Warning: Someone is going to die... *hides*
️ ️
In the hazy light of dawn, the search parties gathered before the gate of Emyn Arnen's Castle, the air thick with anticipation and unspoken worry. The cool morning air was alive with the quiet rustling of cloaks, the soft snorts of horses, and the creak of leather as hands tightened around the hilts of swords. After much deliberation, a plan was set in motion.
Aragorn, Faramir, and five of the Dúnedain Rangers, including Beldir, would set out for Pelargir, following a hunch that the kidnapper might take Legolas there, using the river route to escape. Meanwhile, three separate parties were assigned to scour the forest where Legolas was last seen, each group moving with a precise plan, clear purpose, and a shared determination to bring Legolas back safely. Glorfindel led the first group. Elrohir, Mallorn, Gwîneth, and the five remaining Dúnedain Rangers stood beside him, their expressions a mix of resolve and concern. Glorfindel exchanged a brief, meaningful glance with Gwîneth, the unspoken bond between them adding a layer of personal determination to the mission. The second party consisted of Imrahil, Sam, Frodo, and Gimli, each resolute in their determination to find their friend. Ten Ithilien Rangers accompanied them, their expertise in the terrain invaluable to the search effort. The third and last party was led by Éomer, with Éowyn at his side. Their presence exuded a quiet strength, reinforced by the presence of Pippin and Merry, who were both small in stature but mighty in spirit. Supported by ten Ithilien Rangers, they moved with the same urgency and resolve that gripped the entire company.
The groups exchanged solemn nods and brief words of encouragement, the gravity of their mission hanging heavy in the air. The sun began to rise, casting long shadows across the land as they set off in different directions. Each party had a clear mission, united by the same goal—to find Legolas and bring him home safely.
Since Lothíriel had to stay with her nephew, it was decided that she would be the means of communication between the groups. If anyone found Legolas or needed help, they would send her a message, and she would inform the rest of the groups. With a final glance at one another, the parties rode out, disappearing into the misty expanse of the waking world.
️ ️
In the Minas Tirith, the White Castle was in an uproar after the King's sudden departure and orders to place three Councillors under house arrest. Whispers of conspiracy and betrayal echoed through the marble halls, fueling an atmosphere of unease and suspicion. The ordinarily serene corridors were filled with anxious court members, their faces etched with concern as they speculated on the reasons behind Aragorn's abrupt departure.
Lord Herumacil, left to oversee the city's affairs in the King and Faramir's absence, found himself under constant pressure from the remaining Council members. They demanded answers, their questions relentless. The Council, a body usually composed and orderly, had turned into a cauldron of conflicting interests and fears.
"My Lord Herumacil," one of the more influential members of the Council, pressed during a heated meeting, "it is unheard of to place such esteemed Lords under arrest without a formal charge. The King's actions are raising alarm throughout the Court. We must have an explanation."
Herumacil, though young, held his ground with the composure Aragorn had always admired in him.
"The King acted on information that cannot be disclosed at this time," he replied, his tone firm. "The safety of the White Castle and Minas Tirith are of utmost importance, and we must trust in the King's judgment."
"But what if this leads to unrest?" another Council member interjected. "The rumours already unsettle the Court. We cannot allow doubt to fester."
Herumacil's mind raced as he weighed his options. He knew that the Council's loyalty was essential, but so was maintaining the secrecy of the King's mission.
"I understand your concerns," he said carefully, "but the King has left explicit instructions. We must trust that he will return soon with answers."
Fortunately, the members whom the King confided in stood firm in front of the rest of the other Councilors. With his calm and steady presence, Elrond worked quietly behind the scenes, offering counsel to Herumacil and maintaining contact with Celeborn and Galadriel, who stayed in Minas Tirith to lend their wisdom and foresight. Despite the support, Herumacil felt the weight of his responsibilities growing heavier with each passing hour. The normally confident young Lord now found himself constantly assessing the shifting loyalties within the Council, aware that even a momentary lapse in control could have dire consequences. Since the King's departure, the Captains of the Guard, Army, and Rangers have been on full alert, spreading their subordinates all over the Castle and City to keep them safe. The increased military presence did little to quell the Court's fears, but it reassured Herumacil that at least the physical security of Minas Tirith was under control.
However, Herumacil knew maintaining control of the Castle went beyond military might. The whispers of dissent among the nobles, the nervous energy in the halls, and the ever-present pressure from the Council threatened to undermine the King's authority in his absence. Herumacil remained vigilant, aware that he was walking a delicate line between upholding Aragorn's orders and managing the brewing unrest. Each day seemed longer than the last, and Herumacil couldn't help but wonder how long he could maintain this tenuous balance. He could only hope that Aragorn's mission would be swift and successful, bringing the answers that would restore peace to the White Castle and reassuring the Lords that their King had everything under control.
️ ️
The first sensation Legolas registered as he regained consciousness was the rhythmic sound of water mingled with the gentle rustling of the wind and the subtle rocking beneath him. Momentarily disoriented, he blinked against the bright sunlight that filtered through his eyelashes. When he attempted to move, he quickly discovered his hands were bound behind his back, and a dull ache radiated from his right shoulder.
