When Aragorn regained consciousness, it was his hearing that returned first. He could hear birds singing as though it were midday. But their singing was oddly off somehow. It was as though their song had no melody, no tune to it.
He opened his eyes slowly, and found that it was midday, truly. He found himself lying in tall green grass and there were many figures bustling about. He rolled onto his back and looked into the arms of a beautiful oak tree. The sky was blue, and the sun was very bright. He sat up slowly and rubbed the bump on the back of his head. He realized he was surrounded by elves carrying out duties. None of them were paying the slightest attention to him.
There were two kinds of elves here, he realized. There were Mirkwood elves as well as Rivendell elves. He sighed with relief. He was among friends. He summoned a blonde elf that was walking nearby him carrying an ornate hatchet and a bundle of wood.
"Excuse me." Aragorn said. The elf looked at him blankly. "What is going on here? Where are the orcs? The man? Where is Legolas?"
The elf stared at him without expression. His face looked pale and tired somehow. "I can't answer any of your questions. Talk to Elrond, for Thranduil has not yet arrived… You should lie back down, Strider. You took a mighty blow to the head."
"But that's exactly what I'm talking about. I-"
But the elf had continued on hurriedly. Aragorn growled. Another elf passed him and the ranger seized the bottom hem of his cloak. The dark-haired beauty looked down in silent alarm.
"Where is Legolas?" Aragorn demanded, firm and even.
"I'm sorry. I cannot help you there." The elf wrenched his clothing out of the human's grip and carried on.
Aragorn's frustration was growing. He stood up slowly on shaky limbs. He was opening his mouth to make himself heard to whomever would listen when his quivering legs gave out on him and he fainted.
He heard muffled voices. He opened his eyes to a face that, though blurry, was unmistakably that of Lord Elrond. The elf was holding him, elevating his head.
"A-Ada…" Aragorn started when he flipped violently out of Elrond's grip and vomited on one side of the oak tree. He felt the elf's hands around his waist, keeping him from falling face-first into the dirt.
"Just rest a moment. You've got concussion."
Aragorn slumped back against the oak tree and stared into the face he knew so well. A foreign hand came out of his peripheral vision with a large ladle of water. The man took it gratefully. He rinsed his mouth and drank. "Lord Elrond," He panted. "Where-is-Legolas? Is he safe!"
"We have him."
At this, the ranger closed his eyes with relief and let his head fall back against the tree trunk.
"Now, that we know you're coherent, I think you should sleep." The elf said without emotion.
But the man was already half asleep. He dreamed that he was walking in a forest that was disintegrating into ash when he realized that there were butterflies all around, eating him. Then Legolas saved him by poking him in the mouth with a magic flute. Then they were lying together in an open field under the stars. Thranduil suddenly was hovering over them.
"How dare you allow the prince to swallow raspberries! And where is my horse!"
Then a gargantuan raven came flying towards all of them and Aragorn cried out in warning.
But Aragorn's cry was real and he woke himself up with the noise of it. He found himself in an elven wagon that was swaying peacefully through the late afternoon light. A glance around told him that he was on the outskirts of Rivendell. How had he and Legolas thought themselves so lost?
Legolas. But where was Legolas? He hadn't seen so much as a glimpse of him since he had awoken from the blow. If he too was injured, surely they should be on the same wagon. And if Legolas was not injured, surely he would have ridden with him to make sure he was all right. Legolas was usually so concerned about him and his "frail human body".
In Rivendell, the wagon was relieved of its load and Aragorn hopped off and began weaving through the elves trying to find Legolas. So many blondes… Soon, all of the elves had gone off to do their separate duties and he still had not found Legolas. Even Elrond wasn't to be found. He was about to start towards Elrond's library when a glint of blonde caught his eye. He walked towards this blonde that was brushing down a gray mare. It was not Legolas. Aragorn felt his whole body sink. The elf looked at him.
"You were not out with us just now, were you?" Aragorn asked him.
"I was not."
"But tell me, do you know where Legolas is?"
