A/N: Right, I kept my promise! Chapter 7, great great? Have to wake up at 3 am on Friday, no doubt my mother will make it hectic. It's so good to be getting out of dreary, old Manchester for some SUN SUN SUN!!! I have plenty of damned essays from school to keep me occupied during the flight (and this 'course). For some reason my headteacher rejected my holiday-informing letter (My older sister's teacher didn't bat an eyelid, why oh why can't I be in college already?), but we're going anyway!!! As always, a big thank youuu to all of you- that's right- lovely people. I can't wait until they get to Rohan, the chapters will become more fun to right :)) Read on...

Disclaimer: blah blah, no.


Starcrossed
Crystals on Blue Velvet

Boromir's pain-filled eyes held his proudly, flickering feverishly as they attempted to settle in one place.

"My brother, my captain… my king"

A last rattle forced its way from Boromir's lung, then he was still: never to rise again.

From the white tower they would wait for him, but Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor, would not come. He would never return to the kingdom he loved.

Aragorn slowly closed the unseeing eyes, leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on the Gondorian's brow.

"Be at peace." The ranger whispered sorrowfully, placing his hand over the still chest one, last time.

Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and respectfully bowed his head, trying in vain to recollect his thoughts and emotions. Merry. Pippin. Gone. Boromir. Dead… The thoughts riddled his mind, taunting his failure. He was their leader. He'd failed to protect them, all of them…

He sighed once more before stiffly straightening to his knees; stormy eyes never once leaving his fallen companion. He silently watched Boromir's peaceful, drinking in the Gondorian's details. The fair face, the strong jaw, the chain mail he insisted on wearing… He lifted his head, raising his eyes as a rustle sounded from behind him.

"We cannot leave him here for the crows to pick," He spoke finally, rising and turning to face the elf and dwarf. "Or for the orcs to jeer."

Gimli nodded, his dark eyes strangely compassionate as he watched with remorse and slumped shoulders: there was many a time when he and the Gondorian had shared a hearty discussion on ale. Beside him, the elf appeared oddly detached; his eyes and face were completely blank as he stared at the body. Aragorn's narrowed his eyes as listed the state of Legolas' clothes: twigs, dirt and leaves decorated his jerkin- one even stuck out from his hair- while his leggings were muddy and ripped in more than one place. He was not aware that the elf had fallen, as before Legolas had appeared as neat and tidy as ever. And an elf 'tripping' whilst in battle was unheard of, their careful litheness was legendary…

"Legolas?" He called softly, watching the elf's eyes linger on the Gondorian before snapping up to him.

Aragorn blanched: there it was again. For the second time, in only a week, he found himself looking upon the unfamiliar sight of guilt.

"Yes?" Legolas enquired quietly, his voice as tight as his eyes.

Aragorn scrutinized him for a moment, but Legolas' mask rebounded back into place, and he found himself looking only into the unnerving gaze of an expressionless elf. He shook his head, almost to himself, and looked back at Boromir, mulling over what he's just seen.

As they rid Boromir's body of the wretched arrows, and neatly combed his long, dark hair over his shoulders, Aragorn made sure to watch Legolas closely. Never once did the elf's mask slip; he expertly maintained the mask he often held in dire times. Aragorn watched as Legolas neatly arranged Boromir in the funeral boat, folding his arms over his sword and spreading the cloak under him. Lastly, the elf tenderly placed the horn in Gondor next to its owner: it was cloven in two. Such a waste of a fine object, Aragorn thought bitterly, straightening Boromir's legs.

The ranger sighed, looking down at Boromir's face. He was so beautifully presented, that even the grievous wounds seemed less… grievous. The Gondorian could have been sleeping. And yet, he wasn't.

Together, Aragorn and Legolas pushed the boat off from shore, and the three companions- no, friends- watched in stark silence as the boat floated away; further, and further, and further, until it disappeared. As if it had simply dropped from the edge of middle-earth.

"Frodo and Sam have reached the other side." Legolas' bland voice shattered the silence, as his eyes travelled towards the boat on the eastern shore.

The ranger contemplated the eastern shore, weighing his options. Save the hobbits. Help the hobbits - Help the hobbits. Save the hobbits…

"The fate of the bearer is in our hands no longer." Aragorn replied with finality, regarding the boat wistfully. "The company has played its part. And I will not leave our two, small companions to torment and death."