"Are you awake, my Prince?"
The familiar voice sent a jolt of recognition through Legolas, and his eyes snapped open. Standing at the stern of a small boat was Orophin, Haldir's middle brother. Legolas blinked, studying the Elf before him carefully, noting that something about Orophin's appearance seemed unsettling. The once-vibrant Elven Light that should have shone from his skin was gone, leaving behind a ghastly darkness of the Elf's skin.
"Orophin," Legolas began slowly, still trying to clear the haze from his mind. The drug Orophin had used on him lingered, dulling his senses.
"I'm glad you recognized me this time," Orophin sneered, steering the boat with an ease that belied the tension in his posture. "The last time you saw me, you mistook me for Haldir."
Legolas's eyes widened in realization. It hadn't been some phantom haunting him in Gondor—it had been Orophin all along. His heart pounded as he tried to make sense of this twisted revelation.
"It was you," Legolas breathed, the truth settling over him like a cold shroud. "It was you who haunted me in Gondor."
"How perceptive of you," Orophin said as the corner of his mouth twisted into a mocking smile as he looked down at the bound Prince. "You couldn't even tell the difference between me and the Elf you claimed to love. Guilty conscience, perhaps?"
Legolas stared at Orophin, noticing the unnatural dimness of his skin and the seeming loss of the Elven light that once marked him as one of the Firstborn. This was no longer the Orophin he remembered; this was someone consumed by bitterness and darkness.
"What do you want, Orophin?" Legolas asked, his voice steady despite his turmoil.
Orophin's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he spoke.
"What I want," he began, his voice dripping with venom, "is you. You were meant to be with one of us—with Haldir, or after his death, with me or Rúmil. But instead, you chose a mortal King, sullying yourself with human blood."
Legolas's heart twisted with guilt and sorrow as he listened to Orophin's words. He had grieved for Haldir, but to hear the hatred in Orophin's voice was something he had not anticipated.
"I'm not something you would inherit," he said sharply. "I loved Haldir with all my heart. But he is gone. My marriage to Aragorn—"
"Do not speak his name!" Orophin snapped, his eyes blazing with fury. "You think you can just move on, forget us, and live as though nothing has happened while you cause us nothing but pain! Rúmil died because of you!"
Legolas felt a wave of nausea at Orophin's words. He hadn't known about Rúmil's death, and the revelation struck him like a physical blow.
"Rúmil is dead?" he whispered, the words catching in his throat.
"Yes," Orophin hissed, his voice thick with accusation. "He died because of you. He was killed during an orc attack on our way to Gondor. He was obsessed with getting you, so he insisted on going. I followed him because I didn't want to lose another brother, but when he died, I decided to complete what he had intended to do. You will atone, Legolas, by being with me."
Legolas's blood ran cold as he grasped the full extent of Orophin's madness. This was not about love or grief—it was about possession, about claiming what Orophin believed was rightfully his.
"You're wrong, Orophin," Legolas said, his voice firm despite the fear clawing at his heart. "This is not atonement. This is madness."
Orophin's eyes darkened, and he moved closer, the boat swaying slightly under his weight.
"You will see it my way, Legolas," he murmured, a twisted smile playing on his lips. He knelt before Legolas, taking hold of his chin. "Haldir wanted to marry you, make you his…He was ready to leave Lothlórien and live permanently with you in Mirkwood." Legolas's eyes widened as he listened to Orophin. "You, on the other hand, moved on to another lover without a second thought as soon as possible."
"I was forced to," Legolas cried, tears flooding his eyes as his heart bled, hearing about Haldir's intentions to live in Mirkwood for his sake. "I was forced to marry Aragorn. It was never about abandoning Haldir's memory, but—"
"Enough!" Orophin shouted, cutting him off. His grip tightened painfully on Legolas's chin. "You are mine, Legolas. I will make you atone for your betrayal by becoming mine!"
Legolas closed his eyes briefly, a deep sorrow settling over him. He understood now that reasoning with Orophin was impossible; the Elf before him was lost to darkness and bitterness, consumed by a twisted sense of entitlement and vengeance.
"I will not be yours, Orophin," he said with resolve. "I belong to no one but myself, and I will not be a pawn in your twisted game."
Orophin's expression twisted with rage, but Legolas met his gaze with unwavering defiance, refusing to show the other Elf any weakness or fear. At that moment, despite his bindings and the danger he faced, he felt a surge of strength. He had to stand up for and protect the love he felt for Haldir and Aragorn as well.
The slap came suddenly, Orophin's hand striking Legolas with a force that sent his head colliding with the side of the boat. Pain exploded in Legolas's skull, and he let out a gasp as the world blurred and darkened. The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was the faint rustle of leaves and the haunting echo of Orophin's twisted words.
️ ️
Glorfindel led his group, his eyes scanning the dense forest for any sign of disturbance. Mallorn, Elrohir, Gwîneth, and the five Dúnedain Rangers followed closely, their movements cautious yet deliberate. The trees loomed tall and ancient around them, their thick canopy filtering the early morning light into a dim, greenish hue. The forest was still, almost unnaturally so, as if it held its breath in anticipation of what would come.
