Summery: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.
After the Storm
Chapter Six: Unfurled
Aragorn sighed mournfully as he eased his hurting body against one of the smoother rocks.
He had meant to leave: he really had.
He had meant to continue fighting his way through all of Middle-Earth, banishing the thoughts of Rivendell and Elrond from his mind. The thoughts of his heritage he would ignore until they simply faded away, or until he grew too old to recall any visions of glory. He had supposed that he would be thankful for whichever came first.
The wanderer watched the fire absentmindedly, feeling the warm air caress him entirely like a cloak of flames. Smoke billowed into the air and sparks followed in vain as they strove to reach the heavens, their brilliance short and meaningless.
'Like the lives of Men,' Aragorn mused as he observed their struggles. 'They are swift and ignorant. They are like me, in a way; they are meaningless.'
Elrond didn't think so, another voice insisted. Neither did Elrohir, and certainly not Elladan. They loved you all the more because of your meager time in life. You should have stayed.
It was a small voice, and once it had spoken, it slipped through his mind like water poured from a pail. It was simply gone.
What had made him stay? Why was he still here and not riding far away from both his past and future?
One reason was his injury. His side had been stitched, though a painful task, and the wound was now swathed in bandages. The injury was still fresh. Riding would only aggravate it further, even to the point of ripping it anew. It would take time to heal.
'Thalion must also be considered', he realized. 'I forced him past his limits yesterday, and he needs time to recover.'
The proud steed was sleeping peacefully, having survived the collapse with his agility and wits, and was currently breathing evenly nearby with only a few cuts for his troubles.
The true reason, however, for his prolonged stay, was the beautiful creature at his side, lying sprawled beneath a soft blanket.
The Elf's fair, soft skin was bruised and slashed, and a few ribs were broken; they appeared newly healed and had snapped like twigs when the rocks fell. Cloth surrounded many a gaping wound and his light gold hair was tangled and bloody. The poor thing was currently convulsing in the throes of a nightmare as sweat trickled in rivers down his face.
Aragorn wiped his bruised face with a damp rag as his thoughts flew unbidden to ideas that he would not stir.
Was this Elf a messenger of his father's, come to retrieve him? Was he so dedicated that he would purposely injure himself, so that Aragorn would be forced to bring him home?
"He is a spy," the soft hisses insisted, like a snake in his ears. "He comes to call you to Elrond. You should leave him."
At that moment, the Elf rolled over and vomited pitifully onto the dirt, moaning as he shook even harder than ever. Aragorn rubbed his naked back to calm him, revealed as he turned, and felt all thoughts of possible betrayal vanish.
"Poor thing," he murmured. "How did you get so weak?"
If he had been in good health before the collapse, he would have been fine now, but he had obviously been in terrible pain prior to yesterday, and that was only counting visible wounds. All and all, there seemed to be very little that he could do. As he watched the Elf groaned and writhe, he could see the mere surface of a deep wound to his spirit. It was sad to see a living creature so innocent so marred.
**********************
"Elladan?"
Elrohir walked up to his twin brother, resting a gentle hand upon his back. The other did not look up, choosing to continue carving an arrow.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked hopefully.
Elladan pressed the knife closer to the wood, fine shavings trailing behind his small knife. Anyone else would have thought that he had not even heard Elrohir speak. That is, anyone else besides Elrohir himself. His twin knew everything about him and feigned absorption in a mere arrow would not- could not – fool him.
"I suppose not," Elrohir sighed, sitting on an empty wooden chair.
For a while he watched his brother work. His hands trembled as he held his knife, and his beautiful eyes were filled with torment. At first Elrohir had been relieved that Elladan did not cry, yet now he was not certain that it was a good sign.
'What is better?' he wondered sadly. 'Is it truly joy that I feel when tears stray from his face, or is it worse to see him so weakened?'
Elladan may have been the eldest twin, if only by a few moments in time, but his heart was always more tender to cruelty like Aragorn had shown. This was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because the years that flew by had not hardened him, and a curse, for his innocent soul was so simple to wound. His brother was strong in battle, mind and soul, yet Elrohir was his guardian in matters of the heart.
"Brother," he teased, gesturing to the large pile of arrow shafts. "I believe that you have created enough arrows to last, not only through the hunting season, but many others aside! Do you plan to fletch them or merely toss them at the rabbits?"
