Notes:
This is a translation of part #2 of one of my longest finished German fanfiction series. I am not a native and apologize for any mistakes. The "Tales Untold"-series focuses much on Aragorn, Legolas and their respective relationships, but there's lots of other important plot lines coming into play, one of the biggest revolving around Glorfindel and Erestor.
The series combines the book verse with some circumstances from the movieverse, it ignores all of three of the Hobbit movies though (I wrote most of this series before those movies even were a thing). It's slightly non-compliant in places but I'm always trying to keep close to canon.
"In the pale moonlight" is set during the War of the Ring. And yeah, I'm team "Helm's Deep Movie Version But Haldir Didn't Die" all the way.
Comments are more than welcome. I'm thirsting for them like so many others.
WHAT HAPPENED SO FAR:
Legolas fell in love with a young healer elf from Lórien about a 1000 years ago. After a long wait, in which Tarisilya had a little flirt with Erestor, Legolas and Tarisilya finally got together and betrothed around T.A. 3000. Due to King Thranduil's aversion against the realm, the relationship is a secret for now.
T.A. 3019
If you had listened to me for a change, you'd know that I didn't ask you to give up your love with even one word. On the contrary. I warned you not to risk your life, if you don't want to lose it again after all this waiting.
Someone who is not ready to die for his duty, has no place in battle.
If we all are to see this world renewed … Then maybe a few things will be different
I can't do this anymore. Come with us!
I don't want to hurt you anymore. Don't wait any longer, not another day. The two of you don't belong here anymore.
That much is true. More than you know.
"Hey, master Elf! Daydreaming again?"
A rude nudge and Gimli's cheerful voice woke Legolas from his thoughts. Confused, he looked up. How long had he been sitting here?
He'd completely forgotten the time. Originally he'd planned to just rest here for a few minutes, by the edge of some the shattered pinnacles of Helm's Deep, with his eyes not fixed on the east for once, on the ongoing threat there, but turned to the direction where his home was located. Mirkwood – and another elven realm, he had only been allowed to enter one single time. One just as unreachable for his kind as the fortress of the Dark Lord. Only his heart was being drawn to Lórien for nearly a thousand years. Ironically, he'd probably come closer to Mordor than he had ever planned before he would ever be Lady Galadriel's guest again.
A little stiff after kneeling here for quite a while, he got up. "What is it?"
"Why you even have to ask? Let's go! Celebrations, ale! Songs and dance!" Gimli gave him a playful pat on the back. "What's wrong with you? We have just won the first great battle! What's with the long face?"
After all those long weeks of fear, Legolas couldn't bring himself to spoil the dwarf's glee.
But could Gimli not see? Could none of those men busy with enthusiastically hugging one another and chanting songs of victory, see the destroyed walls of their refuge where more and more dead and wounded people where carried inside? So many men … but also way too many elves. The very marchwarden captain among them, whose leniency and foresight only had made the Fellowship's rest in Lórien possible in the first place. His struggle for survival would probably not be the only one lost even before dawn broke.
"Go back to the others." Legolas took off his coat and quickly started getting rid of the armor he'd been persuaded to wear for the battle, relieved to shed the restrictive heavy metal. It smelled too much of smoke, of fire, of blood. "Give me a few minutes. I'll be right behind you."
And maybe later, he actually would. But for now he needed solitude. If he couldn't find it on the roof, he had to look for an alternative.
"Legolas, what do you think you're doing?"
Nearly. Thanks to the chaos right after the battle and with his hood pulled low over his face, Legolas had nearly made it to cross the unsurfaced path leading out of Helm's Deep without attracting anyone's attention. And then, of course, the one voice he wanted to hear least right now, had to address him. "I will be back soon."
"Are you trying to get yourself into danger on purpose? We might have destroyed most of the enemies, but there's still some very angry creatures of darkness on the loose out there." Aragorn cut Legolas off before he could urge Arod into a trot to escape the unavoidable discussion. "This is not the time for retreating in grief."
"That's easy for someone to say who deals with it on a daily basis, Estel. I'm not quite there yet." Legolas rarely raised his voice to anyone so harshly. Aragorn and him were sharing a deep friendship for many years. Legolas' respect for the endless strength the man showed in this war, earned Aragorn his unreserved support, even though they didn't always agree on everything. But Legolas had never felt so misunderstood by him before.
Sure, he could have gone to some empty room, find a lonely place in the cellars – provided that something like that even existed in the fortress right now. Only that wouldn't make anything better. A Secondborn who had never heard the comforting voice of the woods after a grueling battle, probably couldn't relate. Not even when he'd been raised by elves and was in love with one of them.
"On a daily …?" Angrily thrusting his jaw forward, Aragorn clearly had to hold back from flaring up himself. "Do you seriously think, you get used to this at some point? Do not claim the right to feel guilty after a costly fight for yourself. In war, people die. That's the fault of all of us and no one's fault at the same time."
Stepping closer, he reached out to rest his hand on Legolas' arm, but the scathing look bestowed on him quickly made him back off. "You can't just leave. We need you. If something happens to you …"
"Nothing will happen. I can take care of myself." Legolas just got Arod going so Aragorn had to step aside to avoid being run down. He only stopped for another lame attempt of explaining himself, without turning his head though.
