The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Chapter 23 – Flame of the West

A full month had passed since Elf and Man had entered the Elven realm of Rivendell and Aragorn was by then well and truly fed up with the wretched place. Whilst Legolas seemed more at home and more relaxed than Aragorn had ever seen him, Aragorn found the enormous, boarded-up house increasingly disturbing.

Lothlorien had seemed almost homely to him, even in its devastated, deserted state, but he could find no peace in Rivendell. Its empty ornately decorated halls had lost their charm for him after a few days and now were just bleak and lonely. The whole place seemed like a tomb and the living were the intruders in this sanctuary of the dead. It sent chills through Aragorn whenever he had to traverse the corridors on his own. When he'd mentioned this supernatural feeling of being surrounded by the echoes of the past lives of Elves to Legolas he had laughed and told the boy that there was nothing to fear from the spectres of those who had at one time inhabited Imladris. They were beyond caring for the living.

That continued feeling of having the past peering over his shoulder made Aragorn endlessly uneasy. It was not helped by the peculiar looks Erestor shot his way every time they came into contact. The dark-haired Elf no longer attempted to spark conversation with him although he spent enough time whispering in the strange foreign language to Legolas. When they thought Aragorn slept, the two Elves would huddle together around a lit candle and speak in hushed voices for most of the night. It frustrated Aragorn to no end that he didn't know what the two of them were up to. Whenever he asked Legolas about it, he would always cleverly deflect the boy's concerns, dismissing the discussions as merely catching up on old times or planning for their departure from the realm of Imladris.

In fact, the only good thing that Aragorn found in Rivendell was watching how it utterly changed his guardian. Not only did the Elf seem lighter of heart but he had changed so much in appearance that it amazed Aragorn. Had he met Legolas on the road now, he would have found him unrecognisable.

Although they had only been there for one month, Rivendell's generous host had plied them with reasonable portions of food and drink and they were flourishing under the nourishment and care. The haunted look that had always clouded Legolas' eyes had lifted somewhat so that the brilliant blue eyes positively sparkled with renewed life and something close to vigour. In fresh clothes, he seemed more comfortable and his washed and groomed hair shone golden, lying over his shoulders soft and beautiful having been taken care of for the first time in years. With proper food and a chance for some much needed sleep he looked in Aragorn's mind to be less emaciated and less tired, the dark circles that had previously shadowed eyes fading. Aragorn imagined that this was what Legolas had been like before the War.

It was an odd thing to witness but Aragorn supposed that under the same care and attention Legolas saw the same thing happening to him. He couldn't help but wonder how long it would last once they left Rivendell and that was perhaps the reason Legolas seemed so reluctant to leave.

One night, as they sat side by side in the room they now lived in, Aragorn asked his mentor, "When are we leaving? Have you decided yet?"

"Soon," Legolas replied cryptically, apparently unconcerned with the inaccuracy of the answer.

"How soon?"

"As soon as we can."

"What exactly are we waiting for?"

Legolas sighed and sat forward before saying, "Lord Elrond could not help us but I think there's a chance that Erestor may be able to."

"How?" the boy asked curiously.

"We're not entirely sure yet."

"Of course you're not," Aragorn mumbled sarcastically.

He was so convinced that Legolas was simply stalling to put off their departure that when a week after that the blonde Elf came to him and told him that they could leave within the next few days, he was more than a little surprised.

"There is one further thing we have to before we can leave though," Legolas told the boy as he led him through Rivendell's maze of open corridors the day after his surprising declaration. "Or rather, something we must help with before we go."

"What?" Aragorn asked, having to almost jog to keep up with the prince's quick pace.

"Through here." Legolas opened a heavy door then ushered Aragorn into an enormous hall he'd never seen before.

Grey slate covered the floor and Aragorn's footfalls echoed loudly as he stepped inside. The impressively high ceiling was covered with paintings but in the dull light of the misty afternoon Aragorn could pick out only a few details. The alcoves in the walls were also decorated with countless paintings, all faded from time and lack of attention, but every one of them beautiful nonetheless. Legolas paid none of these any heed as he strode purposefully down the centre of the massive hall.

Aragorn was so involved with the enigmatic paintings of people and things he knew nothing about that he bumped right into Legolas when the Elf stopped and he failed to.

Legolas ignored it though, steadying his ward with one hand and pointed to one particular painting, darker than all the others, hidden away in a shadowed alcove. "Take a look," he told his Human charge.