They watched as he turned to them- their leader; their friend- with a sly smile planted on his face, and a fiery glint in his eye.

"Let us go hunt some orc." And with that he grinned and turned, racing off through the trees.

Gimli grinned at Legolas, shaking his axe with a gleeful 'Yes!' and following after the ranger's back. The elf ran silently, his mask still in place as he reluctantly overtook the dwarf.

Aragorn bent down, closing his eyes as he firmly pressed his ear to the rock. A muffled, distant thunder rumbled, becoming faster and faster…

"Their pace has quickened." He murmured, dimly irritated with their lack of stealth. "They must have caught out scent. Hurry!"

He sprang up and lithely dashed over rock and grass, whilst behind him, the elf cried back to his dwarven friend.

"Come on, Gimli!" Legolas called out urgently, pausing for a moment to look for the dwarf. He heard him before he saw him, huffing and puffing as he jogged slowly up the slope, red-faced.

"Three days and nights pursuit" Gimli panted, stopping to catch his breath, one hand on his knee and the other on his axe. "No food. No rest. And no sign of our quarry but what bare rock can tell!" He took a deep breath, attempting to fill his empty lungs before setting off again, jogging laboriously after the golden haired archer.

Dwarves were made for forges, for making and shaping weapons, and for mining and digging in search of jewels. Dwarves were not made for running incredible distances, over hill and rock, without any rest or food. He was parched; he was hungry; his legs ached, and most importantly, he was tired. Should've known, Gimli thought to himself as he attempted to jump over a rock, and instead went crashing over it and into the grass.

"Come, Gimli!" Legolas called out again, motioning impatiently with his arm as Aragorn ran ahead of them as he proclaimed: "We are gaining on them!"

Without further word the elf spun on his heels, already racing after the ranger. Gimli frowned enviously at his lithe friend, jumping and sprinting with ease: the elf didn't even seem close to tired. As always, he possessed unending bundles of energy. Bah! Gimli thought gruffly to himself No dwarf envies an elf! And with that he followed, lightly calling out after the two.

"I'm wasted on cross-country. We dwarves are natural sprinters." He joked, though more to give himself heart rather than the human and elf; it seemed they were not in need of it. "Very dangerous over short distances!"

He waved his axe as if to punctuate the fact, but immediately regretted the movement when he came dangerously close to losing his balance. Huffing as he straightened, he saw his friends stop, standing on large rocks as they gazed out into the distance.

"Rohan, home of the horse-lords." Aragorn stated, his husky voice almost dreamy as he looked over the hills and grass. His awe turned into a frown, as he peered curiously at the land.

"There is something strange at work here." He murmured lowly. "Some evil gives speed to these creatures. Sets its will against us."

The ranger sighed, and both dwarf and human looked ahead at their elven friend, watching the plains carefully.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, his voice echoing across the rocks. "What do your elf-eyes see?"

Gimli waited patiently for Legolas to answer, already familiar with the wondrous sight of the first born, but after a moment the elf seemed to be only confused, and did not reply.

"Legolas?" The dwarf asked, his gruff voice curious.

* * *

"Legolas! What do you elf eyes see?"

Legolas looked across the grasslands, his eyes scanning ever valley, and every hillcrest. There were not so many trees here, a mere few: paired up and scattered about. He saw two not far from them, nestled comfortable among rocks. Legolas smiled. How alike it was to him and the dwarf: two species, opposite in every way, and yet at ease in each other's company. Legolas quickly wiped the smile from his face: he didn't deserve to smile; he didn't even deserve happiness…

Sighing to himself, he let his eyes focus on a mist, white and cloudy as it spread over the lands. How odd. He frowned, peering closer: it was growing, albeit barely, but growing nonetheless. He watched with growing realisation as the mist began to cloud his vision.

"Legolas?" He heard the dwarf's gruff voice call out to him, the tone confused, and somewhat concerned.

Legolas shook his head, in an attempt to clear, focusing once more on the task at hand. Thankfully the mist receded as quickly as it had come.

"The Uruks turn northeast." He called back to them, furrowing his brow as he concentrated. His eyes widened in shock, and the Uruks intentions became clear in his mind. "They are taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

Oh Valar. Behind him, he heard the ranger emit a shaky breath, his barren whisper almost lost in the wind.

"Saruman."

