CHAPTER 21.

"LEGOLAS!"

Aragorn's voice cracked under the strain, terror laden in every syllable of his horrified call. Beregrond's sadistic joy was evident in every line of his face, and at the sound of his laughter Aragorn turned to him with an inhuman bellow, swinging the sword so that its point glinted just an inch from his chest.

The man fell silent at once, eyeing the glinting blade apprehensively, but a moment later broke into a sly smile.

"Terrible, is it not, having to stand by and watch your life be torn apart?" Beregrond teased. "An apt revenge for what you did to me, though, mm?"

Aragorn growled lowly to mask the racking sob he felt emanate from his chest. He could not trust his eyes, could not believe what he had see - Legolas was not gone, it was impossible. After all the enemies they had faced together, all the battles they had fought, he could not have failed, not here, not now.

The king went to speak, to threaten the bastard that had dared harm his friend, but found his throat constricted so tightly that he could not manage it. His chest seized in an attempt to draw breath, his body fighting against the panic of his mind, trying to regain some composure by allowing air to flood his lungs. He couldn't seem to manage it, though - it took all of his efforts just to stay on his feet, when his heart felt so heavy that it could drag him down onto his knees.

"Look how far King Elessar has fallen." Beregrond mocked, observing his enemy's horror with an air of amusement.

Aragorn let out a contemptuous snarl and thrust the sword yet closer to the man - the sharpened blade hovered a hair's breadth above his heart. Beregrond inhaled sharply in alarm.

"You wouldn't - not in cold blood." he panted, eyes wide and (Aragorn savored in the fact) fearful.

"Cold blood?" the king repeated in a low, broken growl.

"Aye. The Mirkwood rat wouldn't have wanted-"

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF WHAT HE WOULD HAVE WANTED?! HOW DARE YOU ACT ON HIS BEHALF, YOU WHO... you who... who..."

Aragorn's voice dropped off to a despaired whisper, and he gasped for breath, waiting for the pinch to awaken him from this nightmare and deliver him to reality. He thought he could hear Legolas' voice calling out to him, and his face screwed up in horror at the cruel hallucination his mind was playing on him - but then, again, he heard the faint cry of his name, more clearly now, and Beregrond's head turned towards the cliff face.

"Aragorn!" called the Elf weakly, his voice strained and pain-laden.

The king's heart almost leapt from his chest, and his knees went weak again in an entirely different sense. He gave Beregrond the darkest, most threatening stare he could - a look which clearly said, move and you are dead - before he hurried to the cliff.

As he neared the cliff, he saw that Legolas' fingers were curled over the rocky ledge, so slightly that he had been unable to see them from where he had been standing. Aragorn dropped to his knees, letting his sword clatter to the ground at his side, and he hastily peered over the cliff.

Below him, the Elf dangled by a single, slender arm, his face was contorted with pain. The position had torn open the gash at his shoulder again, and it gleamed afresh with deep, scarlet blood. The icy wind whipped at his blond hair and sent smarting flecks of snow stinging into his chest, the tatters that remained of his shirt and tunic doing nothing against it. He turned his head upwards and cast his eyes towards Aragorn, who observed with a wave of horror that they were wide with pain and fear.

"Aragorn!" Legolas croaked again, the desperate cry issuing from between cracked, bloodied lips.

"Av-'osto." Aragorn replied, his tone hasty but soothing. "Do not fear."

He leant down - one arm outstretched to grab the Elf, the other ready to steady them both - when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beregrond's face twist up in rage as he lunged at the king.

Aragorn whipped around, snatching up his sword and slamming the heavy metal hilt into the man's face. His face exploded bloodily as his nose shattered, and he fell back heavily, the back of his head slamming into the stone floor.

Legolas gave a small cry of pain, and the king's attention was immediately diverted back to him. He reached over and grabbed onto the Elf's arm, who gave a gasp of surprise and agony as Aragorn pulled on the limb. He did not stop upon hearing his friend's hiss of pain, though it made him feel sick to his stomach to think that he was hurting him, but he continued to pull with all of his strength, the Elf's lean body sliding up a few precarious inches at a time.

With a final, grunting heave, Legolas rose up onto safe ground, and Aragorn fell back, chest heaving from the effort. He did not allow himself time to regain his breath, but immediately crawled to the Elf's side, panting.

"Legolas? Are you all right, mellon nin?" he asked breathily, hovering concernedly over the figure.

The Elf's long, usually elegant limbs were sprawled gracelessly across the floor, as though he were too exhausted to shift them into comfort. His eyes were shut, and his brow crumpled into a pained frown. His face seemed more sharp and angular than usual, the skin stretched over his cheekbones in an unhealthy way, leaving sickly hollows in his cheeks. His breaths were inconsistent and labored, like he had lost the ability or impulse behind the simple motion.

"Legolas, open your eyes." he begged. "I need you to wake up. Wake up!"

He reached desperately for his friend's face, and found the pale skin as cold as ice beneath his fingers. Aragorn's stomach flipped nauseatingly.

