A/N:Once again thank you to Lamiel and Elf Lady for their great comments in beta reading this chapter.
Heart of the Dream
by Ithilien
Chapter Four: The Telling Fall
Twelve days out and they had made it to a point nearing Eregion. Sparse remnants of buildings that had once been lookout posts and high towers littered the cliff sides. These were the ruins of an elven home long ago deserted. Further south, in the vale, the remnants of Hollin remained. This had been the place where the inspiration for the Rings of Power had been laid, and there, Celebrimbor had been made the unknowing accomplice of Sauron the Deceiver. Yet, that had been long ago. Now, it was gone, gone but for the relics, and they were cherished by one elf at least. Legolas looked upon each archaeological discovery with wide-eyed wonder and, though he was no elf, Aragorn joined him, for he had also learned many of the tales of those who had lived in this region at another time.
He mused at Legolas' awe, for he knew the wood elf had little experience outside his homeland. He could not begrudge his friend the chance to see something of ages past. He also knew Legolas' grandfather and father had likely crossed these lands in their travels east out of Doriath at the time when they had searched for a home to claim as their own. Aragorn was not sure how much the elf knew of those days. He only knew that Legolas had not yet been born then. From Elrond's tales of the time, Thranduil had been unwed and and young, much like Legolas was now. Sauron had walked these lands then, and Aragorn wondered if Thranduil or Oropher had ever ventured a chance meeting with that Maia when he had been fair to look upon. What a tale that might have been, were it so. Aragorn wondered too if anything was left of Sauron in these lands.
The man turned his eyes to Frodo to see if the Ringbearer was haunted in some way by their trek, for though he knew that the Ring had not been forged until the last days when Hollin lived and that this was not the home of the Ring's birth, he worried that vague traces of the Ring's master might yet exist here. However, the Hobbit remained undaunted, wary, but unmoved. Frodo surveyed the ruins with vague wonder, just as the rest of the party did, and secure in his assurance, the man turned away.
Aragorn considered their road. The up and down climbing was hard on the small folk, and the cautious and wearying steps they had taken were difficult ones. Fortunately, they did not have many more days to go before they would reach the Redhorn Gate, to which they might safely cross these mountainous ridges and descend to the Silverlode. It had not been the easiest way to go, but it was undoubtedly the safest. And while they were there, there was no reason they could not find pleasure in the small discoveries they had made.
His eyes went back to Legolas. Aragorn could see in his glance that the elf was filling in what was missing. Much had been taken by time. A look of sorrow came over the fair face, and Aragorn felt a twinge of pain for what had once been there and what was now lost. How glorious Hollin must have been in its time, golden and climbing, caressing the valley and soaring into the mountain. It would have been as a ribbon, draped in a flowing line, winding from the base of Caradhras and meandering down into green dells. Gone was that great cityscape. Gone were the elves. He could see the pain in Legolas' eyes, and Aragorn's heart welled in sympathy. Still, there was something of that sorrowful gaze that reminded the man of the yearning expressions the elf had worn in the dream, and Aragorn was forced to turn away.
He could not forget the sin of his dream, let alone forgive it. Yet as much a reminder Legolas was of his own wretchedness, Aragorn had allowed himself to relinquish some of his dread. It had not been real. It was a temptation halted before it could be fulfilled. He was glad for that. And further, days had passed, and he had not been haunted again by anything so nightmarish. He was willing to let some of his shame go with time's passing, and so long as he stayed on guard, he felt he might be safe. For the moment, all seemed safe.
"We shall rest here," Gandalf said after conferring with Legolas. The Ranger looked at the grey-haired wizard and then to the elf and nodded. They had marched long through the night and as the day grew brighter in the morning sun, they became more exposed. If there were eyes searching, the party would not be hard to spot. However, among these ruins, there were places they might hide.
Legolas caught his eye. A small smile passed the elven lips, and Aragorn was only too happy to return it. He knew the elf was at greater alert, watching him now, and with good cause, but Legolas had not disclosed the trespass upon him to Gandalf, and he had been easy to forgive the man.
And now, Aragorn could see his friend's pleasure. He knew what was meant in the smile and then a nod, and reluctant though he was, Aragorn accepted it with a nod of his own. He tells me he is about to explore the area. He would have preferred that words had been said between them rather than this abbreviated form of communication, but he knew how the elf's mind worked. He only remembers my words about 'skulking'. He smiled to himself, knowing that argument had been passed over in Legolas' mind, choosing playfulness as his way to mock Aragorn instead of scorning him. No one can say a smile is as a skulk.
How easily the elf let any lingering wariness pass. Legolas acted almost as if the event had not happened. Almost. Though they had not discussed the man's press upon the elf those few days past, there was no doubt Legolas held Aragorn at a greater distance. It was not apparent. This Aragorn knew. So deft were the elves. Legolas made it seem that nothing was askew. And verily it was not except that he would not let the man touch him, nor would he allow his companionship unless another was within hearing distance. Aragorn felt it was fitting. He had violated something by coming so near, and it would be a long journey to remedy that.
