Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

TIMELINE: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King- the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

PART ONE: Those Lost

Interlude 2

The Fellowship of the Ring: A Light at the End

Moria

January 13, 3019

The Long Dark of Moria indeed it was. One traversed it silently, cautiously, perpetually fearfully, armed with courage powered by nothing but a fervent, desperate hope of light at its end.

As in this Quest, Strider reflected, As in all things in life. One could only hope for light at the end…

Light at the end, of course, still inextricably meant they were in darkness now. Unfortunately.

He did not like Moria. He did not like the feeling of the nakedness and vulnerability of his back, of eyes in the dark which may or may not be watching, of ears that may or may not hear every echo of his breath and his beating heart, of this pregnant darkness with secret tenants. Grown men and wizards and elves feared the dark of Moria and of her deeper, blacker secrets. Ghosts of her turbulent past, monsters of her present. But grown men and wizards and elves too, firmly understood that their hobbit companions desperately needed their assurance of courage more than they needed to voice their own fears. And so they remained silent, and appeared unafraid.

The Istar headed the group as they proceeded forward. The collapse of the West Gate gave them no choice but to traverse the seemingly infinite blackness, this single road that was left to them. He knew the route best, and navigated by the quiet light of his staff. The hobbits gravitated to this light, and it was easy to believe that perhaps they've never seen such inky, encompassing black as the dark of Moria that now assaulted them from all ends.

"We can get lost here forever," Meriadoc mused softly.

Boromir of Gondor and Gimli the Dwarf permeated their huddle, and so it was that for the first time since the Quest began nearly a month ago, Aragorn found himself walking beside the silent, dimly glowing elven soldier Legolas for a short moment.

The elf spent some of his fine arrows defending the Company from the rear when they were assaulted by the foul beast guarding the lake of the West Gate. Man and elf stood side by side as the Company ran past them and into the mines, and they were the last into the relative "safety" of Moria when the gate collapsed and shielded them from all the light of the moon and all the air from the world outside.

It was not a very fine feeling, being thus entombed. The sentiment was shared by the elven Prince who walked with him.

'I do not much like the dark,' he said in his native tongue.

'I am unsurprised,' said Strider with a grinning grimace, a humor that shone even in the direst straits, 'You cannot even bear to close those eyes in the dark peace of sleep.'

Legolas smiled tightly. 'Ah, yes. Indeed.'

'Funny habit,' mused Strider, 'Growing up in Rivendell, and seeing everyone asleep with their eyes open, I always believed I slept with eyes open too.'

The elf chuckled. 'That is understandable.'

"Only an elf can find joy in this misery," mumbled Gimli to Boromir, having heard Legolas chuckle from where he was.

"Only a dwarf can stomach being constantly a bothersome and unwelcome eavesdropper," Legolas retorted.

"Good ears," Gimli muttered to the Gondorian in a lower tone.

"The best," Legolas said smugly, showing off that he could still hear the quieter voice.

'You're both insane,' Strider concluded with eyes that shone even in the dark of the mines.

Legolas decided he should be fairly annoyed, but the smile was disarming, and the light in his eyes was warming, especially in this dank hole. Instead of a retort the adan may have deserved, the elf smiled back, and shook his head in amusement and disbelief at them both.

Of course, along the length of their journey into Moria, nothing was funny anymore. The dwarf had lost a dear cousin and had to wade through the hideous massacre of many of his kin. The elf did not have to like him to feel the pang of his anger and his broken heart. He knew loss, by the gods, he understood these things all to well, much more than he wanted. The wails of the dwarf assaulted his senses, the crime that was committed so gleefully within these walls was an affront to all that was good in the world. Legolas felt Gimli's anger as if it was his own. It was a sentiment shared by the entire Company.

But there was much more to lose and much, much more to regret- people closer to home. The Bridge had loomed nearer, and then a spark of hope was lit in their weary, battling hearts- the thought of escape, of safety, of release from the clutches of the eternal starless night of Moria. And then the wizard fell in his defense of the Company. And then they who survived burst out into the sunlight of freedom, yet even then there was no warmth, for they have lost one of their own.

More and more it was difficult to understand this world, it seemed. Suddenly there were dead wizards, and elves faced with brutal mortality, and hobbits who learned to cry. There was almost no comfort in their release from the mines. Their tears stained the rocky ground, their sobs hovered over the air, and lingered, and stabbed.

