My very special thanks here go to Ruiniel for beta-reading for many years in the earlier stages of the creation of this story and to WindSurfBabe for beta-reading the later chapters until now. I could not do this without you!


This story has grown out of the wish to explore the Southern Lands – Harad – and its people, who often get this touch of evil and darkness. Because I so love Tolkien's universe, I wanted to discover their beauty. I wish to draw some light into the unknown Lands of the South.

I attempted to write an OC who would have somehow an impact without changing nor capturing the free spirit and independence of the elf, or the main course of the original story. It is thought to be filling in between, like events untold. A small tale spanning in between the history of Middle-earth, around and during the time of the quest.


When Aragorn and Legolas speak together alone, or elves speak together, they speak elvish. Even if I write in English, because of everybody's understanding, and because I have very, very poor knowledge of elvish :)


Everything of Tolkien's fantasy world belongs to him and so do his characters. I own nothing apart from the OCs, my interpretation of the Lands of the South and the events I made up with my own mind.


The first chapters 'The Desert' are pre-LotR, and for all who know Cassia & Siobhan's Mellon Chronicles, could be settled some few years after the MC's The Stars Of Harad, which triggered the idea of writing this. Thanks to Sio for answering my Mail and allowing me to mention it. The sexual abuse referred to herein could be what happened in the MC 'Captive of Darkness'. That series was my first access to LotR-fanfiction. For whom does not know the series: It doesn't matter for the story.


I began this story long ago. Over time my writing has developed. I'd love to change many things. Maybe once I'll have completed the story I will find the time to come back and rewrite the earlier chapters for they leave much room for improvement. But for now, I need to keep the story going. I promised I'd complete it and can't afford an even slower update than the one I'm already doing. I hope you can enjoy the earlier part all the same, and it won't prevent you from sticking to the story and seeing how it will develop.


The Desert Storm

For long years Aragorn had not seen the family who so warmly accepted him when he had been captured and sold as a slave in Harad. And so, one day, he felt the urge to visit them. They were now a free people and he needed to see how they fared and if, hopefully, they were safe and keeping their hard won freedom. Legolas had not hesitated to accompany him once more.

It was a joyful reunion.

They spent a wonderful time with the tribe; participating in their everyday life, helping the shepherds on the fields with the mûmakils and spending the evenings in talks and music, with the rhythmical, uplifting songs of those people who had once been slaves.

Life for them had gone on quietly, since the overtaking of control through evil was focused on other regions. Aragorn and Legolas had sent prayers of thanks to the Valar, for keeping their family safe through these times, and a prayer of pleading, that it might stay that way for times to come.

Parting had been difficult and emotional, as it is when one bids farewell to loved ones without knowing when, and if, you would ever see them again.

Soon they were on their way, taking the path of the grasslands through which they had travelled before on horseback. The many signs left behind by recent Orc encampments and a sudden warg attack – that they, fortunately, managed to fight off, but had caused their horses to shy and take flight – made them change their route.

That is how they came to be journeying at the border of the desert on foot. They headed north, towards home, following a dry streambed on its lowest point; a dead, sandy valley...


Legolas sorely missed his home. He did not understand this strange land they were crossing. Only moments past the air had been searing hot and deadly dry. And Anor seemed to burn the naked earth angrily from the sky. Then, that same sky had turned dark as night, and the temperature suddenly dropped.

The wind lashed the sand in billows against anything in its way. It whipped into their faces which they tried to protect with their cloaks. It entered into their noses, their mouths. It pierced through the fabric of their clothes and it felt like thousands of needles pricking his skin.

This place felt unspeakably alien to him; unfriendly, ominous, a mass of extremes. First raindrops fell, not even wetting the sand, but evaporating from its heat. The thick drops increased, soon hitting the ground with small splashes.

The cliffs far behind grew threatening and black against the dark grey sky. Sudden lightning reached down like slashing fires into the earth with deafening explosions, illuminating the fictitious night with dazzling light.

All his senses were screaming at him. Something tremendous was boiling up here. They were in the worst possible place – too low! – and soon it would be too late… a mad fear took hold of Legolas.

"Estel, we must get out of here!" he shouted against the noise of the increasing storm.

