The Last Journey; Chapter 14: Healing in Sorrow
Story Info
Title: The Last Journey
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Era: Fourth Age of the Sun
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure
Rating: M / FRM
Main characters: Aragorn, Celeborn, Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, Éomer, Erestor, Faramir, Gandalf, Gimli, Glorfindel, Haldir, Legolas, Meriadoc, Nazgûl, Pippin, Thranduil (, OCs).
Pairings: Legolas/OMC (brief Aragorn/Arwen, Éowyn/Faramir)
Summary: After many peaceful years that have followed the war against Sauron, everything changes. Evil returns, striking without warning, and it is stronger than ever before. It is time for the final fight, but who shall achieve victory?
Work in Process.
Warnings: Characters’ death (major, OC), violence, torture, slash, mild sexual content (het and slash), plenty of evil, etc.
~ ~ ~
“)…(“ = Sindarin
Chapter 14: Healing in Sorrow
Rivendell
Rafél travelled through the woods in the Valley of Rivendell, idly spending his time in walking without direction. He wasn’t sure how many days he had spent thus. Too many, most likely, after his arrival to Imladris. As the Elves of Woodland Realm were making decision between staying in the Valley or going on to the Grey Havens, Rafél found himself often like this, wandering without destination, like a launched arrow without a target.
He was going nowhere. But he could not stay either.
For the first time in his life, Rafél was truly considering casting aside the orders given to him and do as his heart told him. Though there was no direct ‘orders’ for him, anymore: he had escorted the flying Elves over the Misty Mountains. His task was done. He was free to go on. But he wasn’t sure what to do, or where to go. And as long as he was uncertain, he would stay in the Valley. There was absolutely no point to leave the Elven refuge if he wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.
Or so he told himself.
Halting on a high mound, Rafél looked to the east, wind playing with his hair. His dark brown eyes were shadowed with worry, but at any other time you could have seen great wisdom there, experience of years gathered to those eternal mirrors of soul.
Running a gentle hand along the curve of his bow, Rafél stared at the distance, weighting his options. He could stay, or he could make up his mind and go on. But go where? Back to Eryn Lasgalen? There was nothing more than destruction there, but surely one more pair of hands would be needed, one more bow to defend his people from new attacks.
But above all else, there was one place that Rafél longed to be in: beside Legolas. He was worried about the Prince. Not knowing what had happened to his former protégé nagged his mind, keeping him awake during the long nights. His heart ached for the thought that something had happened to his Greenleaf.
Shaking his head, Rafél tried to quiet the yearning of his heart. He had stopped to be Legolas’ guardian when Legolas had joined to the Fellowship, and it was not his place to worry overly because of the Prince. But he did worry. He couldn’t help himself. Maybe it had become a habit: after all, he and Legolas had spent thousands of years together.
Sighing, Rafél closed his eyes, remembering well the day when he had seen Legolas return home from the War of the Rings: a return he had not expected to see. That day, his heart had sung with joy. Today, it was slowly withering to death.
Gasping for air he had not noticed he was holding, Rafél gazed up to the heavens, searching for an answer to his dilemma. But no answer came, at least the way the Sinda was expecting. Something happened, though. The forest’s song changed, informing Rafél of an arrival of strangers.
Frowning, Rafél reached for a neldoreth near him, closing his eyes to focus to the song of the Olvar. After a few moments, Rafél opened his eyes, staring at the direction where he now knew that a small party of Elves and Men was travelling towards Rivendell. The trees seemed confused, worried even, and Rafél wasted no other moment pondering: among these travellers were most likely wounded Elves, for there was no other explanation why the trees were behaving as they were.
Jumping to a nearby tree, Rafél set a quick pace towards the nearing group.
- - -
Aragorn glanced worriedly at Legolas who leaned against his chest, face pale and eyes closed. Not that it surprised the Man: Legolas hadn’t awoken a single time after they had found him from the care of the huorns. If Aragorn hadn’t known better, he would have thought that the Elf was in the same condition as when they found him. But he wasn’t. Legolas’ condition was getting worse with every passing day. Aragorn worried for his friend, the Man’s frustration of his incapability to help driving him to the brink of madness.
Their travel over the Misty Mountains had been an uneventful one - none of them complaining, however - and now as they drew nearer the Valley of Rivendell, Aragorn felt his hopes crumble to the ground. It would take too long. Legolas would not make it. The Prince would die in Aragorn’s arms, the King of Men unable to do anything to prohibit it…
“My Lord?”
The hard, nearly commanding voice coming beside Aragorn startled the Man from his thoughts, making him whip his head around in confusion. He had not heard such an authority used towards him for years. Somehow he wasn’t too surprised to find Dínnor riding beside him. Aragorn looked at the Sinda questioningly, wondering what was causing the other’s outburst. Not that I couldn’t have seen it coming: Dínnor loosing his temper was only a matter of time.
“You should not worry over Legolas so much: I understand that you are close to him, but therefore you should also have faith in him. Legolas is too strong of a warrior to give up this easily.”
“We are reaching the borders of the Valley soon,” Asthaldo informed them silently.
Aragorn, still quite shocked by Dínnor’s words, merely nodded and readjusted his hold around Legolas’ limp form. Most likely Dínnor is right: I have seen what Elves are capable to withstand, and Legolas is strong. But even the strongest tree has to give up for the wind someday…
They entered the Valley soon, Aragorn easily recognising the familiar landscape, and for a moment, his spirit felt lighter than in days. Memories flooded through his mind, easing the darkness out of his thoughts’ dark corners. First time in may days, he truly felt the warmth of the shining Sun.
“We shall have company,” Thalión informed, his voice distant. The others near him turned immediately to look about them, only the two other Cousins keeping still. “Elven company,” Thalión corrected after some time, his eyes scanning the forest slowly. “Let us ride ahead: I am sure that the one approaching us shall find us easily enough.”
“You can tell the number of Elves approaching us?” Faramir asked, sounding both doubting and bewildered.
Thalión smiled at the Steward. “I can. Or to be honest, the trees tell me. I merely listen.”
“Oh,” Faramir muttered, looking at the trees around him somewhat sceptically.
Aragorn couldn’t help but smile, remembering all too well how sceptically he himself had reacted to the Elves’ skill to hear the voices of the trees. He had soon learned to respect this talent, though, even if he was never able to learn it himself.
Before they were able to travel much further, an Elf emerged from the trees, his clothing telling Aragorn immediately that this was no Imladris Elf. Thalión and Dínnor both looked surprised, but Asthaldo laughed with joy.
