Title: Wherever the Surge May Sweep
Author: Partheon
Rating: PG-13 – for violence, adult themes, darkness, blood, and overall angstiness.
Warnings: very AU and fairly dark. And, for those who don't know, I make no promises for a happy ending. While I am not a slash writer, there are some unrequited slash issues if you really, really, really squint.
Summary: In a much darker Middle-earth than the one we know, Legolas is forced to take drastic measures in order to save Estel. Stretching from the destruction of Greenwood to the death of Aragorn, this sweeping AU examines what could have happened if the elves had made a terrible mistake.
Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters in this story—they all belong to JRR Tolkien and New Line.
Chapter Two: Where Duty Leads
Then on! then on!
where duty leads,
My course be onward still.
– Bishop Reginald Herber
Legolas knew that he could withdraw the knife hidden in his belt in less than two seconds. He knew that the blade could be imbedded in the chest of the man in front of him in another second. Three seconds.
If this situation turned out for the worse, he would have three seconds to save his own life and the lives of countless others. He prayed the situation would diffuse before then.
"Do not do this, Arathorn." Legolas pitched his voice low and soothing – as if he was speaking to a skittish colt and not the seething young man before him. "You know that the path of darkness leads only to despair and suffering. Think of your wife."
Dark brown hair – almost black – shone dully in the dim sunlight. Weathered skin was the color of a roasted pecan and cloudy gray eyes were widened in fear and confusion. The brow was noble and the face perhaps had at one time been considered gentle – now it was twisted in malice. "It is my wife I think of," Arathorn fairly growled, "and she will no longer have to live in the worn dugouts of the rangers. She will be a queen with anything she wants!"
Legolas slid his foot along the dusty ground. His mind reached out to the young man's, trying desperately to touch the confused thoughts. But, again their bond, as it had been for the past few months, was choked out by darkness. "She does not want to be queen, my friend, she wants…"
"You are no longer my friend! You betrayed me."
"I sought to help you." Sky blue eyes darted towards the small shanty to the left of their tableau.
Rotting boards held up a thin roof and shabby curtains hung in empty windows. The rickety door had been locked – Legolas had made sure of that before he had run to find Arathorn. Now, he was glad that the door had been locked, for when Legolas had returned, Arathorn had been pounding the door with his large fists, demanding entrance. Legolas winced at the memory and prayed that Gilraen was not watching this encounter. He could almost imagine the slim woman huddled inside – her small hands clasped protectively around the sign of her pregnancy.
"I do not need your help!" Arathorn gripped the white bone handle of his own knife and his eyes enflamed with an angry passion – a foreign emotion compared to the warm gaze that Legolas was accustomed to seeing from the man. "I will be king!"
The elf dry swallowed and his fingers twitched closer to the concealed knife. "Arathorn," he pleaded again, gentleness and love bleeding into the word despite the current situation. "Please."
"My father died because of you!" Corded muscles tensed further and the words were spat between white lips.
"I did not…" The memory seared through Legolas's psyche and he took a breath to steady his resolve. Hurting blue eyes slid shut for a moment to hide the flash of pain but then they snapped open. Always keep an eye on the enemy. And referring to the young man as an enemy hurt Legolas more than he cared to show. "That is the past. If you can no longer look upon me as your friend at least remember your wife and unborn child. Be strong and true for them if not for me."
Clarity struggled to reassert itself in the madness that had clouded Arathorn's eyes for some many months and strained muscles softened just a little, loosening. "My son… Aragorn…" The knife wavered, the point dipping toward the ground, and Legolas chanced to take another mincing step forwards.
"You can put down the knife," the elf whispered, his lips moving only a little. Legolas hardly dared to breathe for fear of destroying this single moment of hard-earned peace. "You no longer have need of it anymore." He tenderly tried once again to reach through their link, sending soothing waves of comfort and light into the battered mind of his friend.