But other things bothered the man. He still felt hesitation about the premonition he had regarding Legolas' demise. Was it true, he wondered, for it felt so much the greater of all the visions he had been assaulted with that day. Yet he knew the Ring had been testing him, and he felt, in a way, this vision was a test too. Still, many times over since he had considered speaking on it though he always refrained. He was fearful to say anything for he could guess the repercussions that would follow. If he told Gandalf, the old wizard would ask more questions, and Aragorn would be forced to disclose the Ring's toying and to admit to what had happened between Legolas and him. Were he to say anything to Legolas, the elf would simply dismiss it, telling him it was just one more distraction of the Ring's doing, and not to worry for his sake. And he could not speak to the others, for it would only worry and frighten them.
Ultimately, he knew he could not hold back the elf, and so he let it go. Still . . . always it seemed that the elf was off to scout, and he wondered if ever his friend might obey him and stay near, or if this was Legolas' own compunction due him from the Ring. Yet, gazing about at the imagined antiquities, he could forgive Legolas for wanting to see this. Aragorn wanted to see it too.
He turned around then, choosing a different path than the elf, and he skittered down the rocky terrain and away from the camp. He would use this opportunity to check that tracks of possible pursuers were not to be found on a lower ridge. And while he was at it, he might explore these old relics. It was doubtful anything of Tengwar might be written in them, but still he could hope to find something. And so he set off.
It was just a few hundred feet on this path that he came upon another patch of the galenolas. Not a day had gone by that he had not discovered the sweet smelling weed. How it came to be so abundant in these parts, Aragorn was uncertain. He could not recall seeing even small growths of it in times past when he had traveled these regions. Yet he knew how vegetation could proliferate and spread when conditions were right, and he had to assume such was the case with this plant.
He considered plucking another handful of the thin jewel-green leaves, but cast the idea aside. The batch in his pouch had dried up nicely, and Aragorn had enough, should he need it, to sooth any of the mortals that might suffer injury. And so he continued on his circling trek, never finding the remains of the ancient culture he had hoped to uncover and not giving his other discovery a second thought.
By the time he had returned to the camp, most everyone in the party had eaten and they were already spreading their bedrolls out that they might take some rest. The shifts had been established early on the journey, and this day it was Legolas' watch first. All that was needed to complete the vigil was the elf.
As if on cue, the sound of rocks dropping from a higher ridge could be heard. Aragorn turned his head and saw Legolas near one of the upper ruins, stepping lightly over the rocky ground. Aragorn was relieved to know his dismissal of worry had been a sound decision, and he waited for Legolas to join him that he might get a report before he turned in himself.
The sound of the few rocks that fell was not loud, but it was enough to draw the man's attention. And as he turned his head to look over his shoulder, that nagging worry was back. He really could not place a reason for it to be there, but it struck him in earnest just as he looked. And in the same instance, he was reminded that elves did not make sound where they tread. Silently and with grace did they step. Yet Legolas had made a noise, and Aragorn felt panic rise in his throat as he turned in the elf's direction. He had seen this before!
"Legolas!"
He had seen this before in his premonition! The ground beneath Legolas was slipping away. The rattle of loosened dirt echoed over the scattered rocks. These too were caught in the cascade. They were falling free. A rumble sounded and Aragorn tensed. Legolas was falling! It was just as he had seen.
Scanning quickly, he knew their camp to be safe. But as he turned back, his fears increased. Legolas was in the midst of the small avalanche. The elf's feet were moving, sliding beneath him, yet working to keep up with the mountain's churning movement. Like a nightmare experience, Aragorn could not turn away, and yet he could not dash forward either. There was nothing he could do but watch.
He found Gandalf next to him then. Several others leapt up from their resting spots as the trouble became clear.
"What is he -- ?"
"He will be caught up in it!"
"Legolas! Get out of there!"
"No! Mister Legolas!"
"Oh no!"
Tears, shrieks of fright, and calling voices blended into one. Aragorn felt his throat ache from the cry he had let spring forth, though he was not sure what his utterance had been. His was just another voice mingled with the others. It did nothing to help the elf, and he watched as the battle became a losing one. For such an event, the noise had not been very great, and it was easy to think it might have been a lesser occurrence as a result. But Aragorn knew better. Within seconds it was over. He saw the ridge give way, carrying with it dirt, rocks and the elf. They plummeted into a gorge on the other side of the rise.
He had foreseen this and he felt his heart thunder as his fear and guilt crushed him. He should have spoken of it. He should have admitted what he knew. About him the Fellowship stood, gaping with horror. No, please! his mind called to the gods.
"No! No! No!" he heard someone cry and then he realized it had been him calling these words.
And then everyone moved at once, running to the gorge. It was confusion and clear mayhem in the brown air, but all started toward the pit despite their blindness. And he was first among them. Immediately he made to climb into the deeps. His body was reacting now. It was not with his mind that he did this thing. He ran to help because he simply must. He must recover and protect! How long might Legolas survive being buried alive? He had to get there! He had to help! These were the thoughts that ran in his mind.
He heard voices crying out to the elf, and still more crying outrage. But he had no time to look back. Disaster was before him, not behind.
