Fall of a Friend, a lord of the rings fanfic

Title: Fall of a Friend

Series: Book of Days (basically, it's a series of missing moments. Little scenes between Aragorn and Legolas that will take place throughout the trilogy – please read author's note (2) for more info.)

Author: Erika ([email protected])

Rating: PG

Summary: Legolas mourns Aragorn's fall and remembers times past.

Time Frame: Takes place after Aragorn falls over the cliff in TTT.

Spoilers: For TTT (and if anyone reading this hasn't seen it yet – what are you waiting for??)

Category: Angst, H/C, what else? Oh yeah, POV.

Disclaimers: It would make me the happiest person in the world to be able to truthfully say that Aragorn and Legolas belong to me, but alas, it is not so. I make no money from this, and it is written (against my will) for entertainment purposes only.

Feedback: Both positive feedback and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated and will be cherished!

Archive: Please ask and send me a link to your site so that I can check it out. =D

Author's Note: (1) It's been a few years since I last read the LOTR in its entirety so these missing moments are basically based on the movies. I apologize in advance if I contradict anything that's stated in the books; any mistakes are purely accidental. (2) So far, this series consists of the following stories: A Light in the Darkness (not yet posted), The Comfort of Listening, There is Always Hope, and Fall of a Friend.

Very Special and Heartfelt Thanks to: Cassia, my friend, you're the greatest in the whole world! Thanks for putting up with all my annoying questions and thanks for all your help. =)

Things enclosed in || ||'s are ||memories||
Things enclosed in // //'s are //flashbacks within memories//

Fall of a Friend

Legolas:

I leapt easily to my feet and surveyed my surroundings. The battle was over. Many had been killed or wounded but the orcs were finished and their carcasses lay strewn across the landscape alongside those of the men who had fallen. An unfortunate, costly battle to be sure, but the women and children had escaped unharmed and would reach Helm's Deep with no further danger to their lives. Our purpose was accomplished.

King Theoden had survived, as well as Gimli and Ara…

I frowned. Where was Aragorn? I could not find him within the scope of my vision. Surely he had not been seriously wounded? Surely he did not lie among the dead? The mere thought was enough to claim my heart in a terrible worry that caused my chest to ache sharply with its every quickened beat. What fate could have befallen him?

Treading softly over beaten and blood-stained grass, I quickly left behind the fowl smelling orc that I had last slain and set about finding my friend. If he had suffered injury then his wound would need to be tended. If he had fallen… No. I refused to give further voice to that fear. Aragorn was alive. He had to be.

"Aragorn?" I called loudly, my voice tinged with a touch of fright.

Gimli, having no doubt come to realize what I had, echoed my cry. "Aragorn?"

"Aragorn!?" My slightly desperate shout attracted the attention of the surviving men but much to my disappointment and growing alarm, my friend did not appear.

Following an instinct I could not name, I led Gimli to a fallen orc that lay dying near the edge of a cliff. At first I passed the fowl creature to look down at the rapidly rushing waters of the river that lay at the base of the precipice. Only when it began to laugh did I turn around to watch it.

Gimli raised his ax to the orc's neck and angrily hissed, "Tell me what happened to him and I shall ease your passing!"

The creature's taunting laugh was broken up by weak coughs and soft wheezes of pain. When it answered its voice was proud, "He is dead. He took a little tumble over the cliff!"

A flash of anger filled me, burning hot and quick. Swelling and growing, it swarmed to my head in a fierce pounding of denial. No! That could not possibly be true! How dare the vile creature lie! How dare it taunt us! How dare it take pleasure in our obvious fear and worry!

Driven by rage and dread, I drew close to the creature and ground out harshly, "You lie!"

My words were greeted by an evil grin and more sadistic laughter, this time quieter and awash with the agony of a fatal wound. It would soon be dead. So much the better. It was no concern of mine. I wanted only to find Aragorn and see with my own eyes that he was alive. And he was alive.

I began to pull back from the orc but something nagged at me and I paused. My instincts had driven me here and I found I could not ignore them. With a sweeping gaze I studied the creature once more. This time my eyes caught upon something that stole the breath from my lungs and turned my anger and fear to a dreadful terror.

My heart pounded against my chest. Impelled by a horror greater than any I had ever felt during battle it sought to thrash its way free. For a moment I heard no sound save its drumming, which filled my ears and seemed to vibrate through me. Then a painful lump rose up in my throat and I shook my head, gainsaying what I beheld.

No. It could not be.

But it was.

There, in the creature's filthy hand, lay the sparkling Evenstar that the Lady Arwen had gifted to Aragorn as a symbol of her love and her willingness to bind herself to him.

Just as the orc took its last breath, I pulled the pendant from its grasp and looked down at it in sorrow and denial. A gift such as this did not idly fall. Even if it had, Aragorn would never have left the Evenstar behind. It was the most precious thing he owned. It must have been ripped from him. Ripped from him by the very creature that claimed he had fallen over the cliff.

No. No, no, no. It could not be true. It could not be true! He could not be…dead…

Gripping the Evenstar tightly, I returned to the edge of the cliff. He was nowhere in sight but I refused to believe it possible that he was gone. Aragorn was a strong and capable warrior. He had seen many battles, been wounded and strayed close to the abyss of death more times than I cared to remember, and had always survived when even I doubted his ability to do so. He was not dead now! Somehow, he was alive! He would swim with the current until he found his way to shore. I had only to follow the river and I would find him, undoubtedly wounded but alive.

