The Ranger felt the sting of tears in his eyes, the hot liquid welling within them as he stared at the Wood-Elf. His blanket and bedroll he ground into the grass with his feet, forgotten in his haste to scramble closer to the pallid Wood-Elf. He was alive last night, the human thought, his mind unable to comprehend the rapid turn of events. Last night he breathed, he slept, and this morning he is gone. Aragorn picked up the pallid, cold, and slack hand lying to the Elf's side. He will never hold his bow again. As if to assure himself that the Elda was indeed gone, his faer absent from the body, the human placed a hand on the Wood-Elf's chest, feeling for a heartbeat, and finding none. He will never again see the halls of Eryn Galen.
"Estel," the elder twin intonated softly from across the small campsite, interrupting the Ranger's rambling thinking. Within the Noldo's voice was the very grief and sorrow that bombarded the Ranger, but inherent in Elladan's whisper was something more, something that reassured Aragorn as his brothers' voices had often done for him as a child. "He died carrying out his duty to Eryn Galen," the Noldo told him, and though this comforted the Ranger, it did not bring the Wood-Elf back, as much as the Ranger wished it would. "His wounds were too great, and his body too injured."
I have never truly thanked him. He gave his life for me, and I do not even know him. "When did this happen?" Aragorn reached out, wiping away the dew that had collected on the lifeless features of the fallen Elda.
Elrohir, who was trying to compose himself, answered as he wiped his own face, cleaning his tears from it on the shoulder of his twin's tunic where his cheek lay upon it: Elladan did not seem to mind the wetting of his shirt in the least. "Only this morning, only a few hours ago," the twin told him, extracting himself from his brother's hold. Climbing to his feet, the Noldo stumbled across the campsite only to fall to his knees behind Aragorn. Resting his forehead against the Ranger's upper back, Elrohir wrapped his arms around the bewildered human, explaining, "I am sure he felt no pain, muindor. He died in his sleep."
He died suddenly, the Ranger thought. But then, I suppose he has been dying slowly for the last few days. "He did not wake? He did not speak?"
"No. He did not wake and he did not speak. He merely faded, Estel. His passing was quick," Elladan told him, adding his own arms to his twin's in wrapping the Ranger in an embrace to calm Aragorn, though he was too numb to feel much grief just yet. However, they also held their human brother to soothe their own grief, holding tight to the Ranger as if the Wood-Elf's demise reminded them of Aragorn's brush with death, or his inevitable mortality. "There was nothing we could have done for him. We have kept him comfortable and tried to aid his body in healing, but the damage was too much for him," the twin consoled both his brothers.
Pulling away to gaze upon the resting form of the remaining Wood-Elf, who by appearance was faring little better than his deceased compatriot, Elrohir bewailed, "Legolas cannot endure more sorrow. I would that we did not have to tell him."
Sweet Nienna, the human prayed, let the Prince's grief not take him with this new tragedy. Tirn's death may be the death of Legolas, as well.
"Not like he wouldn't notice it," Jalian offered from where he was tending the horses, and then grimaced at how callous his words sounded. "I mean…"
"We know what you mean, Jalian," the Ranger told him, offering the mercenary a pathetic smile. "We would not keep this from Legolas, even should it send him into despair." The mercenary was obviously unsettled by the sentry's death, and only nodded, continuing his tending to the morning chores. Jalian was responsible for Tirn's demise, at least in part, and Aragorn could see that the mercenary did not know how to react to the grieving Noldor. "Legolas is strong, he will survive this, also," he assured the Elves and mercenary, not certain that he believed his own assertion.
"We should wake him now." Scooting along the grass to where the Silvan still lay, sleeping deeply, though perhaps not peacefully, Elladan sighed, looking to his two brothers. "We will need to bury Tirn quickly, for we will need to press hard to journey to Eryn Galen." The elder twin did not need to explain why this was so, for they all held the same need to be free of the tainted forest, and to take the Prince home. Shaking the Wood-Elf gently by his arm, the elder Noldo told them, his worried gaze remaining on the slumbering Silvan for any signs of awakening, "His skin is cold."
