A/N: I am very sorry for the delay you all experienced for this chapter...
but this time, it was no mere incompetance on my part that made this such a
long-time coming. No, I have had exams, my friends - surely you can all now
understand why this has taken so long to be written and posted? I shall
tell you whether I failed them all with my next chapter ( don't think I'm
joking! It's a very real possibility!) And the past two weeks have been
filled by them, and the week before was me desperately cramming all the
stuff I should have already learnt! But the chapter is here now. Second
last one, pets... whatever will I do without you all when this is over, eh?
Lol. Reviewer responses:
marbienl: I LOVE that bit where Jack shows his scars in PotC! Your ideas for Aragorn's guilt and regret are amazing, but sadly, it's too late to include them... I do, however, always enjoy reading your predictions etc. and greatly appreciate them. Don't stop! Even if they do spoil the plot! As for all of Legolas' brothers and sisters... well, they're my characters, and to me each one has their own personality, way of handling things etc., so I can just write them and not forget what I'm doing... but I can see how it could get confusing for others. In my next Mirkwood fic, they will be included (I can't get enough of them, sorry!), but they won't... *hold* scenes, if you know what I mean... they won't be dominate, the fellowship will. And you might even get to see a bit of Evylenn and Legolas action, you never know! Thranduil: I just had to give a reason why so many think he's a bad father!
Templa Otmena: I personally love to write the relationship between Thranduil and Elrond. I don't know... I think I imagine them as being a little like Aragorn and Legolas when they were younger... best friends who have (unfortunately) grown apart but enjoy one another's company immensely. I don't know... I reckon I make relationships a bit too happy-clappy myself, but as long as you're not complaining! And I can't even begin to tell you how badly I know I have done in these exams... I don't care anymore, though... they can have my soul!
Elainor and Nikki: I, personally, have been unconscious many times (through one reason or another... sometimes it's best not to even ask!), and while sometimes it can be swirling blackness, or a sort of blank void that you can't remember at all... it can sometimes be total and utter white! It's really odd! Obviously, I embellished it a little with the faces/voices etc... lol.
Katie Hayes: Thanks for the contribution! I am honoured that you've stuck with me now! Lol.
Emma: I am very sorry if I sounded angry... fair enough that you are a purist, but you have to understand that this is all merely *my* opinions and my imagination - I am in no way saying that this is exactly what happens. But I kinda thought that that was what writing fanfiction was all about? Going down paths in your mind that you wouldn't usually... I mean, that's why I read other peoples' stories - so I can read more about such wonderful characters etc. But I know it's not the way the story goes, you know? Anyway, didn't mean to sound hostile... and as for the slash issue - it's up to other people what they wish to write about, but I think I sort of agree with you... *I* personally am *completely* unable to write LotR slash... I have a mental block! Lol, so no worries there! Thanks for the support and keep reviewing!
And to everyone else who reviewed and I have not responded: I am very sorry but it cannot be helped. There are far too many of you (not that I'm complaining) and it would take an age, and you'd all be really bored of me.... So I shall say it here: THANKYOU SO VERY MUCH FOR THE WONDEROUS REVIEWS AND RESPONSES!
Ahem. Yes, well... that got the point across, I thought. Now, onto the story: nice longish one again!
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It was a blazing pain in the side of his chest which jolted Legolas out of his blissful sleep this time, and he woke with a start, half-lidded eyes coming into sharp focus. He began to panic, as he always seemed to do when waking recently, and was unable to think where he was nor how he had gotten there. His sluggish silvery-green eyes flew fretfully about his surroundings, but before he could really become upset or stressed, his gaze fell upon something that always let him know he was safe, reminding him of where he was. It was the thing that was always at his side when he woke up. It was Aragorn. Although this time the son of Elrond was not looking at him or reassuring him that they were both safe and sound.
Legolas smiled slightly as he looked at the ranger. Aragorn had fallen asleep: his dark head resting lightly upon his own hunched shoulder, sitting upright in his chair by the archer's bedside. A soft snoring noise came from him. Legolas chuckled softly and rolled his eyes, only to have them meet with the equally-amused, warm hazel gaze of Evylenn, who had looked up from her needlework. She nodded to him gently with a smile, understanding without fault that he was in no mood to talk and would rather drift off back to sleep, but acknowledging him in case he felt ignored (~It's frightening~ Legolas decided then ~quite how well she knows me...~), and then the elf maiden focused her attention once more on her embroidery.
He looked back to the slumbering Aragorn. Legolas was glad his best friend was getting rest - the prince was concerned that the young man was fair nearly going to run himself ragged by attending to Legolas, never leaving his room. So he was greatful that he was now eased enough to rest.
But all was *not* well, Legolas knew that too. Aragorn didn't think his best friend saw how awkward his movements were around the prince, or how he avoided looking at him, or how he had barely smiled since he had awoken... but Legolas *did* notice, he *did* see. Yet he could not understand it. When he spoke to the Mirkwood elf he had known all his life, Aragorn sounded oddly strained and uncomfortable, and though he was always at Greenleaf's bedside without fault, it was almost as though he didn't want to be there. It was like he didn't know how to act about the prince anymore, like something had made him forget. This idea hurt Legolas' heart more than he could care to admit... he wanted everything back to normal once more and was confused as to why it wasn't the way it had always been between the two friends. He couldn't understand why Aragorn was acting so about him, and it shook his confidence, made him falter so that he, in turn, was unsure as how to act about his best friend. Which, he guessed, most likely made the whole thing worse. He wanted to know what was going on in the stubborn, frustrating head of the ranger... but Aragorn had barely spoken five words to him... and none of them in a complete sentance.
Legolas managed to refrain from sighing, but did shift his suddenly-blurred gaze away from his distant best friend quickly down to frown at his folded hands. Faint tears marred his vision a little as he idly played with the hem of the green bedsheets, and he had to concentrate on his breathing to keep it steady as his chest heaved. If Evylenn noticed - which she most likely did - she did not say a word, knowing it would only bruise the pride that ran strong and deep through the Last Prince. And he was ever thankful that she did not. Legolas did not cry very often, and when he did it was never, *ever* in the presence of any other living being. He was aware, even then, of his cheeks flushing hot in his embarrassment.
