To all of you who are still there with me, following every time I update, a heartfelt THANK YOU for your patience and support. Slowly but persistently, I try my best to continue this story.
Beta read by WindSurfBabe: Thank you for your work, my friend!
Comfort
Heat and despair tormented his body, consuming every part of him. Leyth wanted to cry, to scream, but he found he was numb, paralyzed, trapped inside his battered body. A hand came to lay in his own. There was a semblance of warmth, barely there, almost gone, and he grabbed the hand, wanting to hold on to the warmth, to his own life. He held on fast to that familiar touch: the light of the sun, the sensation of home, the memory of laughter and games, of family, and love…but as much as he squeezed, desperately holding onto it, it was slipping away. Fingers too fragile barely brushed his, growing more and more insubstantial, the warmth draining away. The loving touch abandoned him. The sun left. Cold, clammy grey enveloped him, and a terrible sense of loss tore his heart apart…
…And finally, finally he screamed, lending a voice to his grief.
The scent of iron lingered, clinging to his nostrils. The cold water in the bucket numbed his fingers. Aragorn plunged his hands into it, drowning the blood smeared upon them in a manner that bordered on desperate; drowning the death, the suffering. He welcomed the numbness. He longed for it to spread into his arms and to his aching body. He cupped his strong fingers and palms to a vessel and splashed water upon his face, willing to wash the fatigue and the weight of his labour, of the fighting and – most of all – the losses, away. The water slipped easily from his skin, but grief and exhaustion clung to his heart.
The physical effort of battle, and the spiritual combat against the Black Breath, the healing energy that had coursed through his veins and which he had poured into saving so many lives, had left Aragorn drained. Too many had needed him, so that it felt as if there was no more strength left for himself.
"Estel, are you ready?" Elrohir spoke up from behind him. Despite the demand, his voice carried in a low, warm vibration, imbued with care.
Aragorn panted for breath beneath the water that ran down his face. Was he ready? Had he ever been ready for something like this?
He was used to leading, but before Elrohir, he could allow himself to let go of it all.
Sucking in a deep breath, Aragorn dried his face. "It is time to move on, to return to the fields," he declared all the same. His voice came out hoarse, but never hesitant.
"My little brother, the great King," Elrohir said affectionately.
Aragorn ran his fingers through the tousled strands of his hair while turning to find his elven brother standing in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame. Perfect and straight, broad shoulders and chest of a long-trained swordsman.
After so many years, Aragorn could still not help his astonishment and wonder when beholding the perfect stature of the elf standing before him. While his own eyes – he was sure – must show deep, dark circles from lack of sleep and the strain of the last few days, Elrohir's noble, strong features remained smooth and even – a graceful display of unbroken strength. And even as a few strands had come loose from the high, thick ponytail he wore while working on the wounded, his long hair tumbled sleek and perfect down his strong back.
Aragorn had always looked up to his brothers with affection and awe; the same awe he had seen in the eyes of the people of this city when they looked at him.
When he had been younger, he had regarded the twins as invincible heroes, an eternal force to rely on, to trust – as firm, infallible rocks. And with the playful, loving way they had cared for him as a child, they always had meant safety to him, family and warmth.
Home.
As he had grown older, Aragorn had learned to understand, from small gestures, or a fleeting sheen in their eyes, a hunched shoulder, or the slight timbre of weariness in their voices, that they were not as invulnerable as one might believe; that under their armour beat hearts overflowing with emotion. Joys, love and tragedy had carved and moulded their long lives, and whenever they wielded a blade, it all burst out of them in slicing sharpness.
"You have done what was in your power," Elrohir's voice sounded deep and firm.
Aragorn nodded wordlessly, allowing himself this moment to rest, leaning into Elrohir's guidance.
"Let us leave the city and get you some rest, Estel!"
Aragorn sighed, wondering if the people who regarded him with such awe, with such trust as they relied on him, did guess at the vulnerable core their King hid under the façade of a tireless warrior and devoted healer.
