A/N: Something a lot longer this time! Not canonically accurate particularly, but only in small details because I couldnt be asked to look through the scenes again. Set after the final battle.

Can be read as friendship or romance, as with the other chapters!

Aragorn winced as he dismounted, stumbling when he hit the ground. His legs were barely supporting his weight at this point, the battle had drained him of more energy than he could have ever imagined. Thankfully someone had offered to give him a ride up to the tower, otherwise he would've still been picking his way through the field, navigating his way through the hundreds of dead. The thousands.

He didn't want to think about it yet. He let the victory numb him, forcing the overwhelming feeling of relief to the forefront of his mind to push the worry back.

He was sure that everybody would be fine. Gandalf was more than capable, as was Gimli. And he'd passed Merry and Pippin on the way, worse for wear perhaps than he'd have liked, but alive nonetheless. And everyone else was okay. Probably.

He was vaguely aware of someone trying to take his sword, but he kept ahold of it. The man who'd given him a lift dismounted too, and Aragorn made a note of his appearance so that he could thank him later. Then, still weary, he began the climb back up the stairs, to the top.

When he reached it he saw that there was a group gathered around the white tree, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that everyone was there. Gandalf beckoned him over, sparing only a tired smile before he turned back to continue assessing the rest.

Aragorn took his place next to Gimli, grimacing in pain when his legs protested at the movement. He just wanted to sit down for a moment, wanted to take a moment's relief. But he also knew that the post-battle check was more important than personal matters, at least until they knew everyone's status. So he did his best to comprehend the information, even while his headache grew.

"And the Hobbits?" Gandalf continued, once Aragorn had joined them. "What of Meriadoc and Peregrin?"

"I passed them, some time before the battle ended. One of them was in bad shape, though I couldn't see who." Éomer answered.

"Aye. I met them after." Aragorn added. "Merry needs attention, but there are people out there already, they shall bring him in when he's stable."

Gandalf made to continue, but Aragorn raised his hand and continued addressing Éomer. "Éowyn, she was gravely injured alongside the Hobbit. I'd suggest you go to her, help the efforts to move them."

The rider nodded and, with a parting nod at Gandalf, waved for a group of nearby men to follow him.

"You made it through okay lad?" Gimli asked Aragorn. He nodded slowly.

"Alive. Tired. Yourself?"

Gimli mirrored Aragorn's nod. The battle had drained him far more than he'd let on, as it had done to all of them. There was none of his usual swagger, no boasting. The atmosphere, though of relief, held much sorrow.

Gandalf began talking again, but with just the three of them now it felt quiet. When Merry and Pippin joined them, after they'd rested, there would be more noise. Celebrations. A feeling of victory. But he couldn't bring himself to feel it yet, not when they'd lost so many. Not without Gimli laughing, Frodo smiling, Legolas -

Legolas.

Aragorn raised his head. Looked around. As if he could read Aragorn's thoughts, Gimli stood up straight.

"Wait. The elf?" He asked. "What has become of Legolas?"

They both looked to Gandalf.

"Well I presumed that one of you would have seen him. You're barely apart."

"I haven't seen him for hours. We fought briefly together near the docks, and then we separated. I thought he was with Gimli."

"Aye, he was for a short time. But then he got lost into the crowd. I thought he'd come to you, as he's so good at doing."

"You mean nobody's seen him?" Aragorn asked, his voice rising.

"Calm yourself." Gandalf soothed, raising his hand in a placating gesture. "I'll ask around. Someone will have seen him. He's probably still out looking for survivors."

"Most people came in hours ago. The field is empty but for the few who are carrying Merry and Éowyn in. I was one of the last through the gates!"

Aragorn realized that his voice was attracting stares, but he couldn't bring himself to be calm.

Why hadn't he noticed sooner? Why had he not even considered that something might have happened to Legolas? He'd made it, after hours, back to the rest, and he'd not even given a moment's thought to the whereabouts of the elf. He supposed it was because Legolas was always there. No matter the occasion, no matter what happened, Legolas was constantly there. Glued to his side, almost annoyingly so at points. Legolas noticed everything.