I closed my eyes and bowed my head. Denial could only fight against reason for so long before the latter claimed victory. The precipice was by no means inordinately large but it was not a height that a man could fall and easily live. If he had survived the impact he would have been knocked unconscious and drowned in the unforgiving waters. Even Aragorn could not have overcome such perils.

He was gone.

For a moment no other thought came to me. He was gone. As desperately as I tried to flee them, those words filtered into every corner of my mind. There was no way to escape them. He was gone. I could not deny them, could not deny their meaning. He was gone. It was too horrible to grasp. He was gone. It did not seem real. It did not seem possible. Facing the truth had never been so painful.

He was gone.

In a flood of ever increasing desperation, I realized what that would mean. I would never see him again. It was beyond what I was willing to comprehend. My breath caught in my throat when I tried to imagine it. He had been a tremendous comfort to me since the day when he had first bestowed upon me the gift of his friendship. When distraught, it had been he who I turned to for consolation, knowing he would not judge me for showing him weaknesses that I entrusted to no other. When captured and tortured by orcs, it had been he who had risked his life to save me. When hopelessness threatened to overwhelm me and I could find no solace in nature, it had been the light of our friendship that reminded me of what it was we fought for. Without ever realizing it, he had been the most precious friend I could ever have hoped to have. Who would I turn to now?

I would never have another friend such as Aragorn.

I had known of his mortality since before the forging of our friendship and had prepared myself to watch him grow old and whither away over time. The length of his mortal life had promised only a short while together to begin with but I had never expected to lose him so abruptly. I had thought to have more time. Instead, his life had been cut short. Our friendship had been cut short. He had been ripped from me.

My heart burned as if it was being eaten away by a slow working venom and a great shadow filled my soul. A grief so powerful enclosed me in its grasp that I knew it would be harbored within my heart through all the days of eternity and long after its searing edge had had faded to regret and sorrow. Eventually, the anguish of his passing would diminish and I would find peace in his remembrance, but at the moment it did not seem possible. Right now, the grief was deep enough for me to doubt that it would ever fade.

I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. There would be time to shed them later. I had to find his body…

"Get the wounded on horses. The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead." I turned to see Theoden at my side. No doubt he had learned of Aragorn's fate.

Horror filled me. Surely he did not mean to leave Aragorn's body behind? Aragorn had fought bravely and with great honor. A warrior of his skill would never again walk this earth. Not only had he been heir to the throne of Gondor…he had been my friend. He deserved more than to drift in this river until water rotted away all traces of the man he had once been. He deserved a fitting burial.

I swallowed thickly.

Yes, he deserved more but we could not give it to him. We could not linger, I knew. We had to reach Helm's Deep before we were found by another troop of bloodthirsty orcs. We had not the time to collect the bodies of the fallen and it would take even longer to find my friend's. As much as it pierced my heart, Aragorn would be left behind. There was no other choice.

Theoden caught my gaze, his eyes full of sympathy. With a gentle hand, he gripped my shoulder in comfort for a few silent moments before turning away to see to his men. It was a kind gesture but it could not soothe my aching heart. Nothing could.

I peered back down at the river and prepared to bid a final farewell to Estel. It would be empty though, and devoid of meaning for I knew he would not hear it. No, I would not have even that small comfort. Was it too much to ask that I be granted the opportunity to say goodbye to him and have him say goodbye in return?

"You will never be forgotten, Aragorn, son of Arathorn." My voice broke and the stinging of tears once again threatened to blur my vision. Closing my eyes tightly, I struggled to hold them in for I knew that once I let them fall I would not be able to stop weeping until sheer exhaustion claimed me. I refused to be seen so vulnerable. I had only trusted one person to watch over me in such a state and he was gone now and forever. "I will never forget you," I whispered then, in my own tongue and it tones so soft that none but I could hear. "Namárië…may your spirit forever soar."

Indeed, I reflected, I never could forget him. As an elf I carried each memory within me as vividly as if it was still playing out before me. For the rest of time, I would hold every moment we had ever spent together close to my heart for those recollections were all I had left of him. They were more precious to me than any possession I owned and I would cling to them through the throws of my grief for him.

Now, as I stood and gazed down to where Aragorn had fallen, I thought back to when I had first been blessed with his friendship. It was a memory of grief and despair, but also of sweetness and joy.

||I pulled Endanlel's limp body down from the horse and cradled him against me protectively. It had been long since he had last strayed into consciousness and now that I could gaze upon him fully I saw, to my horror, that his face held a deathly pale, bluish tint. His entire body was drenched in sweat and the bandage I had fashioned from the torn shards of his cloak was soaked through with blood.

Gently, I pressed a hand to his forehead. He was burning with fever.

Dread quickened the pace of my heart. Upon defeating the last of our enemies I had quickly bandaged his wound and rushed him to Rivendell, the nearest safe harbor. I had been so concerned with simply getting him here that I had never stopped to consider that he might be beyond saving. Now, I could not prevent that cold apprehension from creeping over me. What if he perished?

Shaking my head, I pushed those thoughts from my mind as best I could. I had not brought him to Rivendell on a mere whim of my own conjuring; I had brought him here because Lord Elrond was the best healer among all of my people. Surely he would be able to save the rapidly ebbing life of my protégé. That was my hope and I clung to it fiercely.

