Title: Breaking Free

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: I could say I'm Tolkien but that'd be a lie...

Feedback: If you don't. I'll send my assassin elves after you.

Summary: Well, I'd tell, you, but I think I'll let you read it yourself. The gist of the story is Legolas attempting to escape from someone else's blunder, and then convince that certain someone (No names but it rhymes with Aragorn) that it wasn't his fault. Happy? Satisfied? Good!

Dedication: I'll be honest with you, Trinka, without you, this fic simply would not exist. It's still not perfect, and needs a little work, but you fed that sorry little plot bunny and he grew very very big.( Only stuck a name on this fic today, it was Trinka's Story up until this point) And thanks to Carol and Claudia for the great encouragement and INTERESTING discussions...giggles foolishly

Ok, be nice to me, due to time, I did not get a beta. Forgive me! I'll fix it! Ok, I'm done, storytime.

It wasn't supposed to happen. Elves weren't meant to die, their immortal flame callously extinguished by fate's whim. They hadn't been created for death and suffering. Life, and the love of it, was an innate feature in their race. Why then, were they the ones who so cruelly suffered?

That is what Aragorn pondered as he touched a lock of his friend's flaxen hair gently. Quietly mourning the being that had been more than brother to the ranger. A companion without equal, a friend who had gone beyond the bounds of reason to protect him. And had paid the price.

Though the man's face was impassive, there was a knife in his soul. He felt as if something irreplaceable had been torn out of him. And in a sense it had, mused the ranger, nothing could replace Legolas.

If he had not known, he would have thought his friend only sleeping; a deep cut in his temple the only thing marring the illusion. It would not have been a killing blow had it landed anywhere else.

He feared to make a sound, not knowing how close their enemies might be. But had he the choice he would have wept aloud. Crying for his friend, and all he had been. Crying for himself and all he had lost.

How much time had passed, he did not know. The passage of time mattered not. The world seemed cold and heartless.

What did it matter?

Night passed and neither of the forlorn figures far below noticed the stars whispering of hope. Neither even pondered the idea that danger could set on them in the blackness of night.

Morning creeps into the sky, beckoning Arda's children to join in the joy of a new day, but the two friends do not heed its call.

Finally, when Anor is already high in the sky, tear-rimmed silver eyes glance at their surroundings, knowing what he must do.

"Oh my friend," He whispers, "Would that I had fallen instead of you. Would that death now would take me and give you back your life." He moaned softly, bringing the elf closer and kissing his forehead tenderly. "I will miss you, mellon-nin."

"I wish I could bear you home, but I have not the strength, and the road is long."

As much as he hated it, the ranger knew what he had to do. It seemed fitting, almost that his courageous comrade would find his final resting place where he had given his life for his friend's. In Aragorn's mind, it was not a fair trade.

That an elf, with eternity in front of him, would sacrifice his life for a human, who would live a scant century perhaps left to him. Aragorn shook his head. It did not make sense.

A stupid, stupid choice. Thought Aragorn, that I had taken that blow. It was meant for me, Legolas! Why?

But there is none who can answer. The only one who could tell him lies still at his feet.

Silent.

The only answer he would receive lay in the elf's pale face. Aragorn was his friend, and Legolas had made his own decision. He had known the risk when he jumped in front of the orc, but Aragorn could not accept that. In his mind, he was at fault. He should have seen it coming. Should have done something!

But it was no use wishing now.

Venturing from the small glade in which he had taken refuge, the ranger searched the area for what he would need. And as luck would have it, he was near to the mountains. There were enough rocks to build a cairn.

He placed each rock with the greatest care, making promises, swearing revenge, and remembering his friend with each and every stone. He did not wish to face the reality of it all. He did not want to go on without his friend.

I'm living in a nightmare. He thought as he turned to go, A nightmare from which there is no waking.

If only he had known.

The nightmare was just beginning for his friend.

His first thought was filled with surprise and wonder at being alive. Something told him quite clearly that he should be dead.

He tried to open his eyes and found that he couldn't. Perhaps he was dead after all. But that didn't seem to fit into the logical order of things. If he had passed on, he would be in the Halls of Mandos, and he certainly would be able to function under his own power.

That meant that there was another explanation. Then he remembered. The orcs. Aragorn. Fading in and out of consciousness. His friend weeping and pleading for him.

A wave of panic swept over him; threatening to usurp the tenuous grasp he had on his sanity. Where was Aragorn? Valar...

Where was he?