And Aragorn hadn't even realized that he'd been missing for hours.

"We must go after him." He said, already turning to leave. "If I take a horse it will take less time."

Gandalf shook his head.

"Aragon you are exhausted. Rest, send someone else. Besides, it's quite possible he's around the city somewhere, we need to -"

"He wouldn't forget to rejoin us. He never has." Gimli interrupted. "Let him go Gandalf, it's quite clear the lad won't rest until the elf has been found."

Gandalf grimaced, but turned away. Aragon looked at Gimli.

"You would not ride out with me? He asked.

"Nay. I would just slow you down. I'll follow on foot."

The grave tone of his voice made Aragon's heart speed up. Gimli would never usually admit to being a hindrance, under any circumstance. He was stubborn to a fault. Hearing him so readily willing to accept his lowered use showed Aragon that the dwarf feared for the worst.

"He'll be fine. We'll be back within the hour, unharmed, I promise."

He said it as a self-assurance more than to Gimli. He tried his best to believe it.

But Legolas had never gone missing for this long. He'd always turned up. He was the fastest of them all, able to run from the other levels of the city within moments. Aragon knew that if the elf was indeed in the city, as Gandalf thought was true, he would've at least revealed himself to them by now. And since he hadn't, that meant he was still out there.

He's fine. He's going to be fine. He's fine.

Aragon kept up the mantra as he raced to find the nearest horse, mounting quickly. With a quick word to the owner he spurred it down the stairs, weaving through the crowds. It didn't take him long to reach the main gate, which was still hanging open. With no current threat, it wasn't high priority to fix it until they'd regained more strength.

He slowed when he'd made it out of the walls. He tried to ignore the bodies littered around them, the corpses strewn about the field. Occasionally it would be unavoidable, and he'd find himself staring into lifeless eyes. It wasn't as bad when they were orcs'. But when he saw men, his men, left broken, ready to be taken back for burial, it made him want to be sick.

Even more so when he envisioned Legolas as one of them.

After half an hour, his hopes of a quick rescue were fading. The fields were huge, but flat, so Aragon would've been able to see if Legolas was standing. Even so, he zigzagged his way around, calling for him.

He resumed cursing himself for not noticing sooner. If Legolas was hurt so badly that he couldn't even call for help then no moment could be spared. Elves healed quickly, but they weren't invulnerable. And once night had fallen it would be freezing.

The lack of movement about him didn't help Aragon's rapidly increasing panic. Nobody seemed to be stirring. Occasionally he ran into someone breathing, and had to find the nearest person to send word for help. Though he doubted most would make it back in time.

Which didn't bode well for Legolas.

When the sun began to set, Aragorn realized that he'd been out for far too long with far too little success. There was no sign of anyone, let alone an elf. Gimli had been searching the other side of the city, and would've alerted him if he'd found anything.

Maybe Legolas was back there. With the others. Maybe they'd just missed him. Or he'd entered late. Or something. But Aragorn couldn't dare bring himself to hope. In the back of his mind he knew. Legolas never went missing. Legolas was always there.

Sighing, Aragorn turned to face Minas Tirith. But something caught his eye. It was just a flash, a glint of silver standing out against the mainly black landscape. If he had been a few minutes later he wouldn't have seen it, the sun would have disappeared and the last ray of light would've vanished.

Dismounting, he left the horse standing, praying that it wouldn't wander off before he got back. But he needed to take a closer look. The silver hadn't been the dull grey of the armour of Gondor, nor the metallic black of the orcs'. No, it had looked different. Glowy. Almost like...

Legolas's bow.

It was half hidden, caked in mud and blood. Aragon knelt down and gently lifted it up, turning it over in his hands. It was definitely Legolas's, it bore the right markings and didn't match the other bows.

But Legolas never parted from his bow.

Standing up again, Aragon started to scan the nearby area for clues, for a sign, for anything. He called Legolas's name as he did, waiting to hear him answer back, not that he expected it. When nothing happened, he continued looking around, close to where he'd found the bow. He tried to ignore the bodies, but it was hard now that he had to check to see who they were.