"It was so last night, also," Elrohir told his twin, watching the Prince as Elladan continued his gentle shaking. The archer woke slowly, first turning away from the Noldo who woke him, shifting his arm away from Elladan's reach, but the elder twin was insistent, and finally the Silvan woke.
Legolas opened his eyes: he seemed unable to focus them and he blinked rapidly, squeezing them shut tightly as he asked with a beatific, innocent grin, "It is morning, Elladan?" Elladan tried to smile back at the Prince, but the perceptive Wood-Elf noticed this less than warm welcome, for he struggled to sit, asking as he did so, "What is wrong?"
None of them spoke, for none of them wished to be the harbinger of this new tragedy for the Prince to endure. They need not have bothered, and their hesitance only allowed the Silvan to see the calamity for himself. His searching blue eyes falling upon his sentry, Legolas' friendly and somewhat refreshed smile twisted into a brief expression of pain before it became unreadable, though Estel was certain this anguish was not from the Silvan's many wounds.
"When did he die?" the failing Elda asked. Legolas rose to his knees, walking upon them the short distance to where his sentry lay on the ground.
"Early in the morning, Legolas," Aragorn told him, repeating what the twins had explained to him only moments ago.
Legolas looked up to the cloudless sky, brightening with the first fiery hint of the sunrise. "He did not wake?" The toneless question, a repetition of Aragorn's own query, unnerved the Ranger, who had expected more show of grief from the Prince than this.
"No. He said nothing, and he did not truly wake," Elrohir explicated to the Wood-Elf, laying a hand on the Prince's shoulder. "He opened his eyes, and then he was gone. We could not help him. Namo will guide him to his forefathers; he will see that Tirn is greeted by his family."
The Wood-Elf nodded, seemingly pleased by this explanation. Looking up again, the Silvan leant forward, placing his head in the air above the sentry's, though he looked at the sky, judging something that was not clear to Aragorn, though it must have been to Elladan, for he told the Prince with an understanding, albeit sad smile, "I am sure that the stars were the last he saw of Arda."
Legolas returned the smile and resumed his upright position, nodding again. The three brothers sat in silence for a while, waiting with dread for the archer's reaction to Tirn's death to manifest, but no reaction was forthcoming, and eventually Jalian drifted to them, bringing with him dried meat and the last of the soggy bread he had brought with him.
They ate quickly and without joy, not speaking as they broke their fast sitting around the dead Wood-Elf. As he tore the dried meat, pulling it apart with slow, methodical motions, the Ranger would occasionally place one strip into his mouth, chewing it thoroughly before forcing himself to eat another. He did not hunger: the macabre situation of eating while the sentry, who could no longer taste meat or bread, or the fresh water they shared between them, ruined whatever appetite he held.
"Please, Legolas. Eat something."
Aragorn lifted his head from where he was breaking his bread studiously into crumbs, only to meet the deadened gaze of Legolas, who did not appear to be looking at him at all, but through him, to where the lake lay beyond. Without responding, the Wood-Elf merely pushed at the hand offering him bread.
"You need nourishment to heal. We need your help, Legolas. Eat."
The Wood-Elf did not try to deny this, nor did he take the bread when Elladan tried to shove it into his hand. The bread rolled out of the archer's lax fingers and along the Silvan's leg before it hit the ground, landing in the grass. Elladan picked it up with a frown but did not try again. Instead, he handed Legolas the water when it was passed to him. This, at least, the Prince partook of, and drained the liquid in a single swallow.
Shaking the emptied bladder, the Wood-Elf smiled vacantly, saying, "I will get another one."
"No need, I'll get another one," Jalian offered quickly, hopping up to fetch another flask for their meal: in addition to a filled flask, the mercenary also brought with him Meika's spade. After handing Elrohir the water skin, he asked them apologetically, "Where do you want to bury 'im? Might as well start digging."
