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
* * *
19: Letters II
* * *
Rohan, 3019
* * *
The late afternoons were theirs, or at least, they were for the next few days that followed that one time they shamelessly enjoyed each other's company in the plains of stunningly beautiful Rohan.
Eomer would conclude all his businesses just before the sun set. They never expressly agreed upon the afternoon rides, but Legolas would appear by his door, with that open expression on his face. The temptation of the window views from his office were enticing, yes, but not nearly as enticing as the invitation that rested earnestly upon the elf-prince's face.
They talked of things that were at times trivial, at times weighed so heavily upon the heart. But the breezes were calming, and the sun-streaked skies seemed to promise a world that was beyond all the things that hurt them.
"We're so small," Legolas observed with a wistful smile on one such days, looking up at the heavens above him. The clouds looked like spun cotton, swirling in shades of gold and purple over their heads. It looked like the beginning of the world.
They would retire after the sun descended over the distant mountain ranges, have supper. The elf would eat little, but he seemed well-enriched and satisfied by the continuation of their conversations. And then the deeper evenings call them to their beds, with partings reluctant and promises of the coming day quiet and not worded.
One afternoon, Eomer lingered by his office window. His advisers have just left. Legolas should come along at any moment.
The King watched the fields sway in waves that followed the force of the late afternoon breezes. The fields were shamelessly golden beneath the light of the setting sun. It was his favorite time of the day. The afternoon would thereafter climax to its sharpest, most rebellious, rich amber, before it dimmed to various shades of red, ushering in the evening. While each day generally ended this way, each was its own picture of beauty. It was never the same, the way the clouds made patterns in the sky, the way the winds shifted. It was a stark reminder of how each moment counted in a life.
He's late, Eomer thought with a frown, turning toward the doorframe where Legolas often stood with his wistful smile. It remained rather stubbornly empty.
The sun set. Eomer watched it with regret, before deciding to see if the elf managed to get himself into trouble again, such that he was unable to meet what somehow became their afternoon ritual.
He strolled through his halls, and found the door to Legolas' room ajar. Eomer paused in thought before letting himself inside, where he found the elf attentively seated upon a chair that faced his window.
Legolas' graceful hands were folded over his lap, and his lonely eyes were staring out upon the glorious Rohan view, dimming with the evening.
"I did not feel much for a ride today," Legolas lied, his voice quiet and his tone apologetic. Eomer glanced at the bed, and found the elf's coats laid out there. The perceptive King of Rohan easily put two and two together; the elf tried. But his body will have its own way.
"It's all right," Eomer said evenly, leaving him with his careful show. He picked up the coats from the bed and folded them deftly, putting them atop the drawers.
Legolas heard the rustling of the indulgent material, and knew what Eomer knew. He turned away from the window and faced the King, who was looking at him with a regretful but stubbornly resolute gaze.
The elf's face was strained. As per always, no less beautiful. But there was a tiredness to it that neither of them could deny any longer.
Legolas smiled at the King. "I think I owe you some thanks."
"What for?" Eomer asked, his
forehead wrinkling in thought.
"You saved my life near the Black Gate," Legolas replied, "It's just one of those things I forgot I remembered. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes," Eomer answered uncertainly, sitting upon a corner of Legolas' bed, facing him, "You're welcome."
"I'm really very sorry for all of this," the elf told him, "I really am. It's such an imposition."
Eomer shook his head to appease his guest. "Do not worry about it. These things happen. And as you said… is it really such a tragedy? You are comfortable, you are not in pain, you are in a warm bed, taken care of… is really so sad?"
But it was; he just said it because the lie was comforting to both of them.
Legolas smiled at him gratefully,
"Actually, I thought it would also be a good thing to die in a battle."
"Is this why I've seen you so
profoundly reckless?" Eomer asked him dryly.
"I like to call it flair," Legolas replied, eyes shining as he matched the King's tone, "I wasn't trying to die, mellon nin. I was just saying it wouldn't have been such a bad thing if I incidentally did."
"What does that word mean?" Eomer asked, "mellon nin," he repeated uncertainly, not quite sure if he heard correctly.
"It means 'my friend,'" Legolas replied with a wink, "I thought you could use a good foreign word. You know too many curses in too many tongues."
* * *
They had no more afternoons in the horse plains.
The elf prince's deterioration was slow, but it was surely coming. The end was near. Legolas was by now bedridden.
And yet as always, Eomer found his business done just before the sun set. And as always, he found himself staring out his office window and awaiting the elf's arrival upon his door.
Legolas did not come, and Eomer wondered how long it would be until he realized that he never will again.
But then, somebody else came to occupy the much-overworked King of Rohan…
Eomer squinted over the views of his golden fields. There were darkly-clad riders awash in the amber colors of the setting sun, heading toward Edoras in a furious rush of thundering horse hooves.