But he felt so wretched then, it was impossible not to weep a little. He was weary, angry, in pain, worried, frustrated, a little frightened, and to top it all off, confused. It was this last feeling that got to him the most: he felt he wouldn't mind all the other testing trials and obstacles in his path if he could just have the old Aragorn back with him, the Aragorn he knew and loved... but that did not seem very likely the way the ranger was acting about him.
Deciding swiftly that he was too tired to think about the problem anymore, and it would only make him more upset and his chest all the more tighter anyway, he turned away from the best friend who hardly seemed to know him any longer, sinking down into the soft covers of the bed and letting his watery eyes steadily drift out of focus once more. He tried hard to ignore the iron grip that seemed to hold his chest in a vice, and the aching pain in his heart. He hoped everything would be well again soon: he did not think he could bear it if relations between himself and the young man he held so dear were never repaired and returned back to the way they had always been.
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"So, you see now why I have been acting the way I have - it is entirely my fault that you are in such pain... I-I mean, Valar - you could have lost the use of your right arm! I am so very, *very* sorry... And... and I do not ask you to forgive me, for I believe what I did was unforgiveable myself... You should not have a friend as bad as I... and I am sorry..." Aragorn looked up from his folded hands to Legolas as his sentance finished weakly, timbre pathetic even to his own ears. A quiet moment passed where he looked at the elf in silence, before he continued, "Perfect. Now, if I can only say that when you're awake."
Legolas' green eyes were open, and he had slipped down in the bed, so it appeared he was gazing straight at Aragorn, but it was clear that he was not in the conscious world. Under normal cicumstance, it would have made Aragorn laugh that Legolas had fallen asleep with his eyes directly latched on to the ranger... but Aragorn didn't feel much like laughing then. He was taking time to try and work up enough courage to face up to his best friend, and to try and figure out what he would say when he did so, because it was clear that they could not go on as they were... It was shredding Aragorn's heart to pieces. And he knew Legolas knew there was something wrong: the elf had known him all his life, and he could spot trouble in his mind a league away. The prince had been very quiet today, more so than he had been previously... and not only with Aragorn: when Fienngil and Niandias had left the chamber that morning, they had sent questioning looks his way, perplexed as to why the usually bright and talkative elf was thoughtful and quiet, but all the ranger had done was shrug. It was all he could do.
Aragorn would confront the problem soon, it was just... he couldn't stand it if Legolas turned him away. While the prince had always forgiven him for things in the past, and was an extremely sympathetic being who didn't seem capable of holding grudges, Aragorn was unsure as to whether the prince knew it was his best friend's fault at that moment. Greenleaf might not have been told the whole story... and if he reacted badly to the news that it was *Aragorn* to blame, he might feel betrayed at the human's apparent incapability of being selfless. Aragorn was utterly disgusted with his weak actions in the forest of Mirkwood, and saw no reason why Legolas should not be as well.
The door to the chamber swung open, breaking his depressing thoughts, and Aragorn looked around to see King Thranduil enter in a flush of deep red robes and flowing silver cloak. The dark-haired elf looked tired and heart- weary, but happy, and he smiled warmly at the young man, falling into the other chair beside the bed with a heavy sigh. Aragorn grinned a little, grey eyes sparkling twilight. "Hard day?" he asked, with perhaps a little more cheek than was entirely appropriate to address a very powerful King with.
Thranduil just sent him a scathing look, deep blue-grey eyes dark and menacing, and he wisely decided to hold his tongue thenceforth. There was something about the King's attitude that told the ranger he wanted to be left alone with his son, so he swung his booted legs from their place resting against the wooden bed frame, clapped a friendly hand on the elder elf's shoulder as he passed, and left the room.
Thranduil let his gaze wander the familiar room when Aragorn left, bathed in sunlight that was streaming in through the gorgeously-decorated glass of the large windows, until his eyes came back to his son. A warm sense of relief balmed his heart, and he thought suddenly about how lucky he had been to have this whole situation end so relatively well: he could have lost Legolas completely, and with it, a chunk of his heart would always after be dead and withered. He could have lost one of the most important things in his life, one of the things he woke up in Middle-earth for. Looking at the Legolas now, it was wonderfully plain that he *was* getting better - his natural light was glowing once more, a little dimmer than usual but nevertheless there; his typical sparkle was again to be found in his silver-shone green eyes and frowns of pain marring his proud brows were becoming fewer and further between.
The King smiled softly, and gently reached out a tender hand, brushing back a silken-gold bang from the peaceful, innocent face of his youngest child. No matter how many horrific battles and long years Legolas had to his name, no matter how many friends he had witnessed sacrificed nor how many orcs he had fought nor how many ambushes he had orchestrated as the leader of countless bands of warriors, Thranduil would always think of the Last Prince as his Little Leaf. The young elf had grown into a fine and fierce warrior, well known for his skills, and someone Thranduil was proud to be merely *connected* with, let alone be the father of such a wonder. Though relatively young in elven years, many of Legolas' heroic deeds in war and confrontation were renowned throughout the elven world, every realm knew his name and attatched it to a gentle nature but fierce passion, and not merely because he was the son of the King of Eryn Lasgalen... that was something which actually counted against the young archer, and perhaps was the reason he was now so skilled in the art of warfare.
Legolas had always been frustrated that many discounted him as a spoilt prince before he could have any chance of proving himself. The idea that the Royal children should waited on and pampered was preposterous in the Mirkwood realm, the King of which had morals and principles based upon absolute independency - it was the way it had always been in the northern forest. But many could not know this, and Legolas hated the misconception of his siblings - but most especially of himself - that they were good only for the name of the Oaks and nothing else, and worked hard to throw off this widely-accepted undervaluation. And by the Stars, he had done it, becoming leader to one and all, and a figure-head for the warriors of Mirkwood.
As Thranduil stroked his youngest child's golden hair fondly, Legolas stirred a little in his sleep, silver-green eyes flickering until they focused and he breathed in deeply, waking. He saw his father sitting over him, and grinned, and croaked, throat a little dry from disuse, "I thought I told you to go and run your kingdom, my lord?" Legolas had become mildly exasperated with his father when every time he had woken the dark-haired elf was to be found fussing over him, and had expressed his worry that the realm was being neglected in order to try and set his father's priorities right once more. He was touched at his father's loving administrations, but still...
