Author: Mirrordance
Title: Last Stand
Summary: The battle at the Black Gate leaves Legolas strange wounds that do not heal. He knows he is slowly dying & keeps it a secret, as he tours the fleeting mortal pleasures of the world before his last breath. He finds an unwilling coconspirator in Eomer
* * *
13: Aragorn, Son of Arathorn: A Memory II
(The Worst of My Days, the Hardiest of My Spirit)
* * *
Helm's Deep, 3018
* * *
Leave the dead, Legolas thought bitterly, What a fool. It is much easier said than done.
Is there no corner of this blasted fortress where one could find some peace? He wondered, walking about the massiveness of Helm's Deep, finding most spaces occupied. His body was aching to burst with his unhappiness, yet he did not find the idea of doing so before everyone very appealing.
The ride to Rohan, and from one point to another within it was likely the longest journey he ever took in his life. He ran here with Gimli the Dwarf and Aragorn in pursuit of orcs that took their companions captive. Along this road he befriended the dwarf. Along this road he thought two friends lost, only to discover they still lived. And another friend thought lost, the wizard Mithrandir, was restored to them as well.
So many losses, he reflected. Admittedly fate was a clever trickster, constantly giving him a taste of deprivation and then returning his friends to him. Just borrowing, he seemed to say, and would laugh at his grief. He took Merry and Pippin. He took Mithrandir. Fate restored them all, yet he took two others who would not be making the same journey back to Legolas.
Boromir. Aragorn.
He's never felt so much resentment in his life.
Leave the dead, leave the dead…
For god's sake, it wasn't that easy.
He walked away from the thick of the people. Their fears were choking him. He had his own to deal with, they can keep theirs to themselves…
The road to the fortress was possibly the longest ride of all. He remembered, how it was that step by step took him further from where a friend fell. He remembered even more clearly, how all he could stand to think of was that his shoulders must not shake, the body must not tremble, because the dwarf clung to his back as they rode and he would be smart enough to put things together.
There was just so many things to do and the loss of Aragorn somehow seemed to render them monumentally impossible. Each step was a burden. Each sympathetic gaze that met his were unbearable.
He stepped into the armory, just as a soldier stepped out. It was empty of people but stuffy with articles of war, and it had that distinctly persistent stink of armor and weapons that have just been cleaned (though not particularly well) of blood.
He ran his hands among the armor that lined the wall. One set was of handsome dark leather, still moist from washing, seemingly just hung. There was a ragged tear over the heart, hurriedly sewn over with unglamorous, thick and wide stitches that were almost just as dark as the leather. He could feel it beneath his fingers, more than he could see. The bumps of the thread in repetitive, hurried motions… Legolas was certain the strike must have been lethal and when the defenses of this fortress would call for the arms of Rohan, this armor would fall to the hands of some other warrior.
There were many others like it, and other signs of a history of struggle. Weathered blades, broken knives, weapons stolen from orcs, tattered armor, armor so old they must have once belonged to fathers and grandfathers and now borne by sons…
The room was heady with history, and death, and active defiance. They were a strong people, but they were all unfortunately a waste.
This will end soon, Legolas predicted, And I'm standing on the wrong side of the fence.
His eyes drifted back to the black armor with the torn heart. Aragorn did not even leave them with such a memento. He fell, and he vanished, and though the death lacked finality, it was a chapter over and done with. It was just that way.
Leave the dead, Theoden had ordered.
If only they could leave us, Legolas thought.
Who owned you? he wondered, reaching out for the armor, Who joins my friend to those promised places where I could not go?
His hand fell to his side, and he stepped back, surveying the room that was all at once painfully empty and stiflingly full. He sat upon the table at the center of the room.
It was as good a place as any to wait for the world to end.
* * *
But it didn't.
The crazy adan returned with his usual flair. The people of Rohan caught him first, and the dwarf pushed his way forward to greet him with a choking embrace.
The murmurs and the general chaos that always ushered in the arrival of the adan pretty much anywhere he went was what broke through the silence of the armory, and brought Legolas out to see what was happening.
He nearly collided with a ghost.
~You're late,~ he found the voice to say.
* * *
Hours later, he finally had Aragorn to himself. The King of Rohan allowed him the use of the royal quarters to rest and freshen himself up if he so desired. It was one of the few remaining unoccupied spaces in Helm's Deep, for which Aragorn was grateful.
The adan sat before the fire, his bruised back to the door. The warmth was comforting, and the silence of the room was lulling him to a much-needed sleep.
He started at the opening of the door, and whipped to find Legolas frowning at him with grave displeasure.
"What?" Aragorn asked.
