Chapter 6: Battles
This was the darkest day so far for the Fellowship of the Ring, Gimli thought as he sat in morose silence at the Rohanian refuge of Helm's Deep. As he looked out over the plains beyond the strong thick walls of the fortress, he recalled all that had taken place over the last weeks:
Boromir had gone mad at the end of the journey down the Great River and tried to take the Ring from Frodo. Fearing that more would fall victim to the power of the accursed Ring, the hobbit had fled the Fellowship, intending to go alone into Mordor and hopelessness. His faithful Sam had managed to follow him at the last minute. Then the rest of the group had been attacked by the Uruk Hai and orcs of Saruman – the most powerful of the Wizards, now lost to the greed of the Ring – threatening Middle Earth with yet another potential Dark Master, vying even with Sauron. Pippin and Merry had been captured by the orcs, and Boromir – redeeming himself – had fallen trying to save them. Aragorn, despite not trusting the man earlier, had grieved for him. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had then gone after the Pippin and Merry – running in pursuit over the vast plains of Rohan with very little rest and food for close to four days.
The only break in the dark clouds had been their reunion with Gandalf – sent back from the dead to complete his task against Sauron. Together, they had journeyed to Edoras and freed King Theoden from Saruman's spell over him. But Saruman had attacked again – aiming at the people of Rohan now, and the whole of Edoras had been forced to flee the Golden Hall and make for the strong refuge of Helm's Deep. Gandalf had not remained long, leaving his friends again to garner forces to aid the attack on Helm's Deep, which would surely come.
With Gandalf's departure, the Fellowship had been sundered yet again, for Pippin and Merry – though escaped from the orcs – were still in Fangorn Forest and away from the company of their friends. Once again, the Three Hunters – Man, Elf, and Dwarf – had been left by themselves.
But that had not been their darkest day, not by far.
Little had they known that another blow – the worst, and the one that would break Legolas the stoic elf – was yet to come. Little could they foresee that Aragorn, the Hope of Men and the free peoples of Middle-earth, the man that the elven prince had come to love, would be dragged over a cliff by a spooked beast during a sudden warg attack. No one could see how he could have survived that fall, and no one could even see his body below.
Legolas would have jumped off the cliff in search of the man if Gimli and Theoden had not held him both by might and word, urging him to go on to Helm's Deep with the rest.
"You can help the Ranger no longer, but you could help the refugees," the king of Rohan had insisted, and the elf had allowed himself to be led there in a daze and much to the dwarf's worry.
All that soon mattered little to the elf. Back at the fortress, he went from being in a daze to sink into a deep, dark silence like one who walked and moved but no longer lived. He wept long and bitterly, and hunched over in pain, closing his eyes to all. Instead of the radiance that emanated from him as was his elven wont, he seemed to suck light and life out of every stone he touched, every place he crossed, so that he seemed to be collapsing into himself. And always, the silent grief enshrouded him like death.
Indeed, he seemed like he was waiting for it. For two whole days and nights, no food or drink passed his lips, no air seemed to enter or leave his lungs. He sat still, unmoving, though not dead. Not yet. But there was no doubt that he would have yielded lightly to its call if it had just whispered to him.
Gimli was at his wit's end, for the elf would not even let him near. He had spoken but once to him since their return to the fortress, and that in a broken voice that wrenched even the dwarf's tough heart:
"If he would but be alive, Gimli, I would ask no more of him," the elf had said in a weak voice through sobs that would melt even the stone walls themselves. "Even if he belonged to someone else, I would wish only that he could return to the living world, for his time was too short, and he was cut down too early and too cruelly."
At those words, and unseen by others, the dwarf wept too, for he was certain that he would now lose yet another friend, and then he would truly be alone.
His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion in the little square below, at the foot of the main stairs, and Gimli ran to the ramparts to see what was going on. Through the space between two turrets, a sight greeted his eyes that made him question whether they were working. His mouth fell open, and in two seconds, he was racing along a narrow hallway to the main stairs, which he then bounded down as fast as his stout legs could carry him.
And there, he saw that beyond all hope, Hope was returned to them, and therefore - the dwarf thought with a sudden surge of joy – to his devastated elven friend as well. Bloody and looking like he had been dragged through river mud and thorny weeds, stood a weary Aragorn beside his just-as-weary steed, and one look at the two told all who saw them that they had ridden hard to reach the fortress.
"You are the luckiest man I ever knew!" Gimli declared before throwing himself against the surprised Ranger and wrapping his arms around the man's waist, almost knocking him over. In answer to all the questions cast at him by Gimli and the incredulous people of Rohan, Aragorn merely said that he had almost drowned in the river at the foot of the high cliff, but had lived and been carried downstream to the bank, where his horse had aroused him from his faint.