"I would that we could take him to Eryn Galen, so that he could have a proper warrior's feast," the Prince spoke up, but conceded with another empty grin, "but he would not want to slow us down."
Legolas finally looked away from the lake behind the Ranger to gaze around the campsite, his head and torso moving sluggishly, and his body even more so when he tried to stand.
Immediately, the helpful, guilt-ridden mercenary was at the Silvan's side, holding Legolas' elbow to keep him balanced: not releasing the Prince's arm, Jalian moved with the Wood-Elf across the clearing, pausing each time Legolas did – the archer placed a hand on several trees, tilting his head to the side as he listened. If Legolas was at all discomfited to have Jalian so near, he did not show it.
He is finding an appropriate place for his fellow Wood-Elf's grave, the Ranger deciphered with little surprise, aware that the Wood-Elves were particular about such things. Estel left the remnants of his meal for the ants. Elladan and Elrohir had finished, also, and they began packing away that which they didn't need, though the younger twin left out the herbs and other healing supplies. He sat beside Aragorn, giving the Ranger a brief and humorless smile before he began treating the human's wounds.
"Here," the Prince finally decided, calling to them from where he and the mercenary stood beside a beautiful weeping beech, small in comparison to the other trees around it. Standing straight up in a single column of thick trunk that divided into two thinner boughs, the purple-leafed tree cascaded into long, hanging branches that nearly touched the ground. "This one is young yet, and still has much growing." Yanking free his arm from the mercenary's grasp, Legolas laid his other hand on the limb he held and laughed hoarsely. "Tirn kept me safe while I grew," the Silvan told the tree, "I am certain he will do the same for you."
When all wounds were tended and they were otherwise prepared to depart, Elrohir and Elladan readied the sentry's body, washing him the best they could, given that they had not the time to grieve for the sentry before performing this harrowing task. Rubbing his eyes vigorously, the younger twin complained, speaking to his tears as he thought, Could you not let me finish? Using his own brush, the younger twin began braiding Tirn's hair in the manner of the Mirkwood warriors, hoping he was not making a mockery of it. Legolas should be doing this, Elrohir thought, looking to the Silvan in question. I will never make them look right. He realized that such a thing hardly mattered, at least not to Tirn, and for the rest of them, it was well enough to have the sentry buried so that they could move on, making their way to Mirkwood as quickly as possible.
It was important to the Wood-Elf that the sentry was as close to the roots as possible, and so Legolas had crawled under the weeping branches to clear a spot for them to dig, and he held back the thin, leaf-laden limbs as they removed the soil. Once that part of the trench was dug, the Prince's help in holding the limbs was not needed, and they left the Silvan to his own devices. Although Elrohir had tried to obtain the Silvan's aid in preparing the sentry's body, the injured Wood-Elf had become despondent in helping them, and now, despite their attempts to gain his attention, to try to coerce him into moving whether it was to help them or not, the Prince would not respond. He remained motionless, sitting beside them but staring past where the two humans took turns digging the trench for the sentry's body: he could not be certain, but Elrohir thought the Wood-Elf watched the lake through the spaces between the thin shrubs, which barred him from a full view of the placid water. Given the Silvan's odd behavior the night before, the younger twin thought to himself, We will need to ride hard and swift to Eryn Galen. He is on the verge of fading, of this I am sure.
"What's this?" Elladan asked, leaning down to inspect the Wood-Elf's hair. Elrohir wiped at the stream of tears running freely down his face so that he could clearly see of what his brother spoke: tied in the long locks at the base of Tirn's neck, fastened to the blond hair in a knot, was a golden medallion on a simple cord.
"Oh, Valar," Elrohir wept, taking the medallion from Elladan and fingering the cool, smooth object. I had forgotten this. He must have tied this here when he and Legolas switched clothing, so as not to lose it or let it be found by Ament.