Mallorn was on edge, his senses heightened with worry for Legolas. The guilt of his cold treatment of Legolas because of his inability to deal with his unresolved feelings for the past two days weighed heavily on his heart. He regretted every crude response, every moment of distance he had imposed between them, and now, with Legolas missing, that guilt threatened to overwhelm him like a relentless tide. His eyes flicked to Gwîneth occasionally, noting the determined set of her jaw. She had insisted on coming, her resolve unshakeable, and though he admired her courage, he couldn't shake his pressing fear that something might go wrong.
As they moved deeper into the forest, the silence became almost oppressive. The only sounds were the soft crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle of a branch. Glorfindel signalled for the group to stop, his hand raised in a silent command. They halted, each member instinctively placing a hand on their weapons, ready for any sign of danger. The stillness around them felt unnatural, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Then Mallorn's ears picked up the subtle noise that the wind carried, and his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
"Something's out there," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Glorfindel nodded, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the surroundings.
"I can hear them, too. Stay alert," he murmured.
They moved forward cautiously, their senses tuned to the slightest sound. It wasn't long before they came upon a small clearing, and Glorfindel's sharp eyes caught movement at the far edge. He raised his hand again, motioning for the group to follow him as he led them forward, their steps light and silent. As they neared the clearing, the figures became clearer—Orcs, a small group, perhaps unaware of the approaching Elves and Rangers. Glorfindel's eyes narrowed. These didn't seem to be the leading force, but scouts or a rear guard left behind to ensure their tracks were not followed. Glorfindel drew his sword without a word and dismounted, and the others followed suit, the faint ring of steel barely audible. The plan was simple and familiar: strike swiftly and without mercy.
Glorfindel moved first, a blur of golden hair and lethal grace as he descended upon the Orcs. The Dúnedain Rangers fanned out, their bows drawn, arrows silently loosed to find their targets with deadly accuracy. Mallorn and Elrohir moved in tandem, their blades flashing as they cut through the enemy ranks with precise, fluid movements. Gwîneth, her sword in hand, was not far behind. She fought with the ferocity of someone protecting what they held dear, her strikes clean and decisive. But as the battle raged, a sudden movement from her peripheral vision caught her off guard—a hidden Orc lunging from behind a tree, its arrow aimed at her exposed side. She turned to deflect the blow, but the arrow hit her left arm, throwing her off balance. The Orc snarled, marching at her. And though she quickly stood up and tried valiantly to block his attack, she felt the sharp pain as the Orc's blade found its mark, stabbing her abdomen.
Mallorn, fighting just a few paces away, heard her sharp, pained cry and turned; his heart dropped as he saw Gwîneth stagger. With a furious cry, he dispatched the Orc he was fighting and rushed to her side, his blade cutting down the one who had wounded her.
'Gwîneth!' he shouted, catching her as she began to fall.
Seeing the danger surrounding the two, Elrohir quickly moved to cover them, his bow drawn and arrows flying with deadly precision.
Gwîneth's breathing was laboured, her hand pressed against the wound as blood seeped through her fingers. Mallorn, his face a mask of anguish, lowered her gently to the ground, his hands trembling as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from her wound.
'Stay with me, Gwîneth,' he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. 'Hold on.'
Glorfindel, noticing the Elleth on the ground surrounded by Elrohir and Mallorn, fought his way back to them. His heart constricted at the sight of Gwîneth on the ground, pale and bleeding. He knelt beside her, his hands steady but his eyes betraying the turmoil within.
'Gwîneth,' he said softly, his voice breaking. 'You'll be alright. We'll get you back to Emyn Arnen.'
Gwîneth's eyes fluttered open, her gaze finding Glorfindel's. She managed a faint smile, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.
'I'm sorry,' she whispered, her voice weak but filled with affection. 'I wanted to help.'
'You did,' Glorfindel replied, his voice thick with grief. 'You did more than enough. Just stay with me.'
Mallorn, his face streaked with tears, held her, his heart breaking at the sight of his beloved sister slipping away.
'We need to get her out of here,' he said urgently, his voice cracking.
But as Glorfindel looked at the wound, he knew the truth. There was no saving her. The wound was too deep, and her bleeding was too severe. His heart ached with the weight of it, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words.
Gwîneth's breathing grew shallower, and her grip on their hands weakened. She smiled at Glorfindel knowingly, feeling what he knew, before she looked at Mallorn, her eyes filled with love and sorrow.
'Mallorn, take care of Legolas. I wish you both all the happiness the Valar could give you.' she whispered, her voice barely audible before she looked at Elrohir. 'Love Mallorn with all your heart, my Lord,' she said, and Elrohir nodded. She looked at Glorfindel with sad eyes. 'I love you,' she whispered, and then, with a final, shuddering breath, she was gone.