Arathorn blinked and licked at his lips. "Legolas," he murmured, sounding strangely detached, "where is…"
The ranger never finished his sentence for from the shanty came the sound of shattering glass. And the fragile sanity that Legolas had seen momentarily glimmering in Arathorn's stormy eyes shattered with it. The bond that Legolas had painstakingly reopened snapped shut and Legolas was almost physically thrown backwards as he was mentally shoved from the man's mind.
"No!" the young man howled – the noise of a wild, cornered beast. He lunged erratically forward and the dust plumed outwards from his feet. The steel blade flashed towards Legolas's chest.
Battle-honed instincts snapped into place and Legolas's own knife was held in one upraised fist while the elf ducked under the descending blade. He felt a solid jolt go through his knife-wielding arm.
Legolas knew what had happened but he still jumped a little when he looked up and saw the blank gray eyes staring back at him.
Arathorn's knife fell from dead fingers and the knife imbedded in the man's chest that Legolas held in a one-handed grip was the only thing that kept him from toppling over to the dusty ground. A patch of blood that looked oddly like a rose appeared around the white steel of the blade.
Disbelief and horror colored Legolas's face as he stood to take the now limp young man in his arms. The body sagged against him and he went to his knees in the dust, holding the shoulders in a sideways embrace. "Arathorn?" he whispered, his mouth quivering. "My friend?"
Gray eyes opened heavily and they were gentle and innocent – the eyes that Legolas remembered. Rattled breathing shook the bloody chest and soft lips were rigid in pain. "Legolas…" the man murmured, his hands drifting to the handle of the knife, stopping just before touching it. "I feel as if I have," he swallowed thickly as a blood drooled over his lips and across pasty cheeks, "as if I have been lost. So lost."
"Yes." Legolas laid a long-fingered hand over the man's quivering digits. "You have been lost but now you have been found. All will be well." A sob jerked its way up his throat as the link between their minds sprang open and Arathorn's pain hit him full force. "I am sorry…sorry…oh, Arathorn." He laid his forehead on the man's and did nothing to prevent the tears now running down his face.
"All's well. I think I… would have killed you."
"No, never. You are strong. If I had waited…"
"Gilraen!" The man jostled in Legolas's hold, his eyes turning towards the small house. "Do not let her see…"
"Of course not, my friend."
"I love… her."
"I will tell her." Legolas stroked the tear-dampened cheeks. "Shush, now. You will be fine. Soon the pain will be gone and…" The words disintegrated into a sharp cry of grief that Legolas quickly stifled by jamming one fist into his own mouth.
"And my son… Aragorn… protect…" The man's eyes grew wide and his breathing hitched. White lips parted into a slight smile and his bloodied, trembling fingers found the strength to grip Legolas's briefly. "My friend…" he sighed and then the light grew dull in the gray eyes.
"Arathorn?"
No answer came to Legolas and the elf's face grew even whiter. With trembling fingers, he stroked the sweat-dampened jaw down to the slight hollow of the throat where there should have been a pulse – but now was numbingly still.
There was a tearing sensation deep within Legolas's grief stricken mind and the elf cried out again as the mental bond he had shared with the young human was ripped away. He had always known that death would rend the bond in two – but he had never imagined it would be so soon…. His mind ached and his eyes blurred with pain until all that was visible was his young friend's dead face.
Death had slackened Arathorn's face, lending a soft innocence to the features that had only moments before been screwed in anger. Aching vulnerability was in the slightly opened mouth and half-lidded eyes – an expression that Legolas was more accustomed to than anger on the tan face.
A steady wail swelled in Legolas's chest as held the dark head closed to his breast. The small segment of his mind that was not lost in the sweeping grief hoped that Gilaren would not look out the window. She did not deserve to see this.
Arathorn was dead. Legolas had failed.
The sallow wax of the candle dripped across the pewter handle onto to the grainy surface of the table. Legolas touched his finger and felt the comforting burn for a moment before the wax cooled completely.
Night had long since dropped its shade over Rivendell and the whisper of a breeze swept away the day's last heat.