A strong hand pulled him back, ruggedly, abruptly. His head whipped around, angered that he was being stopped. He looked at who it was that held him, and in the hazy light, he saw Gimli.
"Wait for the dust to clear, Aragorn," Gimli advised, but it was said more as a sharp cuff than a telling voice. And behind him, Aragorn could see the wizard pulling the Hobbits from their rushed steps, tears and cries running free from them. And beside them, panting heated breaths, Boromir slowed, looking with an expression of horror and confusion toward Aragorn. The Ranger turned back to the dwarf, as if to argue, and he might have done so but for the knell sound that had come in the dwarf's voice. "Without seeing, you could fall further and deeper. You could bury him even more." The words seemed to confirm the deathly fright that gripped the man's heart, and he knew the others had heard by the way they all recoiled. But he could see that advice was not easily given. Dark eyes intensely stared into him, making clear their point. The dwarf's tone was sober and colored with fear. At that moment Aragorn could see that Gimli was as terrified as he was.
Tears came to fill Frodo's eyes, and Sam put a hand to his shoulder. All eyes fixed into the grave. Aragorn drew back for the moment, staring into the deep hole. How could he wait? It was maddening to think it.
And then he leapt forward, a sense of outright anxiety gripping him along with a strong desire to protect. He did not care if it was prudent. He must help. Gimli heaved an experated grunt but said nothing as he started the descent on the man's heals. And then Boromir followed also without comment. They fanned out across the slope, being gentle with their steps. And while this was happening, Aragorn's emotions were in a constant state of turmoil. The many previous moments of irritation and wronged feelings came to him then, and the man found his thoughts filled with remorse, regret and anger. He cursed within his mind at the elf's need to see and touch everything. Had Legolas only stayed in the camp, none of this would have happened! Yet that hammering thought was contradicted with the reckless worry he could not repress. He had allowed this to happen. He had known. He had seen it.
From above, voices called into the brown murk. The Hobbits were crying out Legolas' name. Aragorn edged forward in his quest, his eyes searching every inch of the ground as he prayed for a sign of his friend. None knew quite where he might be, and the air was still thick with the dust. The taste of iron and clay mingled on his tongue and his mouth was made dry by it. But he ignored it, only noting that his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He searched the setting as deeply as he searched his heart. And then he heard it. A shift of rubble. The movement of loose shale.
Relief washed over him for the sound echoed up from the gully to his left. He could hear the noise of rocks spilling and then a cough. A cough! His heart surged in joyous reprieve. It was Legolas!
Without thinking further, he raced toward the sound. No hand held him back this time. He could not see Gimli or Boromir, but he called out to them all the same. "Here! Here!"
Motion caught his eye, and simultaneously he heard the elf. Legolas coughed as he pushed himself out of the consuming earth. Through the fog, Aragorn could see that the elf was buried but had somehow managed to kick free. The dirt sluiced off him like water as he rose from the weakened soil. Aragorn skidded down the rest of the ridge, rocks scraping along his back as he jostled to a sliding end. A tumble of stone spilled with him, the ricocheting sound muffled by the clouded air. He could hear Legolas hacking as he rolled, turning onto his back, and then the elf lay still, as if exhausted by the effort.
"Legolas!" Aragorn cried as he stumbled to meet his friend. He was awhirl in emotions. Joy and fright intertwined. The elf only continued to choke in answer, though the rasps were shortening, and then ended completely as Aragorn neared. "Legolas," the man called to him, but the elf did not answer. Dread fear washed over the man. His friend's eyes were open, but he did not look at the man. And then Aragorn realized the archer was unconscious. "Legolas," he repeated in a voice that was choked with concern, and he reached out a hand to shake the elf's shoulder.
That seemed to pull Legolas to his senses. He flinched to a startled alert, choking on air again then. But then suddenly, he scowled as if in pain. His fingers reached up to touch the base of his skull, and Aragorn dropped to his knees, catching up the hands into his and said, "Let me look at you, Legolas."
"No!" the elf managed to choke out, and he pushed the man away. "No!" he repeated again, and Aragorn looked on in concern. Terror filled the elf's eyes, which were wide with panic. The elf pushed himself up, nearly knocking Aragorn over with his urgency.
"Legolas!" Aragorn snapped, but he could see he was being ignored. Aragorn reached again for a grip on his friend's wrist. "Legolas, stop," he demanded.
The elf looked at him, and he was white. His voice was raspy and raw, mixed with blind fear. "Release me!" he snapped and Aragorn immediately let go.
Aragorn then turned about, suddenly feeling too the claustrophobia wrought by the cloud of dust. It was oppressive, like a great cloak pulled over his face. It was smothering and restrictive. Aragorn suddenly felt as if he could be trapped there if he remained. Immediate panic claimed him and he wished nothing more than to be free of the place. Legolas was already ahead of him in their climb to the rise and Aragorn made haste to catch up to him.
Out of the dusty fog, Gimli caught up to them, and he took the elf's forearm and pulled him. The reaching hand of Boromir came next, and it seemed they were a living chain.