Elrohir, as usual, knew to read him.
"After battle, the work in the healing wards is never finished, much less after one of this extent. You have done your part here for now, and soon you will be needed elsewhere." A deep resonance of understanding underlined his strong voice. "We must not tarry long, or the morning will overwhelm us too soon," he warned.
Aragorn knew all of this. He had fought many fights, had led his people through the wilds, had protected the lands to the north all his life. But still, it was good to have Elrohir look out for him. To pause, and allow himself to be led, reassured; to lay his grim readiness down and let himself be carried, just for a moment, before he had to load all of it back up onto his shoulders.
The people of Gondor would rely upon him as their leader for guidance and protection. They would trust him with their lives and those of their families, and with their city, unknowing of the turmoil and pressure of such a responsibility, unaware of his fear to fail them all, to fail his friends, his folk and all the great hopes laid upon him.
But Elrohir, whom any who did not know him saw as a formidable warrior first and foremost, remindful of the great Elven lords of old, knew better than anyone what was going on inside the man he had known since he was a boy. How many times had Elrohir patched up Aragorn's knees, and dried his tears? Aragorn remembered his childhood with fondness, slowly discovering the world in the protection of the hidden valley.
"We will be there as long as you need us."
Aragorn's eyes snapped away from Elrohir, searching the dimly lit corridor for the source of these last, encouraging words. The voice sounded much like Elrohir's, but from the distinctly calm tinge to it, Aragorn knew it to be Elladan's. The second twin approached, standing beside Aragorn with his quiet, strong presence, looking at him from the deep pools of his silver eyes. No words were needed for more warmth to penetrate Aragorn's heart, and from there to spread inside his chest. Elladan poured fresh water into a clean bucket beside Aragorn's, and set to washing his hands in silence. Aragorn stared at the long, elegant fingers as the red stains dissolved, revealing unblemished, pale skin and the sword callouses of a fighter. Aragorn blinked, and lifted his gaze to find Elladan regarding him with a kindness and intensity that spoke volumes of his fondness.
They left the Houses of Healing together, riding down all the levels of Minas Tirith, and leaving the collapsed gate behind, without looking back. Aragorn rode between his elven brothers. Even under the light of the decrescent moon, the white of the city was dimmed by the dark of night.
There was one last thing he must do before seeking rest: ensure that Legolas was safe. To leave him behind injured and not yet properly mended stirred in him a lingering anxiety which now nagged away at him. He remembered too well the last time he had left his friend behind after his injury.
Strong slim fingers curled around his own in a gentle hold. Leyth remembered fear, despair, pain, all of them now muffled to a dull ache in his chest, as if the sensations were of another world. He stared at his hand entwined with the other. The sun kissed their skin, making it glow, soft and sleek like velvet. Warmth expanded into his arm, as if it had entered his veins and joined his blood. It flowed through him and flooded his heart, spreading into every part of his body with every beat, pulsing softly, reaching his mind and his soul, overwhelming the entirety of him with peace.
He turned his face to the side, and was met by Adil's brightest smile.
Oh, Adil's smiles were easy! He knew how to find laughter even in the hardest of times, and the brightness of his gleaming eyes had lightened their hardships more often than not. But this time, Adil's face was like the warmth of sunshine at dawn, and it brought quiet joy into Leyth's troubled heart, even if he did not remember by what.
He had been scared. Leyth remembered as much at the edge of his awareness; his aching limbs, his head throbbing, and the crushing heat burning his body, alternating with ice-cold spikes that made him jolt and shiver. But now the sun was shining, warming him from without and within, illuminating the beloved face of his friend, so smooth and even like it was molten gold. The long grass tickled Leyth's arms as they strode wordlessly through the lush, green land, the likes of which he had never seen before.