"What is it?" the boy asked quietly as he inched closer.

"That is your ancestor."

Aragorn looked up at the blonde Elf sharply, surprised. Slowly, he turned his eyes back to the painting, taking the time to examine it more closely. Clad in heavy black armour and dominating almost the entire picture stood a towering, intimidating creature the mere look of which made Aragorn shudder deeply. Holding an enormous mace high above its head, it was clearly poised to strike at the much smaller Human cowered at its feet.

After giving Aragorn a moment to absorb the contents of the picture, Legolas then laid his hand on the man's shoulder, using his other free hand to point at the cowering man, who was reaching for a broken sword on the ground next to where he knelt.

"That," the Elf began to explain, "is Isildur, King of Gondor and Arnor and your ancestor."

"My great-grandfather?"

"Add a few more 'greats' and you'll be getting closer," Legolas smiled softly. "And next to him is his father, the High King Elendil."

Aragorn's eyes automatically drifted back to the dominant, metal-clad monster bearing down on his forefathers. "And the other?" he asked, swallowing the thick lump of fear that had become lodged in his throat at the answer he feared was coming.

"That is Sauron the Deceiver," Legolas told him matter-of-factly although he privately shuddered at having to speak the name. "The one who now holds sway over these lands."

"Did they die? Did he kill them?"

"Elendil, yes. But Isildur lived. He survived the early battles and fought to the end and it was he who brought Sauron down in the end."

"Erestor told me about the war. He, Isildur, took something from Sauron."

"Yes, that is right. But he was killed for his mistake. He never made it back to his home and Gondor saw no King in the wake of his death."

"So my ancestors were heroes then?" Aragorn asked hopefully.

Legolas smiled sadly and answered, "Not exactly, I'm afraid. Although Isildur fought bravely, he was also foolish. His desire for power not only led to his own downfall but also ultimately brought this world and its people to its knees. He was known as the weak one who exiled his people and destroyed not only his kingdom but also his bloodline."

"Am I am his kin," Aragorn murmured, feeling his heart sink.

"You do indeed share his blood but not his heart." Legolas' hand tightened on the dismayed man's shoulder in encouragement. "This is Isildur's sword; your family heirloom," the Elf continued pointing to the broken blade in the bottom part of the picture. "Very nearly this was the salvation of the world." He then guided Aragorn towards a tall, white marble statue at the far end of the hall.

Once it would have been splendidly beautiful. Carved from flawless white stone, it stood ten feet tall, head bowed in reverence to the obviously sacred object held on a pillow on its outstretched hands.

"The sword of Elendil," Legolas told Aragorn as the boy stood on tiptoe to get a better look at the object important enough to place by the Elves in such a reverential manner. "The blade of your ancestors."

"It's broken," Aragorn pointed out, somewhat disappointed by the seemingly useless shards.

Legolas nodded and explained, "Shattered by Sauron himself." Carefully and with great veneration, he picked up the largest fragment of the sword, still bearing the plain hilt and handle and held it out for Aragorn to take.

The boy hesitated in wrapping his fingers around the leather-bound handle. That piece of metal held so much history and was so closely connected with him that he felt a deep respect for it. However, he eventually took the piece of sword from his Elven guardian, running his eyes along the fragment of sharp blade. It felt heavy in his hands despite the light metal it had been forged from years ago.

"It was called 'Narsil', wielded by the kings of old. And now it is yours," Legolas told him solemnly.

Not particularly liking the thought of that, Aragorn carefully returned the blade to Legolas' far more confident grasp and reiterated, "But it's broken – useless."

"Yes." The prince returned the blade to its resting place. "But it is not past repairing. We can re-forge it."

"Re-forge it? You mean make a new sword?"

"Erestor is heating the furnaces as we speak."

"I have a sword already. What good would a different one do me?"

"It'll help," Legolas said softly but with absolute certainty.

"How?"

"It just will. Now help me with these." Legolas pulled from his pocket a square of thick fabric and laid it over his hands as protection then waited for Aragorn to place the broken sword on the cloth.

Legolas then walked in respectful silence through the halls with Aragorn trailing behind him feeling somewhat overwhelmed by his guardian's solution to their problem. He couldn't see how a sword would change their fortunes at all despite Legolas' unwavering confidence. A sword was a sword – nothing but a cold, emotionless piece of metal – in Aragorn's opinion.

