Chapter Thirteen
This
Part 1
At first Legolas had been pleased when the muted voices inside the meeting room confirmed Aragorn's cryptic hint of his likely destination, but as he and Gimli drew closer to the sound – close enough to hear murmuring voices as well chuckles (which upon first hearing had not only lifted his brow but the dwarf's as well) – he began to feel anxious. For them to find the location was one thing, but for them, though it seemed at first to be a stroke of good fortune, to hear the voices so plainly instead of hushed (or as he'd expected – nonexistent) didn't feel right. If Ridley was making no attempt to lower his voice or keep Aragorn quiet, that meant one of two things: either Ridley was supremely confident that they wouldn't be found – which was highly unlikely, or he was counting on the fact that they would be found and was waiting for them – which was more likely.
But would good fortune bring them this far only to have it end this way? After all these trials and tests, would the Lords simply abandon them now? And if they were destined to die here, then what was the point of testing them in the first place?
Gimli looked at Legolas with eager eyes and pointed to the rectangle of light that was the outline of the hidden doorway. Legolas shook his head and patted his hand toward the floor, indicating they would stay put. They had to stay put: this was wrong. Somehow they had lost their only advantage – the element of surprise, and Legolas thought that he and Gimli could reasonably hope they could get it back if they could afford to wait long enough for Ridley to let his guard down.
In the end, time ran out. The two could actually see Ridley kneeling through a sliver of space, though from this angle it was just a small portion of his back and the heel of one boot; Legolas easily made out a new sound that was the solid smack of thrown fists; and worse – soft grunts of pain. He closed his eyes and cursed silently, knowing that good fortune had indeed abandoned them.
Gimli moved to stand by the hinge of the door so Legolas could position himself in front of the opening. The dwarf's hands tightened around the handle of the executioner's axe and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Legolas tilted his head, still listening for sounds inside the meeting chamber, then he caught Gimli's eye and gave a quick nod at the sliver of light. Gimli returned to the task of keeping his eyes on what little he could see of Ridley. From where Legolas now stood, he could see nothing at all of the man. All he could do was listen and hope.
Suddenly all sounds stopped. The elf's heart beat slow and hard in his chest. His eyes cut to the dwarf still peering through the sliver of space. Gimli's head snapped around to stare at him. The look on his face...
Legolas drew the same knives from his belt that Ridley had sewn into his blanket and flipped them to hold them by the tips of their blades. Then with all-deadly-speed he kicked the hidden door in, shoulder-rolled out onto the floor of the meeting chamber, raised up to one knee, and hauled back to throw.
"Legolas, NO!" he heard Gimli shout from the passageway, and a good job that the dwarf did for his aim would have had deadly consequences, that was not in question, but with Ridley somewhat blocked by Aragorn's lifeless body it would have been a tossup which man would have been struck. As it was, Legolas did heed the warning and froze like a statue.
In that moment, thought was absent from his mind. Nothing breathed, nothing moved, nothing made the slightest sound. His eyes took in the scene before him – one his mind was now struggling against accepting but would later recall with clarity from being forever burned into his memory. Aragorn was slouched in the far corner; Ridley down on one knee behind him, one fist clenching a handful of Aragorn's shirt to hold him up and the other fist holding a knife – it's sharp tip pressed to Aragorn's side. Unfortunately, just as Legolas had guessed, Ridley had been waiting for them. But while Ridley had waited, he had been very busy. Aragorn's face – beaten bloody and already swelling – was barely recognizable, but oddly enough Ridley didn't seem to have a mark on his. That told the elf something: either Aragorn hadn't fought back, or worse, couldn't. Legolas had been totally unprepared for this particular blow, having thought every conceivable kind of possibility except this, and for some moments he could hardly accept the shock as he stared at both friend and foe.
Ridley saw Legolas' expression of surprise and grinned. "I wouldn't if I were you." His voice suddenly rose as he ordered loudly: "Weapons on the ground!"