"I'll fetch a healer," Legolas said, turning on his heel.
Aragorn hurriedly rose to his feet, wincing at the soreness of his battered body, "Legolas, please don't."
"I can't see why I shouldn't," Legolas told him distractedly, peering out the door and looking up and down the corridor for someone to bother with calling a healer.
Aragorn gently laid a hand upon the elf's elbow and pulled him into the room, then quietly closed the door behind them.
"Your stubbornness should not be indulged in this situation, Estel," said Legolas evenly, "These people need you at full strength, for later."
"They need me for much more than that," Aragorn insisted fervently, "They cannot know I am even just slightly incapacitated. If I am to share in Theoden's command, they have to be assured that I am capable. That we can win."
The elf frowned at him. And then sighed in defeat. A grin spread across Aragorn's face.
"Don't smile like that," Legolas snapped, "It makes me feel… I don't know. Never mind. Just don't."
"Like you lost?" Aragorn inquired, blinking at the elf innocently.
"Like I want to punch you," Legolas retorted, "Sit down."
Aragorn did as he was told, reclaiming his place by the fire and watched as Legolas rummaged about the room, gathering herbs and bandages as he spoke distractedly, "Now you know I'm not particularly good at this," said the elf, "but it's far better than nothing."
"It's far better than most things," Aragorn smiled, letting himself be tended to.
The elf busied his hands with seeing to his old friend's injuries. They seemed to map the struggles that this particular misadventure sent Aragorn through, and he unknowingly released a shaky breath.
"Ah," said Aragorn, a wistful tone to his voice, "I think your lung dropped to the ground there."
Legolas did not respond for a long moment. He was unsure of what to say. Aragorn was just about to give up on awaiting a reply when he suddenly blurted out, "I thought you were dead."
The adan could hear the quiet sadness in the elf's voice, struggling to hide beneath a smattering of that old, resentful coldness he had long thought vanquished.
"That's very clever of you to have deduced," Aragorn said mildly, although there was some desperation to avert the tone there too, "I mean, there had been a warg. And a flip over a not-so-humble cliff. The waters below were rather rough with rocks, and pretty cold—" he cut himself off, because Legolas stopped working and he began to wonder what kind of trouble he may have landed into.
"Please, Legolas," Aragorn said quietly, "Let me…"
Let me take this lightly…
"You don't have to pretend with me," Legolas said, ~I hate death,~ he added quietly, reverting to his own language. His hands began to work again. Deftly, quickly, mechanically.
The elf struggled with a wince of a smile. The adan already had much to worry about without his trivial uncertainties.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, "Ignore me please."
"Well it's quite understandable," said Aragorn with sham gravity, "I know I can be a very lovable man, and I would be sorely missed."
"Don't be an idiot," Legolas chuckled half-heartedly, "I thought you were dead, and you returned suddenly. I was merely disappointed."
"Next time I'll make sure," Aragorn said gravely.
"Don't say that," Legolas admonished, trying to check his serious tone. It was one thing to kid about what is past, but the future was one that he vastly feared. He concluded his work with a flourish. He rose to his feet and told the ranger to stay where he was.
Legolas stole a pair of pillows and a blanket from a day bed in the corner. The adan's skin felt cold; he was better off staying near to the fire. He handed them to Aragorn, who was looking at him quizzically.
"A nap would do you a world of good," Legolas pointed out.
Aragorn laughed at him nervously. "There's no time," he argued, at the same time knowing how futile it was, given that steely unbreakable, unchangeable look in the elf prince's eyes.
"There's some time," Legolas said determinedly, "Don't worry about the rest of the preparations, Estel. King Theoden knows what he is doing. And so do I. Trust your friends. Regain your strength, you cannot help us later if you do not. I promise, I'll wake you."
"Make it quick?" Aragorn bargained.
"Keep quiet lest I wake you when the battle is over," Legolas told him primly, "I won't take long, I promise. But it will be at my prerogative."
Aragorn shook his head at the elf in dismay, "Not too long, Legolas. Else none at all. Swear on your name, you pompous elf."
"I'll swear on anything you want," Legolas said evenly, striding towards the door. He gave the man a reassuring smile, "Rest well, Estel."
* * *
Exactly an hour later, Legolas stopped by the door. Aragorn did not even stir. The elf walked toward the adan, and watched his sleeping face. His heart was pounding, he didn't know why, until he found himself wondering how very different things would have been if he was instead looking at a dead man. How very different, he reflected, and it had been much too close.
~I thought I simply liked you, mellon nin,~ he said quietly, comfortable that he would not be heard, ~but you do not know how much you mold my world.~
It was the truth; Aragorn was like a looking glass. He changed how people viewed at things. He is dead and things seem so bleak and impossible. He is alive and there is just… estel, Legolas thought wryly. Just so. Very aptly named.