"Legolas?"
"Yes. Legolas."
"Of the Woodland Realm?"
Aragorn nodded.
"But he is dead, sir."
"What! What makes you say that?"
"The fact that it is true."
"It isn't. Why would it be?"
"Everyone is talking about it."
"Are they?" Asked the man, haughtily.
"Everyone knows that he is dead."
"Do they?" Aragorn's temperature was rising.
"They do. It is true, Lord Aragorn."
At his name, Aragorn felt even more offended. "What made you think that you could say any of this to me? This is ridiculous!"
"Lord Aragorn, it's all true."
"You, sir, are a liar. I have never met an elf that could lie before." The ranger was fuming and bubbling, his voice getting dangerously low.
But the elf only became more quiet and firm, swallowing his offence. "Lord Aragorn, if you please-"
"Enough!" Aragorn stormed off to find the truth. He had just found the staircase leading away from the stable courtyard when the elf's cold voice came again and Aragorn stopped dead.
"If you want to find him, go to Lord Elrond. It is said that they aren't to do anything with the body until Lord Thranduil arrives."
Aragorn made his way to Elrond's library. For every quick step he took, he took a second at a slower pace. He could not decide whether he was desperate for the truth or whether he dreaded the unfolding of it. Perhaps in a few moments time he would desperately desire to return to his present state of ignorance and would never be able to forgive himself those quick, forwarding steps.
Whether too soon or not soon enough, he eventually found Elrond pacing his library while several official-looking elves seemed to await his words from the sides of the room. Upon entering, all eyes turned to Aragorn's scraggly, dirty form. He crossed the threshold, abandoning formality and manner.
"Lord Aragorn, no one offered you a room, or tried to address your cuts?" Asked a Rivendell elf that Aragorn didn't recognize.
Aragorn ignored this ridiculous remark. "Elrond. I must know. Where – is – Legolas?" Aragorn did not ask if he was alive or dead. He did not at all desire to suggest that there was cause to question his being alive.
"Estel, we have been unkind to you. There has been much to do. I admit that my mind has been on Thranduil and not on you. I apologize. Estel, please sit down." Elrond's voice finally broke its characteristic evenness and pleaded that Aragorn take a chair made of twisted oak.
Aragorn did not wish to sit. He wanted to be everywhere. He wanted to stand with authority and power and demand the truth. However, since it appeared that Elrond was on the tangent that would lead to answers, Aragorn obeyed. Elrond drew a similar chair up to face him.
"Estel, you must understand that no one blames you . . ."
Aragorn didn't like the way this was going. But Elrond didn't continue. He trailed off and some character of the nature outside too subtle for Aragorn's human senses distracted his expressionless eyes.
After a few moments of silence, Aragorn demanded, "Elrond, I won't ask again."
Elrond's eyes snapped back onto the ranger's face. "Estel, Legolas is dead. He died, we have deduced, moments after you lost consciousness. He was run through with a sword."
Aragorn was silent. Suddenly he could feel nothing but the numerous eyes on his back that belonged to the elves he didn't even know. He could sense them stirring and thought that their restlessness was not very elf-like. His body felt cooled by those eyes and his fists clenched into sensitive balls. He had never felt any action as vividly as he did this clenching.
When Aragorn made no reaction, Elrond carried on, "Thranduil is on his way to take custody of his son's body. We will discuss the funeral ceremony. Thranduil will most likely insist on a Mirkwood rite . . ."
Aragorn's words and expression reflected a rage, a tearing that he did not at all feel connected to as he spoke. "And what," He began in a quiet voice that shook with hatred. "Is being done about those responsible?" Aragorn was now grasping the arms of the chair in a terrible fight to keep his demeanour even.
"There will be a time for justice, Estel." Elrond had turned his back to the elves and the man and was regarding his books. He was silent in his surprise that this was the first thought to come out of the ranger. A chilled breeze blew over the room and the pages on his oak desk rustled noisily.