Mallorn let out a choked sob, feeling Elrohir's arms surrounding him as he wept. Glorfindel pulled Gwîneth's lifeless body into his arms, his own grief an intense weight in his chest, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead with a tenderness that belied the storm of emotions within him.
The forest, once filled with the sounds of battle, was now eerily silent. Having dispatched the last of the Orcs, the Rangers stood at a respectful distance, heads bowed, giving the elves a space to mourn their fallen comrade.
Glorfindel, his face a mask of sorrow, rose to his feet, his gaze distant as he struggled to quell the fire blazing within him.
"We must move her," he said quietly, his voice hollow as he gently lifted Gwîneth's body. "We cannot leave her here."
Mallorn, his heart shattered, and he nodded, his tears still falling.
The group moved slowly, their hearts heavy with the weight of their loss. As they returned through the forest, the sun broke through the trees, casting long, mournful shadows across their path. The light was cold and distant, as if even the world itself mourned the loss of one so brave and kind. And in the hearts of those who knew her, a vow was silently made—to find Legolas and bring him home, not just for his sake, but for Gwîneth, who had given everything to help them in their quest.
️ ️
Aragorn and his company pressed their horses along the Anduin, heading toward Pelargir. The urgency in Aragorn's heart drove him forward, the thought of his missing husband pushing him to cover as much ground as possible. Orophin already had a two-day lead, and every moment felt like a race against time. They kept close to the riverbank, eyes scanning for any sign of Orophin's boat, though Aragorn knew there was a chance the Elf had taken a different route. Still, this was their best lead. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the uneven terrain. The once smooth and easy-to-navigate riverbank became increasingly rough, with dense underbrush and jagged rocks making it difficult for the horses to maintain their pace. The air grew cooler, and the rustling of leaves in the gathering dusk added to the tension. Yet, Aragorn pushed on, unwilling to slow their progress, his mind filled with images of Legolas alone and in danger.
"Your Majesty," Faramir called, riding up beside him, his voice steady but carrying an edge of concern. "We should stop."
Aragorn hesitated, the thought of stopping grating against his need to keep moving. He could feel the weight of every passing moment, the distance between him and Legolas widening with each second lost.
"But—"
"It's getting dark, my Lord," Faramir reasoned gently but firmly, his gaze meeting Aragorn's with understanding. "I know you're worried, but we can't make any progress in this darkness. The terrain is becoming too treacherous. We need to rest. We'll be no good to Legolas if we're tired, injured or lost."
Despite his reluctance, Aragorn pulled his horse to a halt, recognizing the wisdom in Faramir's words. His heart ached with the thought of pausing when Legolas could be in danger, but he knew they had to be practical. The day had seen them cover a reasonable distance, but the night would only slow them down further. Besides, the men and horses needed to rest; they couldn't afford to be worn out when they were most needed. He glanced around at the men, their faces weary yet resolute. They had followed him without question, and he couldn't lead them into unnecessary danger. With a heavy heart, he gave the order.
"Prepare the camp!" he commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a king, though the weight of his worry was evident.
As the men set about making camp, Aragorn dismounted and walked to the river's edge, staring into the darkening water. The gentle flow seemed to mock his urgency. He closed his eyes briefly, sending a silent plea to the Valar to keep Legolas safe until he could reach him.
️ ️
Sitting around the campfire after dinner, Aragorn's mind wandered to his missing husband. The warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill that had settled deep in his bones, a coldness born of fear and uncertainty. The flickering flames cast shadows on the faces of the men around him, but Aragorn's gaze was distant, fixed on the darkened horizon. The Rangers' camaraderie, quiet conversations, and shared laughter felt like distant echoes, barely reaching his ears. His thoughts were consumed by the image of Legolas—where he might be, what he might be enduring, and the overwhelming need to find him. Earlier, through their bond, Aragorn had felt a fleeting connection with Legolas—a moment of pain, hurt, sadness, and anger that had cut through him like a knife. The intensity of those emotions lingered, amplifying his anxiety and filling his heart with dread. He longed to reach out, to offer comfort, but the distance between them was a barrier he couldn't break through. Aragorn clenched his fists, frustration mingling with the fear that gnawed at him. He had faced countless dangers, but nothing compared to the terror of not knowing whether Legolas was safe. The uncertainty weighed heavily on him, turning every moment of waiting into an agonizing eternity. His thoughts drifted to the last time he had seen Legolas and their final conversation. He had truly meant it when he told Legolas that he and the Kingdom would be awaiting his return. However, Legolas' doubts about their relationship weighed heavily on his heart.
FLASHBACK
"How was the meeting with the Lords of your Council?" Elrond asked as he entered Aragorn's office.
Aragorn, who had been sitting quietly, collecting his thoughts, looked up at his foster father.
"It went well, I suppose," he replied, though his tone carried a hint of uncertainty.
Elrond, ever perceptive, noticed the tension in his son's demeanour.
"It is good to hear," he said, sitting beside Aragorn. "Yet I perceive something else weighing upon your heart, my son."
Surprised by Elrond's insight, Aragorn looked up, though he knew better than to think he could hide anything from the Elven Lord. After a moment's hesitation, he sighed in resignation. He began to share the thoughts troubling him—the doubts and concerns between him and Legolas regarding their marriage.