He did not answer, but he pressed down harder then even before, until at last the blade slide with ease through the thin stick and then through the skin on his finger. It began to bleed sluggishly, the blood streaming down his hand. He rose to find bandages, but warm fingers wrapped his hand in clean cloths, slowing the flow.
Elladan looked up into a pair of sad, glowing eyes, staring detachedly as he tugged half-heartedly and tried to escape.
"Let me go," he mumbled in a hoarse, dead tone that tormented his brother's heart.
"Let me help," Elrohir answered, gently tying a firm knot in the white cloth. "You've been like this too long, brother. You're wasting away and you need me."
It was true. Elladan was growing thin in many ways. He was faded sometimes; as if he was only like to a dream as one began to wake in the morn, soon forgotten. His skin was white and colorless, no longer the pale but healthy gleam that Elrohir had known. His ribs were beginning to protrude from his chest, and his raven hair was tangled and no longer glistened. The last time he had been so disconsolate had been when Celebrian left on her grey ship long ago. All of the signs meant but one thing; it was grief that killed his twin, pure grief.
He stroked his dark hair reassuringly and he stopped struggling. Instead, something flickered in his face like a dying candle. Recognition? Trust? Elrohir could only hope. Perhaps his prayers to the Valar had been answered.
"He was only a senseless mortal, Elladan. A stupid Man. He did not deserve any of your love."
Here, for the first time, his voice grew bitter and cold. He hated Estel for what he had done to his brother. Was he laughing, now, even as they suffered? Was he betraying them to some great evil? His father had sent out search parties, but he didn't care. He couldn't recall a kind side to Aragorn. All that he knew was the pain in his brother's heart. He shared too deep a bond with Elladan to feel anything else.
Tears leaked from Elladan's eyes. He started to tremble as his twin spoke.
"No," he whined. "No, no, no. He loves me deep down, Elrohir. He loves me very much. He is not sluggish or spoiled as the other Men we have encountered from time to time. He is my brother. You can not begin to comprehend the love that we share."
Jealousy flared in his heart as he hissed: "If he loved you so deeply, then why did he leave you to die, like so much dead weight? If you had held him back, he would have killed you! Do you not recall what he did to me?"
Even now, it killed him to walk. By his father's orders, he should have still been in bed, but he bore the pain to see his brother. His chest was licked with flame, and made it hard to breathe. Yet he was here. He loved Elladan too much to lie idle whilst his tender heart bled.
"He hates you! He has grown spiteful while you were oblivious to all but his disguise of false care. You will die of agony as he grows fat on the profits of war like a vulture. In all of his ignorant gluttony, he will forget you. He will not remember your name."
Elladan sank to the ground, weeping with abandon. Elrohir knew that he had gone too far. He knelt beside him, despite his throbbing ribs, holding his twin against his chest. His anger fled.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as tears streamed down his cheeks. "I only want to protect you, Elladan. I cannot bear to see your pain."
"I know," Elladan stammered. "But I can't bear the thought of him doing such a thing…"
His twin rubbed his back tenderly, his lips resting on his brow. He rocked him back and forth soothingly.
"It's alright, brother. It's alright."
Elladan lay curled in his brother's arms like a mere child, his breath hitching as he clutched Elrohir's tunic. The other twin comforted him the best that he could, trying to mend his broken heart. And that was how Elrond found them when he entered the library at midnight.
**********************
It was dark when he woke up. It was always dark. He could feel sweat on his pale skin, and the air was hot and hard to breathe in. Gasping, he rolled over, trying to remove the taint from the air as he pressed his mouth to the soft blanket that surrounded him, warm with perspiration, and his forehead against the cold stone. He shivered as he was tugged between fire and ice. He felt horrible and his stomach churned threateningly, as it always tended to do after a summons…
A summons? He had been summoned? What were his orders? He couldn't remember, and his master was angry when he couldn't remember…
He bolted up and opened his eyes, shaking and panting frantically. He couldn't remember, he couldn't remember, he couldn't remember…
He was in a strange place. Stones in twisted shapes seemed to grow from the earth and the world was sprinkled with debris. The sky was cloudy and grim. It brought a cold breeze with it that hurt his delicate skin, only beginning to heal. Nearby he could see the horse that he had befriended. Yet his heart almost ceased beating when he saw no trees to hide in, and no dark spaces to immerse himself in.
"You're awake."
He turned to the owner of the soft, gentle voice and found that it was the Man. He was sitting close by, looking at him with interest and pity. Strands of brown hair fell in front of his grey eyes as he rose and came closer.