He knew not if Aragorn had heard, since even his elven ears could barely hear his own voice. He reached for his friend, grabbing his tunic, jolting the man to a wild run towards the boulders and rocks at the border of the valley preceding the vast, rocky face behind.

Then it seemed as if the sky had opened to empty itself; the rain poured down in streams. Legolas could not even see an arm-length ahead of him. The sand had turned into mud, and rivulets of brown water ran over the sloppy ground. They were encased by a curtain of rain, dripping wet within a breath. His hair and his clothes were plastered to his skin. The water raged, and the lightning in the sky left the earth grumbling under their feet, sending shudders up his limbs.

They climbed over stones, toward large boulders and rocks, where they could make for higher ground. Legolas led, glancing back to assure that Aragorn was right on his heels. He knew the task for the man was more tedious than it was for him. Aragorn climbed and often stumbled but, to Legolas' relief, he kept pace.

But then, when he turned once again, Legolas saw Aragorn slip. "Estel!" he called in dismay, as from his position above on the rock, he had to watch his friend reach out to get a hold on the rocky surface without finding purchase and his head hitting the rock. Legolas choked out a cry. Aragorn lay motionless, slumped on the stone.

Through the pouring rain Legolas scrambled back down the slope. He froze in horror as he saw blood trickle down the stone from beneath Aragorn's head. He dared not breathe for the fear, while his fingers searched the artery at Aragorn's throat. He exhaled in a rush of relief as he found a pulse.

Bringing his face close to his friend's, he whispered into his ear, "Estel, are you with me?"

There was no response.

"Estel!" he insisted, rubbing Aragorn's shoulder.

"Estel, can you hear me?"

Aragorn blinked.

"Legolas…" he croaked.

He looked miserable, and his eyes were alarmingly glazed. But at least he was conscious.

"Clumsy human," Legolas gently reproached, reassuringly ruffling his friend's hair, trying not to let him feel his despair.

"Can you rise?" he urged.

Aragorn lifted his head slowly and pushed himself up against the stone, but then he slumped back and groaned in frustration.

"My leg is trapped… I cannot move it!"

Legolas bent down further to inspect the crack in the rock. He pushed and pulled and tried hard to shift the stones that pinned the leg until his hands hurt, but he could move nothing.

He tried to keep his voice steady. "I need to find something for leverage!"

His eyes darted through the rain, but even for him, it was impossible to see more than the closest surroundings. He reached out his senses, desperately searching for something, anything – a thread of hope.

He must have been standing there unmoving for a time, enough to stir Aragorn's concern, because the man suddenly shouted at him with a voice too loud and frenzied for his injured state.

"Legolas! The water is rising!"

Legolas started, gazing at his friend, taking in the sight of his glazed eyes and the widened pupils. But he had sensed something he could not lose, and he held up his hand, still staring at the man, unblinking.

Then his reflexes took over, his muscles tensed and he was leaping up the rock.

"Please Estel, hold on, I will be back as fast as I can!"

Leaving Aragorn behind in this state under the rain, which was pouring cold and merciless caused a sting of pain to his heart.

But up there, higher between the rocks, something was calling to him; a thin voice, strangely persistent. And he climbed towards it, on and on through the storm.

Finally, Legolas saw who had called out to him. A small, meagre tree, growing sturdily between the rocks, against all odds in this land of extremes. He touched her gently as she shivered in the storm. She had felt him. She had called him. She knew of the fragility of life in these hard surroundings. She could spare whatever he needed from her in his urgency. He felt she understood as he cut into her living wood, squirming at the pain he caused. But her delicate voice soothed him and spoke of strength and steadfastness. She could weather the pain. Legolas' heart swelled for the small, brave tree as the rain poured over them relentlessly. He spoke to her his apology and gratefulness, and then he was off, hurrying down towards Aragorn.

Through the streaming rain, Legolas heard him calling his name. He sounded desperate, and Legolas sped up his descent even more, the fear for his friend spurning him on.

As he finally reached, the gravity of the situation hit him. He had to act quickly or Aragorn would drown in the streaming water that already reached his chest. Legolas forced the branch between the stones, attempting to loosen them. He felt his own heart pump hard with effort and panic. Aragorn was trying, with all the strength he had left, to pull his leg free.

