Cale au Aratar 6
Aragorn was – he was not even sure what best described the frame of mind he was in – angry? Weary? Confused? Tired? Frustrated? Yes frustrated, frustrated with himself, with Arwen for still not being in Minas Tirith, with his foster brothers for not understanding his troubles, with Legolas for being ill... definitely with Legolas!
He was NEVER ill, ok there had been the odd time he had been wounded but it had never been serious enough to keep him in bed for more then a few days and he had never slept with closed eyes. Damn that elf for becoming ill now that he would be crowned, would finally be the king of Gondor – and Arwen was still not there.
Damn Elrohir for blowing up at him like he had done earlier that day, he had just asked him where Arwen was and if she would come to his coronation. For a few seconds Elrohir had looked at him incredulously before he had literally blown his top. He had never seen Elrohir so enraged or murderous. It had taken his foster-brother further moments before he had been able to speak and then he had only hissed at him, that his best friend was dying and all he could think of was his stupid coronation. Without a further word Elrohir had turned around and stalked off.
It was not that he was not worried for Legolas on the contrary the elf was his best and oldest friend, almost a brother to him – but why had he had to fall ill so close to one of the most important events in his own life? He had never before heard of that poison that ailed his friend – surely it could not be as bad as Elrohir made it out to be if Legolas had been able to conceal the fact that he was wounded for so long! A small nagging voice told him, that Gimli had known for a long time that something was wrong with their Elven friend and that he had been the only one ignorant.
Why now? Why had Legolas to fall ill now? He needed his best friend in these days, he needed Legolas to talk to, to confine in. He wanted to spar with Legolas till he was to worn out to think of anything then going to sleep as they had often done when he had been frustrated with his destiny.
He needed Legolas, he depended on him – didn't Legolas realise that? Didn't he realise that he could not go through with his own coronation without his friend?
Aragorn looked around his room, searching for something to throw; he knew that he was behaving like a spoiled child but he couldn't help it, he wanted Legolas to be at his side like he always was when something troubled him.
With a sight he sank back on the chair, it was of no use, Legolas was not here – or at least in no condition to be there for him. A beam of light fell on the wall to his right drawing a pattern on it. As a child he had guessed the shapes the light or shadows would draw on the wall – he had played it often with Legolas. A fond smile formed on his face: during the first visit of Legolas that he remembered he had often stolen into the elf's room in the evening or night when he had been unable to sleep.
While a stranger the elf had fascinated him – especially his golden hair – till that day he had only known the elves of Imladris, Legolas was the first elf from an other realm he met, the first one who was a stranger. Ever the curious child he had, when he had for the first time crept into the strange elf's chamber stared at him for a long time before he had reached with a small tentative hand out to touch that fascinating hair.
Indeed he had been so absorbed with the soft hair of the elf that he did not notice that the eyes of his victim had sharpened even before he had touched him – as Legolas told him years later the elf had awoken the moment he had entered his room. So it was that he jumped back with a yelp when he found those blue eyes focused on him while he was still playing with his hair.
Only the quick reflexes of the elf had prevented him from falling on his backside. Never before in his young life had Aragorn been as embarrassed as in the moments that followed his yelp. Instead of asking him what he was doing in his room at a time where he should be sleeping Legolas inquired if he had hurt himself which left the young human utterly impressed.
Legolas had then taken him back to his own quarters and had stayed with him till he had fallen asleep – they had never mentioned Aragorns night-time- visits to anyone and in the morning Aragorn was always in his own rooms.
He missed the light but at the same time deep friendship he had shared with Legolas – when had they grown apart? Had it been when they had started this quest to destroy the Ring or had it been earlier? Maybe when he fell in love with Arwen? No, definitely not – that had been over sixty years ago and he was sure that their friendship had been close for years after that. He was almost sure, that their friendship was still as close as before when they had started the quest – that is as close as he had thought their friendship to be!
For eighty-one years he had known Legolas – almost his whole life – and still the elf had never told him that he was betrothed! Even more that he was betrothed to Arwens aunt – which meant that Legolas would be his uncle through marriage as soon as they had both married their betrothed.