And then they were free. Escaped from the prison of that choking cloud. Removed to cleaner air.
Aragorn was breathing hard when they reached the ridge point. He stood a moment, catching his breath and regaining his feet. He was covered in the dust from the chasm air and he began to brush it off. Twisting, he caught the sound of chattering voices. He saw the Hobbits and wizard gathered about Legolas, who was fastidiously trying to brush off dust that barely clung to him. The elf gave a weak smile of assurance to those concerned, trying to break away from them in the casual air of one used to such events. Aragorn could see Legolas was embarrassed to be given such attentions.
The elf's pale cheeks flushed slightly under their ministering, but he continued to feign an even countenance, as if nothing had happened. Aragorn knew better and he considered what he had seen below. The air in the hole had been stifling and thick, cloying and unbreathable, held as if under a shroud. And the walls had seemed like they were pressing in on them, making it seem like they were being held. But more, Legolas' reaction had been of one panicked. It was as if he recognized in that moment in that could have spent an eternity there. Trapped with Aragorn. How easily the soils of these ancient lands had come crushing down on the elf. How easily the path across it had ceased to be.
There was significance in that, and Aragorn's brow furrowed as he realized the path left to him. He looked back into the hole, cloudy still with its end indecipherable, and then he looked around him in the clean air. A haze billowed around them, but he could see his companions and his friends here.
He took quick steps forward, knowing he had a task at hand. He had been witness to Legolas' unconsciousness, and panic, and he feared there was injury for which he must attend. No more could he let Legolas escape him nor could he ignore all that had happened. Wariness for Aragorn's touch or not, the man would do the job appointed him. "Legolas," he said abruptly, catching everyone's attention with the power of his voice. He honed the sound of it back. "Let me examine you now."
The elf smiled weakly, and Aragorn knew the meaning of the expression. He knew Legolas would try to make light of what had occurred, pretending the incident was insignificant. He knew Legolas would pretend there had been no danger. And he would do so to hold himself up in the light of all around him to make himself appear as strong, not vulnerable. Aragorn understood this. He recognized the shame that came somehow in admitting one could be dimmed. Legolas would never openly admit he had fallen to weakness. The pretense of his prowess must be held. Yet that must be stripped away if Aragorn were to heal the wounds he knew were hidden there. He glanced to Boromir and then Gimli, and saw them puff out their chests slightly, as if the command for treatment was directed at them. He knew immediately their response would have matched the elf's if so told.
"I am well, Aragorn. There is no need," Legolas said with a dismissive wave.
That denial made Aragorn feel a jab of anger. He did not care for warrior pride when it came to injury. Though never one to coddle when all was well, he abhorred those who refused treatment when there was need. No one, in Aragorn's mind, was beyond the need. Not that Aragorn was not guilty of the same. But it was one thing to forge on in the face of battle. It was something completely different when time permitted such treatments. In Aragorn's mind, it served no one to ignore an injury. Legolas had been hurt, and he could try to heal that if the elf would admit a wound existed.
Aragorn paused, breathing in an indignant breath. He knew he must address this. For the sake of everyone, it would be required. There were experienced and inexperienced travelers among them, and there was no sense in teaching those in training that bravado was a desirable trait.
"No arguments, Legolas. I know you are injured," Aragorn snapped back, and he could see resentment light the elf's eyes.
"How was he hurt?" Gandalf asked.
Aragorn turned his gaze to the wizard. "He was unconscious when I found him," the man said, and he felt slightly ashamed that he was speaking as if Legolas were not present, but he also knew it was the quickest way to maneuver Legolas into admitting the harms done to him.
The reaction to this news was just as he expected it would be. Immediately the others raised a clamor, and he could see the shame he had put on the elf. Still, Aragorn was slightly amused by the discomfiture Legolas showed. Had the elf honored his request for the examination in the first place, it might never have come to this.
"Legolas? Is that blood on your shoulder?" a voice cried from the group clustered around the elf. And all eyes turned to Pippin, who was pointing to something on the elf's back.
"It looks like blood," Merry conferred with a worried look.
"You are hurt, Mister Legolas," Sam said with concern.
And as Aragorn stepped into view, he could see a darkening stain of a deep ruddy brown coloring the shoulder of Legolas' outer tunic. The elf reached up and touched the spot, glancing over his shoulder as he did. And then his brow furrowed with a look of concern. He guided his hand to his skull, gently probing, and as he pulled his hand away, Aragorn saw Legolas' fingertips were covered in blood.
Gandalf leaned forward to the elf then and softly said, "Perhaps it would be best to concede to Aragorn's ministrations now," and he urged the elf forward into the man's direction. Aragorn felt a surge of smug satisfaction at hearing that.
The tentative expression on Legolas' face was telling, and Aragorn caught the mixed emotions he saw. Hesitancy. Tension. Hurt. But then the prince shifted, smiling slightly. "Of course, Aragorn," he said with little show of anything but compliance, bowing before the man as if offering himself as a gift.