The earth here was rich, Leyth thought. They sat down side by side atop the hill in that sea of long grass, their hands still entwined. Adil did not speak, and Leyth wondered briefly why he was so silent, he who was more wont to be chatting away animatedly about all kinds of things that had Leyth listening raptly at times, and laughing at others. But now, there was only silence between and around them. A comfortable quiet, reassuring and calm. There was peace and friendship in it, and words were not needed.
They sat in the grass, holding hands, peering down the hill together. There was water there, wide and deep. Not the sea, but a silent stream meeting with another further away. Trees grew upon the banks, and bushes, and the shores were strewn with great, sleek pebbles. From the hill they had a vast view of the landscape, which revealed more such streams in the distance, running parallel to each other between chunks of land, meeting and splitting again in their slow flow. Between the grass and the trees, blunt stones and simple cottages made of wood and reed were strewn across the land as if they too, had sprouted there as part of nature itself.
It was evening, and the sun hung low already. Boats floated in the water. Fishermen anchored their vessels into flocks against wooden piers, or pulled them onto pebbled shores, unloading their catches of the day. They chatted with one another companionably, and greeted one another as they finished securing their boats, and selling some of their catches to whoever had come to the riverside to get fresh fish for dinner, before they headed towards their nearby homes with their bundles, in groups or in pairs, or sometimes alone.
Leyth watched it all, while marvelling at how beautiful the scenery was; how peaceful fell the golden rays of the sinking sun in the warm evening air. Lost in his slow, placid thoughts, he watched a man bind his boat to a stake. His strong, calm and secure movements reminded him of Wali, the dark, grey-streaked locks much like the hair of his friend. And as the man turned, Leyth's eyes widened.
It was indeed Wali!
Wali stood there before him at the foot of the hill, a broad smile on his face as he exchanged words with the fisherman who had anchored his boat beside his. Together, they carried their catches over the short gangplanks.
Leyth could not believe it.
This was Wali, and he looked happier and more at peace than Leyth had ever seen him before. This is how he must have looked before Leyth had known him, before he had joined the Corsairs; when his family had still been alive, and he was a fisherman by the seaside. This Wali looked as strong as ever, his muscled arms shouldering the sacks and buckets, but Leyth noticed that he was limping ever so slightly.
A young man ran to his aid to take over some of the weight Wali was carrying. He was of slender build, a youngling just come of age, still in his growth but probably used to hard work already if his broad shoulders and sinewy muscles were any sign.
Together, the three of them made their way up a narrow path between the high grasses of the river bank. The young man's dark locks bounced while he walked, or when he looked back at Wali and the other fisherman, cheerfully calling out to them. The elder men chuckled, and Wali hurried along the path in pursuit of the youngling, grinning and laughing as if eager to challenge his young friend, who increased his speed in retaliation. The soft light of the evening sun illuminated the young man's serene face, his skin a dark honey-gold.
Leyth blinked, mesmerized. The young man…was him...Leyth himself!
Baffled, he sought out Adil's gaze, and Adil just nodded to him, quietly smiling. He squeezed Leyth's hand with his strong, slender one, and Leyth squeezed back.
A gesture as utterly natural as breathing.
But after a while Adil let go, uncurling his fingers from around Leyth's. Leyth gasped, and reached out into the air before him to grab hold of his friend, who was now slowly striding away through the sea of high grass.
"No!" Leyth called after him, "Please do not go! Do not leave me alone!"
Leyth wondered if he had said those words aloud, or if they had just resounded in his mind, for it was to him as if he had not opened his mouth at all. Adil paused, and turned around. Even if the sun was now low, Adil's cheeks glowed with a healthy blush, and his eyes were a bright gold, as if another sun shone through them from within.
"Worry not, Leyth! I will be with you on each of your days. I am not leaving." And then he whipped around and ran down the hill, bouncing slightly as he went, in that cheery manner that was his.
He ran down to the path where the three men were walking.