"I need some answers, Elf," he said slowly, towering over the stricken creature. Tears ran down his dirty face as his shadow towered over his body, immersing him in cruel darkness that made him whimper. "You can no longer keep your secrets."
To his horror, the disconsolate thing began to cry. His clear blue eyes, too large for his thin head and brimming with tears, grew fearful and he buried his face in his hands to weep silently in pain.
Aragorn sighed.
"Please stop that. I'm not here to hurt you, Master Elf. I'm here to ask you some questions. It is only fair to know the name of one who once rescued me."
Yet even as the Man feigned indifference, the Elf sobbed harder. His scrawny frame was wracked with quakes. Suddenly, Aragorn could not bear it any longer. He knelt beside the pathetic creature and hummed quietly to calm him. The tune was an ancient elvish song from Lothlorien, and it soothed them both. Once the Elf was silenced and listening, he tried again.
"Will it help if I told you my name first?" he asked gently. "I am… Estel. I came from Rivendell. Where are you from?"
The Elf opened his mouth and croaked, with effort, "I don't know."
The sound was hoarse and pained. The Elf seemed surprised to hear his own voice. He snapped his mouth shut in shock that came from the awe of having his power of speech restored.
"Who are you, then?"
"I don't know…" he whispered. "I'm alone."
"What do you mean?" he inquired. "How can you forget your name?"
It was indeed strange for one of the Elves, creatures who could remember events of the tiniest importance from centuries unnumbered, to lose such a vital part of their being. Aragorn could not even imagine such a loss of identity. If Elrond himself had told him of such a malady a month ago, he would have doubtlessly laughed and continued about his way. Yet now, he could not think of anything less humorous, as he looked at the miserable Elf before him.
Meanwhile, the creature in question wanted to die. His body ached with pain and his mind stung. It was hard to concentrate on the Man before him while his vision blurred with agony. He was feeling more lost then ever, and he still could not remember his summons…
A lash of fire made him gasp and cease his groveling. His eyes locked on the Man's own with renewed attention. This Man could kill him if he wanted to. Perhaps if he gained favor with him, his greatest wish could be granted.
"I didn't," the Elf answered, warm tears trickling down his dirty cheeks. "He forced me to."
The mortal looked over his lean, starving body with careful scrutiny, watching the other shake under his gaze with a strange look in his grey orbs. Was this what it felt like to leave home? Was this a thing every grown Man must face? Here he had the life of a beautiful creature in his hands. He had power now, true power. This Elf lived or died by his own choice. Was this a test of the Valar? If so, he would not fail.
"That shan't due," he decided after what had seemed like an eternity. "If we are to travel together, you'll need a name."
"W-what?" the Elf stammered, taken aback. "Travel… together? As equals?"
Estel smiled kindly at him, nodding.
"Of course, Master Elf," he agreed. "How else? You saved me whilst I battled a great Orc, and then I repaid the favor. We are equals. Now, what name would you like?"
The Elf closed his eyes. He was going to have a name! But what should he chose? A flower, a tree, a leaf… he was utterly elated! He felt as if he could float on air! As if he could soar! Wind blew on his pale cheeks as he thought. Then he gazed at Estel and smiled back.
"Have you made up your mind, Master Elf?"
Pain was slowly flowing back into his body like water into a dry riverbed, making it harder to speak. The shadow that ruled him wanted no name for the beautiful creature; he would not give him any hope in the darkness of his life. He wanted him to suffer alone with nothing wonderful to recall and only the memory of darkness to keep him occupied. His mouth began to dry out and his lips cracked and bled as he looked up. He coughed to clear his throat and then he croaked an almost inaudible whisper.
"Thoron," the Elf said softly, so that the Ranger had to strain his ears to hear him. "I am Thoron."
He collapsed weakly against his blanket, burying himself in its warmth. Then he drifted into sleep with his eyes shut tightly. A true sleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Whoa. That was so short, and yet it took so long. Um…are you guys, like, mad?
(The sounds of an angry mob fill the air and a group of angry readers enters the room with pitchforks and torches)
Yeah, I'm gonna say that you're upset. I'm REALLY sorry! I had no clue that I would have such a long writer's block, or that my family has a strange obsession with sitting in the chair in front of the computer for mindless conversations involving gossip and other drivel! (actually, I might have known about that last one)
So while I'm being torn apart by readers who just happen to be foaming at the mouth, here are some reviews!