Holding Endanlel to me, I rushed through the great gates of Rivendell. "Lord Elrond! Lord Elrond!" I yelled frantically, my voice carrying through the halls of Imladris to draw forth many of my kin. "Lord Elrond!"

A few others kindly took up my call and Lord Elrond soon appeared at my side. It took him but a moment to assess the situation and soon I felt the weakened young elf being lifted from my arms.

"Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil, tell me what happened," he ordered crisply as he turned to carry Endanlel up a long flight of winding stairs.

Following at his heels, I responded shortly, "We were ambushed by orcs." He did not need to know more than that and even if he demanded it I doubted I could bring myself to speak of my failure. "Endanlel was wounded."

When Lord Elrond reached the top of the narrow stairway he rushed into a nearby room and placed the now convulsing Endanlel on a large, tauntingly comfortable bed. Then he turned to address several elves that had followed us up. "Bring healing herbs and medicine, quickly!" he ordered and they left the room, presumably to do as he bid.

With rapid efficiency, he stripped my charge of his tunic and undid the makeshift bandage that I had tightly wound about his belly. I flinched and gasped when the wound was revealed. The twin gashes – a testament to the brutality of orcs – were more ghastly than I remembered. Instead of remaining two separate injuries, they had become infected and merged into one. Trails of blood mingled with sweat to run down the sides of his frail body. The skin surrounding the wound was nearly black in color and the venom seemed to be spreading like a tumor before my eyes, eating away at his flesh. Eating away at his life.

The dagger had been poisoned.

I swallowed. I had never seen a warrior wounded thusly and survive. Indeed, many had fallen to lesser foes. Endanlel was but a youth, he did not have a trained fighter's strength. What if even Lord Elrond could not save him? Endanlel's death was a concept too painful to grasp, too horrible to even imagine. He had entrusted himself to my care and in a flash of blind stupidity I had betrayed that trust. I had failed him. If he died, I did not think I could stand it.

No. Lord Elrond would return him to health. I had to believe that.

An elf-maiden swiftly darted through the doorway, her entrance marked only by the stirring of cool air against me. Stopping at Lord Elrond's side, she deposited several pouches on a small counter next to the bed and awaited further instruction.

Lord Elrond began to inspect the wound with gentle touches of palm and fingers, lifting his head every few moments to carefully observe Endanlel's reactions. Though unconscious and with his eyes closed, the youth whimpered in soft protest at each probing pressure test, flinching and fretfully shying away from the contact.

The quiet sounds of discomfort might as well have been agonized screams of terror for they mercilessly pierced my heart, sparking the guilt they found harbored there and kindling it to a burning flame that continued to grow until I felt it would consume me. I could not stand this. Could not stand it because I knew this was entirely my fault. My fault. He was here because of me.

Taking an involuntary half step backwards, I wrenched my eyes away from the festering wound and did not allow myself to look back. It was sickening and evoked a sense of despair within me that I did not care to feel. Not when I knew I was to blame. I tried to also ignore the plaintive sounds that emanated from his trembling lips but they punctured me like flashes of bitter pain, making me shudder in shame for my folly.

No. I could not do this. I could not see him this way. I could not hear him this way. I could not be anywhere near him while he was this way. I simply could not bear it. I had to leave. I had to get away. I could not stay. My guilt would not allow it.

"Legolas," Lord Elrond's voice broke through my thoughts.

I looked up to see him regarding me thoughtfully, his gaze gentle. "I would not have you see this," he murmured, "I will call you in as soon as I have finished."

Gratitude swelled within me. Lord Elrond had felt my turmoil and had provided the means by which I could momentarily escape the guilt that hounded me. Even though I knew the images and sounds of my weakened friend would echo in my mind no matter how fiercely I fought or fled them, I would be free of the suffocation that choked me here.

"Very well," I agreed, quickly leaving the room and closing the door behind me. Stopping just beyond it, I stepped to the side and turned so that my back was facing the wall. Then I leaned against its unyielding surface and let myself slide to the floor. Drawing my legs up, I hugged them against my chest and rested my forehead on my knees.

There was nothing for me to do but wait.

Lord Elrond would save him. Lord Elrond would bring him back. He would live to yet again go hunting in the woods with me. He would live. Yes, live. Those thoughts, and ones of similar makings, became a mantra that I repeated over and over again in my mind whilst I waited in the oppressing silence of uncertainty.

Time passed in a haze.

Countless hours later, the door creaked open. I raised my head to watch the elf-maiden slowly descend the spiraling staircase and disappear from my sight. Then I felt the soft touch of robes against my skin and turned to see Lord Elrond looming over me.

Before I had time to move, and much to my surprise, he knelt by my side and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. His expression held more sadness than I had ever before seen reflected on it and though I did not allow myself to register the thought, I already knew what he had come to tell me. "I am sorry, young Legolas. There is nothing more that I can do. His wound is beyond my skill to heal."

His words came as blows to my heart and I scarcely could believe that I had heard them. No! Endanlel could not die! Lord Elrond had to heal him! Lord Elrond had to save him! My guilt already consumed me; I could not live knowing I held the blame for his downfall! Lord Elrond had to do something! He could not give up! He could not give up!

My denial quickly turned to a heated anger and before I was even aware of what I was doing, I spoke, "You cannot relent! You must do something! You must try!" My words held more grief than anger and were spat out in accusation and desperate entreaty. However, even in the speaking of them I knew it was futile. He would die. And I was to blame.