It wasn't until his foot nudged something, something which gave an eerie shimmer, did he put two and two together.

If Legolas had been disarmed, if he'd somehow become overwhelmed, his first instinct would probably be to take cover. And the only cover he'd have would be his cloak. Aragon bent down, and grasped the material, pulling it away. To the untrained eye it would've passed as rock, or indeed even just land. But the Rangers had taught him well enough how to track, and the camouflage did not escape his eyes.

He let the cloak fall to the side, and focused on the person who'd been hidden beneath it. That, at least, explained why no one else had spotted him before.

Legolas had his legs drawn up close to his chest, having hidden them from sight. Aragon put a hand onto his shoulder, rolling him onto his back so he could see him better.

"Legolas? Mellon nîn?"

He received only a quiet groan in response. The elf's eyes flickered, but remained closed. He's breathing was slow, and almost inaudible despite the silent surroundings. But when Aragorn leant down he could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and his pulse, although sluggish, was there too.

He was alive. A wave of relief washed over Aragorn. It was quickly tarnished by the fact that Legolas still was yet to wake up, but some of the tension evaporated from his shoulders.

"Legolas?" Aragorn prompted again. His words fell on unhearing ears again, so he began to carefully inspect him.

There was a bloody gash along his left arm, the fabric was torn and Aragorn could see that it had been bleeding for a while, left untreated. Usually Legolas would've had the sense to wrap it up himself, which meant that it was likely he had fallen unconscious moments after he was injured. Judging by the amount of pain the blades could cause, and the fact that Legolas never seemed to get injured, Aragorn wouldn't have been surprised if it had been purely the blow which had caused him to pass out. But he didn't want to presume things yet. He was a decent healer but this was beyond his ability to treat with so little equipment and time.

He needed to get back to the city.

A quick check over the rest of him proved that he was otherwise fine, cuts and bruises, but that was to be expected. It was the wound on his arm which scared Aragorn the most.

Before, the elves had seemed untouchable. Immortal. Aragon had never seen one more than vaguely injured, they went for days with minimal sleep, never seemed to tire. They'd been something Aragorn never had to worry about. He always knew he'd could go to Elrond if he needed, could seek advice from Arwen, always had Legolas next to him.

It wasn't until Haldir's death in Helm's Deep did Aragorn realize that they weren't invulnerable. Suddenly there was so much more to fear. And even then, even after witnessing his death, Aragorn had spared little thought for Legolas's safety. He always came out okay, always fine.

And Aragorn hadn't thought that it would ever be different.

Now, with his hands slowly becoming slick with blood while he tried to wrap up the injury, he wondered how he could've ever done it. How could he have never thought about Legolas's safety when it was now the one thing on his mind.

When he judged it to be bandaged sufficiently well, at least for the ride back, he sighed and bit his lip. He didn't think he had the strength nor the energy to lift Legolas up, or to carry him any distance. And there wasn't time to go for help. Which meant that he had to wake Legolas up somehow.

"Legolas?" He said, louder this time, losing the gentle part in his voice. "Legolas, you need to wake up."

It took a few tries, but eventually Legolas moaned and his eyelids flickered open. Wincing, he attempted to raise his hand to shield his eyes but let out a cry of pain when it jolted his injury.

"Easy. Don't move."

"Aragorn?" Legolas asked, his voice cracking.

"Yes mellon nîn. Try not to move."

Legolas nodded, shutting his eyes and breathing deeply, which was much preferable to earlier, but Aragorn could sense him drifting off again.

"You have to stay awake." He said, slowly raising the elf into a sitting position, so his head was resting on his shoulder.

Aragorn could feel him trembling, but whether from the cold or the fear he couldn't tell. Shuffling around, he shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around Legolas's shoulders. Again he glanced to the city, wondering what the quickest way to get Legolas there was. He didn't want to leave him, not while he was still losing blood at an alarmingly fast rate. But now he was awake the possibility of his body supporting hung for any distance seemed even less realistic.