“Rafél, you have no idea how much we have missed your company!”
“We have?” Dínnor asked with a smile on his own as Rafél dropped from the branches.
Aragorn watched the Elf approach, now easily recognising that this was indeed an Elf of Eryn Lasgalen, though his appearance was somewhat different from the other Elves’ he had met before: his hair was long and smooth, its colour so light that it was nearly white, only a touch of brown on it. Rafél, as he had been called, had a flawless pale skin as the others of his kin, and he was well built by Elven standards, his appearance one of a seasoned warrior, confidence in his every movement. The weapons he carried told their own story, and Aragorn quickly decided this was not an Elf to play with. But what drew his attention most were the eyes; deep brown, shining bright with intelligence, telling of long years on these shores, and without doubt, of may battles witnessed. One in not so distant past, Aragorn thought grimly.
“Asthaldo, it is well to see that you made out of the battle alive. But aren’t you both with Thalión supposed to be in-” Rafél halted in mid-sentence, his eyes drawn to the motionless Elf in Aragorn’s arms. With an unreadable expression, Rafél reached Aragorn, his hands reaching out to touch Legolas’ face tenderly. “What is wrong with him?” came a question that sounded deeply worried and pained to Aragorn.
“He must see a healer. That is why we are here: to take him to Rivendell, where we hope he can be mended,” Asthaldo said hurriedly, and Aragorn couldn’t but wonder where he himself had met Rafél before. The other Elf seemed distantly familiar.
Rafél nodded, his eyes never leaving Legolas. His hands moved over Legolas’ face again, and then he drew away, almost reluctantly. “You will tell me later. But hurry now: he indeed needs to see a healer.”
Looking very revealed, Asthaldo nodded, encouraging them on. Rafél followed them, taking a path up in the trees, but as far as Aragorn saw, the Elf wasn’t letting Legolas out of his sight. While Aragorn was pondering this, they reached Rivendell.
- - -
Waking from a deep, dreamless sleep, Aragorn shifted upon the soft mattress, enjoying of the feel of the softness around him. It had been some time since he had slept in a soft bed, and as much as he loved life outside in the wild, he also enjoyed of certain comforts that a normal life provided.
Opening his eyes, he noticed that the room was already lit by an early morning light shining through the curtains. Rolling to his side, Aragorn prepared to draw his beloved to his embrace, but instead, he found the other side of the bed empty. Blinking, Aragorn wondered if Arwen had already woken and got up. But then he remembered. There would be no morning for him to wake and find her beside him, still asleep or already awake, waiting for him to join her in greeting a new day.
With an anguished sob, Aragorn lay back down, staring at the empty space beside him. Memories of yesterday returned to him, not one of them lessening his pain. Being in Imladris, in the home of Arwen, made his heart ache, his mind drawn by the thousands of memories of them together here.
Forcing back the tears, Aragorn turned to stare at the ceiling, willing his thoughts elsewhere. Instead of thinking of her, he recalled the events of the previous evening. They had arrived to the centre of Rivendell soon after meeting Rafél in the woods, a word of their arrival already spreading through the Elven city. Elladan and Elrohir had met them before the main-porch, Celeborn waiting with them, as well as many others of the household.
Aragorn had explained all he could tell, and Legolas had been taken inside. Thalión’s injuries had also been take care of, though their main attention had been in the Elven Prince. Aragorn wasn’t sure how may hours he had spent with Celeborn on Legolas’ side before he had been take to his own rooms to sleep. By then, he had barely been able to stay on his feet.
Sitting up to the edge of the bed, Aragorn ran his hands over his face, drawing away the last tendrils of sleep. He felt no longer tired - physically at least. Spiritually, he was weary as ever. But he had things to do, and his ‘errands’ wouldn’t run themselves.
Standing up, Aragorn started to search for his clothes. Smiling, he spotted a pile of clean clothes upon a stool near the bed. Reaching for the clothes, Aragorn dressed quickly, and then left the room to find his hosts. But before he went for a search of the Twins, he took another corridor. First of all, he would see how Legolas was faring.
A few moments later Aragorn reached a door of one of the healing rooms, and with a quick knock, he entered. The sight hadn’t changed much from yesterday, the Man noted. Legolas lay on the bed, unmoving, no signs of improving visible. Celeborn was standing near the window, running through some pages of parchment. Near the bed, away from the healers’ way but yet near enough, sat Rafél, his fair face leaning to his crossed hands. For a moment Aragorn wondered if the Elf had left Legolas’ side at all. Most likely not.
“Ah, Elessar, good morning. I hope you slept well?” Celeborn’s deep voice interrupted Aragorn from his thoughts, and the former ranger turned swiftly to meet the Eldar.
“I slept well, thank you. How is our patient?”
There was a plain sign of distress upon Celeborn’s face before the Sindarin Lord was able to collect his thoughts. “I would say he will live. For a while at least,” he added barely audibly, glancing at Rafél who seemed to ignore them both. Yet it was likely that the warrior was listening their every word even if he gave no outer sight of that.
“You give him little hope, then,” Aragorn stated, downcast.
Celeborn lifted a comforting hand to Aragorn’s shoulder, his grey eyes directed steadily to the Man before him. “His wounds are.. grievous. Especially when I have a good idea what caused them.” The Lord of the Galadhrim grimaced, shuddering slightly at the memory of the feel of the darkness in the certain injuries Legolas had received. He shook his head sadly. “If I would have seen him in Fangorn, I would have spared him from further pain then and there. But I am glad you didn’t do so: he has fought for this long, so perhaps he shall survive. I would not give that thought too much hope, though.”
“There is always hope,” Aragorn whispered.
Celeborn nodded, his eyes suddenly very thoughtful. “I am sorry,” he said, drawing Aragorn’s attention from Legolas to himself. “I heard of Arwen and the Lady of Rohan. Most likely your brothers know as well, by now,” Celeborn continued, referring to Elladan and Elrohir, who had been Aragorn’s foster brothers during the years Aragorn had grown under Elrond’s care in Rivendell. Even after all these years, Aragorn still thought those two as his brothers.
“How did you hear about this?” Aragorn asked cautiously.
“News spread,” Celeborn answered. “I heard from the Cousins of Hithsîr after you went to bed. They most likely heard it from the Men of Gondor who are travelling with you.”