The hand on my shoulder tightened. Lord Elrond did not speak.

Slowly, the fury drained from my blood and I sagged forward. All my energy seemed to seep from me as my own physical exhaustion finally caught up with me. How could this be happening? How could his life be the price I had to pay for one thoughtless error? Could I live with myself, knowing I was responsible? "Forgive me, Lord Elrond. I know that you…" I murmured lifelessly, leaning into the comfort of his touch.

"He hasn't long to live," Lord Elrond whispered, his words soft and mild, "Go to him if you wish, but I warn you that he will not regain consciousness."

Lord Elrond drew back and stood. When it became apparent that I had not the energy to move, he took hold of my hands and drew me to my feet. Then, with more tenderness than his sometimes cold manner indicated he possessed, he led me back into the room and sat me down upon what would soon be my charge's deathbed.

Almost loath to see the ghostly body of Endanlel, I had shut my eyes upon entering the room. I did not open them again until I heard Lord Elrond leave and shut the door. Then, though unwilling as I was to gaze upon features set cold by approaching death, I forced myself to look. I did not want my last glimpse of his infected wound to be my final memory of him.

Something close to relief flooded me when my first tentative gaze fell upon Endanlel and I saw that Lord Elrond had pulled up the blankets to cover all but his face and arms. That meant I could not see his wound, a kindness for which I was more than grateful.

What struck me first was how diminutive he looked. He had nearly reached the age of maturity, yet the way Lord Elrond had bundled him up made him appear to be little more than a child, dwarfed in a bed too large for him. He was not a child though. Nor was he an adult. He was still so young. Too young to die. He had never even been given the opportunity to live. Aye, even by the reckoning of Men he had been robbed of his life. And it was I who had robbed him. It was my fault that Endanlel, born to a race of immortals, would never see the dawn of his twentieth spring. For an elf, that was unthinkable.

I cringed as I observed him. He looked sickly. All pigmentation had fled his skin and his face was that of a phantom. So different from the boundless joy that had constantly filled his features, he wore now only a mask of helpless fear. Even in unconsciousness, I could see the terror that had filled him the moment the fatal blows had struck. That horror was there because of me. He would not lay here dying if I had but done my duty.

Trembling, I took one of his hands in mine and held it to my chest. His fingers were cold against my skin and I could practically feel his life fading. The warmth, the incredible energy that had filled his every moment of existence, could no longer be felt thrumming through his veins. He was still alive and yet for all the world his body seemed more a shell to me than anything else. Lord Elrond was right, he would soon die. I would never even be given the chance to apologize, to beg for forgiveness which I did not deserve.

There was an ancient custom among my people. When one of our kin was struck down in battle or slowly faded away from the sufferance of a broken heart, a companion would remain with him during the last moments of his life. It was not so much to offer comfort as it was to stand guard and protect the fallen. That way the elf would be able to pass peacefully, completely in tune with the beauty of nature and life.

Though Endanlel was unconscious and would not have been disrupted by anything here in Rivendell even if he were aware, I would have been pleased to perform the ritual for him, to stand guard over his body. It was, however, not an honor that I was worthy of partaking in. How could I be, when it was my folly that had seen him slain?

Indeed, it was a dishonor to Endanlel for me to remain. He deserved more than to fade while in the company of the one that held the blame for his death. Still, I had to stay. Though being in his presence choked and oppressed me with guilt, I could not go. I could not go for the same reason that I felt myself inadequate of staying. I was responsible for this. Knowing that, how could I leave him to die alone?

So I stayed. I stayed for what seemed like several eternities but in reality was little more than a few minutes. I stayed and listened as his breathing grew gradually more shallow and less frequent. I stayed and watched as he passed from life so quietly that at first I did not realize when the slow rising and falling of his chest ceased. I stayed until it dawned on me that I could no longer feel the weak pulse of his heart beating against my quivering fingers. I stayed until I knew him to be gone.

Then, I fled.

I fled, knowing that I could not escape the demons that haunted me but also knowing myself unable to remain in that room that housed Endanlel's body. Again, I needed to get away. I needed to get away from those innocent features that unwittingly taunted me with thoughts of guilt and betrayal, needed to get out of walls that captured and seemed to magnify my despair, needed to find some measure of comfort though I knew I did not deserve it.

I did not know where I was going. When I threw open the door to Endanlel's room and bolted as if my very life depended on speed, my only coherent thought was of finding a place in which I could contemplate my guilt in solitude, away from pitying eyes that would find shame in my weakness. Away from everything that would remind me of what I had done.

Blindly, I ran down spiraling stairs, through supposedly welcoming gates, and out past the horse that I had thoughtlessly let untethered. I ran so quickly that colors blurred to dizzying streaks of blue and green in my vision and all I could hear was the beating of my heart and the wheezing of my breath. I ran until sheer exhaustion caused my feet to catch upon brambles that brought me crashing to the ground with a strangled cry of alarm.

The hard pain of my fall was akin to a splash of stingingly cold water against my face. It reached through the confused tumble of my thoughts and shoved some coherence upon me.