LOTRFaith: Oops. I think that I have a problem… Not only was this, like, a month late, but I confused myself while writing that. (Although I hope that I cleared something up) Hmm… I think there's a genre on fanfiction for that!
Astievia: Thanks! I do lots of bad things to Legolas! That's in my bio, I believe.
leggylover03: I must have selected reading… You see, I gave you some Aragorn angst, though not a lot, and I updated super late. Sorry! Here's a hint: more angst to come!
Snuffles2: Thank you! I actually didn't know that people without IDs couldn't review. I should really check that out. My story is late, unfortunately. I'm so glad you like it!
Mysterious Jedi: Don't get too excited. You might hurt yourself. Thanks a bunch for the review!! (That's a funny word! Ha! Bunch, bunch, bunch, bunch…)
Shanna1826: ¡Gracias mucho! ¡Ése era uno de la mejor contestación que me han dado! Estoy apesadumbrado que era atrasado... ¡Gracias otra vez por mi primera contestación del español! (estoy apesadumbrado para cualquier error. Mi español no es muy bueno)
little-tenshi: Thank you SO much!! I'm sorry for the slow update. :( Please keep reviewing! (Also, um, what's a tenshi?)
silvertoekey: I'm glad that you're happy! :) Good call with the controlling idea! You were right! It is evil, true, but it shall prove more then a mere irritation. Muh wah ha ha! (Cue thunder and creepy music) Thanks a ton!
Gwyn: Girl, we are going to get along just fine! There is an explanation, but you won't find out for a while. Sorry for the snail-like pace!
Elenillor: Here you go! One story…oops. Not so hot off the press. It's a tad moldy since I last left it. It actually threw a fit when I can back. It still won't talk to me. Love that voice! Gracias for reviewing!
Deana: OMG…Can it be? A name that my computer doesn't underline in spell-check red? Whoa… You'll discover his dilemma soon! (Soon implying to under ten years, of course) Thank you loads!
Ack! Pain! It- burns my flesh! Oh well! Nothing that a little superglue can't fix! Thanks for the reviews and, for everyone's sake, I'll hopefully see you soon!
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.
After the Storm
Chapter Six: Unfurled
Aragorn sighed mournfully as he eased his hurting body against one of the smoother rocks.
He had meant to leave: he really had.
He had meant to continue fighting his way through all of Middle-Earth, banishing the thoughts of Rivendell and Elrond from his mind. The thoughts of his heritage he would ignore until they simply faded away, or until he grew too old to recall any visions of glory. He had supposed that he would be thankful for whichever came first.
The wanderer watched the fire absentmindedly, feeling the warm air caress him entirely like a cloak of flames. Smoke billowed into the air and sparks followed in vain as they strove to reach the heavens, their brilliance short and meaningless.
'Like the lives of Men,' Aragorn mused as he observed their struggles. 'They are swift and ignorant. They are like me, in a way; they are meaningless.'
Elrond didn't think so, another voice insisted. Neither did Elrohir, and certainly not Elladan. They loved you all the more because of your meager time in life. You should have stayed.
It was a small voice, and once it had spoken, it slipped through his mind like water poured from a pail. It was simply gone.
What had made him stay? Why was he still here and not riding far away from both his past and future?
One reason was his injury. His side had been stitched, though a painful task, and the wound was now swathed in bandages. The injury was still fresh. Riding would only aggravate it further, even to the point of ripping it anew. It would take time to heal.
'Thalion must also be considered', he realized. 'I forced him past his limits yesterday, and he needs time to recover.'
The proud steed was sleeping peacefully, having survived the collapse with his agility and wits, and was currently breathing evenly nearby with only a few cuts for his troubles.
The true reason, however, for his prolonged stay, was the beautiful creature at his side, lying sprawled beneath a soft blanket.
The Elf's fair, soft skin was bruised and slashed, and a few ribs were broken; they appeared newly healed and had snapped like twigs when the rocks fell. Cloth surrounded many a gaping wound and his light gold hair was tangled and bloody. The poor thing was currently convulsing in the throes of a nightmare as sweat trickled in rivers down his face.
Aragorn wiped his bruised face with a damp rag as his thoughts flew unbidden to ideas that he would not stir.
Was this Elf a messenger of his father's, come to retrieve him? Was he so dedicated that he would purposely injure himself, so that Aragorn would be forced to bring him home?