Thranduil's deep blue eyes twinkled grey, "Aye, that was yesterday. But today, I have been plauged with the one constant question coming from our people: is the prince going to be well? You should see how many care for you, Dian Las [Little Leaf] - they gather in the courtyard from dawn till dusk each day... and I am here now, merely because I had to check your health in order to report back to them."
Legolas chuckled, and moved so he was deeper in his masses of warm blankets, gingerly trying not to jar his still-painful arm, not believing his father, "Aye, that'll be it." There was a pleasant silence that fell upon them, then, with Legolas' eyes fixed on some distant point as his smile faded and with Thranduil watching him.
Thranduil's eyes narrowed, dark brows drawing together a little, "What is wrong, Legolas?" he asked quietly after a pause, for he knew something was bothering his child - he had always been able to see straight through him. Legolas' face had fallen suddenly: though still fairly stoic in his emotions, countless years spent with Aragorn as his best friend had taken their toll upon the archer's ability to keep his emotions hidden... the elf's control upon his expressions had deteriorated almost to the level of a human's, so he now grinned wider and frowned deeper than most elves. He also let on more of the sadness in his heart, which was exactly what Thranduil was seeing now. He had been mildly upset by something the day before, as well, and the King suspected it had nothing to do with how long he had been told by Elrond he would have to work at physiotherapy for his arm.
Legolas, as though startled and embarrassed that his father had caught him out, tapered ears fhading pink for a merest second, "Oh... nothing, adar." He forced a half-hearted smile that did not reach his eyes, though he knew that it did not fool the King for even one moment, "I only... drifted away for a second... my apologies - were you saying something?"
As Thranduil began speaking once more over matters of little or no importance, obviously deciding he did not wish to broach the subject of his son's melancholic behaviour, Legolas' troubled mind wandered once more. He had been thinking of Aragorn, and wondering why the man wasn't beside him, as was usual upon him waking... not that it would have been pleasant if he had been: seeing as the ranger didn't seem to be even talking to the prince. But Legolas had, up till then, taken *some* comfort in the fact that Aragorn put whatever was distancing him mentally from the elf aside, and was there in body, at least. Mayhap things were even worse than Legolas initially thought? A sharp pang pained his heart at this thought, and an unfamiliar sense of dread rose in his stomach... what was wrong?!
He had no answers.
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Aragorn stopped outside the door of Legolas' chamber, and visibly steeled himself, breathing in deeply and squaring his slim shoulders. Things between himself and his former-best friend had rapidly deteriorated and become so dire that he actually disliked spending time with Legolas... although this admission made him feel thoroughly horrid, and made a shameful sense of guilt rise in the pit of his stomach, he reckoned that Legolas most probably thought exactly the same thing. Whenever they were in the same room, the tension was awful and the silences long and awkward, both avoided looking at the other, to the point where Aragorn thought that his presence probably made Legolas so stressed that it was most likely delaying his full recovery. The ranger had seen Legolas flinch when Aragorn entered the room, and not only because of the anticipated lack of friendship and warmth, but because his shoulders unconsciously tightened and hunched, so uncomfortable he was when Aragorn was near, and this pained the wound of of his right shoulder.
Though the young ranger wished dearly to right the wrong that was hurting them both - he believed that their most recent experience together should have brought them *closer* together, not sundered them completely apart - the situation now seemed too far gone for him to have any hope of regaining the unfeasibly-strong friendship they once had. And he understood that this seperation was born almost entirely from his own doing: dallying about apologising and making things thrice-times worse.
He opened the door, eyes already on his boots, and made a great deal of fuss in shutting the door behind him as he entered the cold room, as if to delay the moment when he would have to look at the prince. When he turned, eyes flashing up to the bed for a mere blink, he was surprised to find the Legolas did not occupy it. He looked about the room quickly, heart leaping momentarily into his throat despite his most recent thoughts of lost friendship, and quickly spotted the open window, light gauze curtains drifting lazily inwards on the crisp, winter breeze. Walking swiftly to it and out into the wooden verandah, he found Legolas, leaning heavily against the railings on his uninjured arm, wearing his sleep-clothes despite the coldness of the winter about them, lost in thought and looking out at the iced tree trunks just beyond the clearing. His breath was coming quick to him, and he looked far paler than was either normal or good for him, and a pulse of worry ran through Aragorn's heart.
The ranger came a step closer to Legolas, then paused, unnaturally unsure of himself about the archer... but this faltering movement was enough to alert the prince to his presence, and the golden-haired elf whirled round, fixing intense green eyes, shot through with silver icicles and frosted over with mithril, upon Aragorn for a second.
Something unpleasant and foreign to both beings passed between them then, when their eyes locked, and it took them both aback a little.
To Aragorn, Legolas seemed as cold as ice, as strong as unfeeling iron, but with all the emotion of that selfsame metal. The elf seemed more of a haughty, intimidating prince - majestically grand yet hostile, intolerant and thoroughly unkind - at that moment than he had ever appeared to be during the whole of Aragorn's life. Legolas' strong jaw was set, and his chin raised in pride, aristocratic lips set into a thin line of disgust as he looked down upon the man, just as Aragorn had always feared he would. Even though they had been best friends for many long years, Aragorn had always felt a little undeserving of the strong friendship with the elven warrior-prince... he may have been raised by elves, but that did not stop him still feeling in awe of their beauty and splendour. He had always been afraid that one day, Legolas might suddenly realise he was interacting with a mortal who was not worthy of being even spoken to by such a specimen of the Firstborn, and he would behave as many elves did towards Aragorn.
And yet, to Legolas, Aragorn looked just as spiteful, but more as though fury at Legolas' apparent betrayal of the ranger's life-long friendship had burned him harshly, and made him seek justice for the tatters of a relationship that was apparently so lightly thrown aside. A powerful fire with a vigour that frightened Legolas consumed and darkened Aragorn's starry-grey eyes, turning his handsome face ugly with hate and spite. The young man's mouth was open as though to speak, but had contorted suddenly into a snarl, and he leaned forward aggressively, face taught and eyes blazing. Legolas knew how much power Aragorn unwittingly held, and how much more powerful he would become on the way to fufilling his destiny, and it was one of his worst fears that such a force of both inner and physical strength and power should be used and turned to ill-will. He had been too young to witness Isildur's betrayal first hand, but had always been taught not to trust Men, despite his friendship with Aragorn, and the suspicion of history repeating itself ran ever-strong in Mirkwood, which had been devastated by the Last Alliance and was not protected by any Ring.
