Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

Warnings: death & drama

PART 1: Legolas

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CHAPTER 1: Awaiting Death

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      "Witches, witches in the night…"

      The chant was hypnotic, the voices of the young children from the town laughing and screaming it over and over as they ran and played their tireless game.  The careless youth of it, with its crazy wishes, was as soothing as the beating of a heart, and of the clacking hooves of this lonely traveler's horse's gait.

     

      "Evil eyes shining bright…"

      Legolas knew this game well, for it has changed little since he too was a young boy.  One child played Death, one child played the Witch, and the others ran from Death in a wild screech of hands and bodies.  Anyone whom Death touched would lie on the ground, until he is revived by the Witch by a touch of the hand, and the running and dying would start all over again.

      "Free the sins from inside your head--"

     

      The game was suddenly cut short by an older woman shouting for the children to keep quiet, and beware their wishes.  The elders would always say that the witches might hear the children and grant their wish.  But the fear of these threats only added to the excitement of the game, and it never stopped the children from playing it over and over.  Legolas certainly never let the fear stop him, when he was young.  And though the children have stopped the game to appease the older woman for now, Legolas has played the game in his youth often enough to know the last part of the chant by heart:

     

      "Watch the living, raise the dead."

      The night was suddenly quiet again, as he focused on his journey.  The house of the King was nearing the distance, and he was eager to see his old friend once again.  He much preferred their meeting to be under better circumstances, but any time he could steal himself away from the duties in his own kingdom, and Aragorn from his, was opportunity enough for him.

      ~I hope you do not mind,~ he whispered to his horse's ear in his native tongue, ~We run the rest of this journey.~

      The horse neighed and picked up its pace, Legolas never having needed to pull on his reins. 

* * *

      "Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, milady," the majordomo announced quietly, as Legolas was ushered into the quiet study.  A pensive Arwen had her back to them, as she stared outside the window of the room.  The majordomo came and went without her acknowledgement, leaving the two elves alone.

      "I understand your worry," said Legolas after a moment, "But Eldarion is Aragorn's son.  He is at least half as stubborn as his father to yield to this affliction, not to mention the fact that he is your son as well, and you are of an even more stubborn disposition than the father."

      He had hoped to coax a smile out of her, and yet she kept her back to him.

      "Arwen…" he said softly, helplessly, "My father sent me here, bearing gifts from Mirkwood.  Herbs and medicines of all kinds.  Perhaps they may be of some use."

      She turned at last to face him, and her beauty still refused to be overcast by the grief in her eyes.

      ~They will not be of any help,~ she said softly in Elvish, ~We have tried them all.  And 'tis not Eldarion who is ill.~

      Legolas looked at her in confusion.  ~I'm sorry.  Father had said this is so, and I've heard from the surrounding kingdoms that Aragorn's son is ill.~

      Arwen shook her head.  ~Eldarion is well,~ she said, ~It is Aragorn who is fading fast from us.~

      The news made Legolas's heart stop.  ~This cannot be.~

      "I was warned that such parting would be harsh," Arwen said shakily, "I knew not how harsh 'til now."

      Legolas looked away from her.  ~This land is not ready to lose its King,~ he whispered, envisioning the chaos that would follow Aragorn's death.  The security in the land, following the devastating evil of Sauron, was new and fleeting.  It was by Aragorn's presence, his strength, the trust created by the very mention of his name, that peace and prosperity was kept.  His death would throw the newfound order in disarray, what with his heir so young, his revived kingdom not-yet so deeply founded.

      "This is why," said Arwen, her thoughts running along the same course as the other elf's, "We have said instead that it was Eldarion who was ill, and have claimed that the King has been indisposed as he tended his son."

      "One could not keep up this charade forever," said Legolas gravely, his brows furrowing, "What have the healers said?"

      "He is hanging by a thread," replied Arwen, "A strange disease that no herb can cure."

      "Is it a poison?" asked Legolas, "a curse? A spell—"

      "No," said Arwen, "It is a disease that afflicts humans.  A growth, of some sort, inside him.  The healers have encountered it a few times before.  Those who fall prey to it die in great pain."

      Legolas shook his head in dismay, stared out the window she had been looking out of but moments before.  Aragorn was dying.  It simply could not be.  It was not in his warrior's way.  And it was certainly not the time.  This land is not ready to lose you…

      "May I see him?" Legolas asked.

      "Of course," said Arwen, "Follow me."    

* * *

      "My friend," Legolas coaxed, willing for the King to open his eyes, and stop looking as if he were already among the dead.  Aragorn lay still, his white face gaunt and unmoving, the elf needing to strain to feel that he was even breathing at all.

      Aragorn blinked, and his warm eyes settled on the elf, sitting beside his folded arms.

      "You've come a long way," Aragorn said softly, his voice grated and broken.  He cleared his throat, "What brings you here?"

      "I bring herbs from our great forests," said Legolas with a smile, "how are you feeling?"

      Aragorn gave him a sardonic grin, and refused to answer the question, "You have not rested since you arrived."

      "I am quite well," said Legolas, "It is you who looks terrible."
      Aragorn's eyes danced; he new the jibe well, from more uncertain times in their lives.  Even in war and around death, they had always found matters of lightness.  "You, on the other hand, never look terrible.  And are never late."

      "Late for what?" Legolas asked softly, though he knew, for a certainty, that Aragorn was referring to his imminent death.

      "I did not wish to leave," said Aragorn, "without telling you some things."

      "Then I wish I had never come," said Legolas, his voice shaking though he struggled for control, "So you'd have had to hold on much longer."