"Do you think you can stand?" Aragorn asked. Legolas gave a nod.

"I will try."

"It's not far to get to the horse, but it cannot reach us through the -"

Aragorn decided not to add on 'bodies'. The loss was still fresh in his mind, and no doubt on Legolas's who took death harder than the rest of them. Instead he let the sentence hang, hoping his meaning would be caught.

He stood up first, then reached down and delicately helped Legolas stand. The elf took a second to find purchase on the ground, putting an arm around Aragorn's neck to steady himself. When the dizziness calmed he swallowed, and motioned for Aragorn to take a step.

"I'm fine." He breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His face went even paler as they began to move forward, and Aragorn felt a rush of guilt. Maybe waking him up hadn't been a good idea, thought there had been no other apparant way. It was a hazardous path, Aragorn had had little trouble navigating it himself, but with Legolas a near deadweight on his side it was far more tricky. And he struggled not to jolt Legolas with any sudden movements, it was clear that even just walking was causing his arm to move and pain him.

It was going as well as Aragorn could've hoped until they got to a tricker bit. And Legolas, although lighter than a normal man would be, was still too heavy for Aragorn to really support properly. So when he began to slump, the loss of blood and pain getting to him, the best Aragorn could do was hold him just so much that he didn't hit his head. Lowering him gently onto the floor, Aragorn cursed.

"Legolas? Legolas!"

He received no reply, and his heart rate rose rapidly as he took in the elf's bloodless face and weak breaths. Cursing again, he stood. There was still a good way to the horse left, littered with shards that Aragorn did not have the heart to make it walk across. Besides, Legolas would be fuming if he found that his life had been put up as more worthy than anything else. Even though Aragorn's heart definitely told him he was worth far more than anything else.

Sighing in defeat, Aragorn proceeded to bend down and pull Legolas up, half carrying and half dragging him along. He was careful not to let his feet catch on any of the blades, or for him to get caught on any of the bodies.

It took them a few minutes to travel a relatively short distance, one Aragorn had covered in less than a minute when he had first darted to investigate Legolas's bow. Aragorn winced internally as he realized that he'd forgotten to pick it up. While he certainly valued his friend's life higher than a weapon, he could also see that Legolas had grown attached to the gift from the Lady Galadriel. But if need be he could always go back and get it. Or get him a better one.

They finally reached the horse, who had been patiently waiting for them to return, as Aragorn had hoped. He whispered some elvish words of encouragement, whether they were more for the horse or himself he wasn't sure, but they did little to calm his nerves. He hoisted Legolas onto the horse first, then climbed up after him, his arms aching from the strain.

Wrapping his arms around Legolas, he made sure his cloak was still wrapped tightly around him, and that he was leaning back against him so he wouldn't slip off, then he urged the horse to move forward, back to the city as fast as it could carry them.

They reached the gates within a few minutes of riding, Aragorn painfully aware of the amount of blood it was possible to lose in that time. He slowed the horse down as they reached the courtyard, slipping off heavily, then gently pulling Legolas down after him. He lowered him onto the floor, calling for a stretcher. He hoped there were still some to spare, the courtyard was filled with the injured and he knew that supplies were dwindling.

He'd gathered a small crowd, but he pushed back those who tried to pull him away and make room for other healers to get to Legolas. He didn't want to leave him in the hands of someone he didn't know. Instead he blocked out the noise and turned to look at the elf, kneeling down.

He was barely breathing now, his lips were white and cold to the touch. Aragorn carefully pulled away his cloak, then unwrapped the hasty bandage he'd made from his shirt. Swearing under his breath, he took in the blood which now soaked it, his heart dropping as he saw how much worse it had got within the time it had taken them to get from the field to the city.

He yelled for a stretcher again, he wanted to be somewhere he could think straight and organise his thoughts. But he knew that no matter how foggy his mind felt he had to try now, otherwise Legolas would never make it. He reached for his medicine pouch which hung around his belt, forcing himself to look to the wound.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Aragorn had slipped into the right state of mind. His concentration was broken however by the long awaited arrival of the stretcher. Relieved to finally be able to get out of the crowded courtyard, but also worried about the time, he helped to place Legolas onto it and then lift him up with the two other men who'd brought it.