Legolas saw no way he could escape the fury, but attempted in any case to move past the man. Unfortunately the muscles in his calves, through disuse - as that was the first time he had gotten up and walked anywhere for quite a few days - and the icy coldness about them, cramped suddenly, and his legs buckled unexpectedly beneath his weight. He fell forward with a startled cry and Aragorn, thinking he had collapsed and reacting on instinct, caught him in his arms before he could hit the floor. Legolas immediately tensed, shocked by the closeness, seeing as they had barely even looked at each other since he had woken up. He tried desperately to stand again, to put some distance between himself and the human once more, but his legs simply refused to let him, and he stumbled again, head suddenly dizzy and body weak. Aragorn's arms unconsciously held him all the firmer, and he began to drag the elf back into the room, unsure about what else to do.
Laying Legolas on his bed, Aragorn shot a quick look at him. The elf was obviously in pain, he was embarrassed and trying not to look at the ranger, breath hitching and eyes begining to brim. "Legolas, where is the pain?" Aragorn asked anxiously, not even thinking about apologies or going over what he wanted to say, for the first time in quite a while he was acting normally, wanting to help his best friend.
The prince looked at him as though surprised he was even talking to him, and he stumbled a little over his answer as he replied, "M-my calves." He watched on in utter shock then as Aragorn, not saying another word, picked up one of his legs and started to massage the lower part of the limb, easing the cramping muscles with his healer's hands. The pain was almost immediately soothed, flaring up now and then and making Legolas gasp, but then fading away to less than it was before. It was a wonderful relief, and Legolas was thankful at least for that. But then, a more painful feeling overcame the archer's heart: even though this was the sort of thing Aragorn would do under normal cicumstances, it still felt strange and awkward at that moment. The elf's eyes filled with unexpected moisture as he thought about the friendship he had lost through reasons he couldn't comprehend, and he looked away from the pain, bringing a hand to his forehead as he tried to cover the fact he was about to cry.
Aragorn glanced up for a second, and felt as though he had been punched in the stomach, Legolas looked so upset. His hands dropped immediately and ceased massaging the calve of the elf's right leg, and after a pause instead, breaking all the boundaries that had been erected between himself and his best friend, he slowly reached up and took the hand the prince had held at his forehead. Legolas was startled, and his tearful green eyes flashed silver as they caught the starry grey orbs of the young ranger, but no odd emotions or darkness passed between the two beings this time, and Aragorn held the eyes of the friend he had refused to look at for the past several days with determination. He knew what he must do, and would be damned if he didn't: he gripped Legolas' long hand in his own, and slowly brought it to the place on his chest above his heart, all the while his eyes locked firmly on the archer's.
Legolas felt his eyes widen a little as he saw what Aragorn was doing, and his mouth parted as he tried to comprehend the action's meaning: Aragorn was looking at him properly, and Legolas saw no evil or anger in him, no resentment. He felt the steady but slightly quickened heartbeat of the man in his fingertips through the thin tunic Aragorn was wearing, he saw the ranger swallow nervously, and realised that he was just as anxious as himself, and had most likely been suffering the same. "Estel..." he began, but then he was suddenly unsure about what he wanted to say.
But it did not matter, as it seemed that this one word, spoken after so long in silence, was enough to shatter the barriers which were holding the two friends distant: Aragorn suddenly pulled Legolas to him, and wrapped his arms as tight as he possibly could about the elf without injuring him, embracing him as though it were the last time he would be able to do so. The prince himself needed no time to think longer, and answered his best friend by curling his good arm up to rest upon the man's slim shoulder and burying his face in Aragorn's neck, breathing in the ranger smell that accompanied his friend everywhere he wandered, and always had brought comfort to Legolas. The faint smell of athelas, dampness and pipeweed. They finally were together after their disasterous misadventure, and it eased them both greatly, their hearts balmed in warmth. After a moment or so, however, Aragorn pulled away and looked down, feeling his guilt over the whole situation rear it's ugly head once more in his consciousness.
His slightly flushed cheeks and uncomfortable behaviour at that moment was what made Legolas *at last* understand the reason for their seemingly- broken friendship... his large green eyes softened with sudden comprehension. Reaching out gently, he tipped the man's stubbled chin upwards, as he often did when trying to make Aragorn understand something he did not want to, to look at him, so that their eyes locked once more. At that moment he witnessed in the stotmy grey orbs of his best friend all the fear and the guilt and the upset that had strained and pressed upon the mortal during the recent days, and at that moment he knew exactly what to do to put the ranger at ease, to give him the relief he was obviously desperate to gain. Though Legolas by no means thought that any of the recent events could be blamed on Aragorn, he knew the young man well enough to know the only thing that would make him happy in such an instance - now Legolas knew what had been separating himself and Aragorn, ensuring both of them were miserable and heart-sick - everything was so easy and simply to understand and right.
"Estel," he said, voice soft but authoritative, happy to speak words he knew would give comfort, "I forgive you."
The look of joy and utter relief that flew across Aragorn's rugged features at that moment was to be unrivaled by anything Legolas had seen previous: it seemed as though a huge weight, as though it were the destiny of the worlds, had been lifted from the ranger's shoulders, allowing him to breathe properly for the first time in a long while. His chest heaved with emotion, and his slate-grey eyes shone with happy tears, his heart gladdened and his conscience finally, thankfully cleansed. Though, really, Aragorn knew there would be more to say on the matter at later times, mostly him explaining to Legolas exactly *how* he was to blame for all that had happened, at that moment, he cared not, and was happy to believe for just a time that he was free from guilt. It was such a wonderful feeling, he was quite prepared to indulge himself for a little while with it. Legolas merely smiled widely at him, green eyes sparkling silver diamonds and happiness, overjoyed that the deepest friendship he had ever known had not been destroyed.
They both caught what the other was doing at about the same time, and both burst into laughter at the idiotic expression on each other's face, and their familiar laughter rolled out into the cold air, traveling great distances with it's strength and not fading until it reached the far tree- trunks at the end of the clearing.