Leyth hugged his knees to his chest. The grass raised high all around him. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and there was a lump in his throat where he felt Adil's absence despite his promise. They had been so close, leg to leg, shoulder to shoulder, side to side. Leyth had felt his body's warmth, his soft breathing, and now there was only an empty spot of pressed grass where Adil had been.
By now, Adil had reached the second Leyth down on the path, and Leyth watched from above as Adil lay a hand upon his shoulder as he fell into step beside him. After a while, that second Leyth paused in his stride, and climbed upon a stone beside the path. He spread out his arms to the wind, and waved at the two fishermen. The wind played with his hair, ruffling his locks, before Adil effortlessly hopped onto that stone and came standing with his friend, his hand on Leyth's shoulder.
Up on the hill, Leyth cried, but his tears were warm on his flushed cheeks, and comfort flooded his heart as he watched himself and Adil standing together once more.
Upon entering the infirmary, the healer Aragorn had entrusted with the trying task of taking care of Legolas noticed him at once. As if he had read Aragorn's mind, he gave him a reassuring nod, his lips curving to a smile that could mean many things, but was enough to make Aragorn breathe out a long-held sigh of relief.
Striding purposefully through the tent, he caught sight of Gimli deeply asleep on a mat at the foot of Leyth's cot, a soft snoring vibrating in the air over him. It was not much longer before Aragorn's eyes fell on Legolas, for his bright, agile form was easy to distinguish. Even as Aragorn sensed something shading his glowing energy, Legolas was up and about, and spotted him immediately. He slid easily between the field cots to meet him, reprimanding Aragorn gently about how terrible he was looking once again.
"I have had my arm checked and tended as you wished. It only needed a few stitches. And now it is my turn to be concerned," he announced triumphantly. "You must sleep, Dúnadan! And I fully expect you to comply, just as I did!" Legolas laughed, but then turned serious once more. "Estel, please, I mean it! Do not make me worry. I cannot endure it right now."
And such a fatigue obscured Legolas' eyes as he pleaded, that Aragorn felt a deep urge to reassure him. "I know my limits, my friend. This weight I will take from you gladly."
Closing his eyes briefly, Legolas sucked in a deep breath. But instead of bringing him relief, the air seemed to hitch and tremble in his chest, and he pressed his lips into a tight line upon releasing it. Aragorn frowned, his brow already creasing with worry, a weight pressing upon his chest again. But then he felt a sudden warmth on his forearm, and he looked down to see Legolas' hand clasped around it, holding him with gentle firmness.
"Worry not, Estel. We are here with you. Always! Your brothers, and Gimli, and myself."
There Legolas paused, his gaze flicking down to the spot where Gimli slept, all four limbs stretched out, a small gap in his slightly shaking beard that was his open mouth. Legolas glanced back at Aragorn, a flash of mirth chasing away the shadow from his eyes as he softly chuckled.
Despite his weariness, Aragorn huffed a laugh. He took a long breath and smiled tiredly.
"Thank you. I cannot find words to express how much that means to me."
Gratitude overflowed his heart for the unbelievable gift he had been blessed with, and he embraced his friend tightly. It was a gesture of a few seconds only, but enough to give Aragorn the strength to let go and retire for what little remained of the night.
He finally reached his tent, almost stumbling in his last steps as he allowed himself to succumb to the deep need to simply lie down, and neither think nor feel anymore, allowing some much-needed rest to his mind and his battered muscles and bones.
Legolas was safe for now, and Gimli sprawled out on the ground, peacefully snoring. His brothers were there, lending their support in the infirmary once more, tireless as they were with their elven bodies. They would wake him as soon as they deemed his presence needed.
Aragorn was the King of Gondor, the long-awaited heir returned, and yet he was only human. He had to allow himself a respite too long neglected. And so he would rest, to pour all his strength into the next battle. The cushions of his sleeping cot seemed to absorb all his troubles and pains. With the feel of Legolas' hand still lingering on his forearm, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Every fav and follow is encouraging, and constructive comments make me happy :) Thank you!
