Hi there, everyone! I apologize for my lack of absence. I've been so busy this semester. I hope this time around I'll have a bit more time to myself! Anywho, I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas and a great and safe New Year's!
Disclaimer: Not mine, as always. The characters belong to Tolkien. The titles belong to Elliot. Simple enough.
Warnings: Yes, there still is going to be slash and an OC romance. I haven't changed any of that either.
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World's End
Chapter 8: Walking Alone
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The group remained silent for the rest of the day's journey. Gandalf took the lead with the hobbits following. Then came Aragorn, Legolas's limp form cradled tightly in his arms. Gimli was after him with Boromir bringing up the rear. Ylana was running from side to side, skipping ahead and coming back to the group to report the conditions ahead.
For all intents and purposes, Aragorn was walking alone.
He was still in shock from Legolas's collapse. It wasn't fair at all. He had just gotten Legolas back from Saruman's evil spell only to have him fall under another. He needed Legolas. Without the Elf by his side, he felt as though he was going to fall apart. Especially since he had no clue what was wrong with his friend. He was so caught up in his grief and worry that he didn't even notice the looks passed his way by the others.
Gandalf's looks held a bit more knowledge than the other's. So did Ylana's. Both had a good idea that there was more to Aragorn's worry and grief than the rest of them thought.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Gandalf called the silent group to a halt in order to set up camp for the night. After making sure Legolas was as comfortable as he could be, Aragorn left to see what he could hunt down for their dinner. Boromir and Ylana were sent out to collect firewood. The hobbits began to get the things that they would need to prepare whatever it was Aragorn brought them to eat.
Boromir, Ylana and Aragorn all returned at the same time. While the fire was being kindled, the Ranger skinned and cleaned the rabbits he had managed to catch. Sam had become excited at this, digging through his pack for spices and salts while babbling on about this lovely stew recipe he had. The hobbits' antics brought a small smile to Aragorn's face, but it still couldn't bring him out of his depressive funk. So, after asking Ylana to come and fetch him whenever dinner was ready, he disappeared into the thick foliage with his pipe,
His picked his way through the growing dusk until he found a spot that was both out of sight and out of earshot from the rest of the group, including Ylana. He took a seat on a patch of moss, leaned his back against a thick tree trunk and lit his pipe.
He desperately wanted to know what was going on and why it was happening to his best friend, who had only wanted to help other people. He hadn't deserved to be beaten by a jealous brother, or have his voice stripped away by a sadistic, traitorous wizard. And neither did he deserve this.
He defiantly didn't deserve to have a best friend like Aragorn, who couldn't even protect him.
A tear slid down the Ranger's cheek, which he angrily wiped away. He had been crying way too much lately, and he was sick of all this stupid self-pity that he had been wallowing in since they had first left Rivendell. He was supposed to be strong, be a model for the others. He was their pillar, the one they turned to when they needed help.
He couldn't afford to fall apart now!
Then again, it wasn't as though anyone could really blame him. He gained much of his strength from his Elven companion. The two had fought together side by side for so long now that they could read each other's movements and determine their next. Each was a celebrated warrior in his own right, but together they were a formidable foe that even the strongest opponents were afraid to take on.
When Legolas was gone, Aragorn felt this deep emptiness in his heart. It was like he was missing a vital part of himself. The two were soul brothers, sometimes closer than true siblings.
The Ranger didn't deny that he wished they could be more.
He had been trying to fight this feeling the whole time he had been on the road. He kept reminding himself that he was in love with Arwen, who was waiting for him anxiously back in Rivendell. But he no longer had any strength behind that argument. Every time he looked at Legolas, his breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat. Every time the two made contact, his whole body would tingle. He found himself longing to hold his blond companion in his arms, stroking that long, silky hair.
But those feelings stayed bottled up inside of him. He didn't know how Legolas felt. The Elf seemed to have gotten quite close to Ylana since she had joined the companions. Oh, he knew that Elves had no qualms about same-sex relationships, unlike the humans. They found everything just as beautiful, and if you happened to fall in love with another member of your gender. That was fine. But he had never heard Legolas speak his views on that, and he wasn't about to risk this dear friendship. He would gladly live a lie with Arwen if it meant that he could keep Legolas as his closest companion.