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Please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter: it went down a different route to the one I was expecting it to go down, but hopefully it worked out for the best! Only one more chapter left, dearies, then it's a fond goodbye from me! Wonderful blizzards enveloping the North of England at the moment, and this might affect the overall attitude and seriousness of the next, final chapter... expect humour. Review!
marbienl: I LOVE that bit where Jack shows his scars in PotC! Your ideas for Aragorn's guilt and regret are amazing, but sadly, it's too late to include them... I do, however, always enjoy reading your predictions etc. and greatly appreciate them. Don't stop! Even if they do spoil the plot! As for all of Legolas' brothers and sisters... well, they're my characters, and to me each one has their own personality, way of handling things etc., so I can just write them and not forget what I'm doing... but I can see how it could get confusing for others. In my next Mirkwood fic, they will be included (I can't get enough of them, sorry!), but they won't... *hold* scenes, if you know what I mean... they won't be dominate, the fellowship will. And you might even get to see a bit of Evylenn and Legolas action, you never know! Thranduil: I just had to give a reason why so many think he's a bad father!
Templa Otmena: I personally love to write the relationship between Thranduil and Elrond. I don't know... I think I imagine them as being a little like Aragorn and Legolas when they were younger... best friends who have (unfortunately) grown apart but enjoy one another's company immensely. I don't know... I reckon I make relationships a bit too happy-clappy myself, but as long as you're not complaining! And I can't even begin to tell you how badly I know I have done in these exams... I don't care anymore, though... they can have my soul!
Elainor and Nikki: I, personally, have been unconscious many times (through one reason or another... sometimes it's best not to even ask!), and while sometimes it can be swirling blackness, or a sort of blank void that you can't remember at all... it can sometimes be total and utter white! It's really odd! Obviously, I embellished it a little with the faces/voices etc... lol.
Katie Hayes: Thanks for the contribution! I am honoured that you've stuck with me now! Lol.
Emma: I am very sorry if I sounded angry... fair enough that you are a purist, but you have to understand that this is all merely *my* opinions and my imagination - I am in no way saying that this is exactly what happens. But I kinda thought that that was what writing fanfiction was all about? Going down paths in your mind that you wouldn't usually... I mean, that's why I read other peoples' stories - so I can read more about such wonderful characters etc. But I know it's not the way the story goes, you know? Anyway, didn't mean to sound hostile... and as for the slash issue - it's up to other people what they wish to write about, but I think I sort of agree with you... *I* personally am *completely* unable to write LotR slash... I have a mental block! Lol, so no worries there! Thanks for the support and keep reviewing!
And to everyone else who reviewed and I have not responded: I am very sorry but it cannot be helped. There are far too many of you (not that I'm complaining) and it would take an age, and you'd all be really bored of me.... So I shall say it here: THANKYOU SO VERY MUCH FOR THE WONDEROUS REVIEWS AND RESPONSES!
Ahem. Yes, well... that got the point across, I thought. Now, onto the story: nice longish one again!
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It was a blazing pain in the side of his chest which jolted Legolas out of his blissful sleep this time, and he woke with a start, half-lidded eyes coming into sharp focus. He began to panic, as he always seemed to do when waking recently, and was unable to think where he was nor how he had gotten there. His sluggish silvery-green eyes flew fretfully about his surroundings, but before he could really become upset or stressed, his gaze fell upon something that always let him know he was safe, reminding him of where he was. It was the thing that was always at his side when he woke up. It was Aragorn. Although this time the son of Elrond was not looking at him or reassuring him that they were both safe and sound.
Legolas smiled slightly as he looked at the ranger. Aragorn had fallen asleep: his dark head resting lightly upon his own hunched shoulder, sitting upright in his chair by the archer's bedside. A soft snoring noise came from him. Legolas chuckled softly and rolled his eyes, only to have them meet with the equally-amused, warm hazel gaze of Evylenn, who had looked up from her needlework. She nodded to him gently with a smile, understanding without fault that he was in no mood to talk and would rather drift off back to sleep, but acknowledging him in case he felt ignored (~It's frightening~ Legolas decided then ~quite how well she knows me...~), and then the elf maiden focused her attention once more on her embroidery.
He looked back to the slumbering Aragorn. Legolas was glad his best friend was getting rest - the prince was concerned that the young man was fair nearly going to run himself ragged by attending to Legolas, never leaving his room. So he was greatful that he was now eased enough to rest.
But all was *not* well, Legolas knew that too. Aragorn didn't think his best friend saw how awkward his movements were around the prince, or how he avoided looking at him, or how he had barely smiled since he had awoken... but Legolas *did* notice, he *did* see. Yet he could not understand it. When he spoke to the Mirkwood elf he had known all his life, Aragorn sounded oddly strained and uncomfortable, and though he was always at Greenleaf's bedside without fault, it was almost as though he didn't want to be there. It was like he didn't know how to act about the prince anymore, like something had made him forget. This idea hurt Legolas' heart more than he could care to admit... he wanted everything back to normal once more and was confused as to why it wasn't the way it had always been between the two friends. He couldn't understand why Aragorn was acting so about him, and it shook his confidence, made him falter so that he, in turn, was unsure as how to act about his best friend. Which, he guessed, most likely made the whole thing worse. He wanted to know what was going on in the stubborn, frustrating head of the ranger... but Aragorn had barely spoken five words to him... and none of them in a complete sentance.
Legolas managed to refrain from sighing, but did shift his suddenly-blurred gaze away from his distant best friend quickly down to frown at his folded hands. Faint tears marred his vision a little as he idly played with the hem of the green bedsheets, and he had to concentrate on his breathing to keep it steady as his chest heaved. If Evylenn noticed - which she most likely did - she did not say a word, knowing it would only bruise the pride that ran strong and deep through the Last Prince. And he was ever thankful that she did not. Legolas did not cry very often, and when he did it was never, *ever* in the presence of any other living being. He was aware, even then, of his cheeks flushing hot in his embarrassment.
But he felt so wretched then, it was impossible not to weep a little. He was weary, angry, in pain, worried, frustrated, a little frightened, and to top it all off, confused. It was this last feeling that got to him the most: he felt he wouldn't mind all the other testing trials and obstacles in his path if he could just have the old Aragorn back with him, the Aragorn he knew and loved... but that did not seem very likely the way the ranger was acting about him.