The man sighed heavily as he accepted this. A clean cloth was handed to him and immediately the healer in him set to work. He did not wish to play games. He urged Legolas to sit as he moved behind the elf and pushed the curtain of hair away, attempting to look more closely at the most immediate wound. He had suspected hurt, and here it was. A small surge of satisfaction bubbled up in his gut as he saw Legolas flinch back when he too touched that spot where Legolas had found blood. But then he admonished himself for allowing something of ego to take over. He checked himself, reining in emotions as he focused on the injury. There was nothing of pleasure in pain. He directed himself to the task, his eyes and fingers doing their job.
It was at the place where neck met skull the he found the sticky wetness meshing into the elf's hair. A sizeable gash was there and it was bleeding rather profusely. He grimaced as he realized this was more than he had expected. Direct pressure to slow the bleeding, he thought, and again and again he swabbed.
"Do you have any pain?" Aragorn asked the elf, knowing already the answer. The elf shook his head and Aragorn pressed the rag into the elf's hand, forcing him to put pressure upon the injury as he had while he probed over Legolas' body, searching for other wounds. Finding none else, he used touch to manipulate the elf's limbs, feeling into the joints and looking for signs of pain on the elf's steely face. The elf remained passive, admitting no other hurts. He would have liked to probe more, to ask the elf to unclothe himself, but he sensed this wound was all that Legolas might be willing to concede. Thus he did not try to reach a more thorough exam. Instead he returned to the obvious head wound.
It would take multiple stitches to close it and there was little else he could offer than that. But that was not so disturbing to Aragorn as to how he might accomplish the suturing. To Aragorn's chagrin, he knew nothing in his kit had really prepared him to treat the elf for something of an incident like this. He knew the usual choice for an elf was to use no remedy at all, because typically, no matter what he might use, Legolas' tolerances to his medicines would spend all of Aragorn's pain killing medicines in one dose. So the choice was between leaving the wound untreated, or causing the elf more pain by stitching without numbing the wound.
Neither was a desirable solution. Aragorn found his hands shaking slightly, though he could not discern why. Between either choice, he knew he did not want to see the elf suffer needlessly. Non-treatment was not an option. He could suture without medication, and he knew the elf could tolerate it, but he was not fond of inflicting pain unnecessarily. Especially when he held himself to blame for this pain. Instead, another idea ran through his mind, and before he knew it, he was acting upon it.
"Galenolas," he muttered.
"Galenolas?" Gandalf repeated. "Aragorn, do you think . . .?"
The question broke the man from his assessing thoughts. It appeared Gandalf knew of the plant. Aragorn felt for a moment then as if he had been caught in the act of doing something wrong and he grew aware of his reddening face. Still, he knew this solution could work. He glanced about him. There were more patches of the plant growing just feet from where they stood. He gathered his courage and spoke.
"It grows fresh here. It would be the prudent remedy."
The wizard looked at the man through his brows, as if scrutinizing him, and then slowly nodded. "Yes," he said after a moment's pause, then nodded again. "Yes, I suppose you are right. A small handful might do it."
"Of what do you speak?" Legolas asked, not bothering to school the his of pain evoked by Aragorn's renewed swabbing at the bleeding wound again. Someone handed Aragorn a waterskin and he washed the gash clean. Immediately it began to bleed again.
"Galenolas is a plant," Gandalf offered. "It is rare for the most part, but appears to grow in abundance here. In its raw state, it can have very valuable medicinal purposes for elves."
"A small handful, you say?" Sam asked as he went near the patch Gandalf had indicated in his nod.
"Do not touch it, Sam," Aragorn warned as he rose in the process of gathering his supplies. "Its properties are different when used upon mortals. I will gather it, for I know how to do so safely." Then he knelt before the plants and cut a small sampling, making sure that he wiped the blade clean after doing so while holding the plant by its stem, and not by the leaves. He made a show of pressing it into his mortar then and began crushing the leaves into a paste, plucking the stems free as he used the pestle to wedge the leaves down. It was all done smoothly and cleanly without touching the substance to his own skin. And when it was done, he instructed Legolas.
"You must apply this paste to the wound, Legolas, while I swab the bleeding."
"What will it do?" the elf tentatively asked.
"It will do you no harm," Aragorn answered curtly, feeling as if he were being questioned about his course of treatment.
"Come, my friends," Gimli could be heard to say from behind Aragorn, "this is not a fit sight for Hobbit eyes."
"I dare say it is not for those of a weak stomach to view," Boromir added, and Aragorn could hear the Hobbits being lead away.
"It will numb the area of the wound, Legolas, as well as help stave off the blood until it can be sutured," Gandalf answered the elf's question with patience, and Aragorn was drawn back. Then it seemed the wizard looked about, as if to assure they were alone, and then he directed his attention to the man. "Aragorn, do you feel well?"
The man blinked in surprised; the question was quite relevant. In fact, he did not feel well. At least not wholly in mind. Bodily we was well, but he felt sick with his own guilt. He had just been contemplating his own blame in the current situation and realizing he had pains of his own that ate at him. Still, he had not thought them to be so visible. The depth to which he had been read astonished him and he tried to comprehend how the wizard might realize his unsettled feelings. Drawing himself up, he said, "I apologize, Gandalf. I should not be so easily moved. Forgive me if I appeared riled."