"He is a spy," the soft hisses insisted, like a snake in his ears. "He comes to call you to Elrond. You should leave him."
At that moment, the Elf rolled over and vomited pitifully onto the dirt, moaning as he shook even harder than ever. Aragorn rubbed his naked back to calm him, revealed as he turned, and felt all thoughts of possible betrayal vanish.
"Poor thing," he murmured. "How did you get so weak?"
If he had been in good health before the collapse, he would have been fine now, but he had obviously been in terrible pain prior to yesterday, and that was only counting visible wounds. All and all, there seemed to be very little that he could do. As he watched the Elf groaned and writhe, he could see the mere surface of a deep wound to his spirit. It was sad to see a living creature so innocent so marred.
**********************
"Elladan?"
Elrohir walked up to his twin brother, resting a gentle hand upon his back. The other did not look up, choosing to continue carving an arrow.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked hopefully.
Elladan pressed the knife closer to the wood, fine shavings trailing behind his small knife. Anyone else would have thought that he had not even heard Elrohir speak. That is, anyone else besides Elrohir himself. His twin knew everything about him and feigned absorption in a mere arrow would not- could not – fool him.
"I suppose not," Elrohir sighed, sitting on an empty wooden chair.
For a while he watched his brother work. His hands trembled as he held his knife, and his beautiful eyes were filled with torment. At first Elrohir had been relieved that Elladan did not cry, yet now he was not certain that it was a good sign.
'What is better?' he wondered sadly. 'Is it truly joy that I feel when tears stray from his face, or is it worse to see him so weakened?'
Elladan may have been the eldest twin, if only by a few moments in time, but his heart was always more tender to cruelty like Aragorn had shown. This was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because the years that flew by had not hardened him, and a curse, for his innocent soul was so simple to wound. His brother was strong in battle, mind and soul, yet Elrohir was his guardian in matters of the heart.
"Brother," he teased, gesturing to the large pile of arrow shafts. "I believe that you have created enough arrows to last, not only through the hunting season, but many others aside! Do you plan to fletch them or merely toss them at the rabbits?"
He did not answer, but he pressed down harder then even before, until at last the blade slide with ease through the thin stick and then through the skin on his finger. It began to bleed sluggishly, the blood streaming down his hand. He rose to find bandages, but warm fingers wrapped his hand in clean cloths, slowing the flow.
Elladan looked up into a pair of sad, glowing eyes, staring detachedly as he tugged half-heartedly and tried to escape.
"Let me go," he mumbled in a hoarse, dead tone that tormented his brother's heart.
"Let me help," Elrohir answered, gently tying a firm knot in the white cloth. "You've been like this too long, brother. You're wasting away and you need me."
It was true. Elladan was growing thin in many ways. He was faded sometimes; as if he was only like to a dream as one began to wake in the morn, soon forgotten. His skin was white and colorless, no longer the pale but healthy gleam that Elrohir had known. His ribs were beginning to protrude from his chest, and his raven hair was tangled and no longer glistened. The last time he had been so disconsolate had been when Celebrian left on her grey ship long ago. All of the signs meant but one thing; it was grief that killed his twin, pure grief.
He stroked his dark hair reassuringly and he stopped struggling. Instead, something flickered in his face like a dying candle. Recognition? Trust? Elrohir could only hope. Perhaps his prayers to the Valar had been answered.
"He was only a senseless mortal, Elladan. A stupid Man. He did not deserve any of your love."
Here, for the first time, his voice grew bitter and cold. He hated Estel for what he had done to his brother. Was he laughing, now, even as they suffered? Was he betraying them to some great evil? His father had sent out search parties, but he didn't care. He couldn't recall a kind side to Aragorn. All that he knew was the pain in his brother's heart. He shared too deep a bond with Elladan to feel anything else.
Tears leaked from Elladan's eyes. He started to tremble as his twin spoke.
"No," he whined. "No, no, no. He loves me deep down, Elrohir. He loves me very much. He is not sluggish or spoiled as the other Men we have encountered from time to time. He is my brother. You can not begin to comprehend the love that we share."
Jealousy flared in his heart as he hissed: "If he loved you so deeply, then why did he leave you to die, like so much dead weight? If you had held him back, he would have killed you! Do you not recall what he did to me?"