Aragorn smiled wryly. “Long be blessed the Elven hearing…”
Celeborn didn’t make comment to this, instead changing the topic. “There should be still some breakfast left in the dining hall. You must be hungry. I also presume you wish to talk with your brothers face to face.”
“Indeed I do,” Aragorn said, his gaze again falling to Legolas.
“Legolas will be fine here. If I leave, Rafél shall stay with him. Now go,” Celeborn encouraged, and with final look to his long time fried, Aragorn left the room to fetch himself something to eat.
Reaching the dining room, Aragorn noticed he was not the only one eating late: the Three Cousins were seated around a long table, their low voices locked into a conversation. As Aragorn approached, they all hushed, turning to meet him, rising to salute him properly.
“Please, leave that,” Aragorn waved with his hand, somewhat embarrassed that he was treated so even by Elves: after all, he was King of Men. “How do you feel?” Aragorn asked from Thalión, noting the other’s properly mended injuries.
“I feel as fine as I can,” Thalión smiled, and Aragorn assumed that the other one was feeling fine: he had got colour back to his face, and all in all, he looked much better.
“Good,” Aragorn replied, going to get himself something to eat. When he had got himself a plate of food, he sat down beside the Cousins, eating in silence.
Soon, two figured burst through the doorway to the room, though one could have thought there was only one arrival. “)Suilad,(” the twin-sons of Elrond called as one, throwing quick smiles to everyone.
“Ah, Estel, it is nice to see you have rested,” Elladan said, sitting beside Aragorn.
“Indeed, you look much better than last evening when we dragged you to your room,” Elrohir continued, sitting beside his elder twin. “Or carried, rather,” the Half-elf continued smirking.
“I feel rested, thank you,” Aragorn mumbled.
Elladan nodded, his eyes dropping to Aragorn’s plate, his dark brow furrowing. “Is that all you are going to eat?”
Aragorn looked to the Prince of Imladris, then to his plate. “I have eaten most of it…”
“Oh, do not try that game with us, Estel,” Elrohir snapped. “How long have you been eating this poorly?”
“I haven’t got much appetite…” Aragorn murmured, his eyes dropping to the table. Next glance to the twins revealed him that the others had taken the point, their youthful faces darkened by an unnamed shadow: a shadow Aragorn was only too accustomed to feel upon himself these days.
“We shall speak of her later,” Elladan reassured, his brother echoing with a nod.
“)Hannon le,(” Aragorn stated gratefully.
“If you excuse us,” Dínnor cut in, “we would leave you now: Imladris has very beautiful gardens, and Lord Erestor promised to show us the library.”
“Of course, my Lords. In the case you need anything, just ask,” Elrohir smiled.
The Cousins nodded, sitting up from the table and disappearing out of the door.
As soon as the warriors were out of the earshot, Elrohir bounced excitedly, playfully elbowing Aragorn. “Truly you have done it this time. Travelling with the Cousins of Hithsîr! At least you had brains enough to bring them here for a visit.”
“I met them purely by accident,” Aragorn said, amused. He had awaited this kind of reaction form the twins, but truly seeing it himself was different than a mere thought.
“Surely,” Elladan laughed. “All three of them ran into you only by an accident.”
“Yes, to be honest,” Aragorn stated. “But I am sure the reason why they ran into me are far less light reasons.”
The smiles covering the identical faces swiftly faded. “We heard of the battle in Woodland Realm,” Elladan begun.
“We have many here in Imladris who have sought for a safe harbour after the attack,” Elrohir continued.
“Which reminds me,” Aragorn interrupted, “from where I remember Rafél? He seems only too familiar, but I can’t get catch of the memory.”
“Why, the last time you saw him was most likely when the Fellowship departed from Imladris. He was here then,” Elrohir began.
“He came with Legolas from Mirkwood,” Elladan continued. Seeing Aragorn’s frowning look, the elder twin continued. “He was Legolas’ bodyguard.”
Aragorn glanced up by this comment, everything suddenly falling to place. “Of course,” he said, “I must have met him on my short journeys to Mirkwood.” He settled down more relaxed now that this riddle was solved.
“We have heard terrible things from our kinsmen of the north,” Elrohir pressed, shuddering. “And Legolas’ wounds prove that most of those wild stories were indeed true, even if we didn’t want to believe them at first.”
“Many horrible things have taken place upon this earth lately,” Elladan said, his voice bitter.
“Maybe they have something to do with each other,” Elrohir whispered in silent despair.
Aragorn looked to his brothers somewhat guiltily, but the others were swift to notice this.
“Do not blame yourself of our sister’s death: you have already punished yourself hard enough of it,” Elladan said softly.
“We spoke with Faramir this morning,” Elrohir confessed. “He told us what happened, and what you have found out by far.”
“Which is nothing,” Aragorn spat.
“Do not fall to despair: we shall find out the truth someday,” Elladan threw an arm around Aragorn’s shoulders. “It may not look like so, but Anor still shines. There is -”
“Still hope,” Aragorn ended, not quite believing the words himself anymore.
“Believe in what you say, or say naught,” Elrohir said grimly, and they sat together in silence, not daring to voice their thoughts, merely drawing strength from each others’ company.
- - -
“How does he fare?” Glorfindel asked, his eyes directed into the young Prince before him even as he spoke to the Lord of East Lórien.
“Not better, not worse. I am not sure if that is alarming. I have counselled with the healers of the house, as well as with the Sons of Elrond, and we all are in equal loss,” Celeborn answered, stepping to stand beside the Lord of the house of Golden Flower. “But he lives still.”
Glorfindel nodded, stepping closer to run a hand over a feverish face. The urge to snatch his hand back was great, the darkness radiating from Legolas assaulting his Elven fëa. “This cannot continue,” the warrior muttered to himself. “If this shadow does not pass, he will not survive.”
“I am afraid that the shadow has already bested us: it refuses to pass.”
“Then try harder! Surely your kinsman’s life is worth a great battle, especially as young one’s as Legolas.”
Celeborn stared at Glorfindel in silence, wishing that it as easy as the other said. But it wasn’t. There was no great healers on these shores anymore, though some dark, pessimistic voice in the back of Celeborn’s mind assured him that no healer could have helped the young Sinda: Legolas was beyond help.
“Give him time,” joined a third voice, and the two Elves turned to meet Rafél who stepped into the room. Even if the ancient warrior’s face was tired and pained, there was still fire in his eyes.
Maybe he is right: Legolas only needs time. After all, Rafél knows Legolas like none of us does. Yet I doubt… Celeborn thought, merely nodding wearily at his kinsman, not sure what he had just agreed in. Most likely into nothing else but more waiting.