As if all was not yet enough, the rain turned into hail, beating down on them violently. Legolas plunged into the torrential water that now reached Aragorn's shoulders, to get down to the pinning cliffs. As he resurfaced gasping for breath, Aragorn was flinging his arms over his head in an attempt to protect himself from even more harm. For a second Legolas considered taking off his soaked cloak, to throw it over his friend's head as a shield from the fury of the storm. But he quickly dismissed the thought that would cost him time.

His hands tightly clutched the precious piece of wood. He was fully aware that if the water ripped it away, he would see Estel die.

Legolas fought against the streaming water, pushing and pulling against all reason. Defeat was no option to him, no matter how futile it all seemed to be. The fear of losing his friend drove him mad and gave him a strength he did not know he possessed.

And as all his struggles seemed in vain, suddenly the stones shifted considerably under the pressure. Legolas resurfaced again, out of breath, panting. His lungs were burning, and he brought forth a strained cry.

"Estel, pull!"

But Aragorn had no more strength to free himself. He was gagging and coughing, swallowing water that had reached the last level before drowning him.

Legolas heaved himself out of the stream, hooked his arms under Aragorn's shoulders and pulled him up onto the firm, stony ground. In his exhaustion, the sway put him off balance and he slumped back against the rock. He was crushed under the weight of his friend but had effectively cushioned the fall for Aragorn. He held him tightly clutched to himself, his arms slung around his chest. He breathed for a long moment. His limbs felt heavy and numb, but relief washed over him and restored some of his power. It was not yet over, he knew. He felt Aragorn trembling in his grip. Very slowly, Legolas eased his hold on him. The man rolled over and tried to rise but could not do so on his own.

Legolas gently lifted Aragorn's arm over his shoulders, braced his own arm around his friend's waist and pulled him to his feet. He went on, climbing and stumbling up the slope while carrying Aragorn's full weight. At times Legolas slipped on the slick rock and hit his knees or his wrist, trying his best to smoothen the impact for his friend. The pain that slashed through his joints and tore his skin on the jagged rock, he ignored.

Finally, after a time that seemed endless even to Legolas, he found shelter just within the entrance of a cave in the rocky massive bordering the streambed. Legolas eased Aragorn gently to the ground. The man did not move nor stir anymore, his skin was cold, and his lips had taken on a bluish tinge. Legolas' heart nearly stopped for fear, but as he checked, he felt that his friend still breathed.

'I have to warm him,' Legolas thought alarmed.

He frantically rummaged through their packs with bloodied, trembling fingers. Everything they carried was dripping wet. There was no way to make a fire either. The only source of warmth he could think of was his own body. Though drained from the ordeal, he was still warm. He did not give it a second thought. Urgently he peeled Aragorn out of his soaked clothes and stripped off his own wet garments that were clutching to his skin. He lay down close to his friend, wrapping the wet cover around both of them. His arms closed the cold, shivering body protectively against his own warm skin. He had tried to keep the man awake, but he gave up with a resigned sigh as all his efforts proved in vain. Aragorn had slipped into unconsciousness.

Legolas held his friend tight, keeping watch over the state of his vitals. He listened intently to the fast, shallow breathing and the erratic beating of his heart. He dared not relax, but he did not know what else to do than to lie there and wait until the storm calmed and the night would come and pass. Legolas did not know how long they lay like this, but he was slightly relieved to feel Aragorn's body was warmer, and even though his pulse was too fast, he regained some stability.

More than once, Legolas found himself drifting. His exhaustion pulling at him. He fought to resist it, trying to concentrate on Aragorn's breathing, on his heartbeat, on the rain that suddenly, he realized, had calmed. There was the repetitive sound of water dripping from the cave's ceiling to the ground as it gathered in rivulets at the rim of the cavity. The sound calmed him and he felt his own heart pounding strong and steadily; his breathing grew deep, and Legolas felt, for the first time that night, a welcome softness taking hold of his limbs. The pain and anxiety faded…

… The next time he blinked, he felt heat, and crisp light struck his eyes. He started, confused. He was with Aragorn. His friend had been undercooled, Legolas had been holding him tight to warm him, had surveyed his pulse and his breathing, but now the man in his arms was burning up. He was feverish, and they were both wet with perspiration. Legolas knew he must have fallen asleep. He scolded himself for letting it happen, for giving in to his fatigue.