He hovered over the man, tempted not to wake him. If I could just keep you here, he thought, until the battle is won. Until the danger is over…
The pounding steps of Gimli the dwarf and his jovial voice broke the silence of the room, effectively blighting the elf prince's devious plans, those dreams he wished he had the dishonor to actually entertain.
"Here you both are!' the dwarf exclaimed, entering the room. Legolas looked down on Aragorn, who was by then very wide-awake.
* * *
The three hunters went down to the armory of the fortress, to oversee the progression of the preparations for the battle.
Legolas did not know why he felt particularly disappointed when it was a situation that should not have been much of a surprise.
"Farmers, farriers, stable boys," Aragorn observed with a frown, "These are no soldiers."
"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli pointed out.
"Or too few," Legolas added, trying to reign in his mounting frustrations.
Come now, he admonished himself, did you really expect any better?
But there was a bitterness to his heart that he could not comprehend, or control any longer. The room was stifling him, choked and polluted by the fear of all those that it held. A brave stand would be fought in Helm's Deep but it was as good as lost. The armory, with all of its old bloody history and its walking would-be corpses, filled with old ghosts and awaiting new ones. The experience was surreal, and so profoundly disheartening.
I'm going crazy, he deduced, just before deciding it was more than fair. Fate was once again favoring him with her dirty little tricks. Hope and disappointment, hope and disappointment, hope and disappointment. To have his friends returned but only to be with them a few hours more… what a tasteless joke.
"Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes," said the elf, not caring so much that the room seemed to quiet and still all around him with his words.
~And they should be,~ he added, switching tongues, ~Three hundred, against ten thousand?~
~They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras,~ Aragorn pointed out, wishing the elf would just quiet his doubts. These were thoughts already well known, to word them lent them an irrevocable reality that stung, and pierced the heart.
~They cannot win this fight,~ Legolas said fervently, ~They are all going to die!~ And so this battle came down between him and an old nemesis once again. Death… how he despised it. It was a coward and would not even show its face, that it may be fought against…
Maybe on some other day, Aragorn would have had the patience to understand. These were old fears of his elven friend, resurrected in a most fierce manner, with all these brutal fatalities surrounding him in unparalleled numbers. Legolas was standing at the very precipice of what he knew would be a massacre. Dying was already a difficult concept for one who is immortal, much more in these numbers. But this was no day to entertain these fears and worse yet, contribute to the fears of others.
"Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn retorted, turning away, inexplicably angry. He had always counted upon the elf… the argument almost felt like treason, like betrayal. The lack of faith was biting at his spirit, eating away at it. Perhaps he expected too much. The situation was admittedly tenuous. But in any situation, there should always be a fool's hope.
Aragorn heard Legolas make a step to follow. He knew the elf would do this, and he dreaded to continue the disappointing argument. To his vast relief, Gimli advised the elf to simply leave things as they were, for now.
TO BE CONTINUED…
THANKS TO ALL WHO READ!!!
THANKS ESP TO MY REVIEWERS: MSL, sirnonenath, platy, andruill043, wadeva, tychen, gollum's fish, gozilla, arithon, beebo, amthramiel, stoneage woman, elessar*lover, barbara kennedy, LOTRfaith, starlit hope, cotume, halanleg4ever, grumpy, knight kenobi of eryn lasgalen and deana.
To platy: did I placate him in time, haha :)
To andruill043: oh, I loooove movie gap fillers too :) I don't know why. The movies are so overwhelmingly good but like a lot of ensemble movies, it leaves much to be imagined (because there's a lot of characters to focus on) :)
To wadeva: haha, don't worry, I understand. We'll return to the present timeline in the next chapter; the past kind of just weaves around it :)
To tychen: your review was just so eloquent. You word your emotions well :) that was really beautiful :)
To gollum's fish: I actually try to update this fic on a daily basis :) no promises of course, but I've constantly done so throughout all the chapters so far. I hope I can do this for the rest :)
To amthramiel: haha, i suppose you would be pleased to hear then that I was just working on that… part 19 :)
To stoneage woman: wow, maybe I'm confusing my tenses because I keep switching timelines, haha :)
To barbara kennedy: he will realize something to this effect in chapter 20 :)
To cotume: oh I love helm's deep too. It's what makes 'two towers' my favorite. It's just so tense and desperate. I'm like a guy, I love all these fantastically mind-blowing big battle scenes :)
THE NEXT POST takes us back to Rohan in 3019, continuing Legolas and Eomer's conversation :) 'til then!!!