Rafél, truly not interested what the others thought, sat beside Legolas again, preparing himself for a long wait if needed. But he would stay here with his Prince, whatever happened.
Watching the scene before him, Glorfindel was able to feel little but sorrow for the Sindarin warrior, who faithfully waited beside his protégé. With a sigh, Glorfindel bowed to Celeborn and left the room.
- - -
Just when Aragorn was preparing to leave the Hall of Fire and go to the gardens for a walk, Erestor rushed in, his robes dangling after and around him. “Aragorn,” the Elf’s clear voice called, “Lord Celeborn had requested you to join him in Prince Legolas’ room most urgently.”
“Has something happened?” Aragorn asked alarmed, his fears rising immediately.
“I am not sure,” the advisor answered, stopping before the Man.
Aragorn’s eyes narrowed, his thoughts exploring the possibilities. “Which do you think: are the news about Legolas going to be positive, or is there something wrong with him?” Obstinately, Aragorn avoided thinking what those ‘wrong’ things may be.
“He didn’t say…” Erestor halted, his brow furrowing. “But I would say that Lord Celeborn seemed to be less desperate looking than before, so it might be that he has something good to tell you.”
Aragorn let out a long breath, clasping Erestor’s shoulder thankfully. “)Hannon le, mellon nîn.(” With that, Aragorn walked to a corridor, preparing himself for any kind of news. It was days from their arrival to Rivendell, and yet Legolas hadn’t improved a slightest. Now would be a high time for it…
His hopes high, Aragorn reached the door of Legolas’ room, and entered without knocking, knowing that he was expected. Celeborn greeted him as he entered, but Aragorn’s eyes were glued on the bed where his friend lay from the moment he opened the door. If nothing else, Legolas looked better. There was colour on his face now, the feverish flush gone, and his breathing was easy.
“He is going to wake soon,” Celeborn said beside Aragorn, startling the Man out of his wits.
“Wake?” Aragorn stammered in disbelief, turning to look at the former Lord of Lothlórien. Celeborn nodded, his eyes both serious and - for the first time in days - hopeful. Aragorn turned back to the bed, taking a few hesitant steps that took him to Legolas’ side. On the other side, Rafél watched him approach with a ghost of smile, the older Elf slightly amused by Aragorn’s open display.
At the moment, Aragorn couldn’t have cared less. He felt ready to cry, the frustration that had built upon him since Asthaldo’s news in Rohan rumbled down, making him feel extremely light inside.
Seating himself down, Aragorn prepared to wait, his eyes never leaving Legolas’ face. He didn’t have to wait for long, however. A soft moan tore itself from the Elf upon the bed, and Legolas shifted restlessly, tossing his head from side to side.
Rafél laid his cool had upon Legolas’ forehead, murmuring soft words of comfort and safety. The brown eyes met Aragorn’s grey ones briefly before again directing themselves to the matter at hand.
“Legolas,” Aragorn said softly, “)it is time to wake, my friend. The shadow had passed and you may walk free.(”
Momentarily, Legolas’ distress seemed to grow, and Aragorn looked up to standing Celeborn for answers. When he found none, the Man continued his attempts to rouse the Elf. “Legolas, wake up.”
This seemed to help, for Legolas calmed a little, his breathing slowing down gradually. Then his eyes fluttered, and the blue eyes were staring up at them with deep confusion. Blinking, Legolas adjusted his eyes, finally seeming to recognise the people around him.
“Welcome back, my friend,” Aragorn said, meeting Legolas eyes as the Elf turned to the direction of his voice.
“Aragorn…” Legolas voice was raspy and low, but at the moment, Aragorn was completely happy with it. Hearing his friend speak made the last shreds of terror disappear from his mind. Aragorn couldn’t help but smile, and soon Legolas answered to it with a small, tentative smile on his own.
“Where am I? What happened?” the Prince asked, his eyes shifting to Rafél, and Aragorn was able to tell that some of Legolas’ uncertainty passed as he felt his protector at his side.
“How much can you remember? Otherwise, I am afraid that the account of the events can be a rather long one,” Aragorn stated.
Legolas’ brow furrowed as he thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There was celebration in the Main Hall,” blue eyes met those of Rafél to confirm his memory before he continued. “Then… there was an attack… and we fought.” Legolas halted, shuddering despite himself, his face suddenly shadowed. “I remember pain,” he whispered barely audibly. It seemed that Legolas’ memories were suddenly much more broken than before. “I was out on the grass and Gimli…” At this point, Legolas’ hand stole up to the place of the necklace no more hanging around his neck. His eyes darted down, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze.
Aragorn shifted nervously, easily sensing the distress of his friend. “Legolas, what is it? Do you not feel well?”
Slowly, Legolas turned his head to meet Aragorn’s concerned eyes, and the Man was startled by the sight of his friend: seldom did he see Legolas cry, and the despair and pain upon Legolas’ face was heartbreaking. “I am so sorry Aragorn. I tried to help him - warn him - but I couldn’t. He tried to fight all of them, and more kept coming all the time. He just couldn’t win. And I did nothing to help him…”
“Who fought with whom?” Aragorn asked, confused, even as he feared he knew the answer.
“Gimli,” Legolas gasped, closing his eyes against a new wave of tears. “He fought the enemy, trying to protect me.” Legolas gazed at Aragorn again, tears running down his cheeks unchecked. “I am so sorry…”
Aragorn, terrified by the total breaking down of his strong, proud friend, did not know what to say. Instead, he drew Legolas gently as possible to his arms. Legolas clung to him with desperation, nestling his head to his chest, crying his soul out. Maybe it is a first time he truly realises that Gimli is… lost. Most likely he had no time to mourn before, and now he seems to hold himself responsible to me that we lost the Dwarf. Possessing no words of comfort to his friend, Aragorn merely held Legolas, giving him all the support he could.
After some minutes, Legolas fell back to an uneasy sleep, and Aragorn laid him back to the bed gently, only to notice Rafél eyes upon him, the ancient Sinda wearing a strange expression.
to be continued…
Olvar - growing things with roots in the Earth
Fëa - Spirit
)Sindarin(: - Westron:
Neldoreth - Beech
Suilad - Hello
Anor - Sun
Author’s Notes: To correct myself, I will explain here some things: when Rafél in the beginning of the chapter thought about Legolas’ joining to the Fellowship, that story-line is told in “After the Council”. And the moment of Legolas’ return from the War is from the story “First Impressions”.
