CHAPTER 32) AWAKENING
Much to his surprise, Aragorn found it almost comforting to return to his work. Having shunned any and all duty for the last several weeks – a fact which in itself created more guilt than could easily be conceived – it was pleasantly novel, attending to matters which distracted him from the anxieties of recent events. He had always loathed even the thought of becoming a mere figurehead, as the steward Denethor had been before him. Despite the laboriousness and persistence of his work, he far preferred hours of pouring over scrolls and negotiating with noblemen than the other option: to become a king who reigned but did not rule.
His eyes scanned over the words speedily, carefully scribed in a curling hand, and each paper he either cast aside to be revised, or signed. His contentment was evident from the fervor with which his quill scrawled across the parchment, and Faramir noted this with a satisfied half-smile. After discarding one of the documents, Aragorn reached up to receive the next from the steward, and caught the fading remnants of the smirk on his face.
"What humors you so?" he asked, jovially querying.
"Oh, it is merely a welcome sight to see you returned to us." Faramir replied openly.
"I have been returned for over a week now." Aragorn returned bemusedly.
"Aye, in body." Faramir asserted, cocking his head slightly. "In heart though, Aragorn, you have been utterly absent. But as I said, it is a welcome sight to see you – "
He was suddenly interrupted by a hasty, persistent knocking on the doors to the hall. Faramir raised his eyebrows and exchanged a clueless shrug with Aragorn, before crossing the chamber quickly as the rapping continued to emanate loudly through the space. Utterly bemused, he swung open the carved wood to reveal one of the Elven healers, his long, dark hair quivering in his eagerness, his clear grey eyes alight.
"My Lord Elessar," he began immediately, ignoring Faramir entirely and taking a lengthy stride towards the king. "Sire, Miluiel bid me find you – she wishes for your presence in the infirmary, immediately."
"Is there need for such urgency?" Aragorn asked, setting down the parchment in his hands and stepping away from the bureau. "I was with her not an hour past, she surely does not have need of me so soon – "
"My lord, he is awakening." the healer cut across excitedly.
Aragorn felt his limbs seize up, his mind freeze. His thoughts were foggy, a tangled mess of denials and impossibilities. All of the hope and anticipation leading up to this moment made it, more so than anything, disorientating; his daze was like the fuzzy delirium when one is caught between a dream and reality.
It cannot be.
Suddenly he felt a vice-like grip on his shoulder, and a voice calling to him, muted as though he were underwater. He felt himself drawn closer and closer to the surface, until at last he reached the fresh air, gasping.
"Aragorn? Aragorn!" Faramir yelled, grasping his arm and shaking him urgently. "Help me, please, I think he is in shock – "
"I am not in shock." Aragorn answered blankly, blinking heavily as he readjusted. More certainly, he added: "Faramir, I must take leave."
"Of course." the steward replied disconcertedly, but he did not catch the words – he was already gone from the hall, taking off at run, leaving both Faramir and the Elven healer in his wake.
He burst into the infirmary like a wave breaking over the rocks, the doors shuddering in protest as he threw them open carelessly. Immediately he crossed to the bedside, passing Miluiel without a word. A moment later she exited the room, leaving him alone with Legolas and in privacy, a fact which he would later be grateful for.
The Elf's head shifted from side to side every few moments, only gently, as though he were trying to shake off a nightmare. His brow was crinkled into a slight, delicate frown, his eyelids flittering, still shut but waveringly so.
"Legolas, mellon nin?"
His fidgety movements stopped, and he let out a quiet moan, as if his lips could not quite be persuaded to talk.
"Legolas." Aragorn repeated, not out of agitation but beckoningly, as gently as one would be if waking a child.
Shakily, and then all at once, his eyes fluttered open, revealing the luminous blue that Aragorn had feared he would never again see.
For a second he stared straight at the ceiling above him, blinking a few times experimentally, the aura of the sunlight blindingly dazzling in comparison to the recent darkness. After a poignant moment his gaze drifted, catching Aragorn's expectant eye.
"You look terrible." he murmured breathily, a light smile playing at his lips; Aragorn let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"It pains me to say it, my friend, but you hardly look your best either." he replied, his words clumsy with emotion, his heart trembling like a bird's.
"Where am I?" Legolas whispered, glancing around dazedly.
"The White Tower." Aragorn answered gently. "You are safe."
"Minas Tirith?" Legolas replied breathily, his forehead crumpling in confusion. "From where?"
"The White Mountains. You were unconscious for the two-day ride."
Legolas' eyes widened in alarm, and he went to sit up, but Aragorn gently pushed him back down onto the bed. He made a small noise of protest and scowled deeply, but Aragorn merely shook his head.
"You have just awoken. I will not allow you to worsen your condition for the sake of impatience." he said flatly.
"Very well." the Elf replied huffily. "I merely meant to inquire the means by which I arrived here."
"What do you recall?" Aragorn returned.
Legolas frowned in concentration, but shook his head.
"I remember falling over the cliff, and being pulled back up. And after that…" he flinched slightly. "After that I remember blood. Not just mine, but the other man's too… Someone attacked him, was punching him on the ground, but I cannot quite… I…"
He trailed off and cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, glancing up at Aragorn with wide, questioning eyes.