"Ada?" Legolas called curiously, his high voice hesitant as he peered around the doorway. //Daddy?//

King Thranduill looked up from his desk, grief clouding his features as his deep eyes came to rest on his young son.

"What is it, ion nîn?" He enquired wearily, rubbing his temples tiredly as he awaited an answer. //my son//

Legolas hesitated again, his wide eyes a bright blue as his lower lip trembled dangerously.

"I can't sleep." He replied quietly, his voice shaking with barely suppressed tears.

Thranduill sighed, but smiled kindly at the little elfling and motioned him to enter. Smiling happily, the blond elfling bounded inside, his bare feet padding against the floor as he reached his father's side. The elven king pulled his golden-haired son onto his lap, wrapping his arms loosely around the elfling as Legolas snuggled into him, resting his golden head against his father's shoulder with his face turned into Thranduill's neck. The king sighed, leaning back into his chair as he rested his chin on Legolas' head.

"Why were there so many guests today, Ada?" Legolas asked after a moment, his innocent tone curious.

"They were here-" Thranduill stopped as his voice broke, and firmly cleared his throat before staring again. "They were here to honour the queen."

"But Nana isn't here." Legolas stated after a moment, confusion evident in his wide eyes, as he straightened in his father's arms to look him in the face. "Shouldn't they come back when Nana returns?" //Mummy//

Thranduill's emotions were already twisted deep in turmoil, and he could bear it no longer; the puzzlement in Legolas' proved too much for him, and he finally broke.

"Ada?" Legolas asked in alarm as Thranduill wept, placing his small hands on each of the king's cheeks, his wide eyes bearing into those of his father's: identical in colour to his. "Why do you cry, Ada?"

"Nana will not be returning, tithen las nîn." Thranduill whispered, hoping in vain to maintain his son's innocence. //My little leaf//

"Why not?" Legolas enquired, frowning deeply.

"She was tired, Legolas." Thranduill tried to explain. "So it was best she went to sleep."

"Sleep?" Legolas repeated incredulously, his blue eyes widening comically. "Then why are you crying? I had thought sleep is a good thing."

Thranduill smiled faintly, lifting his hand to caress his son's cheek.

"It is, tithen pen." //little one// He whispered. "I am merely clearing my eyes."

Legolas laughed at the ridiculous idea, childish mirth lighting his face.

"What a silly thing to say, Ada!" He giggled, using his small hands to wipe away Thranduill's tears, before snuggling warmly against his father's chest. Thranduill smiled down at his son.

"I think it is time for you to go back to bed, tithen pen nin." He announced lightly, tickling his son's small toes and making him giggle. //My little one//

"I want to stay with you." Legolas murmured sleepily, his petite features angelic despite the frown he wore, as he pressed his face further into his father's chest. Thranduill sighed, but merely smiled again as he wrapped his strong arms around his son, rocking slightly as he began humming a soft, yet jaunty tune. The elfling smiled into his father's clothes, cuddling deeper against his father. The humming was soothing to him, easing any distress he'd ever had from his mind, and giving him the feeling that he was safe: safe in his father's arms.

But all too soon, the humming stopped, and suddenly his father's arms were not so comforting.

"Ada?" Legolas asked; his voice muffled by the king's robes. No reply came. "Ada?" He called again; still no reply. With a sigh, Legolas lifted his face to look at his father. "Ada, what-"

Red eyes bore into him. Legolas screamed.

*

Legolas' eyes snapped open, as he immediately groped for his bow, bolting upright as he aimed.

But there was no one there: no enemies to slay, only the night sky and his, still, slumbering friends. The elf sighed heavily, shakily passing a hand over his face as he set down the bow. His mind was fooling him, giving him the idea they were being constantly watched, and the nightmares were certainly no help for matters. He sighed again; shrugging off his blanket as he slowly stood, and stretched his back.

It was still long before dawn, too long, yet Legolas was itching to set off again, in search of Merry and Pippin. Every passing second was a second closer to the hobbits' death, and he was very much against these rests, knowing that the beasts would not. He wanted to be reassured they were safe, but he had to accept that as mortals, Aragorn and Gimli needed more rest than he, and non-stop search would do them more bad than good. He was sure they wanted to carry on just as much as he, and it was selfish of him to think otherwise. He sighed, tilting his head back to the sky as his cloak whipped behind him, allowing silence to envelop him.