Even now, it killed him to walk. By his father's orders, he should have still been in bed, but he bore the pain to see his brother. His chest was licked with flame, and made it hard to breathe. Yet he was here. He loved Elladan too much to lie idle whilst his tender heart bled.
"He hates you! He has grown spiteful while you were oblivious to all but his disguise of false care. You will die of agony as he grows fat on the profits of war like a vulture. In all of his ignorant gluttony, he will forget you. He will not remember your name."
Elladan sank to the ground, weeping with abandon. Elrohir knew that he had gone too far. He knelt beside him, despite his throbbing ribs, holding his twin against his chest. His anger fled.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as tears streamed down his cheeks. "I only want to protect you, Elladan. I cannot bear to see your pain."
"I know," Elladan stammered. "But I can't bear the thought of him doing such a thing…"
His twin rubbed his back tenderly, his lips resting on his brow. He rocked him back and forth soothingly.
"It's alright, brother. It's alright."
Elladan lay curled in his brother's arms like a mere child, his breath hitching as he clutched Elrohir's tunic. The other twin comforted him the best that he could, trying to mend his broken heart. And that was how Elrond found them when he entered the library at midnight.
**********************
It was dark when he woke up. It was always dark. He could feel sweat on his pale skin, and the air was hot and hard to breathe in. Gasping, he rolled over, trying to remove the taint from the air as he pressed his mouth to the soft blanket that surrounded him, warm with perspiration, and his forehead against the cold stone. He shivered as he was tugged between fire and ice. He felt horrible and his stomach churned threateningly, as it always tended to do after a summons…
A summons? He had been summoned? What were his orders? He couldn't remember, and his master was angry when he couldn't remember…
He bolted up and opened his eyes, shaking and panting frantically. He couldn't remember, he couldn't remember, he couldn't remember…
He was in a strange place. Stones in twisted shapes seemed to grow from the earth and the world was sprinkled with debris. The sky was cloudy and grim. It brought a cold breeze with it that hurt his delicate skin, only beginning to heal. Nearby he could see the horse that he had befriended. Yet his heart almost ceased beating when he saw no trees to hide in, and no dark spaces to immerse himself in.
"You're awake."
He turned to the owner of the soft, gentle voice and found that it was the Man. He was sitting close by, looking at him with interest and pity. Strands of brown hair fell in front of his grey eyes as he rose and came closer.
"I need some answers, Elf," he said slowly, towering over the stricken creature. Tears ran down his dirty face as his shadow towered over his body, immersing him in cruel darkness that made him whimper. "You can no longer keep your secrets."
To his horror, the disconsolate thing began to cry. His clear blue eyes, too large for his thin head and brimming with tears, grew fearful and he buried his face in his hands to weep silently in pain.
Aragorn sighed.
"Please stop that. I'm not here to hurt you, Master Elf. I'm here to ask you some questions. It is only fair to know the name of one who once rescued me."
Yet even as the Man feigned indifference, the Elf sobbed harder. His scrawny frame was wracked with quakes. Suddenly, Aragorn could not bear it any longer. He knelt beside the pathetic creature and hummed quietly to calm him. The tune was an ancient elvish song from Lothlorien, and it soothed them both. Once the Elf was silenced and listening, he tried again.
"Will it help if I told you my name first?" he asked gently. "I am… Estel. I came from Rivendell. Where are you from?"
The Elf opened his mouth and croaked, with effort, "I don't know."
The sound was hoarse and pained. The Elf seemed surprised to hear his own voice. He snapped his mouth shut in shock that came from the awe of having his power of speech restored.
"Who are you, then?"
"I don't know…" he whispered. "I'm alone."
"What do you mean?" he inquired. "How can you forget your name?"
It was indeed strange for one of the Elves, creatures who could remember events of the tiniest importance from centuries unnumbered, to lose such a vital part of their being. Aragorn could not even imagine such a loss of identity. If Elrond himself had told him of such a malady a month ago, he would have doubtlessly laughed and continued about his way. Yet now, he could not think of anything less humorous, as he looked at the miserable Elf before him.
Meanwhile, the creature in question wanted to die. His body ached with pain and his mind stung. It was hard to concentrate on the Man before him while his vision blurred with agony. He was feeling more lost then ever, and he still could not remember his summons…
A lash of fire made him gasp and cease his groveling. His eyes locked on the Man's own with renewed attention. This Man could kill him if he wanted to. Perhaps if he gained favor with him, his greatest wish could be granted.