"It was you, was it not?"
"Aye." he answered quietly. "But what you must understand is, I thought you dead, I could not – "
"It is not important." Legolas dismissed, though his tone still held the same hint of fear and disgust that it had on the mountainside. Aragorn remembered with unparalleled clarity the way that he had shrunk away from his touch, afraid not of his captor, but of him.
"What else do you remember?" Aragorn prompted, keen to move the conversation away from that for a moment.
"You were there, beside me, and you told me not to close my eyes. But the pain…" his voice trembled slightly. "And then it all went dark."
He took a gathering breath, before adding pertly, "That is all I recall. I suppose that is when the rest of your party came, to assist you with, well, me."
"My party?" Aragorn repeated, clueless.
"Yes, your party." Legolas said impatiently. "You can be thick – I assure you, I know that better than most - but not even you are as reckless as to traverse the countryside on a hopeless recovery mission, alone."
He tried to mask his face, but the look of guilt had already crept onto his features enough for the Elf to detect it.
"You came alone?" he asked, his voice forced, straining at its present ability.
The man gave a single, short nod. Before he could stop him the Elf had sat up sharply, ignoring the shot of pain it caused him to do so, and exploded angrily.
"You reckless, irresponsible, thoughtless fool! Why would you not wait, gather a party, give the matter the time it required? Rushing into enemy ground outnumbered one hundred to one is worse than idiocy – it is suicide!"
"Would you rather I left you to rot in the dark, tormented by a madman?" Aragorn returned hotly.
"Without a moment's thought, yes." he answered earnestly, and Aragorn groaned heavily.
"You may make as many objections as you wish, but I will not change my standing." Legolas stated firmly. "If you had been killed on my account, what would have happened? Gondor would have become kingless; Arwen would have been left as a widow; your child left to grow up without a father! It would be far better that I die – my life is inconsequential."
"I would beat you myself, were the job not already done." Aragorn growled angrily. "I will not have it. Do not look me in the eye and say that your life is worthless."
Legolas stared at him with a look of piercing, unwavering firmness.
"I would die a thousand deaths, if it would save yours but once."
"Do not dare." Aragorn hissed. "Do you not understand the implications of your own death, on me, if no one else?"
"Do you not understand, Aragorn, that the fate of which you speak is inevitable for me?" Legolas snapped. "I am punished with immortality, and there is no uncertainty in my mind as to what that entails. I will be forced to watch every single mortal friend of mine fade away – Éomer, Gimli, the Hobbits, you! And I will be left behind."
His voice cracked, and he paused before adding.
"Do you not see, Aragorn? No matter what I do, no matter how hard I fight, I will be left alone in so short a time as strikes fear into my heart. I would rather die in service to one that I love, and save myself the pain of watching you all fall. At least that way I will be of use."
"You are without question the worst, most self-sacrificing fool I have ever come across," Aragorn began. "But I cannot believe – I will not believe – that you wish yourself dead."
Legolas heaved a deep breath, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. While he was asleep, someone had dressed him a tunic of deep red, and he shrank away from the color. He had seen red aplenty ever since the days of his service in the Guard of Mirkwood, and found that it suited him and his comrades ill. The only time he ever wore it was if given no choice, and usually by his father – he had vivid memories of being forced into crimson robes for various ceremonies, in such instances a mere glance at the shade recalling the rusty, salted scent of blood, and the piercing clash of sword on sword.
The Elf shivered imperceptibly, reluctantly drawing himself back to the conversation at hand. "You are right. I no longer wish that."
"No longer?" Aragorn repeated sharply.
The Elf raised his fine brows in surprise, realizing what he had said.
"When I was in the caves, there was a moment… It was dark, and I could feel the cold creeping in on me, and the pain was just too much to bear. I thought… I thought that I was going to die there, Aragorn." he whispered.
"There is no shame in that -" Aragorn began, but was cut off.
"No, you misunderstand my meaning. I did not think that I would die – I wished it were so." he amended, disgust gnawing at him from the inside out, swelling like an ocean. "After everything we have been through, after all that we have fought for and against, after every battle and bloodshed and Eru knows what else… I have stood unfaltering for hundreds of years, Aragorn, yet all it took to make me tremble was a single madman and a few words. I am a disgrace to my kin."
He trembled very slightly, blinking back a rush of tears. Aragorn rushed forwards and pulled him into his embrace, the Elf's frail body quivering against his as he struggled to regain composure.
"I have seen disgrace." Aragorn stated shortly. "I have seen creatures that are pathetic and shameful and cowardly and weak, and for that reason, I can tell you with complete openness that you are none of those things."
He released the Elf from his hold and stared at him for a long moment.
"You have brought nothing but honor to your people, and to me."
"What would my father think of me?" Legolas spat, ignoring Aragorn completely. "He would be – "
"Proud, as ever I have been since the day you were born."
Legolas' eyes widened to an alarming size and he turned towards the doorway with all the speed of an arrow in flight, catching the face of a Thranduil who, for the first time in Aragorn's memory of him, was smiling.