Elrond listened attentively, his face calm and understanding as Aragorn spoke of the growing distance and the turbulence that had entered their relationship.
"I do not wish Legolas to leave me," Aragorn admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. "But at the same time, I cannot condemn him to a life of sorrow by my side if it is against his will." He looked at Elrond with sorrow in his eyes. "I am torn, Adar, between my desire to keep Legolas with me and my wish for his happiness."
"Perhaps the two are not opposed to one another," Elrond suggested gently.
Aragorn shook his head, stood up, and walked to the small window, gazing out at the city beyond.
"I do not think so," he said softly. "Since our marriage, our relationship has been fraught with challenges. We have faced many trials before, but never have we been so at odds with each other during our long friendship."
Elrond chuckled softly, his amusement lightening the sombre mood. Somehow, it was heartening to see that even with all their years and experiences, Aragorn and Legolas still grappled with the ordinary challenges of life—ones not tied to traitors, Dark Lords, or the perils of the world. He smiled at his son, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Son, you cannot compare the trials of friendship to those of marriage. They are not the same," he said. "The respect and consideration that a good friendship demands differ from those required between spouses. Marriage is a deeper, more intricate bond, requiring constant nurturing and understanding. Challenges are inevitable but can strengthen your bond if you face them together." Aragorn looked at his father, puzzled. "Even if he spoke of it, I doubt Legolas truly wishes to part ways with you."
"He said that he had thought it through."
"Perhaps he did, but that does not mean his judgment was not clouded by his pain, which is still fresh. I assure you that he will begin to question his decision sooner or later and have second thoughts about leaving you."
"I hate for our friendship to suffer like this," Aragorn lamented. "I feel I have lost Legolas not only as a lover but also as a friend."
"Estel, you and Legolas share a wonderful friendship that has endured through the darkest times."
"And now he can scarcely bear my presence," Aragorn added bitterly.
"Nonsense," Elrond said, shaking his head. "Legolas still respects and cherishes you as he did all those years. It is simply that the two of you must come to terms with what you mean to each other now."
"What do we mean to each other now?" Aragorn repeated. " What do you mean, Adar?" he asked, looking at his father with confusion.
"Aragorn, marriage is entirely different from friendship," Elrond said, placing a comforting hand on his son's arm. "And although you two have been married for eight months, you still cannot distinguish between your roles as friends and spouses."
"Do you mean that our friendship has caused us to fail as a married couple?"
"No," Elrond replied. "Your friendship should strengthen the bond you two share now if the two of you learn how to use it to your advantage."
"How so?"
The Elf Lord sighed deeply.
"Listen, Estel, the problem is you and Legolas do not know when you should be friends with each other and when you should be spouses. Also, you must learn to accept the other in each role. You have accepted Legolas as a friend, but have you accepted him as a spouse and a partner in ruling your Kingdom?"
"Of course, I have. I even gave him the same privileges as mine!"
"And yet, you have confined him to the castle against his will without giving him a proper explanation."
"I was trying to protect him!" Aragorn protested.
"My son, you were trying to shield him from harm and heartache as a friend and a leader, but you forget that as one who is your life partner, he should share in your pain, doubts, fears, and joy."
"But…" Aragorn trailed off, uncertain of how to respond.
"Estel, I do not say what you did was wrong," Elrond said. "There are times when the head of the household must make firm decisions when facing life-altering threats within the marriage. But that should come after all other means of persuasion and compromise have been exhausted. You treated Legolas as you have treated him during your battles and expeditions…giving him orders and expecting him to follow your lead without question. If you want Legolas to feel that he is your spouse, you should begin to treat him as such."
With that, the Elven Lord stood and walked to the door.
"Estel," he said as he turned to face his son. "Do not be hasty in releasing Legolas from your marriage. Wait until this matter is fully resolved, and then discuss it calmly and thoroughly with Legolas before doing anything you may regret later."
With that, the Elven Lord was gone.
END OF FLASHBACK
/Yes/ Aragorn thought.
He would not give up on his happiness with Legolas so easily, not without a fight. He would find a way to navigate through these new challenges, and like any other obstacle he had faced in his life, he would prevail. He would find happiness with the person he loved at his side. He had to try harder, that's all.
"Your Majesty," Faramir's soft voice pulled Aragorn from his thoughts as the man sat beside him. "You should rest. We have a long journey ahead."
Aragorn nodded, though the idea of rest seemed almost impossible. His mind was a storm of worry and helplessness, his bond with Legolas a fragile thread he clung to desperately.
"I can't stop thinking about him, Faramir," Aragorn admitted quietly, his voice tinged with the weariness of a heart stretched thin. "Every moment we delay feels like a moment lost."
Faramir placed a reassuring hand on Aragorn's shoulder.
"We will find him, Aragorn. You're not alone in this."
