Summery: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks are in this font for easier reading.This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.
Enough gibberish, on with the story!!!
After the Storm
Chapter One: Riding in the Rain
It was very dark.
Not the sky, for the sun had at least half of an hour before it would set.
No, Aragorn decided as Thalion galloped across the land. This was a different kind of dark, a feeling of sickening dread that was slowly spreading from his mind to the tips of his fingers, forcing his hands to tremble slightly as his emotions threatened to send tears to his eyes and his heart already sobbed in pain.
Nothing felt right here.
His body wanted to go back to what was once his home, and at the same moment his mind pleaded to keep going. One thought pound into his skull.
Elrond.
The wise, kind Elf who had been like a father to him for all of the life he had lived. For all of the lie he had lived. But that part of his life was gone, mayhap for eternity.
He did not wince as Elladan's screams echoed through his head, followed by Elrohir's cries. Aragorn could care less when Elrond's own calls to him repeated themselves.
All that the Ranger could care about was the sheer rage inside of him, the painful flames that lashed inside of him, and the cold voice in his ears that whispered," They lied, Aragorn. They always have, and now you cannot trust them any longer."
He wanted to ride forever into the distance, wanted to bury the fantasy world of his childhood in the dusts of time as their voices filled his mind.
"Estel! Come back to us, Estel!"
He would leave his false name behind as well, for what hope was there in his future? What possible light could shine when all he felt was doom and uselessness?
Aragorn entered his father's library, smiling widely.
"You wished to speak with me, Father?"
The Elven lord looked weary, as if he had aged overnight. Lines traced across his forehead and the corners of his mouth. He attempted to smile for his foster child, failing miserably.
"Sit, Estel."
He motioned to a chair with a long arm. Aragorn sat carefully, his brow furrowed slightly in concern.
"Is something burdening you, Father?"
Elrond sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Aye, my son. It seems like only yesterday Elladan and Elrohir came back from their travels with the sorrowful words of your true father's death, and the small child that would grow to be a strong, brave Man."
Here he paused, sitting in a chair opposite his son. He took his calloused hand slowly into his own.
"And on this your birthing day, you have indeed become a strong, great Man. And it grieves me deeply to ask any more of you, had I not promised to tell you of your heritage and your labors ahead. Your destiny."
Aragorn was very confused.
"What is this that you speak of?" he whispered.
"You are the son of Arathorn, Estel,"Elrond answered.
"Nay, not Estel, but Aragorn. You are to struggle to reclaim Gondor. You are to be King."
Storm clouds gathered in the sky, the dark mists mirroring Aragorn's heart. The winds picked up, forcing the trees to creak and moan as their great limbs swayed. So intent was the Man on riding as far away from Imladris as possible, he did not hear the heavy stomps of Orc in the distance until a raucous cry pierced the air.
Thalion reared, forcing Aragorn to grip the reins with all of his might to keep from falling to the hard ground, his muscles bulging with the effort. By the time his horse had both pairs of feet on the earth, they were facing their enemy, and Aragorn could now see that he was overwhelmed by his attackers, forty to one.
There was still a great distance between he and the ominous Orc wave as of yet. Aragorn removed his bow from his shoulder, notching an arrow to let it fly into one foul neck.
Pleased with his aim, although the bow was never his best weapon, Aragorn fired in faster procession, killing ten Orcs ere his enemy met up with him and charged.
He abandoned his bow, drawing his sword from its hilt. With a fierce cry, he leapt from Thalion's strong back, cleaving an Orc's head from its body, releasing his anger on the beasts before him.
A scimitar swung at his head. Cutting the hands from his enemy, he then stabbed its heart, yanking his sword back out to behead the Orc at his side. Aragorn kept tirelessly hacking at his opponents, not caring about the stench of the black blood spraying over his body, nor for the pair of gently glowing eyes that watched him from the trees.
His fury grew, along with a sickening pleasure to hear his adversaries cry out in their harsh tongues cries of defeat.
"Aye," he whispered coldly. "Beg for mercy! Beg for death!"
When merely ten Orcs remained, Aragorn had felt a sense of victory until an arrow shot into his shoulder. From the moment it pierced his flesh, Aragorn knew it was poisoned.
The Man bit his lip in pain, not going to encourage his remaining foes with a declaration of weakness.
He was bitter, he was peerless, he was the Lord of Ice, he was…
"Weak, Aragorn. Weak like Isildur."
Startled, the Ranger left an opening at his side, emitting a soft cry when a blade plunged between his ribs, pulling the Orcs into a sickening frenzy.
Aragorn was suddenly aware of the pain at his side, the numbing anguish in his shoulder, the cold rain pelting his damp face, and most of all, his weariness.
Fighting harder in disgust, he managed to kill the rest of the Orcs in his sight before sinking to his knees in exhaustion. He smiled slightly. Everything would be fine now. He only needed to treat his wounds before going to sleep…
Two great claws dug mercilessly into his shoulders. Aragorn screamed his fury, turning with his sword in hand to face the largest Orc he had ever seen, drawing two large swords into its black, filthy palms.
It roared in triumph as it swung its weapons down. Aragorn leapt sideways, gasping for breathe. He stabbed the beast in its leg, knowing his enemy could not feel it.
The Orc sliced Aragorn's own thigh, sending forth spurts of red blood. The Man cried out in anguish, placing a last small wound on the giant monster before sinking to his knees to accept the inevitable stroke that would be his death as his vision blurred.
Yet it never came.
Instead, a deafening howl filled the air, and the thud of a massive body meeting its end.
Aragorn opened the eyes he did not know he had closed. A hazy figure stood before him, slipping a gentle, warm hand under his chin as it knelt.
The Man nodded his head in admittance before his world went black.
So, what do you think? Kind of short, I know… Please review!!!!!
