Chapter 17: Recollections of Far Away
Crimson liquid; blood, decided the elfling, dripped off the leaf, much as dew did in the mornings. Before the Sun could touch the sky, he would already be waiting. He would cup his hands around the leaves and bring the water to his mouth, savoring each drop. Then, he would quickly climb to the top of the trees and watch as the Sun awoke the forest. Curious noises of the night would stop and others, just as curious, would begin. The brisk air of a September morning would show itself in the slightest of breaths; merely a wisp of what would come with winter.
However, this morning had turned out differently. Seeking to savor the drops of water on the leaves, the elfling imitated the movements he made nearly every morning. Cupping his hands around the leaf, he brought the dark leaf up to his mouth. Yet the liquid which dropped into his eager mouth had not been water. A coppery taste of what the elfling could only associate with something sickly sweet filled his every sense.
The golden haired elf quickly spat it out of his mouth and, stepping back and glancing at his surroundings for the first time this morning, he realized, even in the dim light that was allotted to the small clearing of thick underbrush, that the crimson liquid drenched many of the leaves surrounding him. As he stepped, he realized his feet were covered in the sticky substance. Where his tunic had brushed against the foliage and trees surrounding him, it was stained scarlet and his hands glistened in the small amount of light with the liquid.
Uttering a small cry, the elfling turned and ran back to his home, only to find his path blocked. A leering human? Elf? The young elf could not tell, which stood before his eyes. He stumbled back but his foot hit upon something. He fell to the ground over another… something. Turning to look, he found himself staring into eyes glazed with death and abruptly found himself covered in the crimson substance. Drowning… drowning…
Legolas did not look up as the shadow fell over his eyes. He was nauseous from the memory that had suddenly come into his mind and he did not trust himself to watch movement at the moment. Closing his eyes, he trusted his elven senses and keen hearing to guide him. He heard the swishing of a blade through air and, rather then waste his energy parrying, he dodged and rolled, quickly standing up on the other side of the tree he had been standing in front of. He heard the sound of the blade splintering in the tree and he could hear the tree cry out in pain, making him even more ill.
Loud footsteps were coming nearer on his left side… the sound of leaves being crunched, dirt being kicked up and gravel flying resounded in his ears. The blade came in again, bearing down on his right. Nearly taken by surprise, he parried with his knives, bringing them up and to the right after blocking the sword.
The sounds of a man breathing hard now filled his hearing… he could perceive the sound of a drop of sweat falling onto the sword that Boromir held. He, Legolas, had not yet broken a sweat, but he also had not yet broken free from his memory. Darting in with his knife, the elf nipped Boromir's muscle; he could tell from the sharp gasp of pain, sudden intake of breath and spasm in his muscle as he pulled back. More sounds… of blood… dripping… dripping…
He stepped back, taking care to avoid the area they had previously been in. He would have to make sure he did not slip in the puddle of blood he knew would have already pooled. If he became too extemporaneous in his knife work, he knew he would get tired. Lately, he had not the strength and endurance of an elf. Though he would like nothing more than to blame it on his injuries from before (which had, incidentally, caught his attention just seconds before in a sharp paroxysm of pain), he knew that it was a more mental and emotional state, rather than physical. He had been having nightmares lately of Aragorn being murdered… and he did not know how to stop them. He did not know how to stop them… when he was the one murdering Aragorn.
"AHH!"
Legolas was torn from his thoughts abruptly as Boromir let out a cry and swung his blade haphazardly across the air, towards Legolas' solar plexus. Legolas shot his own blades down, cursing his lack of attention. They were caught in a furious duel, and the sound of metal striking metal resounded through the clearing… and the sound of metal striking flesh. It was never the fault nor the victory of the one made the killing blow… it would only ever be his own…
Finally trusting himself to open his eyes, Legolas saw that Boromir was breathing heavily, just near Legolas. Blood soaked the side of his arm and part of his stomach. Legolas' own arm was throbbing painfully and, as Legolas looked, he saw that his own arm was bleeding as well.
Drip, drip, drip…
Blood was pooling where they had been dueling and the steady drip of blood came from both Legolas' and Boromir's blades.
Drip, drip, drip…
The cold night air was chilling… piercing through his mind, which he had previously thought numb beyond help. Frost had formed on his eyelashes and glistened on his cheeks from the tears he had shamefully produced just minutes before. All he could hear now was the steady drip of his own blood; he knew it was pooling around him. He knew just minutes before, when he had been asleep; it had looked as though he was dead. His eyes glazed over, as though in death, drowning in a pool of his own blood. Drowning… drowning…
Drowning in this nightmare, in his blood, in his death, in his life. Immortality was a curse. It was a blessing… all his life… forever… he could remember this and praise Erú. Thank the Valar he could feel this shame… forever. He could drown in his shame… drowning… drowning…
Drip, drip, drip…
The hand that touched him, felt like ice, felt like fire… it burned into his skin and he felt himself go feverish. Walls of fire flew up in his mind, all over his body. He could smell his own burning flesh… he could feel the tendrils of smoke caress his face, his wounds… the blood. Tendrils of death… of life…
The blood that slowly dripped from him was his life, was his death. Did he want the blood to stop dripping? Or did he crave death? What could death mean to him? Immortal, he scoffed to himself; attempting to make himself heard over the steady drip, drip, drip of his blood, always growing louder, always growing, always dripping… his life dripping away… he could hear it in his mind, in his ears… dripping…
Drip, drip, drip…
Louder… louder… louder…
Legolas smiled oddly at Boromir, lowering his blades. He looked up through the trees, a serene smile gracing his face as Boromir's sword came thrusting towards him. Yet Legolas had ears only for the steady drip of blood coming from his arm.