Forcing myself to catch my breath, I lifted my face from the ground so that I could rest my weight on my arms and take a good look at my surroundings. Amidst a sea of beautiful trees, I was ungracefully sprawled across crumbled leaves and cold muck. Clutching at yielding sludge, I sunk my fingers down into it until I found ground firm enough to use as leverage. Then I stumbled to my feet and appraised my unkempt state. I was filthy, with my skin and clothes covered in trickling spatterings of mud, but I did not care. I was too overwhelmed with emotion to give any thought to vanity, or to the shame of my sheer loss of control.

Torn between the claws of grief and guilt, I trembled in utter despair. Now that Endanlel was gone, it suddenly struck me how much he had actually meant to me. At first he had been little more than a burden, a traveling companion I was unwillingly saddled with. Then I had surprised myself by growing fond of him and enjoying the time we spent together. Only now did I realize I had begun to care for him as a friend.

That revelation did not come easy. It only served to make my anguish more acute, more gnawing. Not only had I carelessly let fall a young man who had placed his trust in my hands, I had let fall someone who, in time, no doubt would have become more than just a traveling companion, more than just a protégé. The connection between us had been there, weak and fledgling, but I now understood that it would have grown to a friendship that would have bound us together as brothers. That knowledge seared me.

By the Valar, what had I done? What had I done?

I didn't want to know. I didn't want to think of it. I didn't want to feel this misery. It was cowardly, I knew. To run from these emotions lacked all pretense of courage, yet I could no more stand these thoughts than I could bear to be in Endanlel's death chamber. It simply hurt too much. I had to distract myself. But how? How could I? How could I not think of something so…

I stiffened, suddenly sensing that I was being watched. Only moments later, the crunching of leaves and twigs confirmed that I was not alone and spurred me to action. With despair giving way to adrenaline, my instincts had me pulling my bow up and drawing an arrow to it before I even thought to do so. Then, with deadly intent, I spun around to face the intruder.

I faltered at what I saw, for I found myself facing not an enemy, not an elf, but a young man. A young man whom I had not seen in perhaps fifteen years but who I would instantly have recognized even if he had not been Rivendell's only human son. He had the same large blue eyes, the same tousled shoulder-length dark hair, and the same quiet manner that I remembered so well from my last visit to his home. Though now tempered behind the weight of thoughts not borne by the child I had once known, his gaze even held the same spark of fascination, the same wonder that had driven him to learn as much as he could from everyone he could.

There were differences though. The passing years had lent strength to his sobriety and the glowing innocence of childhood had faded, leaving only the naivety of inexperience. Instead of the awe that he had once appraised me with, his sharp eyes held worries, grief, and wisdom that they had before lacked. The budding curiosity had grown to keen intelligence and wit. He was no little boy anymore.

Physically, he had also changed. Despite his uncommonly graceful bearing, the slightly stubbled beard that now covered his face further proved that he was no elf. He was also now taller and broader than me. His muscled form spoke of strength and agility and behind his gentle appearance I knew a deadly fighter lay concealed.

Momentarily forgetting my woes, I found myself wondering if he remembered the first archery lessons I had given him when he was little more than four years old. Curiously enough, I wanted him to.

Appearing only slightly alarmed when he found the tip of an arrow poised only inches from his face, he came to an immediate halt and raised his hands to show that he was unarmed and intended me no harm. "I meant not to startle you," he murmured apologetically, his voice as soft as his manner, "forgive me."

Nodding in acknowledgment, I lowered my weapon and returned the arrow to its satchel.

"And I meant not to alarm you, Estel," I responded quietly, my voice an all too evident gateway to the misery I felt. "I should be less easy to provoke so close to a safe haven such as Rivendell."

Estel let his hands fall to his sides. Though he did not seem surprised by the use of his name, he nonetheless said, "It appears you have me at a disadvantage."

A strange sense of disappointment filled me. He did not remember me, then. For some reason, I felt a touch of sadness at the thought. Why should that matter to me? "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil," I informed him, striving to keep my thoughts focused on him and not the source of my suffering.

"Greetings, Legolas," he nodded and stepped forward until he was standing just in front of me, "I have long wished to see the forests of your home."

"Greetings, Estel," I returned the salutation, slightly pleased that where others might have bowed or paid me other such unnecessary respects, he had merely nodded. "The beauty of Mirkwood is marred by darkness. There are few places that remain untouched by it and it is my fear that those too will suffer spoiling."

Estel regarded me thoughtfully, studying my disheveled state with a level of scrutiny that should have made me feel uncomfortable but somehow only intrigued me. Intrigued me just as everything else about him did. "More than fear hangs on your heart," he observed softly, raising his gaze to examine the depths of my eyes.

Not trusting myself to say something that in any way related to Endanlel, I simply nodded. Estel brought me a gift I desperately needed and I clung to it, not willing to lose my footing and fall back into the painful whirling vortex of guilt and shame. Somehow his presence comforted me. It was strange, but he seemed to dull the edge of my pain, seemed to soothe my heart. Somehow, he was able to cut through the dark shroud of my distress and distract me. I wanted to know why.

I fought the wave of despair that soon swelled once more within me, but it was of no use. My emotions were in a state of sheer havoc and steered the train of my thoughts against my will. As I watched this young man, I could not help but compare him to Endanlel. He was, after all, of the same age. Perhaps a little older. Perhaps a little younger. Though limited by the vise of mortality, he had many long years before him. Many long years in which to enjoy the beauty that was life. Years which Endanlel should have had as well. Years which would have been but the beginning of my dead companion's existence.