He gazed with concern upon the beloved face close to his own. His friend's eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed with heat, and he shifted uncomfortably in his restless dreams, whining softly. His fast, ragged breaths sounded painfully whistling. Aragorn was ill. The ordeal of the previous day had been too much for a human, even for one with Aragorn's strength. Sickness had claimed him, had infected his lungs. Legolas saw the pain in his friend's face with every breath he struggled to take. The fever was high, too high. Legolas was afraid. If it was injury, he could cope. He had ever had to deal with it on the field. But human sickness scared him. He felt alone, he was alone to deal once more with his friend's mortality.

Dear Eru, what was he to do? How should he lower the fever in the heat of the desert day?

A sudden thought pierced his mind; 'The stream of last night!'

Legolas hurried to the edge of the cave and peered down into the ravine. The stream was gone, though, still water gathered in the deeper sections, forming wide, clear pools. Their glittering surface sent particles of light soaring and reaching him strangely. He was puzzled and at the same time, a sensation of awe and relief overcame him.

Fast and furious, the water had broken into the dryness of the desert. Merciless, with ferocity, it had threatened to swallow them. Precious and quiet it glittered now, like crystal in the heat of the sun. Water to drink, water to heal, water to wash the heat of a fever away, water to stir athelas on a small fire, for a weary body strained with illness to revive. And he found hope.

Outside the cave, Anor was burning in all its brightness from the sky, pouring its searing heat that perspiration dried before it could even show on the skin.

Aragorn's usually strong body was weak, ill with fever and burning lungs. Legolas was strained with worry, trying to cope with the unfamiliar conditions of this strange land. He enveloped the man in their shirts, light fabric, to avoid dehydration. Patiently, he moistened his friend's chapped lips and trickled water into his mouth.

Legolas never rested. He fetched water again, and climbed rocks in the simmering heat. He cleaned Aragorn's head wound, redressed the bandages, kindled a fire, stirred athelas...He checked his friend's pulse repeatedly, felt his brow for the temperature. He spoke soothing, comforting words to him, and he feared…he feared the worst.

There was only one thought in Legolas' mind; 'He must recover, he must survive.' And the next thought was that maybe he was still not doing enough.

As he worked incessantly, the world around him started spinning and gradually disappeared, covered by large, black spots dancing across his vision. His legs gave way under him. Legolas registered the impact and the pain that spread through his limbs. For a time, he lay sprawled on the ground unable to rise or even move.

Only then he realized, that he had not drunk anything since the day before, with the extreme physical effort he had taken upon himself.

Only then he realized, that his knees and hands were bleeding from climbing the rocks.

Only then he realized, that he was beyond drained.

Aragorn would have scolded him, forcing him to rest if he had been in any better shape.

Finally, Legolas managed to push himself up on his hands and knees. He felt miserable. Crawling over to the waterskin, he reached, and then, holding it shakily to his lips, he drank in long gulps. The water slid down his parched throat, and he relished how pure and refreshing it was. Slowly he rose and began to clean and bind his own wounds. He had to take better care of himself if he wanted to help Aragorn.

This place wanted to show him the limits of his elven strength...


(Aragorn)

My head throbs. I blink, slowly, for there is crisp light that hurts my eyes and flashes piercing stabs of pain through my head. Everything in my mind and before my eyes is a dazzling blur. I struggle to clear my mind from it, push up on my elbows, but strength is not on my side. My stomach churns violently.

Something lays on my chest, a gentle pressure, holding me down. A soft, familiar voice speaks, "Hush, take it easy my friend. You have suffered a major concussion and just survived a lung infection. You were very ill, Estel. I feared losing you."

I carefully crack my eyes open, focusing on a pale, handsome face I know well; Legolas!

"Where are we? What happened?" I ask him and I flinch, for my croaking voice is startling.

There is stone all around and bright beams of light strike through an opening. The brightness painfully crashes against my vision and I shut my eyes. I wince and turn my head slightly in the other direction, away from the light.

Are we in a cave? – The walls seemed narrow, there was light on one side and darkness on the other. – Goodness! We are in a cave! I cannot believe it.

"If you found shelter in a cave, it must be dire, no other options left..." I murmur, not daring to open my eyes again. – As much as I try, I cannot remember how we came to be here.