Legolas didn't move. "And what if I don't? What if I choose to put them through your throat instead?"
"Then he'll get to the void just enough ahead of me to hold the door," he said, his eyes glittering dangerously. "What? Do you think I'm kidding?"
"No," Legolas replied in a calm voice. As a matter of fact, he was sure Ridley wasn't kidding. The man had trapped himself into a corner, so to speak. He was a dead man in Gondor, and when you're facing death, everything changes. Desperation can drive the smallest mouse to try to fight the largest hawk. Death, desperation, and fear are great motivators. He should know.
"You got that right, elf," Ridley said mildly, and before Legolas could say more, Ridley suddenly buried the knife in Aragorn's side. Beaten near unconscious, the king didn't so much as twitch. "I never liked him anyway," Ridley continued mildly. "There's something about his face. You just can't trust a man with a face like that."
Legolas' jaw dropped and he gasped hard as though he'd been the one stabbed. With both his mind and body stuck instantly numb, his arms were already lowering when Ridley repeated in that maddeningly mild voice of his: "Weapons on the ground, then slide them over here."
Slowly, slowly, Legolas placed the knives on the stone floor and shoved them forward. They clattered along the stone floor and came to a stop a good five feet from his friend's legs.
A grim smile tugged at the corners of Ridley's mouth as he pulled the bloody knife out and let Aragorn go. The king swooned for a moment and then toppled sideways. His head struck the stone floor with a sickening thud.
"Now you, dwarf," Ridley called, his eyes not leaving Legolas' for even a moment.
But a moment was all Gimli needed. He heaved the execution's axe. It would have removed Ridley's head from his shoulders had he not possessed the same cat-like reflexes Aragorn had. As it was, it struck him a glancing blow across his forehead and hammered him backward. A shrill cry of pain and rage rose from Ridley's mouth as he struck the wall behind him. The knife bounced from his hand and skidded forward towards Aragorn.
Ridley pushed off the wall and dove for the knife.
Legolas dove for his.
Gimli bellowed a blood-chilling cry as he raced forward.
Part 2
Aragorn had no clear memory of the time that followed, and that was probably merciful. He was too busy falling in and out of consciousness to grasp what was happening. Legolas and Gimli, however, did not have that luxury.
Ridley got to his knife first, his being far less distance away than Legolas' knives were. He twisted as he skidded and came to a stop on his knees beside Aragorn once more. In less than a blink of an eye he had one hand buried deep in Aragorn's hair, the other maintaining a steady pressure on the knife at Aragorn's throat, not quite enough to break the skin.
Both the elf and the dwarf froze again.
"Seems we're right back to where we started." Ridley's lips spread into a smile, then his face dropped. "Now BACK – UP!"
They did.
"Ridley," Legolas said, "you've lived too long."
Ridley smiled. "And I'll wager you'd love to remedy that, wouldn't you?" His smile widened. "I admire your endless optimism, Legolas. Never lose that."
The elf sneered. "Oh I won't."
"Well would you look at that," Ridley said cheerfully, returning his gaze to Aragorn. He was lying on his side on the floor, blood spreading around him like some grotesque advancing crimson mat. "He's really bleeding now, isn't he?"
"If he dies..." Legolas growled through his clenched teeth.
"But he is dying. Just not quick enough." He frowned as though in thought. "But yes, I do see what you mean. That would be a terrible shame, wouldn't it?" He shrugged, unconcerned. "Time to choose. You can save him or kill me, but you can't do both. Which will it be?"
Legolas gave what looked like a lopsided grin, which wasn't meant to be a grin at all but a scowl. "There are two of us."
Ridley nodded slowly. "I noticed that. But the way I figure it, one of you will need to stem the flow and the other will need to race for a healer before he bleeds to death...unless you don't really care about him."
"This is madness!" Gimli cried.