Aragorn offered a small, grateful smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. The weight of leadership and the burden of love pressed heavily on him. But he knew Faramir was right. He wasn't alone. The men around him, the friends who had stood by him through countless battles, were here now, ready to follow him into whatever dangers lay ahead. Aragorn forced himself to lie down as the night deepened, though sleep eluded him. His thoughts remained with Legolas, and as he stared at the stars, he silently willed his husband to hold on and be strong. They would find each other again—he had to believe that. He had to hold on to the hope that they would be reunited, that this nightmare would end. The dawn would bring them closer to the end of this harrowing journey, but for now, all he could do was hope and pray that their paths would cross again soon.
️ ️
Legolas drifted between consciousness and unconsciousness, the world around him a blur of motion and muffled sounds. He felt the boat's gentle rocking beneath him, the cold spray of river water against his skin, and the relentless pull of exhaustion dragging him under. The dawn's pale light barely penetrated the heavy mist that clung to the river, shrouding the boat and its occupants in an eerie silence.
Orophin sat at the stern, his hands steady on the oars as he guided the boat along the river's winding path. His eyes were fixed on the distant shoreline, searching for a place to land, a temporary refuge where he could regroup and decide his next move. He glanced down at Legolas, slumped and barely conscious at the bottom of the boat, his hands bound and body weakened by the powerful drug.
Orophin cursed under his breath, frustration mingling with a gnawing regret. He had underestimated the drug's effect on Legolas, not accounting for the Elf's already compromised state. Now, Legolas seemed to be fading fast, and Orophin knew he had to act quickly to keep him alive—but not alert enough to resist. The Elven Prince needed rest, food and water.
'Stay with me, Legolas,' Orophin muttered, his voice low and urgent. He didn't know if Legolas could hear him, but he couldn't afford to lose the Elf—not now, not when he was so close.
As the boat rounded a bend in the river, Orophin spotted a small, concealed cove nestled along the bank, partially hidden by overhanging trees and dense underbrush. It was the perfect place to take refuge, at least briefly. He manoeuvred the boat towards the shore, the hull scraping against the pebbles as they reached the shallows. With a quick, practiced motion, Orophin jumped out of the boat, the cold water splashing around his boots. He pulled the boat further onto the shore before focusing on Legolas. The Elf's breathing was shallow, his skin pale and clammy, a stark contrast to the vibrant Elf Orophin once knew.
'Come on,' Orophin muttered, more to himself than to Legolas, as he hauled the Elf out of the boat and onto the bank. Legolas' body was limp, offering little resistance as Orophin carried him toward the shelter of the cove.
The cove was small but offered protection from the elements, its entrance narrow and easily defensible. Orophin laid Legolas down on the cold, damp ground, quickly securing him to a large rock with a length of rope. He tied the knots tight, ensuring Legolas couldn't escape in an awakened state. He wasn't taking any chances now that he had the Prince in his clutches.
Legolas stirred, his eyelids fluttering as he fought to stay conscious. Orophin's earlier smack and the drug still coursing through his veins kept him disoriented and weak. He felt the ropes digging into his wrists, the rough stone pressing against his back, and the faint smell of smoke from the fire Orophin had built.
"Aragorn…" Legolas whispered, his voice a faint, broken sound, more a plea than a call. He could sense his bond with Aragorn, a distant connection that flickered like a dying ember, giving him just enough hope to stay conscious long enough for his husband to find him.
Orophin glanced over at Legolas, his expression unreadable. He reached into his pack and pulled out another vial of the drug. He approached Legolas and uncorked the vial, carefully measuring the dose.
'I can't have you causing trouble,' Orophin muttered, more to himself than to Legolas, as he forced the liquid into Legolas' mouth, holding his jaw to make him swallow.
Legolas resisted weakly, but he was too exhausted to fight. The bitter liquid burned as it went down, and within moments, the fog in his mind deepened, pulling him further away from consciousness.
'Why?' he managed to ask, his voice rough and strained, filled with confusion and pain.
'Because I need you alive but silent,' Orophin replied curtly, his jaw tightened as he turned away to stoke the fire. 'Rest while I find something for you to eat.'
As the dawn's light grew stronger, Orophin felt a growing unease, a sense that time was slipping away. He didn't know that Aragorn and the Rangers were already on their trail, guided by the faint bond that linked Aragorn to Legolas, pulling them closer with each passing hour. Still, he anticipated that some scouts must have been sent to rescue Legolas.
Though bound and drugged, Legolas clung to the hope that Aragorn was near. He could feel it, a distant presence that gave him the strength to hold on, even as the cold and exhaustion threatened to drag him under once more. He tried to fight the effects of the drug, hoping that Aragorn would find him. The forest outside the cove stirred with life as the new day began, but inside, the air was thick with tension and uncertainty. Orophin paced restlessly, his mind racing about what to do next, unaware that the rescue he feared—and Legolas hoped for—was drawing closer.
️ ️
It was near sunset when Aragorn suddenly halted his horse, bringing the soldiers behind him to an abrupt stop.