"I'm not saying you don't care, Estel. I know you too well for that. But you've been in many battles like this. Maybe you learned how to move on like nothing happened. You'll have to be a little more patient with me in this regard. Me, I'm the only one of my people chosen by fate to be on this journey from the start. Ever since then, I have a responsibility not only towards my folk but towards this world as well, that as a friend of Men I imposed on myself. Now countless people are dead. Even Firstborn fell. Marchwardens, elves who committed themselves to the only purpose of protecting us. In one single conflict, I failed to do the same for them. I'm not willing to celebrate that. If you can't comprehend that, at least don't get in my way."
He quickly spurred Arod to a gallop.
Aragorn silently watched his friend leave, shoulders slumped. He could have stopped him. In fact, one order would have been enough. Legolas felt much too obliged to follow him to ignore one.
And that was exactly why he wouldn't keep him from being alone if he could deal with his pain in no other way. With the guilt about one fatal, inaccurate shot that plagued him so much, he hadn't even realized how much his premature, shallow evaluation really hurt Aragorn. They could talk about that later. For now, Aragon would grant him his wish, no matter how much anxiety it caused him.
"That's not a good thought." Gimli came up from behind him to stare at Arod's faint white shape in the distance, slowly shaking his head.
"Most enemies were killed by the Huorns. He'll handle the rest if they still dare to attack after what's happened here." Aragorn strode back into the building.
"You should have stopped …"
"What exactly do you think I just tried?" The reproach was enough to ruin the tedious restraint, Aragorn had held on to during that whole conversation with Legolas. "If you want to give it a try, knock yourself out; there's horses over there."
"It's alright." Gimli raised his hands in surrender and dropped down on a boulder outside the gate. "I'll wait here until he comes back."
"Thank you." Aragorn paused. Wait here, for hours maybe, where it would soon be cold and uncomfortable? It was really astonishing, how close Gimli and Legolas had become. "Forgive me, friend."
Gimli put him off. "We are all tired."
Aragorn gave him a thankful smile before hurrying back to the others. King Théoden, Éomer and Mithrandir were waiting to discuss the next steps. His stubborn elvish friend, he would have to worry about later.
Belatedly, he realized he should, at least, have made Legolas put on his armor again. Aragorn of course knew how much the elf hated metal plating limiting his athletic archery maneuvers. But helplessly watching a Haradrim blade pierce his torso and fear for his life for weeks once, was actually more than enough for a lifetime. Sighing, he pushed that worry aside as well.
Legolas had traveled Middle-earth without armor for millennia. An afternoon more hopefully would not make a difference. Besides, ever since their captivity back then, he had trained his close combat skills with Glorfindel in Imladris systematically, for a few weeks almost every year. And Aragorn and him had engaged in one or two training sessions in Legolas' lands as well. By now, Aragorn didn't trust his life only to Legolas' bow anymore. He just had to hope that after all this time, his companion had really learned how to take care of himself.
"Face it, we're lost. These woods never end. We're never getting home." Merenc sank onto a withered tree stump and tightened a dirt-stained cloth further around his swollen left arm, with gritted teeth. "We're going to croak here, just like the others."
"Shut your face," Karas growled. Wasn't it bad enough to lose your whole unit, your dignity and damn near your leg? No, here he was, damned to deal with a babbling, panicky kid on top. He had half a mind to leave the boy behind. But if somehow, someone found out, the other Dunlendings would have a reason to not take him back, in spite of his courageous battle against these unspeakable Rohirrim. Always protect your younglings. After all, the army needed new blood.
"We weren't as stupid as the others who ran into the woods too early. We're possibly the last men to brave these stinking raiders in Helm's Deep and survive. We will not go down whining, got that? We'll be back in the next battle and get our revenge for this disgrace. And iven if we should die …" Karas lovingly caressed the filthy, bloodstained handle of his sword, and the bow that he'd taken off a dead orc. "Then we'll take at least a few more of them with us."
"Wish I had your optimism."
Resignedly, Merenc searched the pockets of his tatty pants for some leftover ration but paused when they heard quiet hoof beats on the wooden path nearby. "Karas."
"Quiet." Falling to the ground, Karas crept behind a bush and curiously watched the slowly approaching stranger. "A man. No, wait." He turned his head, grinning in triumph. "That's an elf."
"An elf all the way out there, all alone?" Merenc's bad mood vanished immediately. "How careless. Don't you think he'd like some company?"
"You bet your ass. Silence now, they have sharp ears."
But this one seemed to be either deaf or distracted as Karas noticed when he raised his bow, aiming at the slender silhouette in the distance.
The elf didn't react a bit. Maybe he wanted to be found? Well, that could be arranged.
Karas straightened up a bit to avoid hitting the wrong spot by accident. What a pity that would be, if the elf died immediately. Where was the fun in that?
His knee barely moved a twig, but as if Karas' confusion brought the elf's senses back to life, he now seemed to become mistrustful after all. Karas could see him reach back for his quiver. His eyes were fixed right on the clearing where the men were hiding.
Suddenly the horse bolted. While it did turn around, it bolted again before it finally started to run. Dumb luck, really. If it had reacted correctly, maybe the elf would have gotten away.
As it was, Karas had enough time to aim again. With a broad grin, he let go of his arrow.
Everyone knew, he was the best archer of his tribe.