Tears pooled in my eyes as my thoughts inevitably returned to my failure. It seemed there was no escape from my despair. I held no hope of finding peace if even the image of a human youth dark of hair and eyes could remind me so painfully of Endanlel, who had sported features paler than my own. Was there nothing I could do to not feel this way?

The stinging against my eyes and the tightening of my throat was an abrupt and painful reminder of my state. Suddenly, I was all too aware of the mud that still saturated my clothes, causing them to cling to my skin like mantels of shame. The slithering trails of mud that trickled down my face were like bitter shards of ice against the growing flush of my cheeks. Even the oozing of earth-stained water from the ends of my hair branded me with disgrace.

I had thought myself alone before but now… A flash of anxiety filled my heart. Had he seen me? Had he seen my weakness when I fled? My disgrace when I lay sprawled in the mud? We elves were a race proud of our elegant aloofness, our ability to not allow our emotions to rule us. To be seen so openly vulnerable was mortifying yet somehow it seemed doubly worse with this man. It was important – though I could not begin to fathom why – that Estel not think me lost and helpless.

And what else could he think me now? What else could he think when he saw me thusly bedraggled?

Humiliated, I turned away from Estel. I did not wish for him to see me like this. Desperately, I tried to calm my churning emotions. I would not cry. I could not cry. I would not be an object of pity and shame. I was stronger than this.

"Your cries drew me forth when you arrived at Rivendell. I also witnessed your departure," he whispered as he came to stand before me, apparently not content in allowing me to conceal myself from his ever appraising eyes.

I wanted to hide but his deep gaze caught my own and held me rooted in place. Through blurred vision, I studied it. There was such kindness in his eyes. Such understanding. Without words, they told me that I would not be judged. I could do or say anything and he would offer only his support. I could show him this weakness and he would not think worse of me for it. He would accept me as I was, both the faults and the strengths, the successes and the failures. Thus was the compassion of this man.

I was awed and again, comforted.

I was a stranger to him and yet his ardent blue eyes were filled with nothing but concern. He remembered me not and still he cared. Cared enough to be here with me when so many others would have discretely left me to grieve alone, as befitted the ways of my people for it was considered distasteful to suffer such a grievous loss of control. The thought that enough good still existed in this world that a man would seek to soothe a stranger was a beacon of light to me. Warming my heart by more than I thought possible at a moment such as this, it gave me enough clarity of thought to process his words.

The compassionate concern which filled the depths of his eyes, as well as the soothing tenor of his voice that somehow, against all reason, found a way to touch my heart, prevented me from feeling annoyed as a sudden revelation dawned in me.

"You followed me?" I questioned, surprising myself by not being surprised.

He had witnessed the entire episode, then. Though I felt that I should have been even more embarrassed, I instead felt my humiliation fading. In the face of such open acceptance, I found it difficult to maintain. Estel's caring was a balm to those tumultuous emotions, having settled a fragile peace over the raging inferno of my thoughts.

Estel broke eye contact to look down at the ground. For the first time I noticed how incredibly nervous he was. Despite what his reserved, thoughtful, self-assured manner indicated, the signs of his uneasiness were obvious now that I examined him more closely. The constant shifting of his weight from foot to foot was barely noticeable, as was the anxious fiddling of his fingers with the sleeves of his tunic, but it made him the picture of disquietude.

"It-it is rare that I see an elf so distraught," his voice was lower than a whisper and I strained to hear it. "Your people have a natural luminance about them but yours has faded. It…pains me to see you this distressed. When I followed you here, I meant nothing more than to try and comfort you…" He blushed slightly and let his words trail into silence.

I frowned as I studied him. He was clearly uncertain but it struck me how hesitantly hopefully he sounded. He truly wanted to help me. This was more than a kind man's attempt to ease a stranger's suffering as I had mistakenly thought only moments earlier. It was both that and something else. It was that he was drawn to me, just as I was to him.

When I did not respond, Estel continued, "I realize that we do not know each other, yet I know that sharing the company of another can be of comfort when solitude does not yield the peace you seek." He spared me a long enough glance to realize I did not intend to speak. Then, with even more apprehension, he added, "If-if I have overstepped my bounds then I am sorry and I beg your forgiveness for this intrusion on your privacy. If you want me to leave you have but to say so."

I had sought solitude to escape my grief and guilt but now that I had his company, I could not bring myself to send him away. Though had I been approached by Lord Elrond, who I had known since childhood, or even my father, I would surely have rebuffed them. I could not explain it, but something endeared him to me. Something made me want to learn more about him. Something made me want to earn his affection and give mine in return. Something made it impossible for me to bid him leave.

What was more than that, this young man – this child, really – had the ability to ease my hurt.

In the face of what was surely an oppressively uncomfortable silence, Estel took my lack of response as a wish for seclusion and prepared to make a tactful retreat. "I am sorry." Without lifting his gaze he let his shoulders sag slightly, nodded once, and slowly turned back towards Rivendell. He was resigned but also clearly disappointed and afraid that he had offended me.

Why? I wondered. Why did he care? Why did I? What did fate mean my drawing this heir of kings and me together?

"Estel," I called after him softly, "wait."

The young man turned to face me but did not lift his eyes. He expected a rebuke of some sort. He did not realize how grateful, very grateful, I was for such honest, heartfelt concern.

"Please look at me," I requested in a semi-choked voice, wondering why, despite everything I was feeling, it still pained me to see him this anxious.