The elf was drowning in these senses. There was so much to see, and hear, and none of them lent comfort. Only grief. Only helplessness. Gandalf was an old friend, perhaps Legolas had known the Istari the longest, amongst all of them in the Fellowship, by virtue of his uncountable elven years. His own grief was hard enough to fathom, and he was still further burdened by the grief of others. He turned his head away from the Fellowship, not wanting to be unmasked yes, but also not wanting to see or hear any more.

Boromir of Gondor, used to loss it seemed, sat on the ground and caught his breath from their mad running. He was saddened, his hardy eyes were thus weighed, but he was, as always, unhindered. He watched grief unfold before him. The hobbits were weary and world-weary. It seemed almost a crime to tear them from the innocence of the lives they've led before this War. They looked like children. They looked misplaced.

Let them cry, he thought, their world just changed

All men must face up to the reality of the rest of the world. All men had to share in its pain some time. He saw the weary eyes of young soldiers, and boys taken from their mothers and pressed into fatal service for their desperate lands. He's seen the same tiredness in them. This brutal awakening to the evils of the world was as true for human children as they were for hobbits, especially with all these wars that raged around them. It was not surprising, but it was no less unfortunate.

Yet another pair of eyes looked upon the sad scene with as much wistfulness, but let his sight not be hindered by the moment's pains. There were things to do. There were always things to do. Strider surveyed the Company with a critical eye. Most had taken to the ground in exhaustion of body and spirit. Only he, Frodo and the elf kept standing. Perhaps, because he was looking upon Legolas' turned back and therefore could not see what must have been his lonely face, it was easier to be detached from his sympathy for the elf, easier to order him into action.

"Legolas," he said sharply, "Get them up."

Lothlorien

January 18, 3019

Though Legolas once spent a lot of time beneath these woods and was often treated as its child, rather than a stranger, he found that the Golden Wood without Lilian felt less of a home and more of a… a… pit stop, he supposed.

Or perhaps I am changed, he mused, I've lived all these ages, and barely a month's journey- a sigh, a blink of an eye- had already altered my heart

It did not make any sense, but then there it was. The Wood gave security, yes, but not quite comfort. The road ahead of them was yet long, and though his heart and body begged for rest, his mind flew off toward Mordor, toward all the things that still needed doing. And the times it wasn't looking toward the bleakness of the future, it was plagued by the darkness of the most recent past.

Mithrandir, he thought achingly, By the gods… who will fall next?

And it was so difficult to believe that none else would. The road was long, and it was pitch black. Someone's death was a certainty. It might even be his own, but then again in a way, that was a comfort too. He feared losing newfound friends more. The pain was powerful. The finality of death was always burdensome to an elf. He needed…

I need to hear her laugh, he decided.

The very breath he'd had in private with their Marchwarden, he'd inquired of Lilian. But Haldir said she left for Mirkwood long ago.

Legolas winced. 'To see me. The formal betrothal ceremonies are scheduled in a month. I suppose none of us foresaw my place in this Road. I was but a messenger, suddenly compelled by duty to uphold the standard of my kingdom in this Quest of ours. She will be profoundly displeased.'

Haldir smiled tightly. 'Surely not with the delay. Only with your volunteerism toward the dangerous. Again. I've heard her say it is what she loves and loathes about you. That indiscriminate honor.'

He smiled too. The woman was headstrong, there was no mistaking it, and he knew he'd have his fill of her scolding when next they see each other.

'You smile,' Haldir observed, sounding satisfied, 'Take comfort in the thoughts of her, my prince. Let it strengthen your heart.'

Legolas left the Marchwarden to his duties, and was seeking his own Company when the first strings of a beautiful tune in lament of an old friend arrested him, making his steps more absent and aimless.

"A lament for Gandalf," he murmured to himself.

"What do they say about him?" said a quiet voice from somewhere behind. Legolas found it was Merry.

"I have not the heart to tell you," he replied quietly, "For me the grief is still too near."

The elf walked about beneath the Golden trees, the paths permeated by the memories of the one he loved, she who had gone. He could hear her laughter, smell the scent of lily water that seemed to trail her everywhere. He remembered her busy hands, how, whenever they walked together, her fingers would graze the trunks of the trees gently, where they lingered as if she was greeting the shoulders of old friends.

The elf closed his eyes and smiled to himself. Her memory was always a comfort to him. Even the memory of their goodbye. The last time they saw each other, he had brought the Lady Galadriel a message from his father. He was making his farewell to her as they walked about aimlessly, fingers entwined as if they would never let go.