They went outside into the cold then and Legolas led his charge to the forges, which glowed red with the lit fires. Inside, Erestor stood waiting for them.

The next few hours were a blur of intense heat and the odd and deeply disconcerting feeling that he was being completely smothered in Elven magic, so potent that at times he felt like he could barely breathe or stand it any longer. By the time the task had been completed and Legolas led his young charge out into the cold air again, Aragorn's head was spinning, his body pathetically weary. Really it was a good job that Legolas had taken his arm and led him back to Erestor's room as Aragorn was certain that he would have gotten lost left on his own with his brain so muddled.

He tried to ask of Legolas why he felt so strange but the Elf merely made him sit quietly on the bed then drink some water to refresh him.

In a daze, Aragorn let himself be guided to lie down on the mattress and felt his eyes growing heavy as Legolas removed his boots for him. As he started to drift off, Legolas' cool hand was laid against his forehead, which felt feverish although there was absolutely no reason he should be sickening.

"Sleep," Legolas' voice commanded. "You will feel better when you next wake."

Aragorn felt Legolas pull back then the soft sheets were pulled up over him. "Thank you," he mumbled wearily before he at last slipped into a deep sleep bound to be filled with peculiar dreams.

"Is he alright?" Erestor's kind voice asked when Legolas had quietly closed the door behind him after tucking his young charge in for the night.

"Oh," Legolas sighed, leaning back heavily against the door and passing his hand over his eyes. "He'll be better when he wakes, I think."

"I did not imagine a Human would be touched by the magic of the ancients quite so deeply," Erestor mused. "But he is tied now to the sword – it will hold remarkable power when wielded in his hands. The Dark Lord himself would certainly not have forgotten the Sword of Elendil."

"Let us hope."

For a moment, Erestor simply observed the downtrodden Mirkwood Elf. "Come, my prince," he finally said, stepping forward to gently take Legolas' arm. "It seems the magic has drained you as well."

"No. I am well, Erestor," Legolas assured even as he allowed himself to be passively led away.

"The boy will no doubt sleep until the morning." Erestor took the younger Elf into another room nearby and sat him down in a chair, worried that Legolas looked very much like he might topple over at any moment. "And you must rest, my friend."

Legolas made no protest as he idly watched Erestor moving about the room, lighting the candles. The only movement he made was to bring his weak hand up to massage his aching forehead. "I cannot fail him, Erestor," Legolas said softly after a while, rubbing his eyes.

"You will not. Of this I am certain."

"How? How can you be certain?" Legolas demanded, looking up at Erestor for the first time since the forges. "What chance does the boy really stand against the Shadow? One child alone against all the armies of Sauron, the many evils of Mordor – the odds are almost impossible."

"But he does not stand alone. He has you."

Legolas scoffed bitterly at this, his eyes moving away from the older advisor. "And what am I really, Erestor? A cowardly prince with no kingdom, a pitiful warrior and a poor excuse for a guardian."

Erestor sat down elegantly on the edge of a table covered in a dust-covered white sheet and shook his head in disappointment. "You, Legolas Thranduilion, are no coward." Legolas glanced his way only briefly to show his disagreement with this statement then averted his eyes again. Then Erestor moved suddenly to crouch before the young prince, placing his hands on Legolas' knees and demanding, "Look at me!" Reluctantly, tired blue eyes, shrouded by inner darkness, came up to meet the persistent advisor. "You are not a coward," he reiterated. "And Aragorn is immensely lucky to have you at his side. He believes in you, Legolas, and above all else he trusts your judgement. You only have to spend a few minutes in his presence to know that."

"Then perhaps he is a fool too."

"I don't believe that to be true and neither do you."

Legolas shook his head and tried to blink back the stinging in his eyes. His next words bubbled forth without any real thought. "Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning, Erestor. I have failed everyone else I ever loved. It terrifies me that I may fail him too." He quickly pressed his hand over his mouth to prevent any further fractured confessions from escaping his lips then ran his fingers shakily over his damp eyes. "Forgive me, my friend. I am wearier than I believed."

Sighing deeply, Erestor had to agree, "We are all weary." He rocked back on his heels, his gaze momentarily drifting.