So many memories lingered here in the gilded archways of the elven settlement. Times when Arathorn was young and innocent – when the child had first arrived at his third birthday to be raised in Rivendell – just as his fathers had been. There were so many memories and Legolas shoved them ruthlessly into the back of his mind to focus on the here-and-now.
It had been hours – though it felt like much longer – since Lord Elrond had disappeared into the healing rooms with Gilraen. A little less time since Legolas had buried young Arathorn in a plot of land just outside Rivendell's borders. The young man now lay in a deep grave only marked by an inscription on a nearby oak. No songs would be sung by the elves to lament his passing – no silent, mourning vigils would be held. Instead, there would be quiet relief that he had died before he could wreck more havoc on the darkening Middle-earth.
Sweet-smelling breezes ruffled the long, heavy drapes that were roped back by silken cords from the window and lifted the blond strands of Legolas's hair before all was still and quiet once again.
Legolas picked at the newly cooled wax, his eyes focused on the yellow glow of the flame. Perhaps if he stared deep enough into the flickering light – perhaps if he stared long enough, he could forget staring gray eyes and slightly parted lips. Perhaps if he listened closely enough to the rustling tree branches, he could forget the sound his blade made when it slid deep into Arathorn's heart.
Agony pounded through his head and Legolas could feel the festering mental wound of where his bond with Arathorn had been only a few short hours before. Now, it was only a gaping sore of pain – a throbbing inflamed area that only served to remind Legolas of his failure.
He had been so happy when he had first created the bond with the young man. The feeling of being able to reach inside the mortal's mind and share thoughts with him - to speak words in the man's mind where no one else could here. To form a bond like that was the deepest expression of friendship. And to have it ripped away so callously…
"Legolas?"
The elf only barely managed not to jump when Lord Elrond's deep voice called his name in the previous silence of the room. He had not even heard the door open. "Elrond," he acknowledged with a deep breath. "How does the lady fare? Will she and the child be well?"
Breezes came again and Legolas turned his face towards the cool air.
"You know she went into labor?" Elrond's voice was carefully neutral and his expression bland.
Another deep breath was drawn before Legolas could answer. "I did."
"Gilraen will be fine come morning. We sedated her so that she could recover her strength more rapidly."
"And the babe?" Legolas turned and fixed blue eyes that were as cold as ice on the older elf. One hand curled in on itself – rough fingernails digging into the palm. "What of Aragorn?"
Brown eyes flitted about the room nervously before their gaze rested just below Legolas's eyes. "The child was stillborn." The words were said without inflection and the mouth that said them hardly moved.
"No." Legolas shook his head and pressed his palm flat on the table. "No, that cannot be." His voice choked and he turned his face to the window.
"I am deeply sorry, my friend."
Legolas's mouth moved and his eyes darted downwards. Candlelight reflected on the smooth, fair skin of his cheeks. "No, we have protected them too long for the line to end in this manner. I cannot," the elf's voice cracked slightly, "accept it."
Elrond hesitated. "It may be for the best. The days have grown to dark. Saruman has been actively seeking out the heirs. Arador almost turned and Arathorn did turn… we can no longer protect as we once did. It is better this way. They are weak and vulnerable. They will bring about our doom."
"Then why should we not help them? Teach them to stay in the light? Teach them to be free of the shackles of their weakness?" The breathy words lingered in the air and Legolas turned his face away.
"And is not that what you tried to accomplish with Arathorn? And how did that venture turn out?"
Haunting sorrow stole over Legolas's countenance and he swallowed thickly. "I – I was too lenient with him. I ignored too much…"
"The fault was not your own. He was weak as all of his descendants would have been." Thin lips softened and Elrond reached across the table. "They cannot help but fail. It is their nature. Do not be so hard on yourself."