      "All men must go in some way," Aragorn told him, "and now is just one other time that another man dies.  Do not let this break what peace we had found, Legolas.  Do not let my kingdom fall.  And keep my family safe."

      "I make no promises until you make one of your own," said Legolas tightly.

      "I am hardly at a position to give you anything," the King said, chuckling a little.

      "I know all men must die," said Legolas, "I know this is a fate you too must endure.  But not without a good fight.  No yielding without all means exhausted.  We fight as long as we can and as hard as we can and if this still yields nothing, we ride out to meet our fate.  Would you to swear this?"

      "I swear," said the King, smiling at his friend as his eyes started to drift close once again, "Your promise?"

      "I will not let your kingdom fall as much as I am able," said Legolas, "And I will keep your family safe."

* * *

      Legolas left Aragorn's quarters and was ushered by the same majordomo from earlier to his own room.

      "Has Gandalf been to see him?" Legolas asked, as they walked across the corridors of the palace.

      "He has been summoned," replied the majordomo, his discretion prompting him to say naught else.  He stopped in front of a door, and opened it for the elf.

      "Would you be needing anything else, Prince?" he asked.

      "I wish to be informed the moment Gandalf arrives," said Legolas.

      "Very well," said the majordomo, beginning to close the door, "Good night, sir."

* * *

      Even with his long days of travel, the quiet night and his bed held no peace or comfort to him.

      Aragorn was dying.

      As his mind raced with any kind of answer, it was plagued by that infernal chant, circling him and engulfing him like a catchy song that stayed with one for days on end.

      "Witches, witches in the night…"

      Legolas grit his teeth in frustration against it; elves were profoundly resilient, but they needed some rest too.  He would be useless to Aragorn if he were weary.

      "Evil eyes shining bright…"

      Aragorn was dying.  The King needed him strong, now.

      "Free the sins from inside your head…"

      Aragorn was dying.  Gondor needed him to help their King.

      "Watch the living, raise the dead."

      Aragorn was—

      He shot up from bed.

      Blinking in amazement at his epiphany, he pushed away his bed covers and got to his feet.  Grabbing his robe, he rushed out of his room and rammed straight into the majordomo.

      The majordomo, with all of his composure, merely raised his brows in wordless inquiry.  "Master Gandalf had just arrived."

      "Excellent," Legolas said, patting the majordomo on the shoulder and heading straight for Aragorn's room, where surely Gandalf would immediately go.

* * *

      Gandalf frowned as he watched Aragorn in the King's deep but fretful sleep.

      "He is in pain," Gandalf whispered, "He will not be with us for too long."

      Legolas watched his weathered old face, with all of its grief and disappointment. 

      "Is there nothing else you can do?" asked Legolas.

      Gandalf stared at the elf, shook his head, though after a moment, he looked curiously upon the flame in Legolas's eyes. 

      "You know a way," whispered Gandalf in awe.

      Legolas glanced at the sleeping Aragorn hesitantly.  "I would rather that he not hear of it."

      Gandalf nodded, and the two men turned to leave the room, just as Arwen rushed in toward it.

      "Gandalf!" she exclaimed, hope in her eyes.  It pained the wizard to have to tell her he would be of no particular help. 

      "See to the King," murmured Gandalf, and Arwen looked after him and Legolas suspiciously as they walked away towards the corridors.  After a moment, she did as she was told, and closed the door behind her.

      "There was a legend, when I was a child," said Legolas, "Of witches who could raise the dead.  There were songs about it, games and great stories.  They have to have come from somewhere, Mithrandir.  Where? If anyone must know, it must be you."

      Gandalf frowned at him, obviously disappointed  "This is your answer."

      "This is our only answer for now," insisted Legolas, "Witches who could raise the dead.  Who are they?"

      "You are chasing demons, elf," Gandalf said dispassionately, "this will go nowhere."

      Legolas's eyes burned with frustration.  "Why? Because they are children's tales? But these legends began from real life, passed along by mouth and changed with time.  But it remains that it had begun with something true.  It almost always began with something real."

      "I do not argue your logic," said Gandalf, "but this will go nowhere not because it is a legend, but because all of the Lunaris are dead."

      Legolas's brows furrowed.  "The Lunaris?"

      "A clan of humans who could raise the dead," said Gandalf, "branded as witches, as devils.  They were massacred thousands of years ago, all of them.  Even the children.  None remain.  Their black magic had not been seen since.  It is a forbidden art by the standards of most races, because it holds nothing sacred.  Not life, not death."

      "None remain?" Legolas repeated achingly.

      Gandalf shook his head.  "Nothing is left of them but a rotting mass graveyard about two days' ride away from here.  It lies within an old forest.  Some say there are angry ghosts.  But that is all."

      "Ghosts, you say?" whispered Legolas, determinedly.  "I will seek any of the Lunaris that I could possibly find.  Even if they are just ghosts, or even just memories.  I need their magic, Mithrandir.  I need their spells.  I'll take whatever there is that they have left, anything that they could possibly give me."

      "You will find nothing," insisted Gandalf, "And their magic holds a price you take for granted."

      "What price?" asked Legolas, "I am certain that no expense will be spared to save the life of the King."

      Gandalf shook his head.  "It is not so simple.  They raise the dead using the life force of somebody else.  A life for a life, so to speak.  In order for one to live, someone else must die, someone else must be sacrificed.  They toy with lives, Legolas.  This is why people found the Lunaris so threatening."

      Legolas pursed his lips.  "I'll cross that bridge when I get there.  I must find them first, after all."

      "I would not hold fast to this hope, Legolas," Gandalf warned.

      "I know," Legolas said softly, "but someone must.  Keep Aragorn alive until I return."

To be continued…