Deciding swiftly that he was too tired to think about the problem anymore, and it would only make him more upset and his chest all the more tighter anyway, he turned away from the best friend who hardly seemed to know him any longer, sinking down into the soft covers of the bed and letting his watery eyes steadily drift out of focus once more. He tried hard to ignore the iron grip that seemed to hold his chest in a vice, and the aching pain in his heart. He hoped everything would be well again soon: he did not think he could bear it if relations between himself and the young man he held so dear were never repaired and returned back to the way they had always been.
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"So, you see now why I have been acting the way I have - it is entirely my fault that you are in such pain... I-I mean, Valar - you could have lost the use of your right arm! I am so very, *very* sorry... And... and I do not ask you to forgive me, for I believe what I did was unforgiveable myself... You should not have a friend as bad as I... and I am sorry..." Aragorn looked up from his folded hands to Legolas as his sentance finished weakly, timbre pathetic even to his own ears. A quiet moment passed where he looked at the elf in silence, before he continued, "Perfect. Now, if I can only say that when you're awake."
Legolas' green eyes were open, and he had slipped down in the bed, so it appeared he was gazing straight at Aragorn, but it was clear that he was not in the conscious world. Under normal cicumstance, it would have made Aragorn laugh that Legolas had fallen asleep with his eyes directly latched on to the ranger... but Aragorn didn't feel much like laughing then. He was taking time to try and work up enough courage to face up to his best friend, and to try and figure out what he would say when he did so, because it was clear that they could not go on as they were... It was shredding Aragorn's heart to pieces. And he knew Legolas knew there was something wrong: the elf had known him all his life, and he could spot trouble in his mind a league away. The prince had been very quiet today, more so than he had been previously... and not only with Aragorn: when Fienngil and Niandias had left the chamber that morning, they had sent questioning looks his way, perplexed as to why the usually bright and talkative elf was thoughtful and quiet, but all the ranger had done was shrug. It was all he could do.
Aragorn would confront the problem soon, it was just... he couldn't stand it if Legolas turned him away. While the prince had always forgiven him for things in the past, and was an extremely sympathetic being who didn't seem capable of holding grudges, Aragorn was unsure as to whether the prince knew it was his best friend's fault at that moment. Greenleaf might not have been told the whole story... and if he reacted badly to the news that it was *Aragorn* to blame, he might feel betrayed at the human's apparent incapability of being selfless. Aragorn was utterly disgusted with his weak actions in the forest of Mirkwood, and saw no reason why Legolas should not be as well.
The door to the chamber swung open, breaking his depressing thoughts, and Aragorn looked around to see King Thranduil enter in a flush of deep red robes and flowing silver cloak. The dark-haired elf looked tired and heart- weary, but happy, and he smiled warmly at the young man, falling into the other chair beside the bed with a heavy sigh. Aragorn grinned a little, grey eyes sparkling twilight. "Hard day?" he asked, with perhaps a little more cheek than was entirely appropriate to address a very powerful King with.
Thranduil just sent him a scathing look, deep blue-grey eyes dark and menacing, and he wisely decided to hold his tongue thenceforth. There was something about the King's attitude that told the ranger he wanted to be left alone with his son, so he swung his booted legs from their place resting against the wooden bed frame, clapped a friendly hand on the elder elf's shoulder as he passed, and left the room.
Thranduil let his gaze wander the familiar room when Aragorn left, bathed in sunlight that was streaming in through the gorgeously-decorated glass of the large windows, until his eyes came back to his son. A warm sense of relief balmed his heart, and he thought suddenly about how lucky he had been to have this whole situation end so relatively well: he could have lost Legolas completely, and with it, a chunk of his heart would always after be dead and withered. He could have lost one of the most important things in his life, one of the things he woke up in Middle-earth for. Looking at the Legolas now, it was wonderfully plain that he *was* getting better - his natural light was glowing once more, a little dimmer than usual but nevertheless there; his typical sparkle was again to be found in his silver-shone green eyes and frowns of pain marring his proud brows were becoming fewer and further between.
The King smiled softly, and gently reached out a tender hand, brushing back a silken-gold bang from the peaceful, innocent face of his youngest child. No matter how many horrific battles and long years Legolas had to his name, no matter how many friends he had witnessed sacrificed nor how many orcs he had fought nor how many ambushes he had orchestrated as the leader of countless bands of warriors, Thranduil would always think of the Last Prince as his Little Leaf. The young elf had grown into a fine and fierce warrior, well known for his skills, and someone Thranduil was proud to be merely *connected* with, let alone be the father of such a wonder. Though relatively young in elven years, many of Legolas' heroic deeds in war and confrontation were renowned throughout the elven world, every realm knew his name and attatched it to a gentle nature but fierce passion, and not merely because he was the son of the King of Eryn Lasgalen... that was something which actually counted against the young archer, and perhaps was the reason he was now so skilled in the art of warfare.
Legolas had always been frustrated that many discounted him as a spoilt prince before he could have any chance of proving himself. The idea that the Royal children should waited on and pampered was preposterous in the Mirkwood realm, the King of which had morals and principles based upon absolute independency - it was the way it had always been in the northern forest. But many could not know this, and Legolas hated the misconception of his siblings - but most especially of himself - that they were good only for the name of the Oaks and nothing else, and worked hard to throw off this widely-accepted undervaluation. And by the Stars, he had done it, becoming leader to one and all, and a figure-head for the warriors of Mirkwood.
As Thranduil stroked his youngest child's golden hair fondly, Legolas stirred a little in his sleep, silver-green eyes flickering until they focused and he breathed in deeply, waking. He saw his father sitting over him, and grinned, and croaked, throat a little dry from disuse, "I thought I told you to go and run your kingdom, my lord?" Legolas had become mildly exasperated with his father when every time he had woken the dark-haired elf was to be found fussing over him, and had expressed his worry that the realm was being neglected in order to try and set his father's priorities right once more. He was touched at his father's loving administrations, but still...
Thranduil's deep blue eyes twinkled grey, "Aye, that was yesterday. But today, I have been plauged with the one constant question coming from our people: is the prince going to be well? You should see how many care for you, Dian Las [Little Leaf] - they gather in the courtyard from dawn till dusk each day... and I am here now, merely because I had to check your health in order to report back to them."