Elrohir's renewed crying had attracted the others, save for Legolas, who still did not move. Kneeling beside the twin, the Ranger, panting from his exertion in digging, asked with a huff, "What is it?" Aragorn's fever was becoming worse; his guilty and drawn countenance was flushed with both the exertion of helping Jalian dig the grave and the infection running through his body.
"It is Tirn's medallion," he said, trying to untangle the necklace from the sentry's hair. His fingers fumbled with the golden hair and thin cord. Unable to see as his weeping increased, the overwhelmed Noldo cried out in frustration and distress, leaving the medallion as it was. "I cannot get it loose."
Elrohir broke: the trauma of it became too much for him, and he sat heavily on the ground in an undignified heap, crossing his arms over his head as if trying to block out the sight of the dead Wood-Elf's body and the fading Prince's broken stare. "I am sorry," the twin cried out, not sure to whom his apology was given. It broke his twin, also, to see his brother so upset, and Elladan moved quickly over the sentry to sit beside his brother, wrapping his arms tightly around Elrohir from behind to comfort him again. The trauma of the past week's events, the Ranger's feverish confusion as he tried to untie the medallion, the deceased sentry, the human corpses they had left to rot in the forest – all of these threatened Elrohir's already precarious check on his grief.
But that which broke Elrohir the most was Legolas, whose desolation the compassionate Noldo could feel, who looked much like their mother, his eyes lifeless and dull as he finally moved to sit near them, his superficial interest in their conversation bringing him close to Elrohir. The odd reaction to the sentry's death this morning, the seemingly accepting demeanor the Silvan had taken, was now replaced with an utter hopelessness that exuded from the Prince in almost tangible waves. It was familiar to the younger twin for he had experienced this firsthand when connected to the Prince, when he had seen Ament's death, and he could feel it now as if it were his own.
Elrohir watched Estel struggle to untie the medallion, the golden coin in which was carved a simple leaf: the promise behind this emblem, the oath Tirn had made to find the Prince and bring him home, and the sudden appearance of it now, finally shattered the last of Elrohir's resolve, and he wept unabashedly into his twin's tunic.
In a voice broken with pain, the slight sound no louder than the soft rush of water from the brook in the distance, Legolas peered over his dead sentry, asking, "What is it?"
We will not be able to save him, either. We have been able to do nothing but watch them die. Though Legolas' body was mending, his soul had yet to begin healing – this new wound would kill the Prince, Elrohir knew.
Aragorn eventually tired of the ineffectual effort to untangle the knot, and instead chose to cut the knot free, releasing the medallion from the sentry's hair along with a golden lock of it. Inspecting the simple piece of jewelry, the Ranger appeared surprised when Legolas' hand reached out for it. Without hesitation, he gave it to the Prince.
Coughing a short, harsh bark as his failing lungs tried to find the air for him to speak, the Wood-Elf asked, "This is the medallion he flipped to decide which way to turn? To decide which way to go to find me?"
Elladan nodded, holding Elrohir's head to his unhurt shoulder with his cheek, where the younger twin continued to weep without shame at the loss of their friend and the grief that the sentry's death caused them all. "That is what he told us when we met him. For fate's path," the Noldo reminded them, his own tears blending with his brother's dark hair that lay against his cheek, "instead of reason's guidance."
The Wood-Elf merely nodded, holding the medallion in the palm of his hand for several moments. He picked it up gingerly with his other hand and suddenly smiled; he gripped the cord in both hands, looping it over his head and around his neck. The feeling of the cool gold and the scratchy sensation of the golden hair against his throat calmed the Silvan, and he proclaimed, "It is well he choose to follow the toss of a coin rather than reason. There has been little reason in the mercenaries' scheme, or in the ruin of it."
With that, Legolas closed his eyes, and laying his hand on the weeping beech tree next to him, which was grieving for Tirn as well, the Prince let the sea of grief wash over him, relaxing into the comfortable, constant sensation of despair, letting the waves of guilt and regret break against him. Soon he was lost in the gray grief, as lost as he had been in the forest as a child or in the hands of the mercenaries: he slipped away to a place where no one could find him, for the only one who could have hoped to do so was lost himself.