Story Info
Title: The Last Journey
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Era: Fourth Age of the Sun
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure
Rating: M / FRM
Main characters: Aragorn, Celeborn, Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, Éomer, Erestor, Faramir, Gandalf, Gimli, Glorfindel, Haldir, Legolas, Meriadoc, Nazgûl, Pippin, Thranduil (, OCs).
Pairings: Legolas/OMC (brief Aragorn/Arwen, Éowyn/Faramir)
Summary: After many peaceful years that have followed the war against Sauron, everything changes. Evil returns, striking without warning, and it is stronger than ever before. It is time for the final fight, but who shall achieve victory?
Work in Process.
Warnings: Characters’ death (major, OC), violence, torture, slash, mild sexual content (het and slash), plenty of evil, etc.
~ ~ ~
“)…(“ = Sindarin
Chapter 14: Healing in Sorrow
Rivendell
Rafél travelled through the woods in the Valley of Rivendell, idly spending his time in walking without direction. He wasn’t sure how many days he had spent thus. Too many, most likely, after his arrival to Imladris. As the Elves of Woodland Realm were making decision between staying in the Valley or going on to the Grey Havens, Rafél found himself often like this, wandering without destination, like a launched arrow without a target.
He was going nowhere. But he could not stay either.
For the first time in his life, Rafél was truly considering casting aside the orders given to him and do as his heart told him. Though there was no direct ‘orders’ for him, anymore: he had escorted the flying Elves over the Misty Mountains. His task was done. He was free to go on. But he wasn’t sure what to do, or where to go. And as long as he was uncertain, he would stay in the Valley. There was absolutely no point to leave the Elven refuge if he wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.
Or so he told himself.
Halting on a high mound, Rafél looked to the east, wind playing with his hair. His dark brown eyes were shadowed with worry, but at any other time you could have seen great wisdom there, experience of years gathered to those eternal mirrors of soul.
Running a gentle hand along the curve of his bow, Rafél stared at the distance, weighting his options. He could stay, or he could make up his mind and go on. But go where? Back to Eryn Lasgalen? There was nothing more than destruction there, but surely one more pair of hands would be needed, one more bow to defend his people from new attacks.
But above all else, there was one place that Rafél longed to be in: beside Legolas. He was worried about the Prince. Not knowing what had happened to his former protégé nagged his mind, keeping him awake during the long nights. His heart ached for the thought that something had happened to his Greenleaf.
Shaking his head, Rafél tried to quiet the yearning of his heart. He had stopped to be Legolas’ guardian when Legolas had joined to the Fellowship, and it was not his place to worry overly because of the Prince. But he did worry. He couldn’t help himself. Maybe it had become a habit: after all, he and Legolas had spent thousands of years together.
Sighing, Rafél closed his eyes, remembering well the day when he had seen Legolas return home from the War of the Rings: a return he had not expected to see. That day, his heart had sung with joy. Today, it was slowly withering to death.
Gasping for air he had not noticed he was holding, Rafél gazed up to the heavens, searching for an answer to his dilemma. But no answer came, at least the way the Sinda was expecting. Something happened, though. The forest’s song changed, informing Rafél of an arrival of strangers.
Frowning, Rafél reached for a neldoreth near him, closing his eyes to focus to the song of the Olvar. After a few moments, Rafél opened his eyes, staring at the direction where he now knew that a small party of Elves and Men was travelling towards Rivendell. The trees seemed confused, worried even, and Rafél wasted no other moment pondering: among these travellers were most likely wounded Elves, for there was no other explanation why the trees were behaving as they were.
Jumping to a nearby tree, Rafél set a quick pace towards the nearing group.
- - -
Aragorn glanced worriedly at Legolas who leaned against his chest, face pale and eyes closed. Not that it surprised the Man: Legolas hadn’t awoken a single time after they had found him from the care of the huorns. If Aragorn hadn’t known better, he would have thought that the Elf was in the same condition as when they found him. But he wasn’t. Legolas’ condition was getting worse with every passing day. Aragorn worried for his friend, the Man’s frustration of his incapability to help driving him to the brink of madness.
Their travel over the Misty Mountains had been an uneventful one - none of them complaining, however - and now as they drew nearer the Valley of Rivendell, Aragorn felt his hopes crumble to the ground. It would take too long. Legolas would not make it. The Prince would die in Aragorn’s arms, the King of Men unable to do anything to prohibit it…
“My Lord?”
The hard, nearly commanding voice coming beside Aragorn startled the Man from his thoughts, making him whip his head around in confusion. He had not heard such an authority used towards him for years. Somehow he wasn’t too surprised to find Dínnor riding beside him. Aragorn looked at the Sinda questioningly, wondering what was causing the other’s outburst. Not that I couldn’t have seen it coming: Dínnor loosing his temper was only a matter of time.
“You should not worry over Legolas so much: I understand that you are close to him, but therefore you should also have faith in him. Legolas is too strong of a warrior to give up this easily.”
“We are reaching the borders of the Valley soon,” Asthaldo informed them silently.
Aragorn, still quite shocked by Dínnor’s words, merely nodded and readjusted his hold around Legolas’ limp form. Most likely Dínnor is right: I have seen what Elves are capable to withstand, and Legolas is strong. But even the strongest tree has to give up for the wind someday…
They entered the Valley soon, Aragorn easily recognising the familiar landscape, and for a moment, his spirit felt lighter than in days. Memories flooded through his mind, easing the darkness out of his thoughts’ dark corners. First time in may days, he truly felt the warmth of the shining Sun.
“We shall have company,” Thalión informed, his voice distant. The others near him turned immediately to look about them, only the two other Cousins keeping still. “Elven company,” Thalión corrected after some time, his eyes scanning the forest slowly. “Let us ride ahead: I am sure that the one approaching us shall find us easily enough.”
“You can tell the number of Elves approaching us?” Faramir asked, sounding both doubting and bewildered.
Thalión smiled at the Steward. “I can. Or to be honest, the trees tell me. I merely listen.”
“Oh,” Faramir muttered, looking at the trees around him somewhat sceptically.
Aragorn couldn’t help but smile, remembering all too well how sceptically he himself had reacted to the Elves’ skill to hear the voices of the trees. He had soon learned to respect this talent, though, even if he was never able to learn it himself.
Before they were able to travel much further, an Elf emerged from the trees, his clothing telling Aragorn immediately that this was no Imladris Elf. Thalión and Dínnor both looked surprised, but Asthaldo laughed with joy.