Gandalf smiled at him then, raising an eyebrow in a knowing way, and then he leaned in toward the man and said, "You are forgiven. But you have not answered my question."
Aragorn frowned, realizing he was being evasive and seeing the wizard was rooting him out, just as Aragorn had humbled Legolas into admitting his mild ills. In a way, he felt as if he had been found, hiding in a cloud, and he felt shame for being caught in it. But he was also gladdened for it, for he decided then it truly was time he spoke out. And in answering, he knew he had to do so truthfully, though caution was also his goal lest he take a wrong step and slide further into the hole of his lies. He sighed, hanging his head and said, "I feel guilty, Gandalf. This injury to Legolas is mine to blame."
The old man frowned, his face showing mild amusement. "And how, pray tell, do you think this possible?"
Aragorn paused, and then said, "I foresaw this incident."
Gandalf's eyes grew dark, obviously taking that admission seriously. Beside him, Legolas stirred. "When? Where?"
"Three days journey back." The elf's posture grew rigid, though his head remained bowed and his face was left unseen.
"And you did not speak of it?" Anger edged the question, and Aragorn felt humbled by how darkly that query came. He felt as if his chest were constricting, that he was being smothered.
"I thought it false. I -- I did not believe it until it came into reality today," Aragorn stammered in a hesitant voice.
"Why would you think that?"
Aragorn's heart was beating loudly then, and his hands shook, forcing him to put down the bowl lest the pestle rattle in the stone mortar. He glanced briefly at Legolas between them. The elf sat stoically, his eyes unable to pierce him because of his lowered head, but Aragorn felt rather certain he was waiting with diligent ears to hear what the man might say. But more than that, he felt certain the elf was quaking as well, silent and still though he was. The deceptions were being uncovered. It was time they were brought into the free air and he knew Legolas was gladdened to see them pulled free.
Steeling himself, Aragorn breathed his deepest shame, "The Ring was playing in my mind then."
A long silence followed as the wizard studied the man. Aragorn felt as if he held his breath through the duration of long minutes in that scrutinizing hold. But at last the wizard released his eyes and bowed his head. He said, "I thought as much."
And then he leaned back on his heals, growing tall where he sat, and the day seemed to grow brighter just then. The wizard's stern expression softened, and gently he said, "What is past cannot be revised." But despite the evenness of the comment, Aragorn felt the words sting. They had manifold meaning, the worst of them pointing to the bane of this journey -- the failure of Aragorn's ancestor past. But the wizard spoke again, as if brushing the admission and its hurts aside. "I assume that in your telling me, you are past the Ring's sway?"
The man nodded, eager to be past this.
The wizard smiled. "Good then. It would be better should we learn from this lesson. We all have made mistakes." He put his hand to Legolas' shoulder then and said, "Let us avoid the outward path Legolas took. And," he came to stand, "let us speak forth should other premonitions come." He looked pointedly at Aragorn as he gained his full height, "No matter what their source may be."
"To that I agree," Aragorn said, nodding at the old man in gratitude as the wizard departed. He turned his eyes to his task as he put the bowl with the paste before the elf. He touched a hand to Legolas' shoulder then, leaning forward, and through the curtain of hair he could see the elf's eyes and the depth of emotion contained within them.
There were a thousand things Aragorn could have said to Legolas just then, but none of them seemed right. But it seemed not to matter, for the elf's gaze was open and warm, and he realized his friend did not need words. There was an expression of forgiveness in the elf's eyes, as well as something of sorrow. Aragorn could not quite read it all, but a quiet acceptance was given to him regardless.
And so he set to work. As calmly as he could, he swabbed the wound and then instructed Legolas how to spread on the ointment. The man realized it must have had an immediate effect, for the elf applied it evenly and without flinching.
Boromir came to his assistance then, and at his side, he handed Aragorn a prepared needle. The Ranger began to stitch. When he was done, Aragorn wiped away the excess of the paste with his now bloody rag. Legolas' hair did much to cover the rest.
"You have first watch this day, do you not, Legolas?" Aragorn asked gently. His voice had grown even as his mood had calmed.
"I do," Legolas replied.
"Then I will take your watch. You must rest for the remainder of the day," Aragorn said, thinking again with the compassion of a healer. But there was more to it than this. He truly did feel regret that he had not mentioned the vision to the elf, but he knew if he had spoken before this, he would likely have had to tell of the rest, and the revelation that the Ring had swayed him would have come out. Of course, that is, in a way, what ultimately had happened, but he wished he had had the courage to do so before. Still, as Gandalf had said, the past could not be revised. Instead he was left with the present and he knew he could affect that. In a way, his brotherly actions were a means to apologize for this failure.
But the elf would not have it. "That is unnecessary," Legolas said as he turned his head from side to side, testing his mobility with the injury and not looking to the man. "I will keep my watch."
Aragorn could feel the small prickly sensation of ire rising yet again. Here again was that warrior bravado, and he would prefer it gone.