Legolas covered his face with one hand. "The child cannot be dead. He would have been hope. I had foreseen…"
"You are not foresighted. There is no chance that you could have seen…"
A child's wail rose up over the rustling trees and Legolas's ragged breathing. It cut through the fog of grief and denial that had surrounded the blond's heart and infused anger and hope in the apathetic mind.
Dawning realization crept over the elf's face at the extent of the elf lord's betrayal. The child did live. "You lied!" And Legolas was out of his chair and running across the room, his sharp ears tracking the sound to the room down the hallway.
A healer stood in the middle of the room, frantically rocking the wailing child. At the opening of the door, his eyes grew wide like a frightened doe and the elf backed away from Legolas's heaving form. "Please – you are not supposed to be in here."
Legolas paid no heed and plucked the babe from the healer's suddenly boneless arms. Frosty eyes glowered at the healer before Legolas turned his attention fully to the baby.
Wrapped in a white blanket, only the head and a bit of chest could be seen of the small child. A fuzzy swath of dark hair decorated the rounded head and pudgy features were scrunched into a reddened fury. Legolas could feel tiny legs moving against the support of his arms as he gently rocked the child.
"Why did you lie?" he asked softly of Elrond when the cries of Aragorn had been quieted and the babe had relaxed in Legolas's arms.
The elf lord leaned against the doorframe and waved the frightened healer from the room. With a heavy sigh, he fixed a cold gaze on the baby. "It would have been better had you thought the child had never breathed. We cannot allow this child to live, Legolas. Middle-earth grows dark and the tentacles of evil are too powerful. Saruman has fully given himself to the darkness and all he needs is an heir of Isildur to complete his plans.
"We cannot afford to have the child turn on us. Long have we guarded the pure line but now there is no hope remaining. A curse lies deep within their marrow and no one can hope to remove it from their bodies. Our last duty would be to ensure the continued purity of the line – to make sure none of them would ever fall into darkness. I promise you that I would make sure the child would feel no pain – he would just go to sleep and never wake up…"
Shock had held Legolas's tongue for several moments but now the elf was spluttering with rage. "You would kill an innocent child?" He clutched the babe tighter to his chest.
"For the good of all…"
"Aragorn is our hope and you would do away with him. He will be the one to succeed where all his ancestors failed! I know this." Legolas dropped his voice to a whisper. "I have foreseen."
"You have not the gift of…"
"I have foreseen." Legolas lifted his chin, his blue eyes turning to a dark shade of gray. "I may not have a kingdom and my people may be few, but I am still a king. This child will not be harmed. He is under the protection of the elves of Greenwood."
Lord Elrond slumped. "He cannot stay in Rivendell. I will not have you bring darkness down on all of us for your whims."
"Then I will leave with him."
"And where will you go? Lothlorien will not take you in. Galadriel has foreseen the same as I. The line of Isildur will bring only darkness upon Middle-earth." Elrond hesitated and then forged on. "They will bring about your doom. We have both seen your demise."
"I will raise him as my own," Legolas continued, ignoring Elrond's last words. "I will live in Minas Tirith itself if need be. Far enough away so you will not have to worry about your lands being spoiled by this imagined darkness."
"Legolas, do not be foolish…" Elrond looked back towards the room where he knew that Gilraen lay in a drugged, peaceful sleep. "Your life is too precious to be wasted on something like this."
Candlelight reflected off of Legolas's wan smile. "My life is my own, Lord Elrond. I will leave in the morning."
"This will lead to your downfall," the half-elf warned again.
"Will you stand in my way or not?"
As Legolas stepped through the doorway, Elrond grabbed the elf king's upper arm in a firm grip. "I will let you pursue this foolhardy plot but Gilraen must never know of this. She will believe that her son died in labor."
"And if I decide to tell her differently?"
"Then do not be fooled into thinking that you can ever run far enough." Elrond moved away. "I wish you would reconsider, Legolas."
But the elf had already gone.
Legolas slept that night with young Aragorn pulled up next to his chest – one hand supporting the head on the other wrapped around the back. Even in his reverie, his vacant eyes were directed towards the door to his room and when footsteps passed by during the night, he would subconsciously tighten his hold on the child.