"Really? What do you think, Legolas? You should know this one." Before the elf could answer, Ridley's hand reached forward to grab Aragorn's forehead. He held the knife's tip to the back of Aragorn's neck just below the skull. "Your knives, Legolas. Now. Then back up."
The elf crawled forward then pushed the knives again. They clattered along the floor and came to a stop just in front of Aragorn's stomach. He backed off slowly as Ridley picked them up and tossed them behind him into the corner.
"Now... " Ridley's hand reached for Aragorn's forehead again. His head was pulled back once more, and Aragorn felt something cold and sharp bite into the back of his neck. His head was pulled sharply backward to ease the passage of the knife. Aragorn jerked, then stilled. "...choose," Ridley said. He leapt to his feet and tore out through the open passageway.
Legolas didn't waste time rising to his feet – he scrambled forward on his hands and knees. Gimli stood frozen for only a moment and then raced forward as well. He dropped behind Aragorn and brushed his hair away to see the new wound. The elf was beside him in an instant, pushing Gimli's hands away. The dwarf gave way instantly.
Time stood still. Finally: "Legolas..." Gimli said tensely.
"He's breathing." The elf was still leaning; his eyes narrowed, carefully fingering through Aragorn's sweat-soaked hair.
"Legolas, is it – " Gimli asked slowly, utterly beside himself with worry.
"Get out of the light!" Legolas hissed.
Gimli leaned back to sit on his heels, wringing his hands in front of him.
After a few agonizing moments the elf let out a breath of air, one he didn't know he was holding, and said: "Oh Lords..." and sagged with relief. "He missed the spine. A bluff. It's just a nick. But his side...and his arm..." His clamped a hand over each, his gaze cutting to the dwarf, and with an angry light coming into his eyes he cried furiously: "Go, Gimli! Take Ridley down!"
"Aye, I will! Stay with Aragorn!" the dwarf called as he raced from the room, the executioner's axe back in his able hands.
Aragorn shuddered then stilled. Legolas dropped his head to Aragorn's chest, slamming his palm against his other ear to deaden any other sounds. He heard the king's heartbeat. It was slow and weak, granted, but still there. He re-gripped the side and arm tight, and as he did, Aragorn's eyes fluttered open. "Legolas, where are you?" His voice was no more than a soft whisper.
Legolas felt a strange déjà vu, as if time had flipped backwards and restructured itself. He remembered Aragorn holding him as he had asked that very question. He remembered his own weakening and the sensation of floating. He remembered his own death, and remembered that Aragorn had held him as he slipped away. Now it was his turn to do for his friend what his friend had done for him.
"I'm here, Aragorn. I'm right here. It's alright," he said quickly, his eyes anxiously darting between Aragorn's ashen face and the passageway. "Just lie still."
"I've been stabbed," Aragorn said with a slight look of surprise, though his voice was too calm and his words were slurred as though he'd been drinking. He struggled to rise. "I didn't know..."
"Just stay still," Legolas said, leaning over him and using his weight to hold him down. He didn't dare move his hands now. "Don't move."
The elf's eyes flittered to his friend's before lowering to look at his own hands – one clamped tight over Aragorn's bicep and the other pressed tight over his side. Dark blood seeped between the fingers of both. Heavy blood. Too much blood. He looked up toward the empty passageway.
/Where are they?/ he wondered, his anxiety growing until he felt like screaming. His mind frantically raced over the same thought: /Come on, come on, come on, come on... /
"Legolas, I didn't know..."
Legolas was speaking again, Aragorn was almost sure of it, but he couldn't hear him; his ears were buzzing – the noise as though he had shoved his head into a beehive. He felt his body relax and wilt without his consent. Then his eyes closed, also without his consent. The pain diminished.
Then he began to float.
He drifted above it, warm and safe and secure. At first there were shouts, echoing footsteps, a far-off scream – /Me?/ he wondered – and now...
...he was
(dying)
floating above it all.
Weightless.
Painless.