The following silence was deep and long but neither was in a hurry to break it for it was by no means unpleasant and the alternative was worse – speaking of the past that had made both feel so terribly dejected with their lives now. Both of them became lost in thought, however, which proved not quite so pleasant.

It was Legolas who finally shattered the quiet. Softly, he started, "Elrond told me that this quest would be my death."

"I do not believe that."

Legolas smiled gently. "Yes, you do. Only a fool would think otherwise." The ensuing silence confirmed his suspicions and a smile flitted across his face. "But I will not fail Aragorn now; even if my death does prove inevitable." He shrugged nonchalantly then. "You never know, perhaps Mandos' Halls would be an improvement on this."

"Do not say such things," Erestor whispered fiercely at the disconcerting suggestion, for the Halls of Mandos, the waiting halls for those unlucky Elves who perished on Middle Earth never to be granted access to the paradise awaiting in the Undying Lands was feared by the Firstborn above all else. A dark, eternal chasm with no sun or starlight to soothe the fragile Elven soul; to wish to go there was indeed a terrifying thought.

The prince smiled again and leaned forward in his chair to lay his hand on Erestor's shoulder. "Thank you for all you have done for me, my old friend. I appreciate it beyond all words."

Erestor took Legolas' thin hand and squeezed it tightly. "I only wish I could do more."

"You have done more than enough already. Tomorrow morning, however, we must take our leave of your home."

"So soon?" Erestor was surprised; even though he had been expecting Legolas and Aragorn to leave him soon enough, it didn't mean he at all looked forward to the prince's imminent departure. It was only since the arrival of the two travellers that the advisor realised how dreadfully lonely it had been with only the disillusioned Elrond as company and he did not relish the return to such a solitary life in the fading Imladris. "Could you not stay longer?" he asked, hoping that he had hidden his longing sufficiently.

"We have lingered here too long already. Aragorn grows increasingly restless."

"But where will you go?"

"To search out potential allies. Elrond once spoke of those Men still loyal to the true throne of Gondor - the Rangers of the North. The final reports your scouts filed tell of their presence in Eriador. We will go there first and hope they remain the guardians of that land even through the War."

"And if they are no longer there?"

Legolas smiled thinly and confessed, "I have not thought that far ahead. But we must start somewhere and with nothing else to go on…"

"I understand," Erestor said, although sadly. "I will prepare you some food to take with you and find you some weapons."

"We will need all the help we can get."

"Then help I shall," Erestor declared decisively, standing up. "But tonight you must rest if you insist upon leaving in the morning. You will need all your strength for the task ahead."

"There is much to do before morning," Legolas protested, although embarrassingly it was spoken around a yawn and his cheeks flushed.

"I will see to it that you have all you need. Rest now, my friend."

Although the younger Elf wanted to protest again, his eyelids were growing impossibly heavy and before long he had fallen sound asleep in the dusty old armchair Erestor had placed him in.

For what seemed the longest time, Erestor was contented to simply watch the deep, steady breathing, the beautiful, peaceful face of the prince of Mirkwood. Even in the semi-darkness of the room and marred as he was by decades of unrelenting sadness and suffering, Legolas remained pure and undiminished by Shadow in Erestor's eyes. The innocent, bright soul beloved so by the people of Mirkwood and Imladris remained relatively unscarred by the darkness it had endured. Legolas had suffered, Erestor knew, and his purity, his desire to always look on the bright side of everything had been severely shaken, tested to the maximum, but in spite of all the horrors he had been made to suffer he had come out the other side of the War with some semblance of hope intact. The golden prince of the Woodland Realm lived on and still brought hope to others.

How Erestor wished he could feel the same way. Despite his relatively comfortable life in Rivendell, he found that his heart was lonely. He wanted to feel hope again and he was certain that Elrond was entirely incapable of providing it.

OIOI

"There is no way I can convince you to stay longer?" the dark-haired major domo asked with a weak but hopeful smile as he handed the last of the packs filled with all the supplies he could spare over to Legolas.

Smiling thinly back at him, the prince of Mirkwood said, "We have stayed too long already."

Erestor nodded sadly, struggling to keep the strained, trembling smile fixed upon his lips. He had known that that would be the prince's answer and yet he still felt his heart sink further in his chest.

Legolas could easily sense his friend's disappointment at their departure – indeed, he shared it. Imladris had always felt like a second home to him. It hurt to leave it behind now after he had unexpectedly found some kind of peace here again. But he had to go now. For Aragorn. The boy was restless and would not wish to linger even a day longer.