Aragorn took a moment to look around for a quiet spot, knowing that Legolas was at least stable for now. But when he turned he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Éowyn." Éomer panted. Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "She's barely breathing, nothing we do is helping."

Aragorn bit his lip.

He couldn't realistically deny him. But he desperately wanted to stay with Legolas. His injury was less dire but still life-threatening. And, though he'd never had the chance to say it, Legolas meant far more to him than anybody else. He couldn't leave him.

But the hopeless look on Éomer's face, and the adrenaline running through him, he made a split-second decision.

"Take me to her. But bring the elf too."

"Surely you cannot treat them both at once?"

"I'll treat them both to the best of my ability because I lack the willpower to choose between them. I refuse to prioritize one over the other."

Éomer nodded, then led the company through the square, weaving through the many other wounded and their families. Aragorn jogged after, heart beating quickly. He didn't know if he could save them both. Not at once.

He knew that he was probably being selfish wanting to take care of Legolas more than Éowyn. After all, Legolas could just as easily be treated by someone else and probably survive. Probably. And Éowyn was just as worthy as him, and her wounds were likely far worse. But Aragorn couldn't abandon Legolas, so the second the stretcher was set down next to Éowyn. He began treating both of them, mind working to its full capacity.

Éowyn was indeed in far graver condition, her body letting go of the little life she had left in her. The injury in her arm ran deep, far more evil than the gash in Legolas's arm, which presumably had been dealt with a normal weapon. If not for the fact that it hadn't actually been penetrated by a blade, Aragorn wouldn't have seen much hope in treating it. But there was still a small chance of recovery with minimal, if any, long-term infliction.

While he forced himself to spend more time with Éowyn, his mind was constantly aware of Legolas's state. Every small movement, every small expression of pain, Aragorn's eyes would flicker over to him. When he could assure himself that Éowyn wasn't going to die immediately, he allowed himself to look after Legolas, making sure his injury wasn't worsening and that he was still breathing.

It was hours before he could finally sit back and breathe. So many people had come and gone, Aragorn couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to think for a second. Gimli had been company for most of it, as had Éomer, the latter more for the sake of checking on Éowyn. But they had been called back by Gandalf, Aragorn opting to stay to make sure that Éowyn stayed stable. Though he had to admit that that wasn't really where his motives lay.

It was several hours into the night before Legolas first stirred. He moaned quietly, and Aragorn looked back from where he'd been sitting and looking out at the dwindling crowd of Tower Guard.

"Don't move." He said, standing up and moving towards Legolas. "I don't want it to start bleeding again."

Legolas winced, ignoring Aragorn and trying to sit up.

"I said don't move."

"Where am I?"

"We're in Minas Tirith. You remember the battle?"

"Not particularly." Legolas admitted. But seeing the worried look on Aragorn's face he quickly added, "But I'm sure I will. Give it a few minutes."

Aragorn sighed, sitting down next to him. His limbs ached with exhaustion, but he found the energy to lightly put his arm around Legolas, careful to avoid his injury. Éowyn wasn't due to awake for a day at least, and everyone else had vanished to help on the higher levels, so there was no chance of them being seen. Legolas leaned into him, resting his head on Aragorn's shoulder.

"I thought I was going to lose you meleth nîn." He whispered. Legolas winced.

"You wouldn't lose me. I'd still be with you."

"You know what I mean."

"It will take a lot more than a blade to take me from life. You won't be rid of me that easily." Legolas replied.

But both he and Aragorn knew that wasn't true. The reassurance felt empty, hollow. Aragorn had never had to worry about Legolas before. Now, with the slim chance of the quest succeeding diminishing as the hours went by, he had great cause to.

Yet Aragorn didn't have the heart to contest him, not when he was still full of relief that he was still there, alive and breathing next to him. So instead they fell into a comfortable silence, Legolas drifting back into sleep and Aragorn waiting for the dawn to come.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to review if you did!