"Please do not argue with me, Legolas. As a healer, I tell you to rest."
"And I tell you that I see no need," the elf said, meeting Aragorn's eye then.
A throat cleared, as if trying not to interfere in their dispute. Boromir wore a mirthful smile, speaking sheepishly, as if finding their converse amusing. Behind him, Aragorn saw the others gathering again, going back to their sleeping places. "Well then, if all is done here, I will take my rest, for no matter who takes first watch, no one has volunteered to take mine . . . which is second... in case anyone wished to know," he hinted with a chuckle.
The Hobbits laughed from their close places, and Sam added, "And I have the third, so let us get some rest while we can . . . unless, of course, someone wants to take my watch as well."
The reply to this was quick. "I would take your watch and Boromir's too," Legolas said turning his head away from Aragorn and giving a courteous nod. "I feel no need of rest, and if you truly wished it, I would happily comply."
Aragorn interrupted, objecting loudly before anyone else could speak. "You should not even take your own shift, let alone that of the others! I said I would stand your watch." He glanced at Boromir and Sam, noting the wary frowns they wore. "I would suggest you get your sleep now," he calmly said. "All of you. It will be time soon enough for us to journey again. Let us not waste what we have over petty arguments such as these."
The gathering dispersed, with only Gandalf drawing near, as if he might say something. Legolas began to rise, but ignored Gandalf's proffered hand as he did so. Aragorn noted then, almost imperceptibly, there was a slight awkwardness to the move, as if Legolas were attempting to regain his equilibrium as he stood. To mortal eyes, it probably looked as graceful as any other movement of an elf, but Aragorn knew the true grace of the Firstborn, and he could see that Legolas was not quite right. And then he watched as the elf stepped away, rather stiffly for an elf, and his assessment was confirmed.
"You should rest, Legolas," he gently said, but he was ignored, just as he knew he would be.
Legolas went to his pack, bent down and began rummaging through the contents. Aragorn could see pain in the elf's movement, and he winced, wishing his advice were to be heeded. True, elves healed quickly, but he assumed that his friend was bruised and abraded beneath his clothing and a healing sleep would make it all that much better for him. It did more than just irritate him that the elf would ignore his recommendation.
And then Gandalf stepped to his side, and he leaning toward the man as he spoke much the same observation in a whispered voice. "He would never admit his pain."
Aragorn sighed in answer, feeling almost as if he should laugh for his chagrin, "I know this."
The wizard then surprised him with his next suggestion. "Do you think we might convince him to find ease?"
"We?" Aragorn did laugh then, immediately glad to take the wizard into his confidence. "You might. You see how he avoids all ministrations I would offer. But in answer to your query, I believe, more than convincing him, it needs to be done. I could make a draught of galenolas leaves to do just that. They can have a soothing effect and help dull any misery from pain." He rather liked this idea, though in truth he did not know where it had come from, for it suddenly just spilled from his mouth.
"Would he sleep then?" the wizard asked. "I do not think I could convince him were I to tell him your draught would induce sleep."
In this, Aragorn thought more fully before he spoke. "When mixed as it should, galenolas merely relieves the ache." This was saying the truth, of course, and at the moment, Aragorn meant nothing else as he confirmed it.
Again the wizard regarded the Ranger for a long minute, as if scrutinizing the idea. At first Aragorn thought his intentions might be under suspicion, but then he realized as he studied Gandalf's face that it was the method of doing this that perplexed his old friend. Convincing the elf to take the medicine would not be an easy task, but Aragorn knew if any might be able to do so, Gandalf could. He rejoiced in the idea, for he knew it would be for the best should the elf take the recommended medicine. The Maia seemed to concur this as he said, "I will speak to him. Make your tonic." And inside Aragorn, something dark found its glee.
TBC
A/N: To those of you who have reviewed this story, thank you. I truly appreciate your thoughtfulness and kind words. You brighten my days enormously and I read what each of you says with a great deal of enthusiasm. I laugh out loud, literally, every time I get an email telling me that a review has come in. That gratification is extremely invigorating, and my responses to those who reviewed this week are written below.
Response to Reviewers
Sigil Galen - I'm so glad you see it as a fresh take. I've read many stories too where the damage is already done, the corruption complete. I really wanted to give better insight into what it took for Boromir to fall, and also for Frodo to remain so resilient. Tolkien already told us a bit of that side of the tale. I wanted something fresher. This story is the result. Thank you for your comments. I am pleased the emotional impact is coming through, difficult as it is.
Mercredi - Oh, I adore you! We are most definitely on the same page. To me. a horror story is much more genuine when one can relate to what the characters experience, real person to somewhat real persons (even if the somewhat real persons lives in a world of courtly manners). Tolkien did not wish us to think on his characters in more than two-dimensions, as related by the narrative voice he used. At least that's what I think. He was an omnipotent witness in the telling, not really so much an actor in the story. That's a great tact for epic writing, or even for fairy tales, but it doesn't work here. My characters have warts, and dark thoughts too, and I'm trying to let the reader see that, all while attempting to hold to canon.