"You could come with us, you know," Legolas said hopefully although he feared he already knew the answer to the plea.

Sighing deeply, Erestor cast his eyes downwards and shook his head with regret. "I am bound, as I have always been, to my land and its master." In a quieter, less formal voice, though he added, "I cannot abandon him, Legolas. Elrond needs me. He has no one else left."

"I understand." He was sympathetic to Erestor's plight as he could sense that the older Elf wanted to follow him but also felt duty-bound to remain in his homeland, a feeling which Legolas understood all too well. He wanted to help Elrond as well, wanted to pull his past mentor and friend from this despair he wallowed relentlessly in. And yet, unlike Erestor, Legolas knew that his place was not in Rivendell. It was with Aragorn – as it had been ever since that fateful day on the Old Forest Road. His fate had been sealed that day. Never though had he predicted it would separate him so entirely from his kin and their welfare. Still, he had chosen his path now. He could not renege. Surely, that would do nothing to convince anyone – including himself – that he was not the coward he had labelled himself to be in Mirkwood's last hours.

Knowing fully well that Legolas wished things could be different now and that he felt reluctance at leaving Imladris, Erestor drew himself up to his full height and returned to his more formal way of address. He held out the recently re-forged Narsil, now renamed Anduril and sheathed in an intricately decorated scabbard, for the prince and took on the more familiar role of official spokesman for his realm.

"Go forward with the blessings of the whole Elven race, such as it now is, and rid our world of this terror once and for all, Prince of Mirkwood."

"Thank you for everything, my friend," Legolas said, stepping forward to embrace Erestor.

"Good luck, Legolas. I pray we meet again."

"As do I. Be safe until we return," the prince smiled as he pulled away.

Erestor looked then to Aragorn, who had been hanging back to give the two Elves time to say their farewells to one another. He looked startled to now found Erestor's attention upon him. The Elf shook his head in amusement then pulled him close into a hug.

Into the young boy's ear, Erestor whispered so Legolas couldn't hear, "Look after him, Aragorn. He needs you as much as you need him."

Although confused by this odd statement, Aragorn nodded then Erestor patted his back and pulled away, ignoring the questioning expression upon Legolas' face.

"Come, we should get going now, make the most of the daylight while we have it," Legolas prompted his Human charge, laying his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Goodbye, Erestor."

With that final, determined farewell, the unlikely pair turned from the house and began the long walk out of the devastated yet surprisingly comforting land of the unfortunate Rivendell Elves.

The rest of the day passed mostly in thick silence. Legolas walked ahead of the man but his pace was not as hurried as it had been when they had made their way into the Elven realm a month ago and Aragorn could feel his guardian's prevailing sadness at having to leave Rivendell radiating off him despite him never commenting upon it.

A part of him wanted to lead Legolas back to where he so clearly found peace but the strongest part of him found it incredibly freeing and satisfying to be back on the road again, even though their intended destination, as laid out before him by Legolas that morning, still troubled him. However, his step was lighter leaving Rivendell than when they had crept into the massive, dilapidated House of Elrond and he felt considerably refreshed after his weeks of rest and good food. That, at least, he would most definitely miss.

Feeling stronger as they did, the pair walked all through the night and well into the next day before they finally paused to rest.

As he watched, crouched opposite his guardian, as Legolas lit a fire, Aragorn asked him cautiously, "Are you alright?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Legolas answered distractedly, not looking up from what he was doing.

"You've been quiet."

"Sorry."

"I wasn't complaining. I just…I'm sorry we had to leave Rivendell. I know you liked it there."

"Well, we had to go at some time."

Aragorn nodded but said after a while, "If it weren't for me, would you have stayed?"

Throwing a twig into the newly created flames, Legolas glanced up at his charge then snapped irritably, "Don't be so self-pitying, Aragorn! What is, is. There is no way we can change it and neither your guilt nor your misguided sympathy are welcomed."

As the Elf got to his feet, Aragorn sulked, "I was only asking."

Without bothering to answer this time, Legolas abruptly wandered off, muttering something about collecting firewood under his breath.

Now left by himself, Aragorn glared moodily into the small fire. He was not worried about Legolas; he knew the Elf would return to him eventually, although he did not look forward to his return whilst his mood remained so dark.

To Be Continued…