He bobbed higher, lifting on a warm sea of nothingness, while voices whispered around him. He couldn't make out any of the words, and that should have bothered him, but for some reason it didn't. Right now, he didn't care about anything except how good he felt, and how right this felt, and how he wanted this wonderful feeling to go on forever and ever and ever...
What are you willing to sacrifice? a voice whispered in his mind.
Aragorn thought of Legolas – of their friendship and all their trials and travels and sacrifices. He thought of Arwen and of his love for her. Thought of the promise he had made to Orome. Thought of Gondor and of what would happen to her without him – without a rightful king – and of all the work and all the fighting and all the losses, both human and elven alike, and all the sacrifices and pain and suffering. Thought of all he would be giving up and all he would miss out on and all he still wanted to do. And through it all, he realized that Gondor was bigger than him or any of them, even bigger than the loves and fears of his own heart. He had fought too long and too hard and lost too much to let it go now. That's when he realized that he wasn't ready to die. Someday, maybe, but not yet. Not now. And not like this. He would sacrifice...this, and fight like a demon to live and make a difference, and keep his promise to Orome.
What are you willing to sacrifice? the voice again whispered in his mind.
/Everything, Orome,/ he answered. But he wondered if that was enough.
He suddenly dropped...and the ugly pain returned with a vengeance. He heard himself groaning as though from miles away. Felt many hands unfastening his clothes. Felt cold, naked, exposed, but couldn't move to cover himself; couldn't so-much-as find the strength to open his eyes. Felt a silky sheet cover him to the waist. His chest felt wet. Hard to breath. Harder. Weakening...
A voice whispered urgently in his ear. At first he couldn't make out the words, but the tone was soothing, none the less. Then he recognized the voice – Legolas' voice. He sounded distressed, croaking, on the verge of tears. He tried to force his lips to form words of comfort but could not make them move. His body refused to listen to him... and he was still weakening.
All his concentration focused onto one goal: Keep breathing.
I know what I am willing to sacrifice for Gondor, Orome's words flittered in his mind. What are you willing to sacrifice?
/Everything,/ Aragorn thought in answer. /Everything. Help me... /
Part 3
Aragorn awoke slowly and in a decent bit of pain. As for what day it was or what hour, he didn't know. But at least he awoke...and that was something, though at the moment he wasn't at all sure if that was a good something or a bad something.
He was aware that his hands were being held down. No, that wasn't right. His hands weren't being held down; they were being held – held by other hands. One felt soft and slender, and one felt rougher and almost as slender. He had the sensation of two people – one on either side of him. The softer hand gripped his tighter. The rougher one loosened its hold but didn't break the grip.
His eyes fluttered open.
He blinked several times and forced them to focus.
A face filled his field of vision. A beautiful face. The most beautiful face in Middle Earth. Arwen. Smiling warmly, she leaned and gently brushed a stubborn lock of dark curl off his forehead.
He was alarmed to see tears standing in her eyes. His mouth opened, meaning to speak, meaning to comfort her...to tell her he was alright...to tell her not to worry.
Meant to, in fact, but she touched her fingers to his lips to stop him, then glanced to the left. He followed her gaze to the sleeping form of Legolas curled in a chair beside the bed, the weary elf's hand still holding his even in sleep. Aragorn was well used to battle, but he had never seen anything quite like this before. Legolas looked as though he might have come straight out of a slaughterhouse. His sleeves, the whole front of his tunic, and his breeches – knees, calves, and all – were stiff with dried blood.
For a moment he thought Legolas had been horribly injured until Arwen saw his startled look and explained: "He refused to leave you, even to clean up." She paused. Smiled. "He said that he would not leave his brother for any reason."
His gaze lifted back to her. He gave a ghost of a smile as she
slipped his ring back onto his finger then placed the Evenstar
pendant into the palm of his hand and closed his fingers around it.
Her lips brushed his as he slipped back into the land of dreams.