Oh Eru, please do not let him be dead, he thought in grief.

The Elf's chest had stopped rising and falling with the movement of his breaths. Aragorn fingers scrambled clumsily to his neck, feeling desperately for a pulse, the slightest throb that might show his friend lived still –

"No, no, Legolas, do not leave me." Aragorn moaned. "Open your eyes, Legolas, please. Please wake up!"

His breath caught in his throat as he began to shake, slightly but uncontrollably. The freezing wind whipped and stung his face, and it was only then that he realized he was crying, the salt-ridden tears blurring his vision.

"I thought the Elves immortal… Evidently not." a man's voice said jeeringly. He whipped his head around to see Beregrond, grinning widely through the blood that stained his face.

Aragorn's anger coursed through his blood like poison. It was rage beyond reason, beyond restraint, beyond subjugation. There was no longer any cause to hold back, no reason not lash out with all he possessed and wreak whatever havoc he could manage on the monster that had slaughtered his dearest friend. Legolas had been robbed of a life full of wonders he had only just begun to experience – what reason was there not to fight back?

He moved without thought or conscious direction, though still shaking slightly and unable to stop. He strode towards Beregrond without a word, the man's face lighting up in surprise as he stopped just short of him.

"This is for my friend." he stated, slamming his fist into his face with all of the strength and rage and grief he could conjure.

Beregrond fell backwards, and suddenly Aragorn was on top of him, his clenched fists pummeling into every inch of flesh he could find. His fury was like a floodgate, unable to be shut off once opened – his heart burned with bloodlust, the desire to maim this villain, to watch his life drain away just like he had been forced to watch Legolas' –

"Daro."

The king froze, barely able to comprehend the simple command –stop. He slowly turned, his stare meeting a sight he thought he would never again see: the face of his oldest and dearest friend, brow crumpled in a look of concern so familiar that it made Aragorn's heart sing.

Only upon closer observation did he realize the slight variances that marred his visage. His eyes had lost some of their bright, keen shine, and were haunted by ghosts of pain. He was still lying down in the same sprawled position he had been in before, only now he was propped up slightly on one elbow, just enough to be able to see Aragorn and Beregrond.

"Daro, an ngell nîn." Legolas murmured breathlessly. "Stop, please."

When the king stepped away from Beregrond and took a stride towards Legolas, the Elf's features lit up in panic, and he shuffled back hastily. Aragorn frowned, head tilting to the side slightly in confusion. It was then that he noticed another difference in his friend - the lines of his face showed a definite air of distress and fear, and his stomach fell as he began to comprehend – Legolas was afraid of him.

Aragorn's stomach was hit with a wave of furious, sickening wave of revulsion as he realized the cause of his friend's alarm. His kindred were a naturally peaceful people, and he had just watched him beat a man, brutally and without mercy. He burned with shame and self-loathing – how could he have lost control like that?

Aragorn held up his hands in a display of goodwill, lowering them hastily a moment later when he realized they were covered in blood.

"Goheno nin." he said gently, slowly approaching the Elf. "Forgive me."

The figure shrank back as though afraid he would strike him, his eyes wide and fearful.

"You need not fear. It is me, Legolas. It is Aragorn." the man said soothingly, his paces careful and measured so as not to frighten him.

"Aragorn." Legolas whispered at last, his eyes lighting up slightly in recognition.

The king smiled weakly, and dared to take a final step towards the Elf. He placed a gentle, comforting hand on his arm, but he shrank back, not in fear this time, but pain. His whole face screwed up, eyes sliding shut in a grimace.

"I am sorry, Aragorn, that it had to end this way." Legolas murmured softly, and when his eyes opened again, they were filled with tears. "I should have liked to stay… just a short while longer."

"What do you mean? You will be fine. I'm going to take you home." Aragorn returned brusquely, shaking his head. The Elf smiled up at him, almost pityingly, his eyes wide and glassy.

"Can you pass along a message for me, to my father?" he requested softly, his breathing failing slightly midsentence. "Tell Ada that I never meant for anything to happen, and that I hope in time he may forgive –"

"Tell him yourself." Aragorn hissed desperately. "Stay awake for me, Legolas, don't close your eyes, please-"

Legolas acted as though he hadn't heard him. He grimaced slightly, but then gave a sigh and smiled again, as though trying to mask his pain from Aragorn, who did not miss the gesture.

"No, no, no, don't you dare, don't close your eyes. Oh, Eru, don't close your eyes." Aragorn demanded hastily, sliding his arms in around Legolas' shoulders as he showed signs of falling back.

"Ssh, it is alright, my friend. I am not afraid. The pain is fading already…" Legolas returned, in little above a whisper, his eyes sliding shut blissfully.

"Don't leave me." Aragorn sobbed in earnest, his plea childlike in his desperation.

He felt Legolas' body relax, and suddenly he was cradling him like a child in his arms, feeling the dead weight against his chest.