Elladan forced his twin into sitting up gently: using the sleeve of his tunic, he rubbed the dampness off his twin's face, telling Elrohir, "Let us finish, brother." The younger twin nodded, taking over wiping his face clean of the shed tears there, while Elladan removed the splints from the sentry's thigh. Wishing to see the damage done, the wound that had taken the kind Wood-Elf from them, his family, and his Prince, the Noldo unwrapped the bandaging around Tirn's neck, inspecting the cut there.
Such a small cut, he mused, surprised to see that the sentry's neck had not been laid open as he expected. But he bled too much; he could not recover from this. He finished the job of braiding Tirn's hair, not truly expecting Elrohir to aid him. His twin was too far gone in his grief, his empathetic nature feeling the sorrow of them all, in addition to his own.
"Come, Jalian," the Ranger told his fellow human, grunting as he stood, obviously in pain from his infected burn wounds. "We are almost done, let us finish, also."
With Tirn's hair braided and his body prepared, Elladan unfurled the sentry's cloak, asking of Elrohir, "Help me, muindor." Gathering himself, the younger Noldo spread the cloth under the Wood-Elf's body as Elladan slid it under him, laying the sentry on the cloak and then wrapping him within it.
Aragorn came to stand behind them. "The dirt here is rocky; I do not believe we can dig any deeper."
"It will have to do," he told the Ranger: as the arm on the side of his broken collarbone was still in a sling, he could not help Elrohir carry the sentry's body, but Jalian hurried to aid him, and together they laid the sentry in his grave. Elladan called to the Silvan, "Legolas. Do you not wish to say something?"
He watched the Silvan, hoping the Prince would offer a song or some small word, if not for Tirn, then for himself, to show some grief – but Legolas remained staid. Not acknowledging the elder Noldo's query or even their presence, the living Wood-Elf merely opened his eyes, looking at the others as they placed the sentry in his grave. When he could not take the silence any longer, Elladan began to sing himself, shoveling dirt into the shallow grave with his hands.
The two Noldor and two humans covered the sentry's body, stopping only to rub at their faces, dirtied by their labor, when their tears overcame them. After several minutes with no sound but those of quiet distress, Elladan decided, We should leave now. Although he did not wish to begrudge his grieving brothers and friend their time to mourn, Anor was already high in the sky, and the idea of reaching Mirkwood, of taking the Prince to his father and home, of getting his brothers to safety, solidified his desire to depart.
The lone Wood-Elf sat by the tree, again watching the lake while the others worked, his mind elsewhere. While conscious, Legolas seemed incognizant of what was occurring, and it was not until their task was completed, when Elladan pulled the Prince to his feet for their departure that the silent, sedate Prince gave any indication he was aware of the others' presence at all. Legolas began to weep calmly, his body shuddering as he finally released what Elladan knew was only a drop of the well of grief within him. Although he longed to embrace the Wood-Elf, Elladan refrained, afraid that in his state the Prince would feel threatened by this.
It felt wrong for them to leave while the sentry would stay, but Elladan looked at the others, noting their grief and weariness, Aragorn's fever and the Prince's despair, and feeling Elrohir's sadness. Jalian had their horses ready, their belongings packed, and they had nothing left to do but leave. He helped Estel onto his horse, making sure that Elrohir had aided the Prince onto Tirn's horse before mounting his own.
Without Tirn, we will make better time, he thought, and remembered Legolas' estimation of Tirn's desire that they not be burdened with him, that they not be slowed down. Feeling rather guilty at his amusement, the Noldo smiled, for he knew that the kind sentry would not mind that they left while he stayed. We will meet again one day, Tirn, Elladan told the sentry, looking back on the peaceful lake once more before he spurred his horse onwards. They were on their way to Eryn Galen again.