When he awoke, the elf started momentarily, wondering why there was a tiny warm body cradled in his arms. Then the tide of memories washed over his wearied mind and Legolas turned his face into the pillow and lay completely still for several long moments.
Could he really do this in the name of the greater good? Could he give up all he had known in this world for the past several thousand years and raise a young human to maturity? Was he wise enough – strong enough – fast enough – to keep the future of Middle-earth from darkness?
The strain of the burden seemed great upon his grief laden shoulders and he considered for a brief span relinquishing his hold on Aragorn to Lord Elrond. He contemplated allowing the half-elf to do what he willed with the young human child. After all, who was Legolas Thranduillion – king or not – to go against the wishes of the two of the most powerful ring bearers in all of Middle-earth?
Aragorn made a slight snuffing noise and Legolas felt the warm face burrow a little closer to his chest.
Downy hair slipped beneath his fingers and Legolas rubbed the rounded head, feeling the delicacy of bones that were not even fully knit together as of yet. Even though the child had not yet opened his eyes in Legolas's presence, the elf knew that Aragorn's eyes were gray – gray like the thunder heads that gathered on a summer day – gray like the river after a storm – gray like Arathorn's had been.
He had seen them in his visions many times. Over and over again since the years prior to his father's death, Legolas had seen the shadowy phantasm of this young child in his sleeping hours. Now, seeing him here in the dim light of early morning seemed strange and abstract – almost to the point that Legolas wondered if he was still lost in the realms of sleep.
His gaze skimmed over the small nose and folded chin – the trail of drool that had streamed down one lax, pudgy cheek. The gods had convened and the future was set; Legolas knew that his fate was wrapped up in this child. This was who he had waited for patiently. Legolas could no more abandon this child to death than he could saw down every tree in Middle-earth.
With his resolve strengthened and his heart steadfast, Legolas rose from the bed and swaddled Aragorn in blankets before laying the child in the middle of the bed. He paused a brief moment to study the child's sleep-lax features. Then, in the dim light of the room, Legolas began to gather the few possessions he would carry with him on this destined journey.
A single satchel was stuffed with leggings, tunics, and a warm cloak. His weapons were strapped to their customary places and a golden mirror belonging to his mother was stowed in a pocket.
The satchel sat on a chair by the door and his weapons rested beside it. Legolas stood before a wooden closet and hesitated ever so slightly, casting a look behind him at the sleeping baby. Steeling his resolve, Legolas reached in between the more formal robes he was leaving behind and withdrew a pouch with strange looking straps extending from it. He held it in his hands for several breaths, feeling the softness of the leather and studying the carefulness of the tiny stitches. His sky blue eyes clouded and his tongue darted out to lick his lips.
When Aragorn came awake with a pitiful cry, Legolas dropped his arms so the pouch hung at his side and hurried to lift Aragorn into his arms. He fumbled for a moment before grabbing the bottle of milk the frightened healer had brought by soon after his swift departure from Lord Elrond.
One leg tucked up underneath him, Legolas gently nuzzled the tip of the bottle into the child's mouth and watched carefully as the infant tentatively sucked at the milk. When he was sure the child would have no difficulties, Legolas's gaze once again returned to the pouch.
"I made this for your mother," he said quietly, "when I first learned she was pregnant. I was going to give it to her right after your birth. My mother had one just like it that she carried me around in when I was small, but…" Legolas nudged the fabric with his leg. "I suppose I will need it more than her now."
Aragorn gurgled and turned away from the bottle. A little bit of milk stained the pink skin around his mouth and Legolas wiped it away with his sleeve. Remembering when he held another human baby many years prior, the elf gently turned Aragorn over and patted the fragile back.
A burp had just escaped Aragorn's lips when there was the sound of someone rapping at the door.