Tbc...
This
Part 1
At first Legolas had been pleased when the muted voices inside the meeting room confirmed Aragorn's cryptic hint of his likely destination, but as he and Gimli drew closer to the sound – close enough to hear murmuring voices as well chuckles (which upon first hearing had not only lifted his brow but the dwarf's as well) – he began to feel anxious. For them to find the location was one thing, but for them, though it seemed at first to be a stroke of good fortune, to hear the voices so plainly instead of hushed (or as he'd expected – nonexistent) didn't feel right. If Ridley was making no attempt to lower his voice or keep Aragorn quiet, that meant one of two things: either Ridley was supremely confident that they wouldn't be found – which was highly unlikely, or he was counting on the fact that they would be found and was waiting for them – which was more likely.
But would good fortune bring them this far only to have it end this way? After all these trials and tests, would the Lords simply abandon them now? And if they were destined to die here, then what was the point of testing them in the first place?
Gimli looked at Legolas with eager eyes and pointed to the rectangle of light that was the outline of the hidden doorway. Legolas shook his head and patted his hand toward the floor, indicating they would stay put. They had to stay put: this was wrong. Somehow they had lost their only advantage – the element of surprise, and Legolas thought that he and Gimli could reasonably hope they could get it back if they could afford to wait long enough for Ridley to let his guard down.
In the end, time ran out. The two could actually see Ridley kneeling through a sliver of space, though from this angle it was just a small portion of his back and the heel of one boot; Legolas easily made out a new sound that was the solid smack of thrown fists; and worse – soft grunts of pain. He closed his eyes and cursed silently, knowing that good fortune had indeed abandoned them.
Gimli moved to stand by the hinge of the door so Legolas could position himself in front of the opening. The dwarf's hands tightened around the handle of the executioner's axe and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Legolas tilted his head, still listening for sounds inside the meeting chamber, then he caught Gimli's eye and gave a quick nod at the sliver of light. Gimli returned to the task of keeping his eyes on what little he could see of Ridley. From where Legolas now stood, he could see nothing at all of the man. All he could do was listen and hope.
Suddenly all sounds stopped. The elf's heart beat slow and hard in his chest. His eyes cut to the dwarf still peering through the sliver of space. Gimli's head snapped around to stare at him. The look on his face...
Legolas drew the same knives from his belt that Ridley had sewn into his blanket and flipped them to hold them by the tips of their blades. Then with all-deadly-speed he kicked the hidden door in, shoulder-rolled out onto the floor of the meeting chamber, raised up to one knee, and hauled back to throw.
"Legolas, NO!" he heard Gimli shout from the passageway, and a good job that the dwarf did for his aim would have had deadly consequences, that was not in question, but with Ridley somewhat blocked by Aragorn's lifeless body it would have been a tossup which man would have been struck. As it was, Legolas did heed the warning and froze like a statue.
In that moment, thought was absent from his mind. Nothing breathed, nothing moved, nothing made the slightest sound. His eyes took in the scene before him – one his mind was now struggling against accepting but would later recall with clarity from being forever burned into his memory. Aragorn was slouched in the far corner; Ridley down on one knee behind him, one fist clenching a handful of Aragorn's shirt to hold him up and the other fist holding a knife – it's sharp tip pressed to Aragorn's side. Unfortunately, just as Legolas had guessed, Ridley had been waiting for them. But while Ridley had waited, he had been very busy. Aragorn's face – beaten bloody and already swelling – was barely recognizable, but oddly enough Ridley didn't seem to have a mark on his. That told the elf something: either Aragorn hadn't fought back, or worse, couldn't. Legolas had been totally unprepared for this particular blow, having thought every conceivable kind of possibility except this, and for some moments he could hardly accept the shock as he stared at both friend and foe.
Ridley saw Legolas' expression of surprise and grinned. "I wouldn't if I were you." His voice suddenly rose as he ordered loudly: "Weapons on the ground!"