"We are only sheltering in the entrance of a cave," Legolas corrects pointedly, "And yes, there was no other option."

I listen to him as he tells me what happened, trying to follow and clear my mind. While blinking slowly, I finally manage to adjust to the harsh daylight. Patches of memory then return to me, although they muddle repeatedly and I can't keep track of them.

I sigh in consternation. "Here we are again! How on Arda do we always get into such situations?" For even if I already cannot remember again what Legolas told me, I remember who I am and who he is and I know that we are in trouble, and there is such a familiar feel to it.

Legolas shrugs and then flashes an amused smirk at me, although his features look sunken and edged with fatigue.

"I just thank the Valar that it is over now and you are recovering. That is all that matters." His features soften into a gentle smile.

I don't know what he means. What is over? What am I recovering from? I almost want to ask him. But his relief feels comforting, and so I keep my mouth shut.

I am exhausted and hurting and despite the heat, I shiver. I have a bad feeling, for even if I cannot remember how we got here, I still know who I am and who he is and from the condition I am in I have a bad feeling for I know from experience how situations with us can get from bad to worse. I take in the unfamiliar surroundings and cannot leave it to counter.

"It looks like we are far from home, my friend. Thank the Valar, but dare not pretend it is over..."

Legolas takes a deep breath and releases it with a long sigh. He runs a hand over his eyes as he huffes a defeated breath.

"Aye, my friend. How could I forget! Walking with you that far south, and making it out with no more trouble, is quite improbable, if not impossible!"

His laughter rings clear and uplifting as the weight of the last days wears off him. I feel a pang of guilt at the distress and strain I must have caused him.

He said south...I wonder, and I ask him, "But Legolas, where are we? And how did we get here?"

He suddenly is serious again, gazing at me with concern. Did I say something wrong? So I change the subject and pick up on his teasing that seemed to enjoy, "I fear you are confusing something. How many times did I get you out of trouble?"

It seems to work, and he beams a bright smile at me as if my challenge brings him joy and relief.

"I am not the confused one here." He laughs springing up, helping me to get further into the cave, away from where the rays of the burning sun would soon fall.

"Wait here, Estel. I am going to fill the water skins," he announces, already in motion.

"And where should I go in my present state, gwador-nìn!" I point out.

"Oh, with you...one never knows what you are capable of. Further trouble might be waiting behind the next rock already," Legolas parries.

He will not tell me, but I suspect that he has gone through a terrible experience because of me. I can see the relief in all his movements, in his gentle teasing, in his concerned glances, and in his affectionate laughter.

He stands now at the entrance of the cave, tall and golden, lit by the streaming rays of Anor, peering down into the ravine. And he speaks fair words as if he sings a song. I cannot but wonder at how he always finds happiness in the simplest of things, even after the strain has almost bent him.

"The desert...since we entered it, it has not ceased surprising me; the burning heat of the day, the freezing chill of the night, all-claiming dryness shimmering in the air, and the next moment water in streams drowning the sand. See now! In the seemingly vast lifelessness, life blossoms against all expectations. What beauty to my eyes!"

He is truly a star. He is a ray of light in the dark...what would I do without him…

And then I think dryly, that I probably would be dead by now.

"By all the beauty that your elven eyes do see, you cannot deny, that it is a bloody trap indeed," I say wearily.

"Aye, that it is!" he smiles unperturbed, "But still…I am in awe!"

He swings over the ridge and is gone.

I am alone and cannot resist crawling forward to peer down into the ravine with my own eyes. What I see leaves me open-mouthed, to say the least.

Ponds of crystal-clear water are pooling beyond in what looks to be the valley of a once-deep river which doesn't exist anymore. We are in the desert, Legolas said, even if I cannot remember how we got here, I remember him saying it. All around in this spot of the desert, plants unfold, and flowers are crowning them. Bushes between ragged rocks and sand, which must have been dry before, are now green with tender, slender leaves.

I watch the spectacle, unable to divert my gaze.

After a while, I realize how heavily the sun beats on my aching head. I push myself back into the shade of the cave. The effort causes me a coughing attack. It is pure agony for even the smallest movements hurt at the moment.