Surely if Aragorn had been living he would not have left him! Surely not! This blow was almost as terrifying as his next revelation.

He couldn't move.

Sweet Elbereth, he couldn't move anything! He couldn't even find the strength to open his eyes. The calm he was working to hard to maintain was fast slipping away. That he was alone...in the dark, that was frightening in itself. But to be trapped in one's own body? It was almost more than any sane being could handle.

But how long that sanity would prevail in these conditions was the questions.

He tried, feebly, to struggle against his own body and to his astonishment and relief, managed to painfully wrench his eyes open.

That, if anything, was worse. For now he could only stare into the blackness of wherever he was. He prayed fervently that it wasn't a cave. To be locked inside a prison that only in death could one escape from was utterly horrifying, but to be trapped inside a cave as well! For Legolas, that was the epitome of a bad joke on Fate's part.

When one can't see, and is deprived of both movement and touch, your other senses are heightened, as well as your tendency for paranoia. For an elf, whose ears were already keen, his murky surroundings were far from silent.

Vague scratching noises were amplified, tiny feet on the stone suddenly sounded many times louder, and many times larger. What were most likely harmless insects or rodents, were suddenly enigmatic menaces. For insects and mice is not the first thing one thinks of when lying helpless in a strange, shadowy place. Every noise was a potential threat, a sinister enemy lurking in the impenetrable blackness around him.

Something brushed was his ear and Legolas flinched away. So attuned to the noises was he that he did not notice until a moment later... his hand had balled into a fist. His momentary elation was swiftly stifled when the stone rumbled softly around him. He was immediately alert, his gaze roving the blackness above him in a vain search for the source. For countless hours he lay there, tense, ready, waiting for he knew not what. Finally his weary body and strained muscles surrendered the elf unwillingly to the peace that sleep could give him.

He raised his hand without thinking, really. Trying fruitlessly to blink away the darkness, he reached out as he awoke, and came into contact with the cold stone not half a foot away from his face. Attempting to move his legs brought the same result, and the exultation he felt at his regained mobility was replaced with a much greater fear. A prospect that chilled him to the core.

He was entombed...

Alive.

The mindless panic attempted to take control of him in a fierce onslaught. His breathing became rapid, the air heavy with the weight of his despair. Realization of the hopelessness of his situation overrode the elf's normal, logical thought processes. Leaving him with all the emotions of some fierce creature encaged. The elf cried out, a haunting sound, full of pain, fear, desperation, and loneliness. A sound that would have struck both terror and pity into the heart of any that heard it.

Finally the elf took over him again, pushing back the animal fear. Once again the silence descended, even the insects cowed to stillness.

The prince's mind searched hard and long for a solution. Any attempt to move the rocks that trapped him might cause a subsequent cave-in, crushing him or perhaps severely injuring him at the least. The truth be told, he was not at all sure of the nature of his imprisonment. Whether by some manner or means he had become the victim of a rockslide or cave-in, whether the orcs had captured him and this was some devious form of torture, or that someone (Aragorn perhaps; Legolas even dared to hope it, for is would mean his friend lived.) had thought him dead and buried him alive. Legolas quickly dismissed the second notion, orcs were not capable of such cunning or such subtle torture.

It was many hours later that desperation reached his height and Legolas decided to make the effort and try, if not to free himself, then find the nature of this trap.

If the effort didn't kill him.

He reached out a tenuous hand to the stones directly above him, feeling their size and estimating their weight. The stones did not seem to be overlarge, whish seemed to support his third theory. And that was more frightening than the first. There was something incredibly eerie about being buried alive. Trapped, alive, in a resting place made for the dead, and Legolas found himself sincerely glad that whoever had put him here had not had time to dig a hole.

The thought almost make him nauseous.

Gingerly testing the stones one by one, he was rewarded with a small shower of dirt cascading into his eyes and onto his face. It also cluttered the air, making the already stuffy atmosphere even more unbearable.

Carefully guiding the rocks, a push there, a nudge here, the rock he'd been patiently working on moved upwards ever so slightly. Legolas resisted the urge to simply push it the rest of the way. Though the stones weren't boulders, some of them could seriously injure or even kill him if they fell.

Every muscle hurt from the strain of concentration. For endless moments, he gently tried to push, pry, or otherwise remove the stone. Just one stone. He could barely make out what his fingers were doing, and that made the strain all the heavier. At last his eyes and fingers were so sore he could no longer work with any degree of confidence. His digits so numb he could not feel the blood running from the gashes the sharp rocks had cut in his hands.