“Rafél, you have no idea how much we have missed your company!”
“We have?” Dínnor asked with a smile on his own as Rafél dropped from the branches.
Aragorn watched the Elf approach, now easily recognising that this was indeed an Elf of Eryn Lasgalen, though his appearance was somewhat different from the other Elves’ he had met before: his hair was long and smooth, its colour so light that it was nearly white, only a touch of brown on it. Rafél, as he had been called, had a flawless pale skin as the others of his kin, and he was well built by Elven standards, his appearance one of a seasoned warrior, confidence in his every movement. The weapons he carried told their own story, and Aragorn quickly decided this was not an Elf to play with. But what drew his attention most were the eyes; deep brown, shining bright with intelligence, telling of long years on these shores, and without doubt, of may battles witnessed. One in not so distant past, Aragorn thought grimly.
“Asthaldo, it is well to see that you made out of the battle alive. But aren’t you both with Thalión supposed to be in-” Rafél halted in mid-sentence, his eyes drawn to the motionless Elf in Aragorn’s arms. With an unreadable expression, Rafél reached Aragorn, his hands reaching out to touch Legolas’ face tenderly. “What is wrong with him?” came a question that sounded deeply worried and pained to Aragorn.
“He must see a healer. That is why we are here: to take him to Rivendell, where we hope he can be mended,” Asthaldo said hurriedly, and Aragorn couldn’t but wonder where he himself had met Rafél before. The other Elf seemed distantly familiar.
Rafél nodded, his eyes never leaving Legolas. His hands moved over Legolas’ face again, and then he drew away, almost reluctantly. “You will tell me later. But hurry now: he indeed needs to see a healer.”
Looking very revealed, Asthaldo nodded, encouraging them on. Rafél followed them, taking a path up in the trees, but as far as Aragorn saw, the Elf wasn’t letting Legolas out of his sight. While Aragorn was pondering this, they reached Rivendell.
- - -
Waking from a deep, dreamless sleep, Aragorn shifted upon the soft mattress, enjoying of the feel of the softness around him. It had been some time since he had slept in a soft bed, and as much as he loved life outside in the wild, he also enjoyed of certain comforts that a normal life provided.
Opening his eyes, he noticed that the room was already lit by an early morning light shining through the curtains. Rolling to his side, Aragorn prepared to draw his beloved to his embrace, but instead, he found the other side of the bed empty. Blinking, Aragorn wondered if Arwen had already woken and got up. But then he remembered. There would be no morning for him to wake and find her beside him, still asleep or already awake, waiting for him to join her in greeting a new day.
With an anguished sob, Aragorn lay back down, staring at the empty space beside him. Memories of yesterday returned to him, not one of them lessening his pain. Being in Imladris, in the home of Arwen, made his heart ache, his mind drawn by the thousands of memories of them together here.
Forcing back the tears, Aragorn turned to stare at the ceiling, willing his thoughts elsewhere. Instead of thinking of her, he recalled the events of the previous evening. They had arrived to the centre of Rivendell soon after meeting Rafél in the woods, a word of their arrival already spreading through the Elven city. Elladan and Elrohir had met them before the main-porch, Celeborn waiting with them, as well as many others of the household.
Aragorn had explained all he could tell, and Legolas had been taken inside. Thalión’s injuries had also been take care of, though their main attention had been in the Elven Prince. Aragorn wasn’t sure how may hours he had spent with Celeborn on Legolas’ side before he had been take to his own rooms to sleep. By then, he had barely been able to stay on his feet.
Sitting up to the edge of the bed, Aragorn ran his hands over his face, drawing away the last tendrils of sleep. He felt no longer tired - physically at least. Spiritually, he was weary as ever. But he had things to do, and his ‘errands’ wouldn’t run themselves.
Standing up, Aragorn started to search for his clothes. Smiling, he spotted a pile of clean clothes upon a stool near the bed. Reaching for the clothes, Aragorn dressed quickly, and then left the room to find his hosts. But before he went for a search of the Twins, he took another corridor. First of all, he would see how Legolas was faring.
A few moments later Aragorn reached a door of one of the healing rooms, and with a quick knock, he entered. The sight hadn’t changed much from yesterday, the Man noted. Legolas lay on the bed, unmoving, no signs of improving visible. Celeborn was standing near the window, running through some pages of parchment. Near the bed, away from the healers’ way but yet near enough, sat Rafél, his fair face leaning to his crossed hands. For a moment Aragorn wondered if the Elf had left Legolas’ side at all. Most likely not.
“Ah, Elessar, good morning. I hope you slept well?” Celeborn’s deep voice interrupted Aragorn from his thoughts, and the former ranger turned swiftly to meet the Eldar.
“I slept well, thank you. How is our patient?”
There was a plain sign of distress upon Celeborn’s face before the Sindarin Lord was able to collect his thoughts. “I would say he will live. For a while at least,” he added barely audibly, glancing at Rafél who seemed to ignore them both. Yet it was likely that the warrior was listening their every word even if he gave no outer sight of that.
“You give him little hope, then,” Aragorn stated, downcast.
Celeborn lifted a comforting hand to Aragorn’s shoulder, his grey eyes directed steadily to the Man before him. “His wounds are.. grievous. Especially when I have a good idea what caused them.” The Lord of the Galadhrim grimaced, shuddering slightly at the memory of the feel of the darkness in the certain injuries Legolas had received. He shook his head sadly. “If I would have seen him in Fangorn, I would have spared him from further pain then and there. But I am glad you didn’t do so: he has fought for this long, so perhaps he shall survive. I would not give that thought too much hope, though.”
“There is always hope,” Aragorn whispered.
Celeborn nodded, his eyes suddenly very thoughtful. “I am sorry,” he said, drawing Aragorn’s attention from Legolas to himself. “I heard of Arwen and the Lady of Rohan. Most likely your brothers know as well, by now,” Celeborn continued, referring to Elladan and Elrohir, who had been Aragorn’s foster brothers during the years Aragorn had grown under Elrond’s care in Rivendell. Even after all these years, Aragorn still thought those two as his brothers.
“How did you hear about this?” Aragorn asked cautiously.
“News spread,” Celeborn answered. “I heard from the Cousins of Hithsîr after you went to bed. They most likely heard it from the Men of Gondor who are travelling with you.”
Aragorn smiled wryly. “Long be blessed the Elven hearing…”
Celeborn didn’t make comment to this, instead changing the topic. “There should be still some breakfast left in the dining hall. You must be hungry. I also presume you wish to talk with your brothers face to face.”
