed changed." It was true, Legolas was still cloaked in darkness and his words bounced eerily off the castle walls.

"If this enough proof that he is of good intentions and means Aran no harm?" Legolas addressed the gatekeeper somewhat hautily. He nodded and hastily unbolted the door, allowing the two entry. "I shall personally escort you to Lord Aran."

"I thought you dead," exclaimed Aragorn when the guards were out of earshot.

"I held you in much the same light. I was with you on your deathbed, so excuse me if I am a bit taken aback at the sight of you in living flesh." Legolas shook his head brusquely before continuing, "I'm sorry for my rudeness, Aragorn, this is quite a shock to me. But why do you carry such grievous wounds? You must see a healer."

"My condition stems from the reason why I must speak to Aran. I was traveling through Lothlorien to collect Anduril, when I was attacked by a horde of orcs, though from what I gathered, this land was in a state of peace," Aragorn said. "The full story shall be revealed when I speak to your lord. I do not wish to tell it twice."

They passed through the claustrophobic slate halls with its dark wood pillars, making the passage seem narrower and more foreboding. Nobility reeked from every block of masonry, smoothly hewed granite that could not be found in any near quarries. Tapestry hung from the ceilings and the flambeaux were suspended from the walls with gold bracings.

"He revels in his wealth and status - this hallways screams it loudly enough. What position do you hold in his court that has his followers so in awe of you?" Aragorn asked stiffly. This most unusual reunion had sent both back to awkward conversation and nervous fidgeting. A swift sliver of pain lanced down his face when he spoke, and the still oozing cut felt as through a new forged sword, still smoking from the furnace, lay in it. Aragorn had endured worse wounds that went untreated, but he had been too occupied with some other matter of import to notice the pain, but here, however, he found no respite in forced words and swift glances.

Legolas sighed, had his dreams been reduced to this, a passionless dialogue between acquaintances grasping for a topic of mutual interest? "I've been his chief advisor for the past six years."

"A rich lord's advisor? That is one thing I never saw in your future." This was issued with a sharp bark of laughter. The elf could not help laughing as well and soon camaraderie had made itself known to the pair. A tentative arm embraced Aragorn as it often had before his death. It was returned in kind by the Ranger. "There is much to talk about. After the audience let us seek privacy in your rooms."

"Let us decide that after the audience." With that Legolas threw open an oak door. The expansive study within was cluttered with scrolls. Aran was bent over diligently, pen in hand. Ink smudged his hands and in the dim lighting he looked near to a ghost. He fixed Legolas with what he thought to be a piercing gaze.

"Legolas, who is it that accompanies you?"

"My name is Estel and I can speak for myself. I bring ill tidings. Orcs roam the forest of Lothlorien, armed and roving in organized bands." Aragorn then recounted the attack in the forest. "This is how I come to know of such news. As you hold power in these parts I felt it best that you were informed. What happens now is no longer in my hands. You hold the choice of action."

Aran's face creased and tensed, his eyes held a look of intense desperation. "This is a matter I must consider greatly. Legolas, you and this Estel are dismissed. Make sure he finds himself comfortable."

The trip from the study to Legolas' private chambers was silent, but for the soles of Aragorn's boots slapping against the flagstone. The chamber that they came to, though smaller than the study, was airy and well kept. A large four poster bed took up a good part of the room, and the walls were lined with bookcases. Though nicely finished, the room had no personal touch, simply the look of a fancy guest room. It was clear that Legolas spent little time here.

Aragorn picked up one of the books, flipping the pages nervously before putting it down on the shelf again. He knew the conversation would come to questions about his resurrection. Questions he couldn't rightly answer. Before he could ponder it more, a gentle hand stayed his nervous fingers.

"I won't ask. Just tell me what you can. I'll take care of your wounds while you talk, it may give you something to focus on other than the pain."

He'd forgotten how Aragorn fidgeted when nervous. It was impossible to give him important documents, for by the time he signed, the paper was crumpled and folded into strange shapes. Legolas remembered how easy it was to read the man's face and find just what was troubling him. Absolute trust - that was all he could give - would have to suffice.

Despite having stayed in the company of magic practitioners for much of his life, most of whom had great power at their disposal, Aragorn had never felt his mind was bared to any outside force. So, he found it uncanny; Legolas easing his fears before he spoke them.

"Six years ago I woke up in company of the dead kings of Gondor. Not oath sworn like those under the Dwimorburg, simply corpses. I found that I too had been embalmed and made ready for the afterlife. I left Fen Hollen to find Minas Tirith was not as it was when I left it. I went to Mathilda's and found she had been dead for five hundred years."

-

"The owner, Mathilda, whose name is on the sign! I must speak with her."

The woman cast her eyes down and began to pull the loose threads on her shrunken corset. "That Mathilda, the founder, has been dead for nigh five hundred years. She died only a few days after the Great King passed away."

Aragorn had learned the lore of his and other lands well, yet never had he heard of a Great King. He told the shopkeeper as much.