The Anduin River flowed through the landscape, its banks lined with a dense, ancient forest. The trees formed a near-impenetrable canopy, casting long shadows on the forest floor below. The riverbank was a labyrinthine stretch of natural obstacles and hidden enclaves. To the north, the bank widened into a grassy clearing dotted with wildflowers. Beyond this, a thick grove of willow and alder trees created a curtain of greenery, concealing narrow, winding passages. These passages twisted unpredictably—some leading to dead ends, while others opened into hidden clearings or dense thickets. One particularly narrow passage led to a secluded grove surrounded by high, moss-covered rocks. This natural fortress was almost invisible from the outside unless one knew where to look. Further south, the bank turned rocky, jutting out over the river. The swift current and churning water around large boulders created small rapids, making navigation treacherous.
"My Lord?" Faramir asked as they stood there in silence for a few moments.
Aragorn stood like a statue, eyes closed, concentrating on the surroundings, seemingly listening to something. He then opened his eyes and looked down the grove, studying the terrain before turning to Beldir.
"Beldir, I want you to take a Ranger and follow the river until you either reach Pelargir or find a boat with two Elves. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my Lord," Beldir replied, then selecting a Ranger and riding off along the river.
"Faramir," Aragorn said, "I think I've found Legolas."
"What? Really? Where?" the Steward asked, a mixture of hope and surprise in his voice.
"Somewhere down there," Aragorn replied, pointing towards the grove. "We need to go down and check."
Faramir stared at the terrain, assessing the difficult landscape, before looking back at Aragorn.
"Alright," he said, his tone determined.
"Take the men and go down the wide path," Aragorn instructed. "I'll take the steep path."
Faramir's eyes widened in concern.
"The steep path looks treacherous. Are you sure about this?"
Aragorn met Faramir's gaze, his resolve clear.
"I'll be fine, Faramir. Legolas needs us, and we can't afford to waste time. Go with the men, and I'll meet you at the bottom."
Reluctantly, Faramir nodded, knowing that arguing would be futile.
"Be careful, Aragorn."
Aragorn gave a brief, reassuring smile before dismounting and heading toward the steep, challenging path, leaving Faramir to lead the soldiers down the safer, wider route.
️ ️
Aragorn moved swiftly down the narrow path, the jagged cliffs rising steeply on either side. The path was treacherous, littered with loose rocks and roots that threatened to trip him at every step. His only guide was the faint connection to his missing husband, which, fortunately, was getting stronger. He immediately spotted the cove—a dark, hidden recess tucked into the landscape, its entrance nearly obscured by overhanging branches and creeping vines. The sight of it sent a surge of urgency through him, quickening his pace despite the danger of the path.
Aragorn could feel Legolas' presence, faint but unmistakable, and it spurred him on. His heart pounded with a mix of fear and hope as he carefully descended toward the cove, each step measured, his senses heightened to the slightest sound or movement around him. As he neared the entrance, he slowed, drawing his sword quietly. The air was thick with tension, and he could hear the faintest sound of water lapping against rocks, mingled with the distant murmur of nature. Aragorn pressed himself against the rocky wall, inching closer to the entrance, his eyes scanning the dim interior of the cove. There, in the shadows, he saw them—Legolas, bound and slumped against a large rock, and Orophin, pacing nearby, his posture tense and alert. The sight of Legolas, weakened and captive, nearly caused Aragorn to charge forward, but he restrained himself, knowing he needed to approach with caution. Aragorn took a deep breath, steadying himself. He had the advantage of surprise, and he intended to use it. Moving with the silent grace of a Ranger, he crept closer, his eyes never leaving Orophin, who seemed unaware of his approach. Just as Aragorn was within striking distance, Orophin paused as if sensing something amiss. But it was too late. Aragorn leapt forward, sword flashing in the dim light as he lunged at Orophin, determined to end the threat and free Legolas from his captor.
Aragorn's sudden attack caught Orophin off guard. The Elf barely had time to react as Aragorn's sword swung toward him, forcing him to leap back to avoid the blow.
The sound of steel meeting steel echoed through the cove as Orophin drew his blade just in time to parry Aragorn's next strike.
Legolas, bound and weakened, forced his eyes open as the clash of swords reverberated through the cove. His heart raced as he watched the battle unfold before him, Aragorn's determination visible in every powerful swing of his blade.
Despite his initial surprise, Orophin quickly regained his composure, meeting Aragorn's strikes with skilled precision. The two circled each other, the confined space of the cove amplifying the tension. Aragorn pressed forward relentlessly, his movements fueled by the urgency to protect Legolas and end the threat Orophin posed. But Orophin was a formidable opponent, and with a swift, calculated move, he managed to slip past Aragorn's defences, delivering a sharp slash to Aragorn's side. Aragorn gasped as pain seared through him, the wound deep but not fatal. He staggered back, clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingers.
"Aragorn!" Legolas cried weakly; his voice strained as he feebly tried to free his bound hands.
The sound of Legolas' voice, filled with fear and desperation, galvanized Aragorn. Ignoring the pain, he gripped his sword tightly and launched himself at Orophin with renewed ferocity. The two locked blades again, but Aragorn was more cautious this time, calculating his movements with precision. In a swift manoeuvre, the man sidestepped Orophin's next strike and struck the Elf's leg with a powerful upward slash.