His nervous gaze met my aggrieved one. I could tell that he wanted to say something, to perhaps again ask for my pardon or even request my permission to remain, but he restrained himself and awaited my words.

"I…I would like you to stay." I tried to accompany my admission with a reassuring smile but found myself unable to form one. I could not, my guilt and grief were too great.

Estel's joy was quiet. A barely audible sigh of relief reached my ears and with this exhalation of breath he lost the sharp edges of his apprehension. Though his eyes practically lit up with gratitude he said nothing, merely solemnly nodded once in acceptance of my words. Then, after thoughtfully studying me again, he purposefully returned to his position before me and murmured, "I will speak with you, listen to you, or simply be with you." The words were voiced simply but behind them was the enforcing strength of a vow. He truly meant what he said.

Hearing that determination to help me left me utterly speechless for longer than I would have liked. Then, fumbling for words, I struggled to express how grateful I was for this, how very much I appreciated his concern and compassion. I wanted him to know how deeply he had touched me. But in the end no words could have ever been enough and when I opened my mouth all I could say was; "Thank you."

It was enough. More than enough, judging by the expressive smile that swept over is face and the warmth that filled his voice. "You're welcome," was his only response but his eyes said more. They said he had heard the words I had left unspoken due to a sheer lack of ability to express myself properly and that he understood and appreciated my gratitude. They said that he was well aware of how hard this was for me but that everything would be all right, even if I couldn't believe that at a moment such as this.

And I couldn't, but with Estel here I thought that someday I might.

"I have not the skill of my father…," he smiled a bit shyly and then added, "…Elrond," as if he thought I might not know to whom he referred, "but I have learned much from him regarding herbs and medicine. Will you allow me to tend to your wound?"

At my puzzled frown he reached forward and touched my forehead, gently probing until I felt a sharp flash of pain that made my head pound and my vision darken so that the soft tones of Estel's figure were indistinguishable from the bright greens of the forest. Then, when struck by a nauseating wave of dizziness, I found myself dangerously wavering on my feet.

Disoriented and unable to regain my balance, I might have very likely collapsed or passed out had Estel not tightly gripped my shoulders and eased me down to the ground with a gentle tug of his arms.

"Easy, Legolas," Estel soothed mildly as he firmly massaged my shoulders to alleviate the tension in my body. "Simply breathe deeply and the discomfort will fade."

Struggling to do as he said, I forced myself to slow my breathing back down to a relaxing, even pace. As soon as the surprising agony had dulled to a pulsating sting across my brow the lightheadedness also released its hold on me, allowing the world to stand still once more, at least on the outside.

Curiously, I very softly touched the same area that he had and found that there was a reasonably deep gash just over my left eyebrow. It was by no means very serious but it did cause me a good deal of discomfort and the blood on my fingers told me it needed treatment.

"Better?" Estel questioned, genuine concern etched in his voice.

I was confused. I did not remember being hurt. How could I not have taken note of such a wound before? It was obviously a battle wound but the only fight I had been in was one I did not care to remember and one when there had been no opportunity for such an injury to occur. Or had there been? I was unsure. Even then, the entire sequence had been a blur. When I thought of it now, my mind was flooded with chaotic images of pain and terror, memories of horror and anguish. All of which tumbled about in a tormented whirlwind of agitation, all of which were of Endanlel and my failure.

Yet among the frenzied jumble of piercing recollections I remembered…pain? Yes, there had been pain. A brutal pain that had been my one moment of clarity amongst a storm of disarray. It had come just after…just after Endanlel…after he had…after… No, oh no…no. I couldn't even think it. Couldn't put words to the fragmented visions, couldn't arrange them in any order that would tell what had occurred. I couldn't remember what had happened without feeling like my soul would simply crumble to pieces until only lifeless dust remained to be tossed about in an eternal tempest.

How would I ever survive this?

"Legolas?" the young man prompted me and I realized I had never responded.

I opened my mouth to say 'Yes' but a choked sob escaped my lips instead. The storm of disjointed memories had left my control in tatters and I struggled urgently to bury the turmoil before it could completely rip me apart and force me to feel emotions for which I was unprepared.

Soon I found myself shaking from the effort it took to not succumb to my despair but I did not realize I wept until gentle fingers brushed warm droplets of liquid from my face. "I have lived among your people my entire life and yet I have seen so few elves cry. It always fills me with great sorrow when I do. Yet with you I find that sadness infinitely more bitter," he smiled sadly, "I do so wish I could ease your turmoil."

Estel's words lacked all censure and before I could blush or think of regretting my show of weakness his kind voice again touched my ears, "There is no shame in feeling."

I glanced up to look at the crouching man and again searched his eyes. Upon finding that my uncontrolled display had not erased his promise to not judge or ridicule me, I allowed myself to believe him. He had seen my weakness and it did not disgust him. That was enough for me.

A few more tears escaped to trail down my cheeks but even the blurring of my vision did not break our locked gaze. After a short while of staring into his warm blue eyes and seeing their kindness I was able to gain dominion over the stinging brutality of my emotions, at least for the time being.

I nodded, as if to tell him I was all right, even though I knew the despair would only continue to grow until I had not the strength or will to keep it from overwhelming me. It was only a matter of time. The question was by what degree that amount of time would lengthen while I was in Estel's presence.

Giving my shoulders one last squeeze, Estel also nodded. Then he smiled sweetly as he removed a small flask of water from a pouch that was bound to his waist. Moments later he also procured a soft white cloth and proceeded to cover two of his fingers with it so that he could dab them in the water and swirl them around a bit.