Nightwing - I really thought hard about that chapter title. All of them really. I wanted to point out the literary symbol, and the cape was it there. Especially since a shroud is not only a cape but something you lay over a dead person. I loved tying it in to the wind too, as I think it drove home the point that the wind serves as a signal for evil. Now tell me what you think of this last title. Keep an eye on those phrases too. They are meaningful. "I believe in you," comes up again, as does, "Warm to me," and "Do not defy me," and "I want . . ." I just love repetitions, especially in short stories. Thank you also for your private encouragements. You are a wonderful friend.
Templa Otmena - Yes, the wind. And the shroud. And Legolas' appearance. They all have a role in the horror that is coming in this story. The choice is yours if you want to dissect what is here. :: grin :: I won't make you. Personally, I love reading into a fic. I love seeing where the symbols arise and the significance of them as the story continues. It's a bit harder to do as a reader of a work in progress, so I'm a bit heavy-handed with them, but they are included for people like you who actually can pick them out. Thank you for your enthusiasm and support. I hope this story continues to please you.
Lisette - I do agree about Paris. He would just lay there and whimper. Pathetic. What Helen saw in him beyond his good looks is a mystery to me. Were I her, I'd be wondering whom he was next going to bed. And vice versa. Neither of them were models of virtue. But I digress. Yes, we want the ones who are strongest to be the ones to feel the pain. I think it is a deep psychological penchant for those of us who like pain/comfort fics. A shrink might say it makes us feel more equal to our heroes. But personally, I like the idea of nursing them back to recovery. And the sound of a moan is very, ahem, exciting, you know.
Leralonde - Thank you so much for everything you said. I'm so glad you found this story compelling enough to read before it was done. This story will end in eight chapters, so we are half way there and I won't drag us on for months and months. The dream will be very telling for what is to come ahead. If you thought that was bad, wait until fantasy meets reality. Galadriel has a good reason to be angry, but Aragorn will redeem himself in the end.
Sadie Sil - Thank you so much. Your review was short, but it made me as happy as the longer ones I received. I'm thrilled you took the time to let me know, and I hope you will continue to enjoy this story.
Pheraearwen - I had to take a break, though I wasn't really resting. I was actually working on this story and it took quite a bit of my time. I have another story I am working on now that I may or may not publish. It's a big one, and I'm rather undecided about the time commitment it is going to take me to write it for the public's viewing. Hence my plea for reviews above. Thank you for your encouragement. I hope this story continues to please.
Myra the Archer - Poor Aragorn, indeed. Corrupting through love. Yes, you see it well. But this story is not a one-sided thing, even if it is told through Aragorn's eyes alone. Legolas will have a response. The Ring is working on him too after all. In the end, I'm hoping to show that love, true and untainted, can banish evil. As for the plant . . . :: wicked laugh :: it's baaaaaaaaaaack!
Fliewatuet - Well, Tolkien showed us that black denotes evil, so of course, to hold to that, the cape had to be black. It also had to be richly made (sable-lined like something royalty would wear) to convey Aragorn's rise to King. Freud would say the two things are related. Funny, isn't it, that in his dream he is draped in a cloak that symbolizes the power of rank, and as much as he rejects that idea in his waking hours, in his dream it feels good? Same for his rejection of the lusty feelings he has for Legolas. In the dream, they seems right, but in his waking hours he denies them. Now the question here is this, are the actions/images of the dream the makings of the Ring, or part of Aragorn's subconscious desires? Or maybe a little of both? Hmmmm.
Kalima - Thank you so much for your comments and continued support. I'm thrilled to know the imagery is staying with you and the characters are coming alive. Insidious? Yes, that is the word I was looking for. Shoot! Unfortunately, ff.net does NOT make it easy to fix little mistakes like that (you think you have technology problems -- you should see me trying to upload a single chapter here). The mistake will likely stay. :: sigh ::. That's going to bother me now until I can fix it. Darn. But thank you for pointing it out. I'll fix it . . .soon (I hope).
Rozzan - Thank you again for your support. Are you still breathing? The next chapter is a huge pinnacle, a terrible drop, I think. Tighten your seatbelt. Here's where the horror really begins.
Jenolas - I'll bet you opened your eyes for this chapter. You may want to cover them again for the next one. It will get . . . not so good. You are doing a good job at analyzing Aragorn's psyche. He does have feelings and thoughts he would deny. In the end he will see how those can be used to protect him and Legolas. For now though, the Ring seems to be capitalizing on his denials. Thank you for hanging in there with me.
Emerald Wolf - I don't like Legolas wimpy either. Simpering elves just grate on me. Legolas is a warrior and he will stays strong in this fic, though he will be a bit overcome in another chapter or two. One can only resist so much. My updates will come weekly, so you can count on getting your fix often. I'm so glad you chose to follow this story. Thank you for reviewing.
Gil-neth - Gosh, thanks so much for your praise! Aragorn bad? Never! I adore him too much to make him bad. But I do know what you mean. I am following canon here so he will remain the noble Ranger Tolkien portrayed, which is what I think we both can appreciate. Further, I will make all right by these characters in the end. Aragorn is still a hero, despite what he does.