A new rage built itself within Aragorn, how could Legolas have been his best friend if he had never told him something like that? Legolas had been the first person he had told about his love for Arwen – that had been even before Arwen had returned those feelings for him – and NOW he learned that his "friend" had been betrothed even before they had met. He had not even mentioned Althilwen in passing.
So what kind of friend was the elf?
Somewhere deep inside him Aragorn knew that he was being unfair to his Elven friend: he knew that Legolas would die for him without a thought...
Die for him...
It was as if a strong wind had swept through his thoughts and cleared them, pushing everything unnecessary aside.
Legolas would die for him.
Suddenly he knew with a terrifying clarity when their friendship had been tainted, when it had shattered – and who had been the one to cause it.
It had been himself not Legolas. He had been the one who may have very well destroyed their precious friendship beyond repair.
The words he had uttered in despair before the battle at Helms Deep came back to hound him: "Then we will die as one of them, elf!".
With one sentence he had done to irrevocable blunders: He had asked Legolas to die – no not asked him he had demanded of him that he die in that battle because he himself had lost hope. He had implied that Legolas was a coward because he had pointed out that they had not the forces to win that battle, he had demanded of an immortal to throw his life away.
But worst of all he had used part of Legolas identity as an insult – he had called him elf as if that was something to be ashamed of!
With one sentence he had degraded his loving upbringing in the house of Elrond, the friendship to Legolas, his love to Arwen and his own ancestry.
How had Legolas been even able to look at him after he had spoken in that way to him? How had Legolas found it within his heart to come to him and APPOLOGISE for something that had been his right to say – after all he had only pointed out what was the plainly visible truth. How was Legolas able to fight at his side as if nothing had happened?
Realisation set in, Legolas had been wounded in that battle and now that he thought of it he even remembered the exact moment when his friend – could he even dare to call Legolas his friend after all he had done to the elf – had been wounded.
Moments before the wall blew apart he had seen that Legolas was shot, the last thing he remembered now clearly seeing was Legolas breaking the shaft of an arrow that was stuck in his side before continuing to fight.
He had dismissed those memories earlier because Legolas continued fighting and didn't appear to be wounded – there had been more pressing matters then to control if he really wasn't wounded – now he wished he had made sure.
Aragorn was – he was not even sure what best described the frame of mind he was in – angry? Weary? Confused? Tired? Frustrated? Yes frustrated, frustrated with himself, with Arwen for still not being in Minas Tirith, with his foster brothers for not understanding his troubles, with Legolas for being ill... definitely with Legolas!
He was NEVER ill, ok there had been the odd time he had been wounded but it had never been serious enough to keep him in bed for more then a few days and he had never slept with closed eyes. Damn that elf for becoming ill now that he would be crowned, would finally be the king of Gondor – and Arwen was still not there.
Damn Elrohir for blowing up at him like he had done earlier that day, he had just asked him where Arwen was and if she would come to his coronation. For a few seconds Elrohir had looked at him incredulously before he had literally blown his top. He had never seen Elrohir so enraged or murderous. It had taken his foster-brother further moments before he had been able to speak and then he had only hissed at him, that his best friend was dying and all he could think of was his stupid coronation. Without a further word Elrohir had turned around and stalked off.
It was not that he was not worried for Legolas on the contrary the elf was his best and oldest friend, almost a brother to him – but why had he had to fall ill so close to one of the most important events in his own life? He had never before heard of that poison that ailed his friend – surely it could not be as bad as Elrohir made it out to be if Legolas had been able to conceal the fact that he was wounded for so long! A small nagging voice told him, that Gimli had known for a long time that something was wrong with their Elven friend and that he had been the only one ignorant.
Why now? Why had Legolas to fall ill now? He needed his best friend in these days, he needed Legolas to talk to, to confine in. He wanted to spar with Legolas till he was to worn out to think of anything then going to sleep as they had often done when he had been frustrated with his destiny.
He needed Legolas, he depended on him – didn't Legolas realise that? Didn't he realise that he could not go through with his own coronation without his friend?
Aragorn looked around his room, searching for something to throw; he knew that he was behaving like a spoiled child but he couldn't help it, he wanted Legolas to be at his side like he always was when something troubled him.