Legolas didn't move. "And what if I don't? What if I choose to put them through your throat instead?"
"Then he'll get to the void just enough ahead of me to hold the door," he said, his eyes glittering dangerously. "What? Do you think I'm kidding?"
"No," Legolas replied in a calm voice. As a matter of fact, he was sure Ridley wasn't kidding. The man had trapped himself into a corner, so to speak. He was a dead man in Gondor, and when you're facing death, everything changes. Desperation can drive the smallest mouse to try to fight the largest hawk. Death, desperation, and fear are great motivators. He should know.
"You got that right, elf," Ridley said mildly, and before Legolas could say more, Ridley suddenly buried the knife in Aragorn's side. Beaten near unconscious, the king didn't so much as twitch. "I never liked him anyway," Ridley continued mildly. "There's something about his face. You just can't trust a man with a face like that."
Legolas' jaw dropped and he gasped hard as though he'd been the one stabbed. With both his mind and body stuck instantly numb, his arms were already lowering when Ridley repeated in that maddeningly mild voice of his: "Weapons on the ground, then slide them over here."
Slowly, slowly, Legolas placed the knives on the stone floor and shoved them forward. They clattered along the stone floor and came to a stop a good five feet from his friend's legs.
A grim smile tugged at the corners of Ridley's mouth as he pulled the bloody knife out and let Aragorn go. The king swooned for a moment and then toppled sideways. His head struck the stone floor with a sickening thud.
"Now you, dwarf," Ridley called, his eyes not leaving Legolas' for even a moment.
But a moment was all Gimli needed. He heaved the execution's axe. It would have removed Ridley's head from his shoulders had he not possessed the same cat-like reflexes Aragorn had. As it was, it struck him a glancing blow across his forehead and hammered him backward. A shrill cry of pain and rage rose from Ridley's mouth as he struck the wall behind him. The knife bounced from his hand and skidded forward towards Aragorn.
Ridley pushed off the wall and dove for the knife.
Legolas dove for his.
Gimli bellowed a blood-chilling cry as he raced forward.
Part 2
Aragorn had no clear memory of the time that followed, and that was probably merciful. He was too busy falling in and out of consciousness to grasp what was happening. Legolas and Gimli, however, did not have that luxury.
Ridley got to his knife first, his being far less distance away than Legolas' knives were. He twisted as he skidded and came to a stop on his knees beside Aragorn once more. In less than a blink of an eye he had one hand buried deep in Aragorn's hair, the other maintaining a steady pressure on the knife at Aragorn's throat, not quite enough to break the skin.
Both the elf and the dwarf froze again.
"Seems we're right back to where we started." Ridley's lips spread into a smile, then his face dropped. "Now BACK – UP!"
They did.
"Ridley," Legolas said, "you've lived too long."
Ridley smiled. "And I'll wager you'd love to remedy that, wouldn't you?" His smile widened. "I admire your endless optimism, Legolas. Never lose that."
The elf sneered. "Oh I won't."
"Well would you look at that," Ridley said cheerfully, returning his gaze to Aragorn. He was lying on his side on the floor, blood spreading around him like some grotesque advancing crimson mat. "He's really bleeding now, isn't he?"
"If he dies..." Legolas growled through his clenched teeth.
"But he is dying. Just not quick enough." He frowned as though in thought. "But yes, I do see what you mean. That would be a terrible shame, wouldn't it?" He shrugged, unconcerned. "Time to choose. You can save him or kill me, but you can't do both. Which will it be?"
Legolas gave what looked like a lopsided grin, which wasn't meant to be a grin at all but a scowl. "There are two of us."
Ridley nodded slowly. "I noticed that. But the way I figure it, one of you will need to stem the flow and the other will need to race for a healer before he bleeds to death...unless you don't really care about him."
"This is madness!" Gimli cried.