Legolas chuckled, and moved so he was deeper in his masses of warm blankets, gingerly trying not to jar his still-painful arm, not believing his father, "Aye, that'll be it." There was a pleasant silence that fell upon them, then, with Legolas' eyes fixed on some distant point as his smile faded and with Thranduil watching him.
Thranduil's eyes narrowed, dark brows drawing together a little, "What is wrong, Legolas?" he asked quietly after a pause, for he knew something was bothering his child - he had always been able to see straight through him. Legolas' face had fallen suddenly: though still fairly stoic in his emotions, countless years spent with Aragorn as his best friend had taken their toll upon the archer's ability to keep his emotions hidden... the elf's control upon his expressions had deteriorated almost to the level of a human's, so he now grinned wider and frowned deeper than most elves. He also let on more of the sadness in his heart, which was exactly what Thranduil was seeing now. He had been mildly upset by something the day before, as well, and the King suspected it had nothing to do with how long he had been told by Elrond he would have to work at physiotherapy for his arm.
Legolas, as though startled and embarrassed that his father had caught him out, tapered ears fhading pink for a merest second, "Oh... nothing, adar." He forced a half-hearted smile that did not reach his eyes, though he knew that it did not fool the King for even one moment, "I only... drifted away for a second... my apologies - were you saying something?"
As Thranduil began speaking once more over matters of little or no importance, obviously deciding he did not wish to broach the subject of his son's melancholic behaviour, Legolas' troubled mind wandered once more. He had been thinking of Aragorn, and wondering why the man wasn't beside him, as was usual upon him waking... not that it would have been pleasant if he had been: seeing as the ranger didn't seem to be even talking to the prince. But Legolas had, up till then, taken *some* comfort in the fact that Aragorn put whatever was distancing him mentally from the elf aside, and was there in body, at least. Mayhap things were even worse than Legolas initially thought? A sharp pang pained his heart at this thought, and an unfamiliar sense of dread rose in his stomach... what was wrong?!
He had no answers.
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Aragorn stopped outside the door of Legolas' chamber, and visibly steeled himself, breathing in deeply and squaring his slim shoulders. Things between himself and his former-best friend had rapidly deteriorated and become so dire that he actually disliked spending time with Legolas... although this admission made him feel thoroughly horrid, and made a shameful sense of guilt rise in the pit of his stomach, he reckoned that Legolas most probably thought exactly the same thing. Whenever they were in the same room, the tension was awful and the silences long and awkward, both avoided looking at the other, to the point where Aragorn thought that his presence probably made Legolas so stressed that it was most likely delaying his full recovery. The ranger had seen Legolas flinch when Aragorn entered the room, and not only because of the anticipated lack of friendship and warmth, but because his shoulders unconsciously tightened and hunched, so uncomfortable he was when Aragorn was near, and this pained the wound of of his right shoulder.
Though the young ranger wished dearly to right the wrong that was hurting them both - he believed that their most recent experience together should have brought them *closer* together, not sundered them completely apart - the situation now seemed too far gone for him to have any hope of regaining the unfeasibly-strong friendship they once had. And he understood that this seperation was born almost entirely from his own doing: dallying about apologising and making things thrice-times worse.
He opened the door, eyes already on his boots, and made a great deal of fuss in shutting the door behind him as he entered the cold room, as if to delay the moment when he would have to look at the prince. When he turned, eyes flashing up to the bed for a mere blink, he was surprised to find the Legolas did not occupy it. He looked about the room quickly, heart leaping momentarily into his throat despite his most recent thoughts of lost friendship, and quickly spotted the open window, light gauze curtains drifting lazily inwards on the crisp, winter breeze. Walking swiftly to it and out into the wooden verandah, he found Legolas, leaning heavily against the railings on his uninjured arm, wearing his sleep-clothes despite the coldness of the winter about them, lost in thought and looking out at the iced tree trunks just beyond the clearing. His breath was coming quick to him, and he looked far paler than was either normal or good for him, and a pulse of worry ran through Aragorn's heart.
The ranger came a step closer to Legolas, then paused, unnaturally unsure of himself about the archer... but this faltering movement was enough to alert the prince to his presence, and the golden-haired elf whirled round, fixing intense green eyes, shot through with silver icicles and frosted over with mithril, upon Aragorn for a second.
Something unpleasant and foreign to both beings passed between them then, when their eyes locked, and it took them both aback a little.
To Aragorn, Legolas seemed as cold as ice, as strong as unfeeling iron, but with all the emotion of that selfsame metal. The elf seemed more of a haughty, intimidating prince - majestically grand yet hostile, intolerant and thoroughly unkind - at that moment than he had ever appeared to be during the whole of Aragorn's life. Legolas' strong jaw was set, and his chin raised in pride, aristocratic lips set into a thin line of disgust as he looked down upon the man, just as Aragorn had always feared he would. Even though they had been best friends for many long years, Aragorn had always felt a little undeserving of the strong friendship with the elven warrior-prince... he may have been raised by elves, but that did not stop him still feeling in awe of their beauty and splendour. He had always been afraid that one day, Legolas might suddenly realise he was interacting with a mortal who was not worthy of being even spoken to by such a specimen of the Firstborn, and he would behave as many elves did towards Aragorn.
And yet, to Legolas, Aragorn looked just as spiteful, but more as though fury at Legolas' apparent betrayal of the ranger's life-long friendship had burned him harshly, and made him seek justice for the tatters of a relationship that was apparently so lightly thrown aside. A powerful fire with a vigour that frightened Legolas consumed and darkened Aragorn's starry-grey eyes, turning his handsome face ugly with hate and spite. The young man's mouth was open as though to speak, but had contorted suddenly into a snarl, and he leaned forward aggressively, face taught and eyes blazing. Legolas knew how much power Aragorn unwittingly held, and how much more powerful he would become on the way to fufilling his destiny, and it was one of his worst fears that such a force of both inner and physical strength and power should be used and turned to ill-will. He had been too young to witness Isildur's betrayal first hand, but had always been taught not to trust Men, despite his friendship with Aragorn, and the suspicion of history repeating itself ran ever-strong in Mirkwood, which had been devastated by the Last Alliance and was not protected by any Ring.