He let out a long sigh, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree. His pipe, having long gone out, hung loosely in his hand. The sky above him darkened, and the stars began to appear. Aragorn didn't care. He was too busy trying to find an answer for the question weighing heavily on his heart.
Why me?
Before he could begin to ponder it, however, a slight shuffle of footsteps caused him to open his eyes. Looking up, he saw Ylana standing there, her raven hair sparkling in the dim starlight.
The female Elf offered her friend a gentle smile. "Come, Estel," she said softly. "Dinner is ready."
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Where am I?
Legolas felt warm, like the sun was shinning down on him. A breeze blew over him, bringing with it the fragrance of flowers and grass. He was lying on something soft, and there was a faint light behind his eyes.
"Well, well, well!" came an amused, unfamiliar voice from somewhere in front of him. It was definitely male, and defiantly Elven. "I see that you have finally decided to join us. How do you feel?"
Ever so slowly, the young prince blinked his eyes open, not wanting to endure the sting that the sun would bring.
A clear blue sky---not a cloud in sight!---hung over him. The sun was shinning merrily, but not too brightly. Looking out of the corner of his eyes, he could see that he was lying on grass.
"I hope you're comfortable," came that voice again, causing Legolas to push himself to a sitting position. "I've slept there myself quite a number of times."
As he looked around, Legolas came to realize that he was lying on a large, lush green field, dotted here and there by a few trees. The Elf who had spoken leaned against one of those trees, arms crossed, one foot resting on the tree trunk. His long, raven-colored hair fell past his shoulders, and his silver eyes sparkled as the regarded Legolas.
Familiar silver eyes.
Legolas's breath caught in his throat. No. It can't be!
"Who are you?" he rasped, heart pounding as he waited for the answer.
A cool eyebrow was lifted. "Do you not know? Come on, Legolas. I've been watching you, so I know you're a bright lad. Honestly, is it that hard to tell?"
"You're Gallas." Legolas's voice was flat, and he could feel his body go cold. "Ylana's brother."
The dark-haired Elf closed one eye and leveled a finger at his blond companion. "Bingo! See? I told you you were smart."
Legolas didn't even hear the banter. He was worried about one thing and one thing only.
"Am I dead?"
Gallas blinked at him, then burst out into laughter. "I'm sorry. I should've known that would be what you were thinking. Sometimes I forget that I'm dead. But I am happy to assure you that no, you are not dead. But your spirit has fled your body, so I brought you here."
Legolas looked around at the tree-dotted field that he lay in and the blue sky above him. "Where exactly is 'here'?"
Gallas shrugged. "I'm not sure, really. An in-between point between your world and mine."
This caused the prince to frown. "And what are you doing here? Better yet, what am I doing here?"
"I've been sent to help you." The Elf pushed off from the tree and came over to sit on the ground next to Legolas. "The Valar have sent a few of us out to help those of you who have fallen. I've been put in charge of you and one other."
Still frowning, Legolas looked around. "Who's the other?"
"He should be…" Gallas trailed off and his face lit up. "Ah! Here he comes now!"
The prince looked to where Ylana's brother was waving, and a gasp escaped his lips as his eyes went wide.
"You!"
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Elrond couldn't remember the last time he had felt so exhausted. He had been going non-stop in the past few days since the first Elf had fallen. Elrohir had been tending to the sick as well, with Elladan and Arwen running around doing errands. A few of the Elves who had fallen early had gotten slightly worse, though not as bad as Elrond suspected it could be.
He was currently bent over Glorfindel, whose fever had been easing slightly since he had become ill. Erestor, as always, was hovering nearby. He hadn't gotten any sleep either. His face was pale and drawn, and his clothes hung off of him as though he had been wearing them for days. Elrond was worried that his friend might be falling next.
He was so engrossed in his task that he didn't realize someone else had entered the room until they cleared their throat. Standing and turning, he saw a messenger there, looking exhausted, holding a piece of parchment.
"Lord Elrond?" he said softy. "I bring you a message from King Thranduil."