The King of Rohan's heart pounded as his gaze fell upon the familiar colors of Gondor.
Elessar.
Elessar?!
Eomer turned from the window and whipped to stalk toward his door. He wasn't sure if he was going to rush to welcome Aragorn or to turn him away to uphold his word. He found Lenne standing upon the exit and blocking his way.
"Riders from Gondor, sire," the young man said quietly. There was a constrained expression upon his face. It was as if he was falling from a great height and just waiting to hit the ground.
"I can see that," Eomer told him gruffly, his fierce eyes raking over the boy's suspicious countenance. "What in the world did you have to do with it?"
"It was a mistake, sire," the boy stammered, "I dropped your correspondence, see. Some days ago. And I think I may have sent out something that was not um, meant to be sent out just yet."
"A King does not appreciate being lied to," Eomer warned him.
The boy bit his lip, and his panicked eyes met the King's fierce gaze. "I knew what you wanted sir. It's what makes a good servant. It's what m'mother said. I knew what you wanted. I did it for you."
Eomer looked at him thoughtfully. He did not quite know what to say, so he pushed his way past the boy.
Lenne was more than a little bit agitated. "Sire?" he called after Eomer nervously.
The King decided to put him out of his misery, coolly saying as he walked away, "I might have to release you then. You are getting to be very noble and intelligent… less amusing."
* * *
The King of Rohan found Elessar standing at the landing of the stairs that led up to the sleeping quarters. Eomer descended the stairs as enthusiastically as a man walking toward his death sentence.
Eomer's majordomo was flanking the new arrival with flailing hands; he may have wanted to divest the King of Gondor of his dusted coats, or properly introduce him. Aragorn, of course, was having none of it.
Beneath his dusted cloaks were more indulgent velvet robes in the colors of his country's royal House. It was as if he simply ran from his courts and off toward Edoras. It was plain to see why; in one of his hands he gripped a sheet of paper that Eomer recognized as the letter that was not supposed to be sent to him just yet.
"Excuse us," Eomer told his majordomo, and Elessar subtly signaled to the entourage that followed him. A shuffling of feet, the rustling of robes and a clicking of doors later, the two Kings found themselves alone.
Aragorn was looking at Eomer searchingly. His silver eyes looked less like precious metals this evening and more like the gray clouds that ushered the coming of a storm. They shared the shade of the way the skies seemed to darken just before the rain fell.
Just before the tears fell.
"Say it isn't so," Aragorn asked him quietly.
"It isn't," Eomer told him, adding with a wince, "At least not just yet."
* * *
Eomer led the way to Legolas' room, closely trailed by Aragorn. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lenne scurrying away, down the other end of the corridor. If the boy had grown to be as perceptive as the King of Rohan guessed, perhaps he gave Legolas adequate warning…
The past few days have been nothing short of a cruel dose of reality. The mornings he spent working. The afternoons he spent waiting for Legolas for their sunset rides—this always ended with disappointment. The early evenings he spent gathering the courage to re-enter a dying friend's room. They thereafter spent the nights talking about things that did not hurt them. Always just at the verge of forgetting that their time was soon to come to a definitive close, the tiredness would come and the reminder of an impending death would throw them into a reluctant good night.
He rapped at the door smartly, just before pushing it inward and stepping into the room. For the first time in days he found Legolas out of bed; the elf prince was seated comfortably upon one of the room's chairs, and there was a rather randomly arranged board game that he was pretending to be busy with.
The King of Rohan checked his fervent desire to roll back his eyes. Oh indeed, Lenne has been in here and putting the idiot-boy within the creative sphere of the notoriously inventive Legolas of Mirkwood almost guaranteed some effort at a disastrously transparent charade.
"Aragorn!" Legolas exclaimed delightedly, and there was a touching light in his eyes that wasn't faked surprise and faked delight made in a desperate effort to convey a sense of normalcy. There was a happiness there over the sight of his old friend, one that he could not disguise or smother despite the grief that the new arrival also undoubtedly bore with him.
Eomer watched Legolas' face carefully, wondering if the elf thought he broke his word and informed Elessar. He opened his mouth to say It wasn't me, but Legolas threw him a helpless, wistful smile.
I know, he seemed to say with his kind eyes shining.
Eomer stood just inside the room uncertainly, letting Aragorn move past him. The King of Gondor seemed to be gathering his nerve, carefully folding Eomer's letter in his hands and slipping it inside the folds of his cloak as he stepped toward the elf.
"What are you doing here?" Legolas asked as he looked up at his old friend expectantly.
"I…" Aragorn hesitated, struggled for the wry tone he desperately wanted to place upon his voice, "I had it on good authority that you managed to get into trouble again."
"Well as you see," Legolas said to him, "All is well."