Orophin cried out in pain as the blade cut deep, forcing him to stumble and fall to one knee. Aragorn didn't waste a moment—he disarmed Orophin with a well-placed kick, sending the Elf's sword clattering to the ground. Orophin, now defenceless and injured, glared up at Aragorn, defiance still burning in his eyes. Aragorn stood over him, breathing heavily, his sword pointed at Orophin's chest.
"Yield," Aragorn commanded, his voice cold and resolute.
Orophin hesitated, pain and fury warring in his expression. But as he looked into Aragorn's determined gaze, he knew he had no choice. He slowly raised his hands in surrender, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Aragorn stepped back, his sword still ready, and quickly tied Orophin's hands with a rope, ensuring he could not attempt another attack. With Orophin neutralized, Aragorn turned immediately to Legolas, his heart aching at seeing his husband's weakened state.
"Legolas," Aragorn whispered, rushing to his side, his hand reaching out to gently touch the Elf's cheek. "I'm here."
"Aragorn… you found me," Legolas managed a faint smile, his eyes shining with relief despite the pain and exhaustion.
"I'll always find you," Aragorn murmured, his voice filled with both relief and worry. His own pain was momentarily forgotten as he began to untie the ropes binding Legolas. He worked quickly, his hands trembling slightly, but he focused solely on freeing his husband, the moment's urgency driving him forward despite the pain in his side.
Legolas collapsed against Aragorn with the ropes loosened, too weak to support himself. Aragorn held him close, his mind racing with the need to get Legolas to safety. But as the adrenaline that had kept him going began to fade, he felt the world around him start to tilt. The pain in his side flared sharply, and his vision blurred.
"Faramir… and the Rangers… they're coming," he said, his voice growing weaker with each word. He tried to steady himself, but his strength was draining away.
Sensing Aragorn's distress, Legolas lifted his head slightly, concern etching his features.
"You're wounded," he said as he pushed himself out of the man's arms.
Aragorn managed a faint smile, his hand brushing against Legolas' cheek.
"It's… just a scratch," he said lightly, but his voice faltered. The darkness at the edges of his vision was closing in, and he knew he couldn't hold on much longer.
As the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the cove, signalling the arrival of Faramir and the Rangers, Aragorn's strength gave out. His grip on Legolas loosened, and he felt himself slipping away, the pain in his side overwhelming.
"Aragorn!" Legolas' voice was filled with panic as he felt Aragorn's body go limp in his arms.
Aragorn's eyes fluttered shut, and the last thing he heard was the desperate call of his name before everything went dark.
️ ️
Faramir rushed into the cove, his eyes widening in alarm as he saw Legolas cradling an unconscious Aragorn. Without hesitation, he called for the Rangers to assist.
"Over here, quickly!" he ordered urgently as he knelt beside Aragorn and Legolas.
The Rangers moved swiftly, one of them carefully lifting Aragorn from Legolas' arms to assess his injuries. Blood had soaked through Aragorn's tunic where his wound was bleeding, but his breathing, though shallow, remained steady.
"His wound is serious, but he's still alive," the Ranger reported, beginning to dress the wound with practiced hands.
Faramir turned his attention to Legolas, who was weak and barely conscious. The Elf swayed slightly, his strength nearly spent.
"We need to get both of you to safety," Faramir said, his tone firm but gentle as he steadied Legolas. "Help is on the way."
Legolas nodded weakly, his eyes never leaving Aragorn's pale face.
"Please, save him."
"We will," Faramir assured him, motioning for another Ranger to assist Legolas. "Both of you will be taken care of."
Legolas finally succumbed to exhaustion, his body slumping as sleep overtook him beside his husband.
With Aragorn and Legolas stabilized as much as possible in the cove, Faramir decided to send for help rather than move them immediately. The terrain was too dangerous to navigate, with an injured Aragorn and a weakened Legolas with only four men. He called one of the Rangers over, speaking in a low, urgent tone.
"Ride to Emyn Arnen as fast as you can. Tell them what's happened and that we need immediate assistance. Bring back healers, more Rangers."
The Ranger nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. He quickly rushed to where they left their horses, mounted his, and rode off without hesitation, the sound of hooves fading into the distance.
Faramir returned to the cove, directing the remaining two Rangers to secure the area. They rekindled the fire, creating warmth and light in the dim, enclosed space. Orophin, bound and guarded, was kept at a safe distance from Aragorn and Legolas but under constant watch. The hours stretched as the group huddled in the cove, waiting for help to arrive. Faramir frequently checked on Aragorn. The sight of his friend and King unconscious and pale weighed heavily on him. Legolas, too, was in a fragile state, his sleep troubled and restless. As night fell, the tension in the cove grew. Every sound outside seemed amplified, every rustle of leaves a potential threat. Faramir and the Rangers remained vigilant, their eyes scanning the shadows beyond the firelight.
️ ️
To Be Continued…
️ ️
*peaks from her hiding place* How was it? I hope there aren't any Gwîneth's fans who want to kill me!