Leaving the pouch on the bed, Legolas tucked Aragorn in one arm and opened the door with the other. "Elrohir," he greeted with a slight smile, "I had hoped to see you before I departed."
"I wish you would wait," the elder twin said, casting a passing glance at the little child. "Elladan will be angry when he learns that you left without a word to him. He cares for you deeply."
Legolas stepped aside from the door so that the half-elf could enter the room. "You know I can not tarry. Your father barely let me leave with him as it is and I do not wish to bring the enemy's hand down upon this realm. You must tell Elladan when he gets back that I wish there to be no lingering animosity between us. He is my brother more than he is my friend."
Elrohir nodded and then held out a cloth bag he was carrying with him. "I packed a few medicines that I thought you might need. Common herbs to treat human ailments. You will recognize all of them so I will not waste your time describing them. There is also some… baby things… in there as well. Diapers, small clothes, and some bottles. I suppose you can buy some more supplies when you reach wherever you are so set on going. Do you have money?"
"I have some." Legolas took the bag and laid it beside his own. "I thank you for your gift."
After a moment of hesitation, Elrohir extended another smaller bag. "From my father. He wishes you and the child all the best in the world. He wishes you to know that you can always find refuge in Rivendell despite the differences that have become between you both."
Legolas felt the heaviness of gold in the bag and shook his head. "I cannot allow you to give me money."
"It is a gift. If you do not take it for yourself, think of the child. He deserves to be warm and fed each night. He deserves to have you care for him each day instead of barely seeing you while you slave away to make a few coins."
"I will still have to work. No matter how much money is in this, it will not last indefinitely." Legolas slipped the bag into his own satchel.
"Then perhaps you can work less." Elrohir smiled and laid a warm, friendly hand on Legolas's shoulder. "Do you need any help before I depart?"
"Would you take my bags to the stable and fasten them to my horse? I need to get Aragorn ready." Legolas motioned to the pouch on the bed.
Elrohir chuckled and the soft tan of his skin crinkled with laugh lines. "I remember when you made that contraption for Gilraen all of those months ago. I thought it would never hold a baby."
A wan smile crossed Legolas's face as he lay the infant down and slipped the straps over his own head and tied another one around his waist so that the pouch was held securely right next to his chest. "Take care of Gilraen. The loss of her son will hurt her." Legolas slipped the infant inside the pouch and smiled with satisfaction at the perfect fit as he pulled the drawstring shut.
"You know I will," the half-elf replied softly. Elrohir picked up the bags and departed from the room.
Legolas paused to look around his room, one hand absently stroking Aragorn's smooth brow. Then he picked up his weapons and left the room, firmly closing the door behind him.
Elrohir had secured his bags to the horse and was waiting beside the beast when Legolas arrived at the stables. "My father and I both wish you to settle near Rivendell in case our aid ever becomes a necessity. May the Valar keep you safe on your journey, my friend. I will remember you in my songs," he clasped Legolas's shoulder and smiled warmly. "I know if Elladan was here he would wish the same."
"Thank you." Legolas swallowed with a thick click and inclined his head. "May the Valar protect you as well."
No more words passed between them as Legolas mounted the horse and turned the beast towards the open road. Legolas did not look back until he was passed the outer gate and then it was only a brief glance over his shoulder.
Then he turned and spurred his horse onwards with a quick look to the infant sleeping against his chest. "I will call you Estel," he whispered to the small, rounded ear. "For you will bring hope to this dark world. Even if they cannot see it. And, one day, I will tell you of your heritage. One day, when you are ready."
Legolas took the reins more firmly in his grasp and urge the horse to a faster pace. A new era of his life had now opened up before him.
Author's Note: Thanks for all of your reviews! And for all of those waiting for an update on "Flowers" - the next few chapters are almost done and I'll probably start posting them at the end of this week. Thanks to all of those who have emailed me with encouragement to keep writing that story!
Also, much thanks to my beta, Ashley (aka, PastIsPrologue). She caught all my stupid errors for which I am extremely grateful.