With a sight he sank back on the chair, it was of no use, Legolas was not here – or at least in no condition to be there for him. A beam of light fell on the wall to his right drawing a pattern on it. As a child he had guessed the shapes the light or shadows would draw on the wall – he had played it often with Legolas. A fond smile formed on his face: during the first visit of Legolas that he remembered he had often stolen into the elf's room in the evening or night when he had been unable to sleep.
While a stranger the elf had fascinated him – especially his golden hair – till that day he had only known the elves of Imladris, Legolas was the first elf from an other realm he met, the first one who was a stranger. Ever the curious child he had, when he had for the first time crept into the strange elf's chamber stared at him for a long time before he had reached with a small tentative hand out to touch that fascinating hair.
Indeed he had been so absorbed with the soft hair of the elf that he did not notice that the eyes of his victim had sharpened even before he had touched him – as Legolas told him years later the elf had awoken the moment he had entered his room. So it was that he jumped back with a yelp when he found those blue eyes focused on him while he was still playing with his hair.
Only the quick reflexes of the elf had prevented him from falling on his backside. Never before in his young life had Aragorn been as embarrassed as in the moments that followed his yelp. Instead of asking him what he was doing in his room at a time where he should be sleeping Legolas inquired if he had hurt himself which left the young human utterly impressed.
Legolas had then taken him back to his own quarters and had stayed with him till he had fallen asleep – they had never mentioned Aragorns night-time- visits to anyone and in the morning Aragorn was always in his own rooms.
He missed the light but at the same time deep friendship he had shared with Legolas – when had they grown apart? Had it been when they had started this quest to destroy the Ring or had it been earlier? Maybe when he fell in love with Arwen? No, definitely not – that had been over sixty years ago and he was sure that their friendship had been close for years after that. He was almost sure, that their friendship was still as close as before when they had started the quest – that is as close as he had thought their friendship to be!
For eighty-one years he had known Legolas – almost his whole life – and still the elf had never told him that he was betrothed! Even more that he was betrothed to Arwens aunt – which meant that Legolas would be his uncle through marriage as soon as they had both married their betrothed.
A new rage built itself within Aragorn, how could Legolas have been his best friend if he had never told him something like that? Legolas had been the first person he had told about his love for Arwen – that had been even before Arwen had returned those feelings for him – and NOW he learned that his "friend" had been betrothed even before they had met. He had not even mentioned Althilwen in passing.
So what kind of friend was the elf?
Somewhere deep inside him Aragorn knew that he was being unfair to his Elven friend: he knew that Legolas would die for him without a thought...
Die for him...
It was as if a strong wind had swept through his thoughts and cleared them, pushing everything unnecessary aside.
Legolas would die for him.
Suddenly he knew with a terrifying clarity when their friendship had been tainted, when it had shattered – and who had been the one to cause it.
It had been himself not Legolas. He had been the one who may have very well destroyed their precious friendship beyond repair.
The words he had uttered in despair before the battle at Helms Deep came back to hound him: "Then we will die as one of them, elf!".
With one sentence he had done to irrevocable blunders: He had asked Legolas to die – no not asked him he had demanded of him that he die in that battle because he himself had lost hope. He had implied that Legolas was a coward because he had pointed out that they had not the forces to win that battle, he had demanded of an immortal to throw his life away.
But worst of all he had used part of Legolas identity as an insult – he had called him elf as if that was something to be ashamed of!
With one sentence he had degraded his loving upbringing in the house of Elrond, the friendship to Legolas, his love to Arwen and his own ancestry.
How had Legolas been even able to look at him after he had spoken in that way to him? How had Legolas found it within his heart to come to him and APPOLOGISE for something that had been his right to say – after all he had only pointed out what was the plainly visible truth. How was Legolas able to fight at his side as if nothing had happened?
Realisation set in, Legolas had been wounded in that battle and now that he thought of it he even remembered the exact moment when his friend – could he even dare to call Legolas his friend after all he had done to the elf – had been wounded.
Moments before the wall blew apart he had seen that Legolas was shot, the last thing he remembered now clearly seeing was Legolas breaking the shaft of an arrow that was stuck in his side before continuing to fight.
He had dismissed those memories earlier because Legolas continued fighting and didn't appear to be wounded – there had been more pressing matters then to control if he really wasn't wounded – now he wished he had made sure.