"Really? What do you think, Legolas? You should know this one." Before the elf could answer, Ridley's hand reached forward to grab Aragorn's forehead. He held the knife's tip to the back of Aragorn's neck just below the skull. "Your knives, Legolas. Now. Then back up."
The elf crawled forward then pushed the knives again. They clattered along the floor and came to a stop just in front of Aragorn's stomach. He backed off slowly as Ridley picked them up and tossed them behind him into the corner.
"Now... " Ridley's hand reached for Aragorn's forehead again. His head was pulled back once more, and Aragorn felt something cold and sharp bite into the back of his neck. His head was pulled sharply backward to ease the passage of the knife. Aragorn jerked, then stilled. "...choose," Ridley said. He leapt to his feet and tore out through the open passageway.
Legolas didn't waste time rising to his feet – he scrambled forward on his hands and knees. Gimli stood frozen for only a moment and then raced forward as well. He dropped behind Aragorn and brushed his hair away to see the new wound. The elf was beside him in an instant, pushing Gimli's hands away. The dwarf gave way instantly.
Time stood still. Finally: "Legolas..." Gimli said tensely.
"He's breathing." The elf was still leaning; his eyes narrowed, carefully fingering through Aragorn's sweat-soaked hair.
"Legolas, is it – " Gimli asked slowly, utterly beside himself with worry.
"Get out of the light!" Legolas hissed.
Gimli leaned back to sit on his heels, wringing his hands in front of him.
After a few agonizing moments the elf let out a breath of air, one he didn't know he was holding, and said: "Oh Lords..." and sagged with relief. "He missed the spine. A bluff. It's just a nick. But his side...and his arm..." His clamped a hand over each, his gaze cutting to the dwarf, and with an angry light coming into his eyes he cried furiously: "Go, Gimli! Take Ridley down!"
"Aye, I will! Stay with Aragorn!" the dwarf called as he raced from the room, the executioner's axe back in his able hands.
Aragorn shuddered then stilled. Legolas dropped his head to Aragorn's chest, slamming his palm against his other ear to deaden any other sounds. He heard the king's heartbeat. It was slow and weak, granted, but still there. He re-gripped the side and arm tight, and as he did, Aragorn's eyes fluttered open. "Legolas, where are you?" His voice was no more than a soft whisper.
Legolas felt a strange déjà vu, as if time had flipped backwards and restructured itself. He remembered Aragorn holding him as he had asked that very question. He remembered his own weakening and the sensation of floating. He remembered his own death, and remembered that Aragorn had held him as he slipped away. Now it was his turn to do for his friend what his friend had done for him.
"I'm here, Aragorn. I'm right here. It's alright," he said quickly, his eyes anxiously darting between Aragorn's ashen face and the passageway. "Just lie still."
"I've been stabbed," Aragorn said with a slight look of surprise, though his voice was too calm and his words were slurred as though he'd been drinking. He struggled to rise. "I didn't know..."
"Just stay still," Legolas said, leaning over him and using his weight to hold him down. He didn't dare move his hands now. "Don't move."
The elf's eyes flittered to his friend's before lowering to look at his own hands – one clamped tight over Aragorn's bicep and the other pressed tight over his side. Dark blood seeped between the fingers of both. Heavy blood. Too much blood. He looked up toward the empty passageway.
/Where are they?/ he wondered, his anxiety growing until he felt like screaming. His mind frantically raced over the same thought: /Come on, come on, come on, come on... /
"Legolas, I didn't know..."
Legolas was speaking again, Aragorn was almost sure of it, but he couldn't hear him; his ears were buzzing – the noise as though he had shoved his head into a beehive. He felt his body relax and wilt without his consent. Then his eyes closed, also without his consent. The pain diminished.
Then he began to float.
He drifted above it, warm and safe and secure. At first there were shouts, echoing footsteps, a far-off scream – /Me?/ he wondered – and now...
...he was
(dying)
floating above it all.
Weightless.
Painless.