Legolas returns with filled water skins. I know as soon as I see him that everything is not right. His face looks ghastly pale and haunted. He does not speak. His eyes avoid meeting mine. He slides down to the ground, his back against the wall on the opposite side of the cave. He pulls his knees up against his chest and wraps his lean and strong archer's arms around his legs, staring into the void. His breathing comes shallow and fast, his body is tense.

I frown. I am appalled at the sudden change.

"Legolas? What is it?"

Legolas stares at me. His eyes are strangely glazed. – What has happened? I do not understand.

"Men!" he suddenly hisses, flaring his nostrils, "Evil men are camping in this place! They have prisoners. Children laid in chains! Human children of about sixteen summers, to my guess. What they do to them...I have heard it, Estel! I have seen it. It is horrible! – I must stop them!"

Gone is the lithe, shining creature. Gone is his fair, joyful song. His words are sharp, his voice is hard. And I dread what it means.

I am overwhelmed. I know not what to say. I can only imagine how close this hits him, what long-buried emotions resurface.

He had healed. He had buried it all. I have been support and witness. – Yet buried is not forgotten.

His voice is flat, toneless, "I cannot allow...just cannot allow that to happen!"

His words burn into me and I feel such pain at the extinguished litheness and music he emanated before.

"We will stop them, gwador-nìn. I promise!"

"You are injured, you cannot fight!" Legolas protests, "You need rest. – They are many!"

"I am better already," I assure him – anything to calm him! – "And if they are many, do not even think once, that I will let you go alone!"

My gaze is serious, "Legolas, just keep an eye on them. Make sure that they leave not without our knowledge. Give me some time to recover. For goodness' sake, just promise me you will not pull any stunts on your own!"

I clasp his forearm and I see the anger flashing in his grey-blue eyes, both extremes together; fire and ice. He pins me with his gaze. He gives not the slightest reaction to my firm touch. His eyes keep burning, stirring up my unease.

"Legolas, promise me!" I insist.

Finally he sighs, perhaps calmed by my touch and my determined presence.

"I promise," he whispers.


Since that incident, Legolas uses the cover of the night to fetch water. From time to time he climbs close to the cave where the men are camping, to survey.

Every time he returns from that scouting, he is in obvious distress. Every muscle of his body seems tense. He finds no rest.

He cares for me, changes my bandages, brings me water and what he can find to eat so that we do not have to use up all our provisions. I can do nothing to help him because I am still weak, and it unnerves me. He changes his own bandages just to keep himself busy because in fact his wounds are already healed. That done, he sits, his back to the wall, his knees hugged to his chest, staring into nothing at all.

I observe him quietly. I ask him to share with me whatever terrible knowledge he has gained. Obviously, it is a great effort for him to speak. But I learned patience, and in the end, it all tumbles out of him.

"The men are northerners, they are speaking Westron. They insult the children as dirty Haradrim, saying they deserve this treatment. They are beating them...I heard how they hit them...I heard the distressed whimpering and the suppressed screams...the fear of awakening more cause for further beating. They...are touching them...They tease them anytime they feel like it. It seems they have order not to leave visible injuries since the Lord they are running the commission for wants them unmarred...for his own use."

Legolas spits the word with disgust. He sets his jaw, hissing, "I will kill them all!"

My stomach clenches.

I witness Legolas' reaction to a nightmare he is in a way reliving. It is surely unbearable to leave those children to their fate. But we are significantly outnumbered. It would be folly to rush an attack. We need to act with caution, await the right time. At the moment, I am in no shape to fight.


Estel – Sindarin: Hope. Aragorns elvish Name was given to him when he was fostered in Rivendell.

Mûmakil – Oliphaunts (giant Elefants from Harad)

Eru – Eru Ilúvatar or The One is the single omniscient and omnipotent creator

Valar – The Valar were the fourteen greatest of the Ainur (divine immortal spirits that were brought into being by Ilúvatars thought), who entered the Universe to fulfil Ilúvatar's will. They often took the shapes of Men, Elves, or other forms of nature.

Anor – the sun

Gwador-nìn – my brother (brother in heart, not in blood)

Athelas a precious healing herb (Westron: Kingsfoil) When dried and crushed in hot water, it is refreshing. It clears and calms the minds of those who smell it. Athelas also strengthens those smelling the scent. It was especially powerful in the hands of the Kings of Gondor, perhaps because of the Elvish heritage of the royal house.