He didn't know how long he'd been here. Time was almost meaningless. He knew he was weary. Very weary. And he was hungry as well. He and Aragorn's journey had by no means been an easy one and this on top of it all was a little more than he had prepared for.

If-when, he made his escape from here, the first thing he would do was take a nap he decided.

A long nap.

In a tree.

But for now, a short one on the cold dirt beneath him would have to suffice. Eyelids dropping to cover darkening orbs, Legolas once again found the strange world of Elven dreams.

He didn't sleep as long this time. His dreams were restless and gave him no peace. There had been one extremely unsettling one in which a mysterious dark rider and a gravedigger had figured prominently.

Working on the stubborn rock with renewed vigor, it was only a matter minutes when the rock suddenly gave, slipping from its perch atop Legolas cairn and onto the ground with a clatter.

Legolas held his breath for several agonizing moments... nothing. The other stones had held despite the lack of their comrade. And in the place of the stone there was a small hole from which the elf could see the night sky.

And the stars.

Legolas hadn't realized how much he'd feared that he would never see them again. Those little pinpoints of light meant so much to him. The night was cloudless, and the stars seemed to be shining just for him, singing their exultation at the reconciliation of this Firstborn and themselves.

All caution thrown to the night winds, Legolas frantically shoved aside stones, working his way down. At long last he had cleared enough of the stones that had been trapping him, so that he could pull himself free.

His muscles screamed at so much movement after so long a rest, nearly causing him to loose his balance. Ignoring the protests of his aching body, Legolas clambered over the mounds of rocks that were the only remains of the tomb that had threatened to entrap him there, silent, forever.

It was indeed a cairn.

Legolas' thoughts were drawn suddenly to his friend, Aragorn. If Aragorn had built this cairn, then he believed Legolas dead. And self deprecation was chief among the ranger's faults.

Resigning himself to the fact that he would get no sleep this night, the prince trudged towards Rivendell.

"Is he asleep?"

"I think so."

"Has he eaten?"

"No, Ada. He still blames himself."

Lord Elrond sighed deeply, "He knows he was not at fault."

"Perhaps his head knows this. But his heart says otherwise." Elladan was sincerely worried for his little brother. Aragorn had been home for nearly a week and refused to eat or drink. He had barely spoken a word to his worried family, save to tell them of his friend's sacrifice.

Aragorn desperately tried to shut out the words of his distressed family. Even Arwen had been unable to coax, cajole or threaten him to do anything beyond take an occasionally walk in the garden.

Most of the time he sat staring, unseeing, into the far wall or lying in bed as he was now, either sleeping or in the process of mental berating of himself, or crying himself to sleep.

Now was one of those rare times when he'd cried himself dry and was staring, or rather glaring angrily at the wall behind his bed.

"You don't have to talk like I'm not here." Aragorn snapped at the two elves behind him.

"We weren't-" Elladan began, but was interrupted by the entrance of his sister.

"Come, meleth." Arwen said softly, gliding to the ranger's bedside and placing a soft hand on his shoulder, "Let us walk."

The man turned to look at her, and the concern and love in her sad eyes seemed to hold his bitterness at bay for the moment it took for the elf-maiden to lead him from the bed and towards the garden.

No words passed between then as they walked, her fingers resting lightly on his arm. She feared that somehow Aragorn was permanently damaged by his friend's death. She was secretly terrified that her love had lost something of his soul in loosing Legolas. She could only hope now.

As it was, they were going up the steps from the courtyard, having made their rounds, about to enter the house when Glorfindel came riding in. Arwen turned to greet him, and her hand flew to her lips, stifling the surprised cry that was about to escape them.

Aragorn, puzzled by her reaction, turned also, and though he did not move, his heart seemed to leap from his chest.

From behind Glorfindel a very dirty, disheveled, bruised, weary and weak, but most certainly alive, Legolas dismounted.

Looking up suddenly, the prince's eyes sparkled with a fierce joy, "Aragorn?"

If the prince had been hoping for a dramatic reaction, it was most certainly not the one he received. Without warning, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, future king of Gondor, fainted.

He was afraid to open his eyes. Afraid that he would wake to find it all a dream.

Fearful that he had only dreamt that his friend was alive.

"No."

The denial that escaped him was involuntary, for he did not want any present to know he was aware. Perhaps they would pass it off as unconscious rambling.