Aragorn's skepticism clouded the room. Eomer did not blame him; the elf's golden hair was in artless disarray, the usually religiously-kept braids were half undone, obviously having been laid upon, like his wrinkled robes. His teasing eyes were weary, and his voice was strained. But Aragorn kept these observations to himself; they were already painfully obvious.
Instead, he looked over at the board game, and commented mildly that he's never seen it played quite like that ever before.
"It's a local variation," Legolas lied quickly. Aragorn managed a surprised smile. The elf was a rather terrible liar.
"Teach me," Aragorn dared him.
"Oh I'm just learning myself," Legolas
said, blinking at the adan, "Eomer was teaching me."
Now would be a good time to leave, Eomer decided.
"I have work to do," the King of Rohan said, coolly heading for the door, "Amuse yourselves some other way. Good night."
* * *
Aragorn watched Eomer leave, and closed his eyes upon the quiet sound of the door clicking shut. He took a deep breath, and sat across from Legolas over the miserably arranged board game.
"You look like you've come to bury someone," Legolas told him with as much cheer as he could muster. He did not succeed very well.
"I thought we've gone over this," Aragorn
said in a low voice, "This was not supposed to happen again."
Legolas' smile faded, and because
Aragorn was carefully watching his face, his heart wrenched at the sight of it.
"Aragorn, let me…
___
"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.
___
Curious, Legolas reflected, to find their roles now reversed, recalling that Helm's Deep moment when he was trying to explain to an evasive Aragorn just what it meant to think he lost a friend.
"Please let me take this lightly," Legolas finished.
"You don't have to pretend with me," Aragorn said to him with a ghost of a smile, remembering too.
"What are you doing here?" Legolas asked him wearily, after a quiet moment of thought.
"I thought you were dead," Aragorn replied haltingly, "Eomer wrote. I thought you were dead. I'm here now. We can weather this."
"You cannot help me," Legolas told him quietly, fingering the board pieces nervously.
"We need you," Aragorn said simply.
"You do not need anyone, Elessar," Legolas said with a pensive smile.
"What is this, Legolas?" Aragorn asked him
with a pained expression lining his face, "What is happening to you?"
"I've been feeling… misplaced,"
Legolas hesitated, "I've had it before.
My wounds will not heal."
"How long now?" Aragorn asked.
Oh, he's going to kill me, Legolas predicted.
"The Black Gate," Legolas replied swiftly,
"You've seen how it works. When we met,
do you remember?"
"You were dying, yes. But you won over it," Aragorn pointed out,
rising to his feet and heading for the door. "It can be done again."
"Where are you going?" Legolas asked.
"I'm going to have my packs recovered from my horses," Aragorn replied, "We shall see to those injuries of yours."
"Please don't," Legolas told him, "Really, Estel. There is nothing for you to do here."
Aragorn heard him, but the request was typically ignored. The adan looked about the room and found some herbs, a wash basin and some bandages.
"Ah," he said with pleasure, gathering all that he needed and placing them upon the night table next to the bed. He straightened up and looked at the elf expectantly.
"What?" Legolas asked him, miserable, annoyed and also apparently resigned to the adan's drive and stubbornness.
"Will you rise willingly?" Aragorn asked him with coolly raised eyebrows, "Or will you deny me this and make a game of everything?"
The ailing elf prince looked at the admittedly inviting bed. He thought with profound dismay that it took most of his waning strength just to rise from there some minutes ago…
The night breezes were making him shiver. Aragorn's sharp eyes could not have missed it. The King of Gondor wordlessly pulled at the covers of the bed, and stood before Legolas uncertainly.
"Here," Aragorn said, taking the elf by the arm and pulling him to his feet. Legolas leaned on him heavily as he made the move from chair to bed.
"You really could have picked a better charade," Aragorn advised him mildly, wanting to diffuse the prideful elf's inevitable embarrassment as he suffered being aided.
"You did not give me much time," Legolas managed to joke, although Aragorn's heart constricted at how much smaller his voice sounded. How much… farther.
Legolas sat on the bed, and watched Aragorn's spindly healer's hands prepare all that he needed to see to the elf prince's hurts. Aragorn always worked so intensely, his spirit was encased in everything that he devoted himself to. Legolas found himself duty-bound to warn him of the futility of his actions, lest he give so much of himself and still end up with nothing.
"It will not help," he told Aragorn mildly.
"It's better than nothing," Aragorn pointed out.
Wordlessly, the adan divested him of his tunic, and though Aragorn was working upon his back and Legolas could not see his face, the elf knew from the ragged sigh his old friend exhaled that he was displeased with the sight that greeted him.
"I think you dropped a lung there," Legolas said lightly, once again recalling that same similar scene from not too long ago, this similar conversation that they had except their roles were reversed.