Though I had never given him permission to tend to my wound, he raised his hand to my face and began wiping away the blood and grime that marred the gash.

At that same moment, he started to speak. I immediately recognized his words as the beginning of a very ancient and well-known tale among my kin. Though I had heard it many times throughout my life I was struck by his telling of it. He did not alter the story itself but by adding small elaborations and changing the pitch and tone of his voice to match the characters and settings, he was able to weave a picture in my mind that showed me what his words depicted. So magical was this ability that his words faded and it was almost as if I was watching the tale as it took place and not listening to a thousand-year-old recounting of it.

When the story drew to a close I realized, to my shock, that Estel was returning the flask and cloth to the pouch attached to his belt. He had cleaned and bandaged the wound all while keeping me diverted from the pain with his magnificent rendition of a story I had never once enjoyed, until now.

Estel laughed at my surprise and said, "Though my healing skills are poor in comparison I think my ability to distract my patients far surpasses that of my father."

I continued to stare at him silently. He had kept me distracted from my physical and emotional pain. Not once during his story had I thought of Endanlel. Not once had I thought of what I had done. For a time I had had the escape I had been searching for and I did not want to let go of that temporary serenity now. It was for that reason that I found myself begging for him to continue. "Please," I said, "tell me another story."

The young man seemed surprised and slightly taken aback as he realized the true nature of my request. With a shake of his head, he replied firmly, "You will not defeat this pain by refusing to feel it, Legolas."

My heart sank. His level of insight into my thoughts and feelings was impressive but I began to wish that he could not read me quite so clearly. I did not want to feel, for to feel would means submitting to emotions so terrible I was sure they would tear me to shreds. It was too agonizing, how could I not take an opportunity for mindless rest when I came upon one? How could I not want distraction from my inner turmoil?

This time when I spoke my tone was almost pleading, "I know that, but I also know that this is not something I can feel right now. If I let these thoughts reign I fear they will destroy me…I am not ready. Please, Estel." I left unsaid the fact that I did not think I ever would be ready, that I did not think I ever would want to face my despair. Instead, I added another plea, "Please help me…as you said you would."

Estel looked as if he would continue to protest but then his eyes met mine in an appraising gaze. After a few moments of silence he seemed to find what he was searching for and he sighed in resignation. "Have you any preference for the tale?"

I shook my head and then murmured, "Thank you, Estel."

He nodded. Then, with staggering skill, his words lifted me away from this world and into one long ago forgotten, except for in songs and stories passed down through the ages. For hours, we sat facing each other as he wove a magical veil over my eyes, one that allowed me to see what I wished and to ignore what I preferred to forget. However, upon the conclusion of his last tale the veil frayed to pieces, as all such veils do, leaving me to face my inner demons once more.

"The hour grows late," Estel explained when I lifted my questioning eyes to his, "we should return to Rivendell before darkness falls."

For a moment I considered beseeching another story from him but even without thinking I realized he was right. Dusk had already descended over the land and if we lingered much longer darkness would soon follow. Besides, he had already given me, a complete stranger, more than I ever could have asked. He had given me the gift of peace, if but for a few hours.

I was grateful when, as we walked back to the safe-haven, Estel continued to speak. Though he did not begin another story he did tell me of his beloved brothers and of the fair Lady Arwen, who seemed to have captured his heart. He also spoke of Lord Elrond, to whom he said he owed his life for having taken him in as his son, and of Rivendell, his beautiful home.

He spoke until we had walked through the halls of Rivendell and reached the entrance of a large and comfortable room which he explained would be mine for the duration of my stay. It was, conveniently and non-coincidentally, located very near his own quarters, which he took great pains to point out to me even as he apologized for not being able to remain at my side any longer. Apparently Lord Elrond had expressed wishes to speak with him and he could not be left forgotten.

"Please do forgive me," Estel repeated himself, "I am sorry. My father is not one to be kept waiting. I hope you understand."

The young man was again very clearly worried that he had incurred my anger and his anxiety drove me to fill my words with kind reassurances, "Estel, you have nothing for which to apologize. You have done more for me than you can possibly imagine and I am forever in your debt. Please free your heart from worry and go to your father."

A hesitant nod met my request and as the young man turned to leave he said, "If you wish to speak of your troubles, or of anything at all, feel free to call on me. I shall find you tomorrow morning to see how you fare."

With that honest vow, Estel left me standing at the door of my room, alone and afraid of the powerful emotions I held inside me.

~~~~~~~~~~

I stared at the darkness in despair. I couldn't sleep. As much as I wanted to – needed to – I couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop feeling. The obscurity in my room wasn't nearly thick enough to erase the image of Endanlel from my mind and the longer it hounded me, the more restless my memories became.

Every recollection that flashed through my mind was an added spear through my heart, each so painful that it made my entire body ache with grief. Everything I saw was of Endanlel. When I inhaled it was Endanlel's eyes clouding over with tears that haunted my sight. When I exhaled it was Endanlel clinging to me in terror as we rode to Rivendell. When I closed my eyes it was the plaintive sounds of Endanlel gasping hoarsely, coughing, wheezing, whimpering… When I opened them again, it was Endanlel's weakening grip on me as his strength failed.

Throughout all those tumbling images, it was Endanlel's last words that I always heard…