'Remember,' he said to her fervently, 'Mirkwood in a year. Take a party with you, but I have arranged for your escort as well. My father already informed the Lady Galadriel, and I myself have spoken with her. The times are dark, but I will not have you torn from me. When we are betrothed in front of all my kingdom then, you won't change your mind about wedding me.'

'Oh won't I?' she asked, eyes alight. Her voice was musical.

'No,' he said with a laugh, 'You won't.'

'Why not?' she asked him impishly.

'Because you love me too much to embarrass me,' he replied.

'No,' she said, laughing as well, her valiant attempt at a straight face failing, 'I love you enough to embarrass you, prince ling. You are too thick-headed. You need to be knocked down a peg. Or two. For your own good.'

They had unknowingly drifted up toward Cerin Amroth. The elanor and nephredil were thickening around him. He had to leave, his duties were pressing, and he was going to say so here.

'Oh no,' she said, stopping cold in her tracks. She sensed he would soon drift from her. In all the times they said goodbye to each other for his journeys, they would walk deep into the woods, away from the stables, away from where he was supposed to begin his road absent from her. She did not like the watch of his quick retreat on horseback. The departure was too quick, too cruel. He in turn did not like seeing her pain over the brutal severance. And so they often took to the deep woods and simply walked away from each other.

'What's wrong?' he asked, gently.

They reached the foot of a hill. 'I refuse to bid you goodbye here,' she said with a nervous laugh, taking his arm and steering him away. 'Cerin Amroth. Hill of the most beautiful sort of sorrow. Setting of pledges of undying affection, final goodbyes and tragic star-crossed lovers. I will not bid you goodbye here.'

He was young, and defiant. Innocent of the cruel, piteous handouts of the future. 'We will make our own history.' He had said.

She smiled. It was indulgent, and highly feminine in the sense that she might have thought the man before him was foolish and mad, and still let him do as he wanted.

'I will love you for ever,' she said to him, softly, like a gentle breeze. It enveloped him as the wind did, as every breath that kept him alive did.

Legolas' feet led him to the same hill of his memories, and he was surprised to find he was not alone there, and not alone either in the remembrance of lost loves.

Aragorn son of Arathorn was there, sitting upon the hill, thinking of his own pledge to Arwen long ago. He blinked in surprise at the appearance of the elven prince hiking up the slight incline.

"I've intruded," Legolas said quietly, smiling slightly, as he made to step away, "I apologize. I suppose I should have sensed you were near and diverted from this path, but my mind was adrift."

"'Tis not my hill to lay claim on," Aragorn said to him, smiling back, "And the company is a… a welcome distraction."

Legolas' brows furrowed at the sight of the slight wrinkle to the adan's forehead. He remembered suddenly that Arwen stayed long with her kin in Lorien.

Hill of the most beautiful sort of sorrow indeed, he guessed.

"Interesting history this hill owns," Legolas commented, a bit of at a loss as to what to say.

"Certainly," Aragorn said with a bit of a wince.

"Yours too, I wager," Legolas said, before he could stop himself.

Aragorn's brows rose. "Yes."

Legolas looked at the man grimly, appreciating the honesty if not the sadness of its truth. The silence stretched, but both seemed reluctant to leave. Legolas looked glumly out toward the depth of the woods.

"Our road is still so long," the elf mused, "How long must we linger here?"

"Time is of the essence," Aragorn agreed, "But our fellows must recover their strength, and more importantly, their heart. This was never a mission of brute force, it's more a mission of will. These woods soothe the spirit. Not all of us are as hardy as you, mellon-nin."

"I did not claim this was so," Legolas said evenly, sighing, "I suppose we all deal with work differently. I want to get it over with quickly. I despise waiting."

"Then take rest here instead," Aragorn advised.

"I cannot rest when my mind is on all the things we are yet to do," Legolas replied, "A long, long road. I despise waiting. There is so much to do."

"As you've repeatedly mentioned," Aragorn smirked slightly, amused.

Legolas shook his head in dismay, before deciding to plop down next to the Ranger. Aragorn realized that it was one of the few times along the length of their journey this past month that he had even seen the elf sit down. The idea was a marvel. He grew up with elves, he'd always known they were strong. But he's never seen one quite as tireless as the Mirkwood prince he held before him.

"What?" Legolas asked, looking bewildered by the man's stare.

"You do not stop and sit down much," Aragorn replied, "I suppose the frequent and lengthy stops we've had thus far can be infuriating for one like you."

Legolas shrugged, shifted to a more comfortable position. "This is indeed the first time I travel with beings other than elves. Men, and dwarves and hobbits." He hesitated, "You are all very funny."