Above, the stars twinkled like crystals on blue velvet, shining brightly from the night sky; safe from the greed and turmoil that was middle-earth. One who owns the stars would be wealthy indeed, Legolas contemplated, and the moon would prove a most magnificent possession.

But perhaps the moon had indeed an owner, and the stars and the sun. Perhaps even the creatures of middle-earth were under ownership. Perhaps even he was owned. Legolas stifled a bitter laugh. What pride was there left for an object, possessed by the unknown? Especially a broken object…

Legolas shook his head furiously. He had no time for bitter thoughts and self-pity: the hobbits were in dire need of aid, and his attention- all of it –should be fixed only on their rescue. He looked again at the crystals in the sky, and wondered about the hobbits. Somewhere, they looked upon the very same sky. Hopefully…

"Legolas?" A slurring voice enquired quietly from behind him, and he turned to see the ranger watching him, still curled under his blanket, his dark head using a pack as a makeshift pillow.

"You should be asleep, Mellon nîn." Legolas stated quietly, softening his features as Aragorn began to scowl at him.

"As should you." He grumbled defiantly, and with some force. "We will have no need of a half-asleep elf in the morning, Legolas."

"I know, Estel." Legolas smirked at his friend. "I will sleep in a moment. I was merely thinking."

The ranger's scowl deepened, but he nodded wearily, and within minutes was again snoring softly. Legolas' smirk slowly faded, and he turned back to the stars. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and flinching at the image that greeted him, behind shut lids. How could he sleep, when faces plagued his very thoughts? Oh Boromir…

Aragorn frowned deeply as he rolled up his blanket and hastily stowed it into his pack, mirroring the dwarf beside him. Legolas stood watching patiently, arms crossed, as he remained emotionless and silent. The ranger knew the elf wished for them to hurry, and wished they were able to chase the beasts non-stop, until the hobbits were found, but nothing showed on his fair, impassive face: the mask was back in place.

Even besides the lack of emotion, there was something terribly wrong with him. In merely a day Legolas had become pale; so pale, in fact, that his dark lashes stuck out in contrast to his pallid skin. It was almost as if Legolas was being forced to hold his tongue, by more than will. And his hands absently wrung his bow as he waited.

Aragorn sighed, nodding to Legolas as he strode past the elf, signalling their leave. The archer waited for Gimli to pass before following, his cobalt eyes darting across the plains and over the hills as he strode without a word.

It seemed that the dwarf had also noticed the change in the elf, for as sunrise approached, his dark eyes flickered increasingly to the elf, and he split his time between looking concerned for Legolas, and attempting to catch his breath: in vain, of course.

Aragorn almost smiled, leaping down a slope as his friends followed. The sun began to peek from its mountain cover, shining a dark red across the sky, and bathing all in orange. It was almost eerie, had Aragorn not seen similar sunrises.

"A red sun rises." Legolas murmured from behind him, his golden head turning towards the floating orb. "Blood has been spilt this night."

The words did nothing to hearten Aragorn, but he knew they must be spoken. Gimli only grunted defiantly, tightening his grip on his axe as he followed behind, his dark eyes shifting restlessly from side to side. Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, when a rumbling cut off his train of thought. He whipped around, looking wildly for the source, but instead locked eyes with the elf. He sighed resignedly to himself before both friends hastily dove behind a large rock, dragging the bedraggled dwarf behind them.

They waited with held breaths as the rumbling approached, and suddenly a company of horsemen thundered past, sat atop shimmering steeds. Each were tall, their heads golden and their spears sharp as they rode with practise and ease, that only one of the Rohirrim could possess.

They and their mounts were one; it was if the horse knew precisely what would be required of them, and would do so without hesitation or delay. And it was noting this that Aragorn felt confident enough to rise out form behind the rocks, and stride out into the open. The move made him vulnerable in every way, but the symbols they bore were enough to put him at ease. He watched for a short moment, before opening his mouth and calling out to them, convinced they were safe.

"Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"

A/N: By the way, his dreams are just nightmares. I'm not saying that Legolas' father seriously turned into an evil monster. As I said in the last chapter, I'm going on holiday, so there will be no updates for two weeks. Sorry, but hopefully the chapters I write whilst on holiday will make it worthwhile. FLORIDAAA!!! Till next time...