But he felt a hand on his arm, "Aragorn?" The voice was soft, and laced with concern and apprehension. The ranger's silver eyes flew open to stare directly into the worried grey-blue one's of his dearest friend. Without really thinking, the man leapt from the bed and enfolded Legolas in a fierce hug that nearly sent both the elf, and the chair he had been sitting in, careening to the floor. Aragorn was laughing, overjoyed to have his friend returned to him, and Legolas found the ranger's good humor contagious, chuckling softly at his exuberance.

But then Aragorn pulled away from the elf, suddenly unwilling to meet Legolas' gaze.

He had buried his friend alive.

"What must you think of me?" He murmured, more to himself than his companion, "How foolish can a mortal be?"

Legolas, hearing every condemning word clearly, put a hand on the ranger's shoulder, turning him around to meet the elf's eyes. "You were not foolish, mellon-nin. You did what you thought was best, and you had no way of knowing the truth of the matter. Besides, no harm came of it. I am here. And I am well."

"Save for that." Aragorn motioned to the bindings around the elf's torn hands, and the bandage that covered his forehead. The very presence of the wounds tore at the ranger's guilty conscience.

"This is mine by choice." Legolas pointed to his head wound, "I would not have it any other way. And these," He brought his hands palm up right under his friend's nose, "They are hardly worth bothering with. I could get worse in the kitchen with a paring knife." The prince tapped Aragorn on the nose with one long finger, "You are being very selfish, mellon."

"Selfish?" echoed the man, not comprehending the meaning of the elf's words.

Legolas pulled him forward, until their faces were barely inches apart. "Yes! Selfish! Have you any thought to what was going through my mind? I thought that you had been slain! But you are alive, mellon-nin! Alive! That is all that matters to me. To know that I had sacrificed in vain would be ten times more painful than any death. The prince shook his friend, emphasizing his point with the very force of his emotion. "You are my friend, Aragorn. And for that I would die a thousand deaths. Do you understand?"

Aragorn nodded mutely, unable, for a moment, to answer, for he felt the same way. He would rather loose his life, than the elf's friendship. Legolas had shown him how very important it was that the ranger understand the nature of things, and Aragorn knew how he should act according to them.

"Thank you, Legolas. The man gave a sheepish grin, running one hand through his unbrushed hair, "Sometimes I need you to beat some sense into me."

Legolas expression turned mournful, "I'm afraid that is the only way to get it through that thick skull of yours, Strider."

Aragorn blinked, taken aback, then he noticed that familiar twinkle in his friend's eye. "Oh, do grow up, Legolas." He chided.

"All right," replied the elf amiably, "I'll maintain a more mature attitude as soon as you get something to eat."

"As much as I highly doubt that," declared the ranger, "I feel very hungry. So I will take your good advice."

Aragorn set a brisk pace toward the kitchen, with Legolas trailing close behind him, as he reached the foot of the stair, the ranger abruptly came to a halt. Legolas, his mind elsewhere, crashed into the ranger, sending both sprawling, the man landing on top of Legolas' stomach.

"Oof!" grunted the elf, "Aragorn, get off! You're heavy!" He shoved his friend off and made an attempt to regain some of his lost dignity, "Perhaps you should stay off food awhile longer. What in Arda did you stop like that for anyway?"

Aragorn looked pale, "I just remembered something, Legolas."

"What?" asked Legolas, slightly worried, "You look as if you'd just seen a ghost!"

Aragorn swallowed visibly, "Well, um, when I got back, my father sent a message to your father about your, er, demise."

Legolas knocked his head somewhat gingerly against the nearest wall, "Oh dear."

The ranger was wringing his hands, obviously nervous, as any sane being would be at the prospect of facing Thranduil's wrath and attempting to explain this particular situation to him. Even Legolas, used to dealing with his father's moods, could see no way out of this one.

Draping an arm around his friend's shoulders, Legolas smiled weakly, "Well, we will just face him together won't we? If I know my father, he'll be on his way as soon as that message arrives."

Aragorn sighed, "Well there's no need to be cheerful about it. But I'm very relieved to be facing him with you. I'd stand no chance without you."

"Well look on the bright side, Strider, we're both alive."

"For the present, anyway." Aragorn sounded decidedly glum.

Legolas dragged his disenheartened companion kitchenward.

They were alive, and likely to continue being so, despite the Mirkwood King.

Yes they were both alive.

The elf's mind flickered back to the opened cairn in the woods and shivered involuntarily, having to remind himself that he was free.

And he always would be.

Free.

Alive.

fine