"And have you thought that every moment that you spend planning ceremony and preparing for guests puts the criminals closer to their escape? This is preposterous, this preparation, this reserved thought of funerals! The ceremony should commence when the heads of the villainous murderers are there for the bon fire!"
"Estel, you do not speak as yourself. You are a man of honour, and as such, have always been able to understand the integrity of honouring the dead." Spoke an elf from somewhere behind him. He recognized the voice but did not care to look.
"And what of his spirit! How shall we put him to rest without justice!" Aragorn could see in the faces of the elves as he turned and surveyed the room that he was not convincing. In fact, he seemed to be insulting everyone with increasing success. "This is ludicrous! You may do nothing to bring down the perpetrators, but I certainly won't!" Aragorn rose and started swiftly for the door.
"Please don't." came his father's emotionless voice.
Suddenly there were a number of elves blocking his exit.
"Let me pass." Aragorn growled while looking back at Elrond.
Elrond put up a hand, telling him to be silent. His eyes were over and bellow the railing. There was something of interest in the courtyard. "Be still. Thranduil has just arrived."
Thranduil looked as Aragorn felt. The man had never seen an elf look so destroyed and moist in the face and hoped never to again. Consolation followed formality, as the elf leaders paid their respects to one another. Aragorn's silent form was now growing hot as he stared hard at his feet in the shadows. Thranduil's voice also sounded to Aragorn like it was just barely controlling the enraged grief beneath. Like the man, the King could just barely manage himself. Aragorn could feel the heat and water rising to his head and knew that his cold, even moments were over.
Then suddenly he didn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. Legolas wasn't dead. The very possibility was pure absurdity. And he had the most overwhelming desire to demand to see the body. But his mouth wouldn't open. Worse, he knew what the answer would be and he knew that he would be seen by the elves as crass and raw. And after the wave of frustration went through him, he was glad that he had not spoken.
The elves were discussing funeral arrangements in monotone. Aragorn gripped his hands onto the railing of the window to keep himself from doing anything stupid. He tried not to listen. But when he didn't listen, he became angry that he was doing nothing. And when he became angry, he had to grip the railing all the harder, lest he have an outburst.
His eyes strayed outside and fell on a familiar sight. Brollas was the horse that he and Legolas had become lost in the confusing forest because of. Brollas had been frightened and escaped. As Aragorn had predicted, he had found his way back to Rivendell.
How long has he been here?
Abruptly, Aragorn was overcome with rage, particularly as the assailants had been anonymous.
"My Lord," Aragorn interrupted. He pushed his way into the centre of the circle and the conversation. "Surely you desire justice to be done that your son's soul might know peace?" He appealed to Thranduil.
"Estel!" Elrond chided him for his rudeness.
Thranduil looked at first shocked and maddened by his gall. However, his eyes soon revealed to Aragorn that resolution, if not revenge, was exactly what Thranduil desired. However, it soon became obvious that Thranduil would never admit this out loud.
"Strider, I dare say," Thranduil drew himself up to his full height in front of the human. "You are very arrogant. We are discussing the matter of my dead son." His mouth twisted as though he couldn't control it.
Aragorn ignored this statement. "Please, my lords, you must help me. Let us capture these murderers." There was a long silence. Aragorn felt the same changelessness. "Well, if you don't want to come along, at least give me some clue . . . A direction. A physical description. Anything."
"As the only witness, we were hoping that you could describe the villains for us." Thranduil drew.
"I…. It was very dark…"
"So we've heard." Thranduil narrowed his eyes.
"I know there were a number of orcs. Those I battled. And there was a figure with long dark hair. He seemed to be a man, but I can't be sure. He could have easily been something else. Do you know any man that might hold a grudge or a -"
"So, as usual, Strider, you expect others to provide the answers and, when you have them, you will scamper off on your horse to battle and glory." Thranduil crossed his arms.
"Thranduil, I hardly think-" Elrond began.
"Is that truly what you believe? That I am to seek these villains for glory?"
"Aragorn, we'll-" Elrond tried.