Drip, drip, drip…
A sudden clash of blades jolted Legolas from his haunted thoughts and what felt like a spell was lifted from his mind. The horrible reality of what almost happened burned in his mind he watched Aragorn… Aragorn? The ranger was fighting Boromir, anger flaring in his eyes, his movements not as graceful as they normally were.
"He is mine," hissed Boromir, a horrible look on his face. "The elf will be mine, fool!"
Yet the voice being issued from Boromir's mouth was not his own; it was a voice Legolas recognized only too well, the voice that haunted his dreams: Saruman. Boromir's eyes had changed from brown to black; and were glinting malevolently at Legolas.
Rather than respond, Aragorn made a particularly harsh thrust towards Boromir just as the sharp twang on a bow sounded from behind him. An arrow shrieked through the air from behind him and Aragorn swiftly rolled to the ground, though there was really no need. With Aragorn distracting Boromir, Legolas had been able to get to his bow and end this fight before someone was killed. The arrow pierced through the side of Boromir's tunic and pinned him to the tree behind him. The arrow was followed quickly by another arrow to the other side of Boromir's tunic.
The man was now sufficiently caught against the tree. Aragorn swiftly disarmed the man of Gondor and said in a soft, but firm tone, "Boromir! You are not yourself. You are a Man of Gondor!"
The struggle slowly died out as Boromir's eyes widened in realization of what had just happened. He began to beg forgiveness of Legolas, but become conscious of the fact that Legolas was not there. Aragorn quickly tore the arrows from Boromir's tunic before following the tracks of Legolas, saying nothing to Boromir. He was more concerned about Legolas at that moment than Boromir. He had not believed his eyes when he had first come into the clearing, where the sounds of obvious dueling had been coming from. Legolas had done nothing as he waited for what would have been inevitable death.
The sight that had greeted him was not one he would quickly forget.
A sudden intake of breath shot into his mind, jerking him from his dark thoughts. Flicking his eyes up angrily from the path below his feet, he saw Legolas staring determinedly up through the trees again. Blood was dripping from his arm, from his blades and from the edge of his tunic. He realized belatedly that the intake of breath had been his own. Legolas had the same expression on his face that he had before when Aragorn had come into the clearing.
And it scared him.
When a few moments passed by and Aragorn had still received no response, or even acknowledgement that he was there, he took a step forward. Legolas' head jerked back towards Aragorn and the Elf took a step back.
"Aragorn," stated Legolas. His eyes were unreadable, his face deadpan and Aragorn quickly found his temper overcoming his concern. Legolas does not want my concern, Aragorn reminded himself. And he shall not receive it.
"What were you thinking, Legolas?" hissed Aragorn, his voice low and deadly.
Legolas merely continued to stare impassively at Aragorn. This was more infuriating than if Legolas had attempted to deny it.
"Speak to me, Legolas! I think I deserve at least your words; I just saved your life!"
Something flashed through Legolas' eyes and suddenly it seemed as though the words were an ominous cloud, hanging over them both. The words unspoken from Legolas as Aragorn realized it in amazement:
He did not want to be saved.
Blind fury overcame his senses as Aragorn immediately stepped back from Legolas.
"You're repulsive," spat Aragorn. "If you wish to die so badly, why do you not simply take your knife and slit your own throat rather than make Boromir a murderer?"
His face twisted with anger, Aragorn stalked away from the clearing. He could not believe his friend… As his steps took him farther away, his anger drained from him and leaned heavily against a tree, a tear sliding down his face; the words he just spat at Legolas suddenly filling his mind. Did Legolas really wish to die? Such thoughts as an Elf were not tolerated by Elven kind. Life was something precious; something to be cherished. To live for eternity was a gift, not a curse… yet the words that echoed in his mind, spoken to him once by an Elf in Imladris suddenly seemed untrue. How could an Elf cherish life when all they wish… is to live as a mortal.
Aragorn remembered reading books in Imladris speaking of Ilúvatar and the Valar. The words had spoken of immortality as Elves greatest gift and their greatest curse. The same was spoken of mortality, yet, surely, thought Aragorn, I would rather live one lifetime upon this land than an eternity of lifetimes?
This choice having never been presented to him, dark thoughts soon filled his mind. To live forever with the memories which haunted Legolas… the thought seemed, not sinister, but hard. Yet the Elven prince was strong; Aragorn had seen his emotional and physical strength many times before. Why could he suddenly no longer cherish his life now? After all he had survived; it seemed strange to Aragorn that Legolas should abruptly choose that he does not wish to live.
Legolas' decision that they could not be friends had hurt him; terribly. He had for so long depended upon Legolas to remain his brother, to be there for him. He had thought Legolas to be of the same sentiment, yet Legolas' obvious lack of trust in their friendship was disturbing, if not a little strange. For the past few days since Legolas' decision, Aragorn had been obdurately morose. He did not know why Legolas chose to end their friendship. He did not understand why he lost his brother… he did not understand why he could not help.
The friendship between he, Aragorn, and Legolas had been one of the only optimistic thoughts which had gotten him through so many hardships. The thought that Legolas would always be there for him… never let him down. And yet Legolas had just broken the trust in their friendship, and that hurt more than anything Aragorn could have imagined.
In lands far away
Where the sun does not shine
And fields of sorrow lay…
"Aragorn, Legolas has been… taken captive…"
Cannot break the night
For the terrors of the dark
No strength to fight…
"We rescued his body… but he has been in the darkness so long…"
The day overridden
With the tears of a soldier
That come unbidden…
"His mind… seems lost to the darkness…"
Where the night does not end
O'er green meadows… long turned grey…
Long turned grey…
"I fear he is lost… forever."
In lands far away
"STRIDER!"
A voice broke into his thoughts, his memories, as a Hobbit burst into the clearing; it was Sam.
"Frodo's gone!"