The man graciously acknowledged the hugs and pats on the back from the throng of people around him, but Gimli could see the Ranger's eyes roaming the crowd, looking for someone.
"Who might you be looking for, Aragorn?" the dwarf asked in a low voice, his eyebrows raised meaningfully.
The man looked at him quickly and cleared his throat. "I must see… I must see the king, for ten thousand orcs of Saruman march this way, and I must give him the bad news," he stated.
A look of dismay crossed Gimli's face. "Aye, that is bad news, and I am sure you will be along to see him soon," he said, frowning. "But…" the dwarf's brows rose again, "is there not someone you wish to see before that?"
Aragorn's eyes shifted away, but not before Gimli saw them fill with longing. The man wondered how much the dwarf knew, and debated whether to voice the question on his lips.
"Where is he?" he asked before he could stop himself. "He must be worried, for he… we… we are good friends."
Gimli looked at him and shook his head, thinking: You fool. He found it hard to speak all of a sudden, causing Aragorn's face to pale.
"Gimli, is he… is he…?" the man asked, feeling weak at the knees.
"Nay, man, nay," the dwarf said, annoyance and concern fighting for dominance in his voice. "But ai, Aragorn… he has been close to death… "
Aragorn sucked in a breath and tensed. "Why? What has assailed him?" he asked in alarm.
"He has been that way since you… since you fell," Gimli replied shakily. "He has all but given in to it. He must be up there in that wing." The dwarf pointed to a part of the fortress that could not be seen from the square, where the elf usually sat forlorn on a balcony overlooking the river. "You cannot see it from here but – "
One second later, Aragorn was running despite his weariness. He did not stop to ask anyone anything, nor did he stop in response to those who called his name in disbelief , he merely kept going in the general direction Gimli had pointed, set only on looking upon a face that had played before his eyes even on the brink of death.
Aragorn came to a staircase leading to what looked like rooms, and ran up in haste. He paused breathlessly at the top of the stairs, wondering where to go, when something seemed to lead him to a room on the right. He pushed the door open and saw only darkness within, save for some sunlight streaming in through an open door. He strode across the room to that spot.
Stopping in his tracks, Aragorn almost ceased to breathe when he saw a figure – thinner than when he last saw it – seated on a stone bench on the balcony. He was hunched forward, and his golden hair, loose of its usually immaculate braids, shielded his face. His whole pose spoke of defeat and despair, and it twisted Aragorn's heart.
Legolas… the man called silently.
An exquisite pain flowed through Aragorn's limbs; to think that the elf had suffered thus… and because of him, if what Gimli said was true.
Breathing heavily and reining in a desire to seize the elf in his arms and never let him go, Aragorn moved quietly to the bench. Straddling the bench and facing the seated figure, he lowered himself slowly so as not to startle him. The man almost wept as he realized how far removed the elf was from the world; were the elf whole, he would have heard the man's footsteps long before this.
At the feel of someone beside him, Legolas lifted his head and turned just as a hand gently lifted the curtain of golden hair aside. Two pairs of eyes widened, and two gasps were heard at the same time: one from the elf as he took in the sight of the intruder and reeled in disbelieving shock from what was before him, the other from Aragorn as he saw a face that was still hauntingly beautiful even in its deathly paleness.
It both frightened and saddened Aragorn immensely to see the elf thus, and Legolas felt faint as he wondered whether his wish had truly been granted, and whether the man he wanted so much to see again was here, alive, even if a little weak, after thinking about him every single moment for the past two days.
Aragorn raised his bruised, chafed hands to gently cup the wan, smooth face of the elf, sorrow swimming in his grey-blue eyes as he took in the pallor and tormented expression. Legolas placed his own shaky hand on the side of Aragorn's face, as if to convince himself that the endearingly mussed dark hair, the rugged handsome face and half-parted lips were all real… then his hand dropped when he felt solid flesh. Aragorn's heart clenched to see the elf's pain, and for some moments, neither of them moved, even though everything in Aragorn screamed to take the elf in his arms and rob him of breath with kisses.
"Legolas, I am so sorry…" the man said at last, holding the face firmly. "If you grieved over my… departure, saes, worry no more. I am here, I am back."
Legolas released the long breath he had been holding.
"You are late," he found himself saying, choking back a sob, and at that moment, Aragorn caved in.
The man swung his other leg over the bench and half-lifted the light elf on his lap. He pushed back the golden hair from the thin, beautiful face, looking deeply into the blue eyes rimmed with tears.