"Yes. Why would I say it if I didn't-" Thranduil cut in.
"Regardless, Majesty, of what you believe of me, I will go," Aragorn's voice grew louder with the agonizing heat in his body. " And obliterate those who have slain your son. I will bring back their heads and I will release Legolas' soul along with yours. When I return, you will all wonder why you did not aid me when I requested it, for it would have hastened peace for all!"
"Estel." Elrond called, but the man had torn out of the room for the armoury. "Estel!"
Aragorn hurriedly suited himself with as many weapons as he could carry, a canteen of water and a cloak that he did not know the owner of. He demanded the fastest and most fit horse of the stable master with such clout and fury that the elf didn't dare refuse.
He galloped across the courtyard beneath the library lividly, Elrond's voice shouting with increasing desperation from above. Aragorn had never heard him like this. It was as though Elrond believed that Aragorn was now riding into certain death.
"How are we to lose you as well?" Elrond all but split apart at the throat. But Aragorn was already too far beyond the bridge to hear.
At sunset, Thranduil demanded, despite his better judgement, to see the body of his son. Accompanied by Elrond and a host of council elves, the Mirkwood King descended the stairs to the square near the forest of monuments where Aragorn's own mother slept. Legolas' temporary tomb was an above ground stone coffin with chiselled leaves twisting all over it. It would later be carried on a large wagon to Mirkwood.
The elves stood before it and Thranduil braced himself for unspeakable pain. He moved quickly and pushed the heavy stone lid off of the tomb. It crashed to the opposite side with a thunderous boom. The King stepped up and gazed down inside.
"W-w-where is he?" He demanded of no one in particular.
"What?"
"T-there's nothing in here!"
"What?"
"I swear to you!"
Elrond ran up to the tomb and peered inside. "This doesn't make any sense." He muttered. "Who has moved the body?" He demanded of all present.
There was no answer.
"We were all with you." Piped up a tall council elf.
"Someone fetch he who was responsible for the undertaking then." Elrond caught Thranduil in his arms, who said his knees were feeling weak.
The undertaker appeared immediately. "My Lord?"
"Where is the body?" Elrond demanded, still supporting the brunt of the King's weight.
"Oh. The Prince was buried."
"What!"
"'Tis true, sir."
"On whose order!"
"I – I don't know, sir."
"By whom?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Then how do you know he was buried?"
"Well, I saw the figures of several gravediggers return from the edge of the forest with shovels. I asked them what they had been doing as they were passing. They said that they had buried the Prince as ordered. I thought that that sounded strange, but I assumed that King Thranduil ordered it, sir."
"And who were these gravediggers?"
"I- I didn't see their faces."
"And what would ever make you think that I would do such a thing to my son, and without a ceremony?" Thranduil demanded, rage rushing his body.
"I admit that I did not long consider it, sir."
"Take me to the burial site."
The nervous undertaker took the party to a peaceful spot on the edge of the wood just before the bridge leading out of Rivendell. It was directly next to the stream, which fed into the thunderous river in the ravine below. There was a seven-foot long shape of disturbed soil. Grasses and wild flowers surrounded it. It would have been a perfectly gorgeous resting place, were the oaks not raining brown shrivelled leaves on everything.
"T-t-this is unacceptable!" Thranduil screeched. "He – is a – Prince – of – Mirkwood!"
"My Lord." The undertaker bowed low. "I am greatly sorry. Whatever we must do to set this right, it will be done."
Tears of fury beaded at the side of the King's face.
"And, what might that course be, mellon nin?" Elrond asked the Prince's father.
"Nothing, you fools! Nothing can be done! How much respect could I claim to have for my dead son, if I insisted that his body be dug up and carted all over the countryside? The Prince will have to remain here, buried in Rivendell. However, I demand that a monument be erected in his honour here, as it will be in Mirkwood. We will have to have an emergency funeral here in a few days time."
"Yes. All this will be done." Elrond bowed. In the face of loss, the Lord of the River Elves thought it best to bend to the ego of the King he knew so well.
TBC