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks are in this font for easier reading.This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.
Enough gibberish, on with the story!!!
After the Storm
Chapter One: Riding in the Rain
It was very dark.
Not the sky, for the sun had at least half of an hour before it would set.
No, Aragorn decided as Thalion galloped across the land. This was a different kind of dark, a feeling of sickening dread that was slowly spreading from his mind to the tips of his fingers, forcing his hands to tremble slightly as his emotions threatened to send tears to his eyes and his heart already sobbed in pain.
Nothing felt right here.
His body wanted to go back to what was once his home, and at the same moment his mind pleaded to keep going. One thought pound into his skull.
Elrond.
The wise, kind Elf who had been like a father to him for all of the life he had lived. For all of the lie he had lived. But that part of his life was gone, mayhap for eternity.
He did not wince as Elladan's screams echoed through his head, followed by Elrohir's cries. Aragorn could care less when Elrond's own calls to him repeated themselves.
All that the Ranger could care about was the sheer rage inside of him, the painful flames that lashed inside of him, and the cold voice in his ears that whispered," They lied, Aragorn. They always have, and now you cannot trust them any longer."
He wanted to ride forever into the distance, wanted to bury the fantasy world of his childhood in the dusts of time as their voices filled his mind.
"Estel! Come back to us, Estel!"
He would leave his false name behind as well, for what hope was there in his future? What possible light could shine when all he felt was doom and uselessness?
Aragorn entered his father's library, smiling widely.
"You wished to speak with me, Father?"
The Elven lord looked weary, as if he had aged overnight. Lines traced across his forehead and the corners of his mouth. He attempted to smile for his foster child, failing miserably.
"Sit, Estel."
He motioned to a chair with a long arm. Aragorn sat carefully, his brow furrowed slightly in concern.
"Is something burdening you, Father?"
Elrond sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Aye, my son. It seems like only yesterday Elladan and Elrohir came back from their travels with the sorrowful words of your true father's death, and the small child that would grow to be a strong, brave Man."
Here he paused, sitting in a chair opposite his son. He took his calloused hand slowly into his own.
"And on this your birthing day, you have indeed become a strong, great Man. And it grieves me deeply to ask any more of you, had I not promised to tell you of your heritage and your labors ahead. Your destiny."
Aragorn was very confused.
"What is this that you speak of?" he whispered.
"You are the son of Arathorn, Estel,"Elrond answered.
"Nay, not Estel, but Aragorn. You are to struggle to reclaim Gondor. You are to be King."
Storm clouds gathered in the sky, the dark mists mirroring Aragorn's heart. The winds picked up, forcing the trees to creak and moan as their great limbs swayed. So intent was the Man on riding as far away from Imladris as possible, he did not hear the heavy stomps of Orc in the distance until a raucous cry pierced the air.
Thalion reared, forcing Aragorn to grip the reins with all of his might to keep from falling to the hard ground, his muscles bulging with the effort. By the time his horse had both pairs of feet on the earth, they were facing their enemy, and Aragorn could now see that he was overwhelmed by his attackers, forty to one.
There was still a great distance between he and the ominous Orc wave as of yet. Aragorn removed his bow from his shoulder, notching an arrow to let it fly into one foul neck.
Pleased with his aim, although the bow was never his best weapon, Aragorn fired in faster procession, killing ten Orcs ere his enemy met up with him and charged.
He abandoned his bow, drawing his sword from its hilt. With a fierce cry, he leapt from Thalion's strong back, cleaving an Orc's head from its body, releasing his anger on the beasts before him.
A scimitar swung at his head. Cutting the hands from his enemy, he then stabbed its heart, yanking his sword back out to behead the Orc at his side. Aragorn kept tirelessly hacking at his opponents, not caring about the stench of the black blood spraying over his body, nor for the pair of gently glowing eyes that watched him from the trees.
His fury grew, along with a sickening pleasure to hear his adversaries cry out in their harsh tongues cries of defeat.
"Aye," he whispered coldly. "Beg for mercy! Beg for death!"
When merely ten Orcs remained, Aragorn had felt a sense of victory until an arrow shot into his shoulder. From the moment it pierced his flesh, Aragorn knew it was poisoned.
The Man bit his lip in pain, not going to encourage his remaining foes with a declaration of weakness.
He was bitter, he was peerless, he was the Lord of Ice, he was…
"Weak, Aragorn. Weak like Isildur."
Startled, the Ranger left an opening at his side, emitting a soft cry when a blade plunged between his ribs, pulling the Orcs into a sickening frenzy.
Aragorn was suddenly aware of the pain at his side, the numbing anguish in his shoulder, the cold rain pelting his damp face, and most of all, his weariness.
Fighting harder in disgust, he managed to kill the rest of the Orcs in his sight before sinking to his knees in exhaustion. He smiled slightly. Everything would be fine now. He only needed to treat his wounds before going to sleep…
Two great claws dug mercilessly into his shoulders. Aragorn screamed his fury, turning with his sword in hand to face the largest Orc he had ever seen, drawing two large swords into its black, filthy palms.
It roared in triumph as it swung its weapons down. Aragorn leapt sideways, gasping for breathe. He stabbed the beast in its leg, knowing his enemy could not feel it.
The Orc sliced Aragorn's own thigh, sending forth spurts of red blood. The Man cried out in anguish, placing a last small wound on the giant monster before sinking to his knees to accept the inevitable stroke that would be his death as his vision blurred.
Yet it never came.
Instead, a deafening howl filled the air, and the thud of a massive body meeting its end.
Aragorn opened the eyes he did not know he had closed. A hazy figure stood before him, slipping a gentle, warm hand under his chin as it knelt.
The Man nodded his head in admittance before his world went black.
So, what do you think? Kind of short, I know… Please review!!!!!