He bobbed higher, lifting on a warm sea of nothingness, while voices whispered around him. He couldn't make out any of the words, and that should have bothered him, but for some reason it didn't. Right now, he didn't care about anything except how good he felt, and how right this felt, and how he wanted this wonderful feeling to go on forever and ever and ever...
What are you willing to sacrifice? a voice whispered in his mind.
Aragorn thought of Legolas – of their friendship and all their trials and travels and sacrifices. He thought of Arwen and of his love for her. Thought of the promise he had made to Orome. Thought of Gondor and of what would happen to her without him – without a rightful king – and of all the work and all the fighting and all the losses, both human and elven alike, and all the sacrifices and pain and suffering. Thought of all he would be giving up and all he would miss out on and all he still wanted to do. And through it all, he realized that Gondor was bigger than him or any of them, even bigger than the loves and fears of his own heart. He had fought too long and too hard and lost too much to let it go now. That's when he realized that he wasn't ready to die. Someday, maybe, but not yet. Not now. And not like this. He would sacrifice...this, and fight like a demon to live and make a difference, and keep his promise to Orome.
What are you willing to sacrifice? the voice again whispered in his mind.
/Everything, Orome,/ he answered. But he wondered if that was enough.
He suddenly dropped...and the ugly pain returned with a vengeance. He heard himself groaning as though from miles away. Felt many hands unfastening his clothes. Felt cold, naked, exposed, but couldn't move to cover himself; couldn't so-much-as find the strength to open his eyes. Felt a silky sheet cover him to the waist. His chest felt wet. Hard to breath. Harder. Weakening...
A voice whispered urgently in his ear. At first he couldn't make out the words, but the tone was soothing, none the less. Then he recognized the voice – Legolas' voice. He sounded distressed, croaking, on the verge of tears. He tried to force his lips to form words of comfort but could not make them move. His body refused to listen to him... and he was still weakening.
All his concentration focused onto one goal: Keep breathing.
I know what I am willing to sacrifice for Gondor, Orome's words flittered in his mind. What are you willing to sacrifice?
/Everything,/ Aragorn thought in answer. /Everything. Help me... /
Part 3
Aragorn awoke slowly and in a decent bit of pain. As for what day it was or what hour, he didn't know. But at least he awoke...and that was something, though at the moment he wasn't at all sure if that was a good something or a bad something.
He was aware that his hands were being held down. No, that wasn't right. His hands weren't being held down; they were being held – held by other hands. One felt soft and slender, and one felt rougher and almost as slender. He had the sensation of two people – one on either side of him. The softer hand gripped his tighter. The rougher one loosened its hold but didn't break the grip.
His eyes fluttered open.
He blinked several times and forced them to focus.
A face filled his field of vision. A beautiful face. The most beautiful face in Middle Earth. Arwen. Smiling warmly, she leaned and gently brushed a stubborn lock of dark curl off his forehead.
He was alarmed to see tears standing in her eyes. His mouth opened, meaning to speak, meaning to comfort her...to tell her he was alright...to tell her not to worry.
Meant to, in fact, but she touched her fingers to his lips to stop him, then glanced to the left. He followed her gaze to the sleeping form of Legolas curled in a chair beside the bed, the weary elf's hand still holding his even in sleep. Aragorn was well used to battle, but he had never seen anything quite like this before. Legolas looked as though he might have come straight out of a slaughterhouse. His sleeves, the whole front of his tunic, and his breeches – knees, calves, and all – were stiff with dried blood.
For a moment he thought Legolas had been horribly injured until Arwen saw his startled look and explained: "He refused to leave you, even to clean up." She paused. Smiled. "He said that he would not leave his brother for any reason."
His gaze lifted back to her. He gave a ghost of a smile as she
slipped his ring back onto his finger then placed the Evenstar
pendant into the palm of his hand and closed his fingers around it.
Her lips brushed his as he slipped back into the land of dreams.
Tbc...