Legolas saw no way he could escape the fury, but attempted in any case to move past the man. Unfortunately the muscles in his calves, through disuse - as that was the first time he had gotten up and walked anywhere for quite a few days - and the icy coldness about them, cramped suddenly, and his legs buckled unexpectedly beneath his weight. He fell forward with a startled cry and Aragorn, thinking he had collapsed and reacting on instinct, caught him in his arms before he could hit the floor. Legolas immediately tensed, shocked by the closeness, seeing as they had barely even looked at each other since he had woken up. He tried desperately to stand again, to put some distance between himself and the human once more, but his legs simply refused to let him, and he stumbled again, head suddenly dizzy and body weak. Aragorn's arms unconsciously held him all the firmer, and he began to drag the elf back into the room, unsure about what else to do.
Laying Legolas on his bed, Aragorn shot a quick look at him. The elf was obviously in pain, he was embarrassed and trying not to look at the ranger, breath hitching and eyes begining to brim. "Legolas, where is the pain?" Aragorn asked anxiously, not even thinking about apologies or going over what he wanted to say, for the first time in quite a while he was acting normally, wanting to help his best friend.
The prince looked at him as though surprised he was even talking to him, and he stumbled a little over his answer as he replied, "M-my calves." He watched on in utter shock then as Aragorn, not saying another word, picked up one of his legs and started to massage the lower part of the limb, easing the cramping muscles with his healer's hands. The pain was almost immediately soothed, flaring up now and then and making Legolas gasp, but then fading away to less than it was before. It was a wonderful relief, and Legolas was thankful at least for that. But then, a more painful feeling overcame the archer's heart: even though this was the sort of thing Aragorn would do under normal cicumstances, it still felt strange and awkward at that moment. The elf's eyes filled with unexpected moisture as he thought about the friendship he had lost through reasons he couldn't comprehend, and he looked away from the pain, bringing a hand to his forehead as he tried to cover the fact he was about to cry.
Aragorn glanced up for a second, and felt as though he had been punched in the stomach, Legolas looked so upset. His hands dropped immediately and ceased massaging the calve of the elf's right leg, and after a pause instead, breaking all the boundaries that had been erected between himself and his best friend, he slowly reached up and took the hand the prince had held at his forehead. Legolas was startled, and his tearful green eyes flashed silver as they caught the starry grey orbs of the young ranger, but no odd emotions or darkness passed between the two beings this time, and Aragorn held the eyes of the friend he had refused to look at for the past several days with determination. He knew what he must do, and would be damned if he didn't: he gripped Legolas' long hand in his own, and slowly brought it to the place on his chest above his heart, all the while his eyes locked firmly on the archer's.
Legolas felt his eyes widen a little as he saw what Aragorn was doing, and his mouth parted as he tried to comprehend the action's meaning: Aragorn was looking at him properly, and Legolas saw no evil or anger in him, no resentment. He felt the steady but slightly quickened heartbeat of the man in his fingertips through the thin tunic Aragorn was wearing, he saw the ranger swallow nervously, and realised that he was just as anxious as himself, and had most likely been suffering the same. "Estel..." he began, but then he was suddenly unsure about what he wanted to say.
But it did not matter, as it seemed that this one word, spoken after so long in silence, was enough to shatter the barriers which were holding the two friends distant: Aragorn suddenly pulled Legolas to him, and wrapped his arms as tight as he possibly could about the elf without injuring him, embracing him as though it were the last time he would be able to do so. The prince himself needed no time to think longer, and answered his best friend by curling his good arm up to rest upon the man's slim shoulder and burying his face in Aragorn's neck, breathing in the ranger smell that accompanied his friend everywhere he wandered, and always had brought comfort to Legolas. The faint smell of athelas, dampness and pipeweed. They finally were together after their disasterous misadventure, and it eased them both greatly, their hearts balmed in warmth. After a moment or so, however, Aragorn pulled away and looked down, feeling his guilt over the whole situation rear it's ugly head once more in his consciousness.
His slightly flushed cheeks and uncomfortable behaviour at that moment was what made Legolas *at last* understand the reason for their seemingly- broken friendship... his large green eyes softened with sudden comprehension. Reaching out gently, he tipped the man's stubbled chin upwards, as he often did when trying to make Aragorn understand something he did not want to, to look at him, so that their eyes locked once more. At that moment he witnessed in the stotmy grey orbs of his best friend all the fear and the guilt and the upset that had strained and pressed upon the mortal during the recent days, and at that moment he knew exactly what to do to put the ranger at ease, to give him the relief he was obviously desperate to gain. Though Legolas by no means thought that any of the recent events could be blamed on Aragorn, he knew the young man well enough to know the only thing that would make him happy in such an instance - now Legolas knew what had been separating himself and Aragorn, ensuring both of them were miserable and heart-sick - everything was so easy and simply to understand and right.
"Estel," he said, voice soft but authoritative, happy to speak words he knew would give comfort, "I forgive you."
The look of joy and utter relief that flew across Aragorn's rugged features at that moment was to be unrivaled by anything Legolas had seen previous: it seemed as though a huge weight, as though it were the destiny of the worlds, had been lifted from the ranger's shoulders, allowing him to breathe properly for the first time in a long while. His chest heaved with emotion, and his slate-grey eyes shone with happy tears, his heart gladdened and his conscience finally, thankfully cleansed. Though, really, Aragorn knew there would be more to say on the matter at later times, mostly him explaining to Legolas exactly *how* he was to blame for all that had happened, at that moment, he cared not, and was happy to believe for just a time that he was free from guilt. It was such a wonderful feeling, he was quite prepared to indulge himself for a little while with it. Legolas merely smiled widely at him, green eyes sparkling silver diamonds and happiness, overjoyed that the deepest friendship he had ever known had not been destroyed.
They both caught what the other was doing at about the same time, and both burst into laughter at the idiotic expression on each other's face, and their familiar laughter rolled out into the cold air, traveling great distances with it's strength and not fading until it reached the far tree- trunks at the end of the clearing.
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Please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter: it went down a different route to the one I was expecting it to go down, but hopefully it worked out for the best! Only one more chapter left, dearies, then it's a fond goodbye from me! Wonderful blizzards enveloping the North of England at the moment, and this might affect the overall attitude and seriousness of the next, final chapter... expect humour. Review!