"Never heard of the Elfstone? Why, the idea is just laughable. He was the first king of Gondor since Eärnur and the last king of them all. Helped save this city from the Dark Lord, he did. It's said Elessar, or Aragorn as many call him was the most just and merciful king to cross this land. But you've not heard of him? You must have been living under a rock," she chortled, her laughter resembling the braying of a donkey.

Aragorn shook his head, trying to clear it, but only succeeding in making the words ricochet more swiftly through his consciousness. "It does seem as though I have, doesn't it. It seems, in fact, that I've been living under a rock for the last five hundred years. No wonder I cannot recognize myself."

The woman clasped her hands to her bosom and gaped. "There was a prophecy, a prophecy saying that the returning king would return. No one ever believed it; it was issued by Mathilda, on her deathbed. Everyone thought she was rambling in delirium, but she meant you. She knew you would come back. I think you'd better come inside; my mother, Maude, is a far better witch than I, she can surely cast your fortune, see if you are truly the king."

Whatever shock had taken the shopkeeper had a far stronger grip on Aragorn. He had died. Essentially he was still dead. What had become of Legolas? Did he wander Middle-Earth alone, or had he passed to the West with his kin. The last, unspoken possibility did not bear thinking on.

Maude had been preserved by magic. She was old, yes, and her face belied that, but her eyes had a childlike twinkle her daughter's lacked. Strength was hidden in the feeble arms, and when she shook Aragorn's hand he flinched slightly at the strength of her grip. Even before her daughter announced his status, Maude bowed lowed, murmuring to herself, "hail the king, may he live e'er on."

She held picked up a bag that had been resting on the table, opened it and poured the pale, round contents on the table. "Rune stones created by the elves. Each is imbued with some of the power of the elf who crafted it. These have been passed down through my mother's side for hundreds of years." Maude picked up the rocks and placed them in Aragorn's hands. "Breathe on these, then slowly pour them on the table."

The stones warmed quickly in the combined heat of Aragorn's breath and the warmth of his hands. He poured them straight down, and they bounced eagerly across the table. On the charred wood the pebbles looked like stars in the night sky.

"This is going to be a basic reading, the three stones who most call my energy will represent your past, present and future in the order that they are drawn." Maude's breathing came heavily and her eyes glazed as she fell into a trance. As if moved by a puppeteer, her hands jerked across the surface until they grasped a stone.

She fell sharply into consciousness and began to study the stone with great interest. "In your past was royalty, kingship. You held great power, and even greater respect from those you ruled."

"You were told all that by one stone? I am truly awed."

The woman scoffed. "Be awed not by me but of yourself. The stones speak only the truth; you must have had great honor in the past if they speak so favorably of you now."

Before Aragorn could respond the woman had begun feeling for power. Her trance was much shorter this time. "Death. It surrounds you like a dark shroud. You have come back from death and most of your old life has passed to death.

"And your future. It is the greatest and most terrible truth of all. For it what it portends always comes to pass, be it good or ill. Do you wish to know what the future holds for you?"

"I must know," Aragorn said with conviction, though his face seemed melded of doubt. His uncertainty seemed to grow as she picked up the smallest of the stones.

"The circle," Maude said with more than a hint of disbelief. "It means immortality. I assume though that it means you will be long lived, and that your memory shall exist past your time. For a man, no matter what his power, cannot be immortal."

-

"Neither she nor I ever found out why or how I came back to life, and it is something I would rather not dwell on. Every reason we thought of was dark and carried portents of doom." Aragorn was lying on the bed, a strip of meat across his cheek. He flinched as Legolas inspected the wound.

"The blade was not poisoned, a relief because the poison would be impossible to draw out now. It is worse then it seemed, cutting far into the muscle and breaking a rib. You worsened the wound by continuing to fight and coming here in such haste. You'll need rest to fully heal this wound." Legolas poured a liquid on the incision, that first soothed, then inflamed.

Aragorn ground his teeth together, hissing at the sensation. "Are you sure that was entirely necessary?"

"It cleans and kills infection," the elf stated. He dabbed at the solution with a clean linen sheet, carrying it away. A fresh bandage was wrapped tightly around the wound, the white cloth a sharp contrast with Aragorn's sun-bronzed skin.

"I'm sorry."

Aragorn's words hung like smog in the air. "What have you to be sorry for?" Legolas questioned.

Clasping Legolas' hand in his, Aragorn sucked in a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Sorry for making you live here alone for five hundred years, estranged from your own kin, befriended only by memories. You never deserved that. I'm regret asking you to protect this sorry world in my stead. Forgive me."

"No, you must forgive me. I was wrong to think you would never return, to think all was lost." Legolas smoothed Aragorn's matted hair, freeing the strands from their knots. "Rest." He leant over the man's brow and placed upon it a light kiss.

Sleep came quickly to Aragorn, his breath slowed to relaxed puffs of air. Crossing his hands, Legolas lay them on Aragorn's breast. "I place my trust in you. And I have no will to reclaim my heart from you." As he lay back, the pillow became slick with tears.

-

A/N: Hey, lookee, it's not a cliff hanger!