"I didn't," the Elf answered, warm tears trickling down his dirty cheeks. "He forced me to."
The mortal looked over his lean, starving body with careful scrutiny, watching the other shake under his gaze with a strange look in his grey orbs. Was this what it felt like to leave home? Was this a thing every grown Man must face? Here he had the life of a beautiful creature in his hands. He had power now, true power. This Elf lived or died by his own choice. Was this a test of the Valar? If so, he would not fail.
"That shan't due," he decided after what had seemed like an eternity. "If we are to travel together, you'll need a name."
"W-what?" the Elf stammered, taken aback. "Travel… together? As equals?"
Estel smiled kindly at him, nodding.
"Of course, Master Elf," he agreed. "How else? You saved me whilst I battled a great Orc, and then I repaid the favor. We are equals. Now, what name would you like?"
The Elf closed his eyes. He was going to have a name! But what should he chose? A flower, a tree, a leaf… he was utterly elated! He felt as if he could float on air! As if he could soar! Wind blew on his pale cheeks as he thought. Then he gazed at Estel and smiled back.
"Have you made up your mind, Master Elf?"
Pain was slowly flowing back into his body like water into a dry riverbed, making it harder to speak. The shadow that ruled him wanted no name for the beautiful creature; he would not give him any hope in the darkness of his life. He wanted him to suffer alone with nothing wonderful to recall and only the memory of darkness to keep him occupied. His mouth began to dry out and his lips cracked and bled as he looked up. He coughed to clear his throat and then he croaked an almost inaudible whisper.
"Thoron," the Elf said softly, so that the Ranger had to strain his ears to hear him. "I am Thoron."
He collapsed weakly against his blanket, burying himself in its warmth. Then he drifted into sleep with his eyes shut tightly. A true sleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Whoa. That was so short, and yet it took so long. Um…are you guys, like, mad?
(The sounds of an angry mob fill the air and a group of angry readers enters the room with pitchforks and torches)
Yeah, I'm gonna say that you're upset. I'm REALLY sorry! I had no clue that I would have such a long writer's block, or that my family has a strange obsession with sitting in the chair in front of the computer for mindless conversations involving gossip and other drivel! (actually, I might have known about that last one)
So while I'm being torn apart by readers who just happen to be foaming at the mouth, here are some reviews!
LOTRFaith: Oops. I think that I have a problem… Not only was this, like, a month late, but I confused myself while writing that. (Although I hope that I cleared something up) Hmm… I think there's a genre on fanfiction for that!
Astievia: Thanks! I do lots of bad things to Legolas! That's in my bio, I believe.
leggylover03: I must have selected reading… You see, I gave you some Aragorn angst, though not a lot, and I updated super late. Sorry! Here's a hint: more angst to come!
Snuffles2: Thank you! I actually didn't know that people without IDs couldn't review. I should really check that out. My story is late, unfortunately. I'm so glad you like it!
Mysterious Jedi: Don't get too excited. You might hurt yourself. Thanks a bunch for the review!! (That's a funny word! Ha! Bunch, bunch, bunch, bunch…)
Shanna1826: ¡Gracias mucho! ¡Ése era uno de la mejor contestación que me han dado! Estoy apesadumbrado que era atrasado... ¡Gracias otra vez por mi primera contestación del español! (estoy apesadumbrado para cualquier error. Mi español no es muy bueno)
little-tenshi: Thank you SO much!! I'm sorry for the slow update. :( Please keep reviewing! (Also, um, what's a tenshi?)
silvertoekey: I'm glad that you're happy! :) Good call with the controlling idea! You were right! It is evil, true, but it shall prove more then a mere irritation. Muh wah ha ha! (Cue thunder and creepy music) Thanks a ton!
Gwyn: Girl, we are going to get along just fine! There is an explanation, but you won't find out for a while. Sorry for the snail-like pace!
Elenillor: Here you go! One story…oops. Not so hot off the press. It's a tad moldy since I last left it. It actually threw a fit when I can back. It still won't talk to me. Love that voice! Gracias for reviewing!
Deana: OMG…Can it be? A name that my computer doesn't underline in spell-check red? Whoa… You'll discover his dilemma soon! (Soon implying to under ten years, of course) Thank you loads!
Ack! Pain! It- burns my flesh! Oh well! Nothing that a little superglue can't fix! Thanks for the reviews and, for everyone's sake, I'll hopefully see you soon!