The Elven lord's eyes went wide. "Thranduil?" he asked, lunging for the letter. His heart suddenly turned cold at the thought of what a letter from Mirkwood might mean. "Tell me, how fares your king? Is he well?"
"He is fine, milord," the younger Elf replied gently. He was absolutely exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for the next two days. But he couldn't do that just yet. Elrond was desperately worried about his lover, and the messenger would gladly provide any information that he could. "But there are many others who are not. We've had thirty who have fallen ill, and the king thought our best course of action would be to bring them here. By the looks of things, we're not the only ones with this problem."
"I'm afraid not." Elrond eagerly tore through the seal and hungrily scanned the words written on the parchment. He felt his knees go weak with relief when he realized that the messenger had been correct. It was Thranduil's hand, and the king himself had signed it just two days prior.
The dark-haired Elf looked up and offered a smile. "Thank you. Now, let's see if we can find you a bed. You must be exhausted to have made it here in two days!"
The messenger gave a bow, hen turned to leave.
Elrond turned to his advisor, who had not moved from his spot in the corner since Elrond had arrived. "Erestor, stay with him. Come find me if he gets any worse. I need to go make more room. Thranduil will be arriving in a few days with thirty more sick."
With a nod, Erestor came and took the cloth from the Elven lord. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he began to tenderly bathe Glorfindel's face.
Elrond couldn't help but smile. You don't know how good you've got it, my friend, he silently told the sick Elf. The he turned and left the room.
Though he was saddened by the prospect of even more ill Elves coming in, Elrond couldn't help but have a bounce in his step as he lead the Mirkwood messenger through the halls. He was going to be able to see Thranduil!
It had been such a long time since the lovers had seen one another. Four months at least. That was right. It had been at the party in Lothlorien, the one that Celeborn and Galadriel had every year. The two had hardly seen many of the other Elves, opting to spend most of their time together. Oh, but it had been lovely! And every time he thought about it, it made Elrond's heart ache for Thranduil all the more.
Just a few more days…
"Ada!"
Lord Elrond blinked as Arwen came into view, calling out to him. Seeing his precious daughter brought a tired smile to his face. "Hello, Arwen," he said softly. "How are you?"
"I am fine," she answered. "A little tired, but no worse for wear."
Elrond blinked again and looked closer at his daughter. Really looked at her.
Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a tail. Instead of the beautiful gowns she was fond of wearing, she was garbed in a simply dress that would like more in place on a peasant. Her eyes were heavy, and there were slight lines on her face.
"When was the last time you've gotten any sleep?" Elrond asked, moving forward to take his daughter's elbow.
Arwen shrugged. "Yesterday? Two days ago? I'm not really sure. But I'm fine. I've been tending to Lindir. He's doing much better."
"Good. But I want you to get some rest. There are more Elves coming, and at least thirty of them are ill."
Her eyes went wide as she realized what this meant. "By the Valar, it has spread? Is it Mirkwood?" Then she gasped as what that could possibly mean struck home. "Thranduil hasn't fallen, has he?"
Elrond shook his head. "No. Thranduil is fine. But he didn't know what other course to take, so he is sending his sick here. Which is why I need you to get some rest. We're going t be even busier than we are now."
She nodded. "I understand, Ada. And I will get some rest. Just not right now. Elrohir has asked me for more towels."
"Of course. I apologize for holding you up."
"You can never hold me up." She stood on her tiptoes to brush a kiss across his cheek before she hurried along on her errand.
Watching her go, Elrond felt that little smile fighting to appear on his face once more. I have such wonderful children.
Then he shook his head and continued on his way. I have too much to do and no time to do it in.
What on Arda is happening to us?
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Dinner was eaten the same way the rest of the trip had been: in silence. The hobbits sat together, Boromir and Gandalf were keeping one another company and Ylana refused to let Aragorn be alone. Maybe they didn't say anything to one another, but at least the Ranger knew that she was there for support.
Legolas lay close to the fire, wrapped in Aragorn's cloak. He hadn't stirred since his collapse. Ylana couldn't be for certain, but from his flushed face she thought that the male Elf had a fever.