Aragorn barked a laugh in surprise. "That is… an interesting word."

"Hobbits seem to like talking," Legolas commented, "They like talking so much that they waste a breath and bother saying they are breathless."

Aragorn chuckled.

"Our Ringbearer seems to be the exception," Legolas added, "I wonder if it is the burden of the Ring that silences him, or perhaps a natural calm."

"It is both," Aragorn guessed, nodding for Legolas to continue, "Your elven eyes see much, my friend. They are as keen toward the distance as they are toward what is near."

"The dwarf," Legolas said, "The dwarf…"

"Where do you begin, eh?" Aragorn teased.

"He loves, much," Legolas winced, "His rocks, his caves, his kin. His friends. And he hates with equal strength and certainly more voice."

"Hate?" asked Aragorn, curious.

"His foes," Legolas replied, "The Yrchs, Sauron, my kin. Me."

"He does not hate you," Aragorn chuckled, "It is all inherited dislike, from a history none can even remember."

"Yes, well," Legolas sounded unconvinced, "It is either way very palpable to me. But I care not. The dislike hardly goes just one way. It is a dispassion that I share too."

"Oh is it?" Aragorn murmured.

Legolas shrugged. "You men are the strangest folk of them all."

"Why is that?" asked Aragorn.

"Your distrust of each other is… is… an abomination," Legolas replied, "The dwarf hates me because his kin hate the elves. I share the same dislike against him for the same reason. The hobbits stick together and are not particularly geared toward anything else other than superficial conflict. Do you see something here? Internal peace. But men… in what I have seen of Boromir and you at the onset… and of what this world had shown to us of Easterlings, and the Men of the West… you seem very fragmented."

Aragorn smiled at the elf, quite sadly. "This is true. To our great misfortune. And possibly to our ultimate demise."

Legolas hesitated a little, before saying, "You're inheriting the problems of the world, Elessar."

"It is just Aragorn, for now," the man said with a wince, "dear friend. We see through living past this darkness first, and then we'll see about mending the rest of the world. In the meantime," he smiled again with the light of some mischief, "I suggest we begin the mend of the world right here in this Fellowship."

"What do you mean?" Legolas asked, suspicious.

Aragorn just shrugged at him, rose to his feet and dusted off his pants, and then walked away.

Some days later, Legolas of Mirkwood had left Lorien in a boat he shared with a dwarf. Aragorn handed out riding assignments with a straight face, and pointing out quite logically that with elf and dwarf in the same boat, and each man had two hobbits with them, the weight was quite evenly distributed amongst them. The sailing skills were evenly distributed about the company as well.

The dwarf had released a compulsory, though curiously very half-baked protest. He even let the elf assist him into the craft. The suspicious Mirkwood prince was sensing a surprise attack. Maybe it was a prank. But then again… maybe it wasn't.

The stubborn dwarf had met the Lady Galadriel, and seemed to have changed his mind about the elves.

Aragorn, bearing Frodo and Samwise with him on the boat, sailed alongside Legolas and Gimli. The elf looked at the man, smirking for Legolas now understood what the man had known days ago. Aragorn blinked at him innocently, but there was a light in his eye as he sped up a little, and sailed past the elf and the dwarf.

Legolas laughed softly to himself, and let the man have his petty little victory. He had, after all, been 'ahead' of Legolas in more ways than one anyway. The dwarf, unsurprisingly, did not notice. He was quite occupied by his memories of the Golden Wood.

To be continued…

HEY GUYS!

Thanks so much to all who read and especially to all who reviewed. I'm just about done with Part 1 of this fic and am working on Part 2 already. I'm also hard at work on For Every Evil 2, so for those of you who are looking forward to that, WATCH OUT haha, it'll be coming out in a few months, likely as a preview at the end of "Love, War" along with the author's afterword, as per my usual style :)

Ok, just some replies:

To zerah: I do plan my stories, haha. I like the round feeling, so I do indeed plan it a lot. I'm glad the effort comes through :) thank you very much for your attentiveness :)

To orlandochick05: actually, haha, I know what you mean. Remember in the previous chapters, Legolas said that in a few years, 'they're all dead to me anyway' so yes, he thought that what the heck, how long could they live, what's a few years? I guess we're both very practical thinkers haha :)

So there :) THANKS THANKS SO MUCH GUYS! You really really keep this fic alive for me (especially since I often get so distracted by other avenues; I read reviews over to encourage myself haha). 'TIL THE NEXT POST- a confrontation between old friends!