“Indeed I do,” Aragorn said, his gaze again falling to Legolas.
“Legolas will be fine here. If I leave, Rafél shall stay with him. Now go,” Celeborn encouraged, and with final look to his long time fried, Aragorn left the room to fetch himself something to eat.
Reaching the dining room, Aragorn noticed he was not the only one eating late: the Three Cousins were seated around a long table, their low voices locked into a conversation. As Aragorn approached, they all hushed, turning to meet him, rising to salute him properly.
“Please, leave that,” Aragorn waved with his hand, somewhat embarrassed that he was treated so even by Elves: after all, he was King of Men. “How do you feel?” Aragorn asked from Thalión, noting the other’s properly mended injuries.
“I feel as fine as I can,” Thalión smiled, and Aragorn assumed that the other one was feeling fine: he had got colour back to his face, and all in all, he looked much better.
“Good,” Aragorn replied, going to get himself something to eat. When he had got himself a plate of food, he sat down beside the Cousins, eating in silence.
Soon, two figured burst through the doorway to the room, though one could have thought there was only one arrival. “)Suilad,(” the twin-sons of Elrond called as one, throwing quick smiles to everyone.
“Ah, Estel, it is nice to see you have rested,” Elladan said, sitting beside Aragorn.
“Indeed, you look much better than last evening when we dragged you to your room,” Elrohir continued, sitting beside his elder twin. “Or carried, rather,” the Half-elf continued smirking.
“I feel rested, thank you,” Aragorn mumbled.
Elladan nodded, his eyes dropping to Aragorn’s plate, his dark brow furrowing. “Is that all you are going to eat?”
Aragorn looked to the Prince of Imladris, then to his plate. “I have eaten most of it…”
“Oh, do not try that game with us, Estel,” Elrohir snapped. “How long have you been eating this poorly?”
“I haven’t got much appetite…” Aragorn murmured, his eyes dropping to the table. Next glance to the twins revealed him that the others had taken the point, their youthful faces darkened by an unnamed shadow: a shadow Aragorn was only too accustomed to feel upon himself these days.
“We shall speak of her later,” Elladan reassured, his brother echoing with a nod.
“)Hannon le,(” Aragorn stated gratefully.
“If you excuse us,” Dínnor cut in, “we would leave you now: Imladris has very beautiful gardens, and Lord Erestor promised to show us the library.”
“Of course, my Lords. In the case you need anything, just ask,” Elrohir smiled.
The Cousins nodded, sitting up from the table and disappearing out of the door.
As soon as the warriors were out of the earshot, Elrohir bounced excitedly, playfully elbowing Aragorn. “Truly you have done it this time. Travelling with the Cousins of Hithsîr! At least you had brains enough to bring them here for a visit.”
“I met them purely by accident,” Aragorn said, amused. He had awaited this kind of reaction form the twins, but truly seeing it himself was different than a mere thought.
“Surely,” Elladan laughed. “All three of them ran into you only by an accident.”
“Yes, to be honest,” Aragorn stated. “But I am sure the reason why they ran into me are far less light reasons.”
The smiles covering the identical faces swiftly faded. “We heard of the battle in Woodland Realm,” Elladan begun.
“We have many here in Imladris who have sought for a safe harbour after the attack,” Elrohir continued.
“Which reminds me,” Aragorn interrupted, “from where I remember Rafél? He seems only too familiar, but I can’t get catch of the memory.”
“Why, the last time you saw him was most likely when the Fellowship departed from Imladris. He was here then,” Elrohir began.
“He came with Legolas from Mirkwood,” Elladan continued. Seeing Aragorn’s frowning look, the elder twin continued. “He was Legolas’ bodyguard.”
Aragorn glanced up by this comment, everything suddenly falling to place. “Of course,” he said, “I must have met him on my short journeys to Mirkwood.” He settled down more relaxed now that this riddle was solved.
“We have heard terrible things from our kinsmen of the north,” Elrohir pressed, shuddering. “And Legolas’ wounds prove that most of those wild stories were indeed true, even if we didn’t want to believe them at first.”
“Many horrible things have taken place upon this earth lately,” Elladan said, his voice bitter.
“Maybe they have something to do with each other,” Elrohir whispered in silent despair.
Aragorn looked to his brothers somewhat guiltily, but the others were swift to notice this.
“Do not blame yourself of our sister’s death: you have already punished yourself hard enough of it,” Elladan said softly.
“We spoke with Faramir this morning,” Elrohir confessed. “He told us what happened, and what you have found out by far.”
“Which is nothing,” Aragorn spat.
“Do not fall to despair: we shall find out the truth someday,” Elladan threw an arm around Aragorn’s shoulders. “It may not look like so, but Anor still shines. There is -”
“Still hope,” Aragorn ended, not quite believing the words himself anymore.
“Believe in what you say, or say naught,” Elrohir said grimly, and they sat together in silence, not daring to voice their thoughts, merely drawing strength from each others’ company.
- - -
“How does he fare?” Glorfindel asked, his eyes directed into the young Prince before him even as he spoke to the Lord of East Lórien.
“Not better, not worse. I am not sure if that is alarming. I have counselled with the healers of the house, as well as with the Sons of Elrond, and we all are in equal loss,” Celeborn answered, stepping to stand beside the Lord of the house of Golden Flower. “But he lives still.”
Glorfindel nodded, stepping closer to run a hand over a feverish face. The urge to snatch his hand back was great, the darkness radiating from Legolas assaulting his Elven fëa. “This cannot continue,” the warrior muttered to himself. “If this shadow does not pass, he will not survive.”
“I am afraid that the shadow has already bested us: it refuses to pass.”
“Then try harder! Surely your kinsman’s life is worth a great battle, especially as young one’s as Legolas.”
Celeborn stared at Glorfindel in silence, wishing that it as easy as the other said. But it wasn’t. There was no great healers on these shores anymore, though some dark, pessimistic voice in the back of Celeborn’s mind assured him that no healer could have helped the young Sinda: Legolas was beyond help.
“Give him time,” joined a third voice, and the two Elves turned to meet Rafél who stepped into the room. Even if the ancient warrior’s face was tired and pained, there was still fire in his eyes.
Maybe he is right: Legolas only needs time. After all, Rafél knows Legolas like none of us does. Yet I doubt… Celeborn thought, merely nodding wearily at his kinsman, not sure what he had just agreed in. Most likely into nothing else but more waiting.