This wasn't good at all. It was rare for an Elf to collapse out of the blue and unheard of for one to get a fever when they hadn't been injured.
An Elf getting sick? How can that be? It's just not possible!
More frightening was the possibility of what was going to happen to her. Legolas was a strong, healthy warrior. If he had been human, it would have been hard for him to fall ill. Ylana was just as strong, just as healthy.
What did that mean for her? Would she too collapse and fall ill?
And who would care for her?
Aragorn was Legolas's best friend and, unless Ylana was way off her mark, he wanted to be so much more. Even if he didn't have Aragorn, Legolas had his family waiting for him back in Mirkwood. Ylana's family was dead, her best friend was a princess and the man she wanted to love had a busy life of his own.
She couldn't get sick. There was so much she wanted to do, so much she wanted to see! She was going to make a name for herself, to do deeds that musicians like Lindir would write songs about. To end her time on Middle-Earth with a bang when she crossed over to Valinor, or have he family tell her how proud they were when she saw them again in the Hall of Mandos. She didn't want to just pass quietly into the night!
And what would this mean for Legolas? Would he continue to get worse? How would it end if no cure could be found? Would it be painful as she had heard some human illnesses could be? Or would it be like fading and he simply stopped existing?
What would it mean for Aragorn? No matter what their title---best friends, soul brothers, something more---they shared a bond that Ylana had rarely seen. They could read each other like books, and she knew that one would gladly give his life for the other. If Legolas died, she wondered how long it would take for the human to follow. Arwen would undoubtedly pass after that, leaving Ylana all alone. That is, if she didn't end up joining them.
"Ylana?"
Blinking as she became aware of her name being called, she looked up to see Aragorn peering at her in concern.
She offered him a smile. "My apologizes, Estel. I did not mean to tune you out. I was just thinking about the turn our journey has taken."
A ghost of a smile touched the Ranger's lips. "I think that's the thought on everyone's mind right now. Though I have a feeling that your thoughts lie along a different path than the rest of ours."
She turned her eyes up towards the silver stars, their light clearly showing the troubled look on her face. "I feel like I'm walking alone," she said softly. "I don't know what's going on, or what's going to happen. I'll feely admit that I'm afraid. This isn't supposed to be happening, and I can't help but worry about the future."
Aragorn let out a sigh so weary that it made Ylana feel like weeping. "Well, let's stop worrying about it right now. Boromir has offered to take the night's watch so that the rest of us can get some sleep."
As she looked around, the female Elf noticed that the hobbits were already huddled together, Gimli and Gandalf were smoking together and Boromir was nowhere to be seen.
Ylana silently thanked her Gondorian companion. She was suddenly feeling very, very tired…
"Good night then, Estel," she said softly, lying down and pulling her cloak over her. "Im hartha le rado sîdh mi elei." (1)
"And you as well." Aragorn went to lie next to his best friend, back pressed against Legolas's, and closed his eyes.
But it was a long time before either he or Ylana fell asleep.
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Thranduil sat atop his horse as he watched the column of Elves file past him. Some were on foot, but most were on horses, helping to bear the sick. All were tired, but all wore masks of grim determination. They had a hope now, and they would do everything they could to see that it became a reality.
As his eyes turned from his people and land on his home, the king couldn't help but wonder---not for the first time---if he had made the right decision by entrusting his kingdom to his son.
Thranduil hated feeling this way. After all, Annolir was his son. And he'd been training to become king ever since he was young. While it pained Thranduil to have such thoughts about his elder, he couldn't help but feel that something was very wrong…
He closed his eyes and gave himself a mental shake. He had more important things to worry about right now. There were other people here to help Annolir run Mirkwood. His job was to see that his people got the help they needed.
So, with a sigh, he tore his gaze away from the castle and stared out into the forest. There was no knowing what awaited them. The dreaded Mirkwood spiders, servants of the Enemy spewing from Mordor or Dol Gulder… But they would make it. They had to!
With another heavy-hearted sigh, Thranduil spurred his mount to the head of the column where he belonged. He would be the one to lead his people to hope, to safety.
To Rivendell.
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(1) Im hartha le rado sîdh mi elei-------------------I hope you find peace in dreams