"Do you remember everything?" Aragorn asked him with unveiled, quiet amusement.
"I do," Legolas said, and added more quietly, "It can be inconvenient."
Aragorn could not say anything to that, so he just worked. He twined the blood-slicked bandages about his fingers as he unwound them, revealing all of the persistently unclosing wounds beneath.
"Oh Legolas," he breathed, "I thought you were dead."
"Clever of you to have deduced," Legolas said quickly, once again replicating their older conversation.
"I cannot have you restored to me," Aragorn said achingly, "Only to have you wrested by death hours later."
"They refuse to heal," Legolas pointed
out, "I've tried most things."
"It can be weathered," Aragorn
argued as he worked.
"This is different," Legolas said quietly, "Do you remember what you told me? You were seven, and you said things aren't so bad. You said I can borrow pieces of others' hearts and make mine whole again. And you were right for a time. You were, and I lived by it. But I no longer can, Estel. The pieces drift from me. And I can only watch them leave."
Watch you leave…
He raised his hands to his forehead, searching for his words. His fingers were trembling and Aragorn listened to him with mounting fear, which he tried to detach from himself by focusing on his work, keeping his hands busy.
"You were wise for an adan of seven, mellon," Legolas told him. Aragorn could not see his face, but it was a tone he recognized and easily saw with the elf prince's burning eyes, "But you can teach only as much as you know and of this you know nothing."
Aragorn was going to argue, but Legolas' resentment was getting the better of him, and his voice shook and rose.
"You know about people dying all around you, yes," Legolas said, "Yet you remain strong, yes. But give me some credit, Estel. I need you to think before you answer. Do not tell me you can preach to me that you understand all of this, and are certain it can be weathered based upon the sheer volume of your experiences with loss. I know you've lost, by the Valar, I know so well. But do not think of these losses simply in terms of names and faces of loved ones. Give them voices, and moments, and color their eyes… Put them in such a time that they are no longer warriors and it is no longer a time of war. You do not lose them to an enemy. You do not lose them to a sword. You lose them to time. You lose them to yourself, because you are made differently. You lose them as if you ever had them. But you never did. These arms have held many, these hands have buried more. And there are others to come. Watch them age. Fade their voices, and dim their faces until they've vanished before your eyes. Tell me. How does it feel? They fade slowly, they fade surely, and you can only watch. How does it feel?"
Legolas noticed that Aragorn's working hands have stilled. He hated the way he sounded, the way his words bled out of him so carelessly, flooding the room, engulfing the senses, emptying him. He turned to face Aragorn.
The man was staring at him searchingly.
Legolas, he thought mournfully, I already am watching. Your voice is fading. Your face dims. You vanish before my eyes. And I can only watch…
I did not know you were so profoundly alone, Aragorn thought, or that the loss you feel is so acute. The deprivation is anticipatory; it is yet to occur and yet one could hardly turn the heart on or off, or keep the mind from knowing it. I cannot tell myself to be happy now, simply for this moment that I have and not think about later, for when I will surely lose my joy. The mind and the heart do not easily forget their destiny. I am sorry…
"How does it feel, Estel?" Legolas asked him again, his voice lowered and his gaze averting in embarrassment at the conspicuous silence that followed the furious rush of his harsh words. Speak to me, Legolas silently begged.
"It tears at my soul," Aragorn said finally, and Legolas raised his eyes to meet his profoundly sorrowful gaze.
The elf's heart wanted to burst. He did not wish to be the one to tear the spirit away from those fiery eyes. To chip at that legendary hope. It was why he left; he knew long ago that he could do nothing to save himself, so he might as well spare his friends the grief.
And yet here we both are, Legolas thought miserably.
Aragorn finished with the work, and helped Legolas into his robes. He stepped away and let the elf lie down on his own, but gathered the blankets around him and practically swathed him with them. Legolas was watching him with a thoughtful expression on his face.
Aragorn settled his friend into bed, and dragged the chair the elf vacated some minutes ago next to him.
"What are you doing here?" Legolas asked him plaintively, sighing heavily as his battered body and even more battered spirit fought to stay awake.
"Did you not tell me before?" Aragorn asked him with a small smile, "We are where we need to be?"
Legolas' eyes slipped close. The elf was sinking into a deep sleep that could very well be preceding his death. Aragorn did not know if he's seen the last of those glacial blue eyes. But he could not bear to say goodbye, so he settled for good night instead.
"Legolas," he said softly, "Rest well, mellon nin."
"Hm," Legolas murmured lazily, "You would be kinder if you just left."
Aragorn watched him drift off to sleep and possibly… possibly, drift off to an even farther place.
TO BE CONRINUED…
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Hey guys :) more detailed thanks, notes and replies next time… I'm in a bit of a rush but wanted to put this up :) 'til the next post, which will be the last chapter :)