"The thought of you, the image of your face… Legolas… that was what kept me alive, and my horse… and I have to see Theoden… ten thousand… army coming… orcs…" he said incoherently, drowning in the blue pools. "Do not weep, Legolas, oh beautiful Legolas … I wish you could have been spared the ordeal, I wish…"
The blue eyes closed to blink away tears, and Aragorn kissed each lid lovingly, licking away the salty tears. Another strangled sob escaped the elf's throat, but the man cut it off as he hungrily seized the elven lips with his own, letting a moan express the pleasure of the contact. As it did the first time, the touch of the elf made him feel both cold and hot, both charged with power and weak beyond words. His fingers threaded themselves through the silky hair as his lips tasted the sweetness of the elven mouth again. And again and again.
Being in the arms of the man he thought he would see no more, Legolas continued to weep silent tears of gratitude, and he wet both their faces as he returned the Ranger's impassioned kiss. He sucked on the man's lower lip and wrapped his arms around the shoulders and chest of the man to pull him closer, afraid to let him go again.
For long minutes, Man and Elf remained locked in a desperate hold, forgetting everything and everyone, not needing words to say how their separation had hurt them. They let loose almost three days' worth of pain and sorrow and longing.
Suddenly, Aragorn winced when the elf's embrace brushed against some of the bruises and wounds on his upper arms that he had obtained during his fall, and Legolas immediately pulled back and looked worriedly at the injuries. But the pain of the wounds could not overpower the ache in his heart, and the Ranger would not let the elf go. His hands dropped to circle the slender elven waist and pull Legolas back. He moaned when the elf bent his head again to bite on his lip and send the gentle pain straight to his groin, arousing him. With a grunt, he took fierce control of the elf's mouth again, drinking in the sweetness, the salty tears and the little whimpers.
"Legolas…" he murmured between kisses, "oh Valar, I have missed you… please be well again… please…" In response, the elf deepened the kiss, using his tongue to show Aragorn just how much strength he would recover now that the Ranger was back.
Almost beyond all sense of awareness, Aragorn's hands traveled down to the elven thighs, feeling the hardness between them, and knowing that the elf would feel his own as well. As his mouth continued to relish Legolas' soft lips, his hands kneaded the elven thighs, then moved back up to slip under the tunic and shirt to the smooth elven flesh beneath. The elf squirmed and dug his fingers into the man's back. He gave a moan that, in itself, was one of the most sensuous things Aragorn had heard.
But the elf suddenly pulled away, breathing heavily. He looked sadly at Aragorn and saw the questions and desire in the man's eyes. Exhaling, Legolas quickly held him again in a tight embrace so that he could not see the man's face.
"Aragorn," he said brokenly. "Oh Aragorn, I thank the Valar you are saved. I know not how you survived, but I thank them I can feel your kiss again – "
Aragorn smiled and tried to move the elf back so that he could kiss him again, but the elf held him firmly and would not look at him, though it took every painful ounce of resistance he had. Perplexed, Aragorn breathed against the elven ear close to his mouth.
"Legolas, why - ?"
"Aragorn – heir of Isildur – remember your decision," the elf made himself say through his tears, and felt the man tense. "I begged the Valar for your safe return, that was all I asked, and it has been granted. Now… now I can live again, even if you cannot… we cannot…"
Still hiding his face from Aragorn, he reached into the pocket of his tunic with one hand and removed something that he clutched tightly in his fist. Easing himself out of the man's hold and off his lap, he resisted looking at the face he loved, but held his hand out towards him. Aragorn looked at the bent head with furrowed brows, confusion written on his face.
He looked down at the closed fist of the pale hand, and had an uneasy feeling, hoping the fist would remain closed. But the elf opened it slowly, to reveal the glittering Evenstar on its chain. It had been clutched in the hand of the orc that had struggled with Aragorn before the man went over the cliff, and Legolas had retrieved it and kept it safe. He held it out to its owner now, returning it with a heavy heart.
Aragorn sighed heavily. He grasped both pale elven hands and kissed each of them lovingly. When the elf still refused to look up, the man grasped his chin and raised it so that their eyes met.
"It was a gift from her, Legolas," he stated, "I made no promises."
For the first time in three days, the elf gave a slow, sad smile.
"Perhaps not, Aragorn, but what does it change?" he asked quietly. "There is Gondor, as you said… and there, too, will the Evenstar bring hope."
Aragorn shook his head in frustration but had no answer, for the reminder of Gondor's need – unnamed but understood – had come from Legolas' own lips. He grasped the elven hands again and kissed the insides of the wrists, wetting them with his own tears now.
Legolas did not wish to see the man thus torn, and the heart of the elf and friend took over again. Despite his own weariness, he kissed the brow of his friend and said consolingly: "Come, mellon nin, did you not say you had to see Theoden?"