Rafél, truly not interested what the others thought, sat beside Legolas again, preparing himself for a long wait if needed. But he would stay here with his Prince, whatever happened.
Watching the scene before him, Glorfindel was able to feel little but sorrow for the Sindarin warrior, who faithfully waited beside his protégé. With a sigh, Glorfindel bowed to Celeborn and left the room.
- - -
Just when Aragorn was preparing to leave the Hall of Fire and go to the gardens for a walk, Erestor rushed in, his robes dangling after and around him. “Aragorn,” the Elf’s clear voice called, “Lord Celeborn had requested you to join him in Prince Legolas’ room most urgently.”
“Has something happened?” Aragorn asked alarmed, his fears rising immediately.
“I am not sure,” the advisor answered, stopping before the Man.
Aragorn’s eyes narrowed, his thoughts exploring the possibilities. “Which do you think: are the news about Legolas going to be positive, or is there something wrong with him?” Obstinately, Aragorn avoided thinking what those ‘wrong’ things may be.
“He didn’t say…” Erestor halted, his brow furrowing. “But I would say that Lord Celeborn seemed to be less desperate looking than before, so it might be that he has something good to tell you.”
Aragorn let out a long breath, clasping Erestor’s shoulder thankfully. “)Hannon le, mellon nîn.(” With that, Aragorn walked to a corridor, preparing himself for any kind of news. It was days from their arrival to Rivendell, and yet Legolas hadn’t improved a slightest. Now would be a high time for it…
His hopes high, Aragorn reached the door of Legolas’ room, and entered without knocking, knowing that he was expected. Celeborn greeted him as he entered, but Aragorn’s eyes were glued on the bed where his friend lay from the moment he opened the door. If nothing else, Legolas looked better. There was colour on his face now, the feverish flush gone, and his breathing was easy.
“He is going to wake soon,” Celeborn said beside Aragorn, startling the Man out of his wits.
“Wake?” Aragorn stammered in disbelief, turning to look at the former Lord of Lothlórien. Celeborn nodded, his eyes both serious and - for the first time in days - hopeful. Aragorn turned back to the bed, taking a few hesitant steps that took him to Legolas’ side. On the other side, Rafél watched him approach with a ghost of smile, the older Elf slightly amused by Aragorn’s open display.
At the moment, Aragorn couldn’t have cared less. He felt ready to cry, the frustration that had built upon him since Asthaldo’s news in Rohan rumbled down, making him feel extremely light inside.
Seating himself down, Aragorn prepared to wait, his eyes never leaving Legolas’ face. He didn’t have to wait for long, however. A soft moan tore itself from the Elf upon the bed, and Legolas shifted restlessly, tossing his head from side to side.
Rafél laid his cool had upon Legolas’ forehead, murmuring soft words of comfort and safety. The brown eyes met Aragorn’s grey ones briefly before again directing themselves to the matter at hand.
“Legolas,” Aragorn said softly, “)it is time to wake, my friend. The shadow had passed and you may walk free.(”
Momentarily, Legolas’ distress seemed to grow, and Aragorn looked up to standing Celeborn for answers. When he found none, the Man continued his attempts to rouse the Elf. “Legolas, wake up.”
This seemed to help, for Legolas calmed a little, his breathing slowing down gradually. Then his eyes fluttered, and the blue eyes were staring up at them with deep confusion. Blinking, Legolas adjusted his eyes, finally seeming to recognise the people around him.
“Welcome back, my friend,” Aragorn said, meeting Legolas eyes as the Elf turned to the direction of his voice.
“Aragorn…” Legolas voice was raspy and low, but at the moment, Aragorn was completely happy with it. Hearing his friend speak made the last shreds of terror disappear from his mind. Aragorn couldn’t help but smile, and soon Legolas answered to it with a small, tentative smile on his own.
“Where am I? What happened?” the Prince asked, his eyes shifting to Rafél, and Aragorn was able to tell that some of Legolas’ uncertainty passed as he felt his protector at his side.
“How much can you remember? Otherwise, I am afraid that the account of the events can be a rather long one,” Aragorn stated.
Legolas’ brow furrowed as he thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There was celebration in the Main Hall,” blue eyes met those of Rafél to confirm his memory before he continued. “Then… there was an attack… and we fought.” Legolas halted, shuddering despite himself, his face suddenly shadowed. “I remember pain,” he whispered barely audibly. It seemed that Legolas’ memories were suddenly much more broken than before. “I was out on the grass and Gimli…” At this point, Legolas’ hand stole up to the place of the necklace no more hanging around his neck. His eyes darted down, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze.
Aragorn shifted nervously, easily sensing the distress of his friend. “Legolas, what is it? Do you not feel well?”
Slowly, Legolas turned his head to meet Aragorn’s concerned eyes, and the Man was startled by the sight of his friend: seldom did he see Legolas cry, and the despair and pain upon Legolas’ face was heartbreaking. “I am so sorry Aragorn. I tried to help him - warn him - but I couldn’t. He tried to fight all of them, and more kept coming all the time. He just couldn’t win. And I did nothing to help him…”
“Who fought with whom?” Aragorn asked, confused, even as he feared he knew the answer.
“Gimli,” Legolas gasped, closing his eyes against a new wave of tears. “He fought the enemy, trying to protect me.” Legolas gazed at Aragorn again, tears running down his cheeks unchecked. “I am so sorry…”
Aragorn, terrified by the total breaking down of his strong, proud friend, did not know what to say. Instead, he drew Legolas gently as possible to his arms. Legolas clung to him with desperation, nestling his head to his chest, crying his soul out. Maybe it is a first time he truly realises that Gimli is… lost. Most likely he had no time to mourn before, and now he seems to hold himself responsible to me that we lost the Dwarf. Possessing no words of comfort to his friend, Aragorn merely held Legolas, giving him all the support he could.
After some minutes, Legolas fell back to an uneasy sleep, and Aragorn laid him back to the bed gently, only to notice Rafél eyes upon him, the ancient Sinda wearing a strange expression.
to be continued…
Olvar - growing things with roots in the Earth
Fëa - Spirit
)Sindarin(: - Westron:
Neldoreth - Beech
Suilad - Hello
Anor - Sun
Author’s Notes: To correct myself, I will explain here some things: when Rafél in the beginning of the chapter thought about Legolas’ joining to the Fellowship, that story-line is told in “After the Council”. And the moment of Legolas’ return from the War is from the story “First Impressions”.
Story Info