Aragorn looked up with his expressive grey-blue orbs, and Legolas had to resist taking him in his arms again. With every ounce of self-restraint he could muster, the elf swallowed his emotions and bent forward to re-fasten the Evenstar about the neck of the Ranger. Aragorn breathed in the scent of the elf whose face was so close to his, and wondered how he could carry on if he could not kiss those lips again.
The elf drew back after fastening the chain and took a deep breath to steady himself.
"You look terrible," he said, his eyes roaming over the man's torn clothes and wounds. "Let us get you cleaned up before you seek an audience with Theoden."
Aragorn saw past the seemingly light, callous remarks, and knew he was looking at a heart as full of pain as his own.
--xx00xx--
Hours later, as the Elf, Dwarf and Man and the small group of three hundred Rohan soldiers, farmers and peasants prepared to do battle – and most likely, die in that battle – against ten thousand ruthless Uruk hai and orcs, a horn was heard that brought some measure of hope to all.
Into Helm's Deep marched an elven army from Lothlorien, not enough to defeat the enemy, but perhaps enough to prolong the inevitable.
Theoden and Aragorn's gratitude and relief were substantial, and the Ranger could not stop the impetuous hug of relief he gave Haldir, who led the army. Legolas, too, was overjoyed at the unforeseen arrival of his kin and the hope – however small – they brought. Indeed, the sight of the skilled elven archers lifted the hearts of the Rohan folk, and their fair faces cast a little light on a dreary situation.
Gimli alone scowled and grunted, muttering something under his breath.
"What did you say, Gimli?" Legolas asked, amused despite the gravity of their situation.
"Nothing," the dwarf shot back sourly, "except that elves are ever eager to bask in a little glory!"
By now, Legolas knew Gimli better than to feel affronted at his insults, for he knew that it was hard for the dwarf to forget the ages-old feud between their two races, yet – if the need arose – Gimli would risk his life for him without hesitation. So the elf laughed and clasped the shoulder of his friend.
"I know your kin would be here if they could, friend Gimli," he said generously. "And think not of this as glory for them, for they face the possibility of death just as we do. They have left the safety of Lothlorien for what may very well be a massacre…" his voice trailed off as he was reminded of the harsh reality of the coming battle, "no, they came not to seek glory, but I am glad they came."
"And are you as glad to see me as I am to see you, Greenleaf?" a fair voice whispered behind him, startling him a little. He turned around to see the shining, sincere pleasure on the face of Rumil, and the next instant, the two friends were embracing warmly.
"Hannon le, Rumil, thank you for coming" Legolas said with genuine appreciation. "Your presence is as water in a parched land. I cannot tell you how much we need you!"
"Then can you tell me how much you need me, young one?" the older elf breathed into the delicate ear of the Mirkwood prince, kissing it lightly and making the elf blush – just as Aragorn turned from speaking to Haldir and his eyes alit upon the scene.
Even though the two elves missed the hard look that crossed the man's face, Gimli did not. The dwarf waited to see what he would do, but when he merely remained where he was, trying to suppress the surge of jealousy through his veins, the dwarf gave a loud snort of irritation and threw up his hands.
"Fools!" he declared to no one in particular and stomped off to steal a smoke before going into possible death.
Legolas and Rumil whipped around in puzzled surprise to see the dwarf leaving, but when they failed to see the cause of his perturbation, they turned back to each other. Recalling what Rumil had just asked him, Legolas blushed again and lowered his head to hide it, letting his hands slide off Rumil's arms.
"Rumil…" he said hesitantly, "I have told you… I… I am not… not ready…"
"Hush, little one," Rumil interrupted, smiling and placing a finger on Legolas' lips. "I know."
"I am not little," Legolas protested. "I am…"
"Almost a thousand years old," Rumil supplied, laughing, "but easily one or two thousand years younger than most of us are. You are a little one!"
Legolas could not resist the charm in the light brown eyes and laughed as well, glad for the little cheer before the Storm.
"Come, the others will be glad to see you again, too," Rumil said. He placed a proprietary arm around Legolas and led him to where the other elves were gathered.
I am glad for their presence, Legolas thought to himself as he let Rumil guide his steps. They will help me be strong for Aragorn. This is his test, and he will need me.
He did not see the misery in Aragorn's eyes as they followed his movements, and little could Aragorn guess the elf's thoughts, seeing only the comfortable manner in which he enjoyed the company of his kin, and one elf in particular.
Aragorn's hand strayed to the Evenstar on his chest, and his emotions battled within him even as the battle for Helm's Deep began.
Note: Some parts of this story are movie verse, some book canon, and some AU.