Chapter Five.

Since Boromir's second attack on him and the man's sudden death Legolas had walked through the world as if he were no longer part of it. When any of the shattered Fellowship attempted to talk to him Legolas would recoil from the closeness and back away, deaf to the questioning and distressed pleading aimed at him. Walking through the rock-strewn landscape Legolas kept to himself far out on the edge of the group, as far away as he dared without cutting himself loose entirely.

Some part of the elf's tortured mind was aware of what was going on around him and deep inside a small voice cried out that he was hurting his friends with his withdrawal and silence. The little voice battled with the louder voice that screamed his worthlessness and on occasions would actually break through with a single forlorn word, Aragorn. The deep seated emotion that Legolas had hidden in his heart for many long years had finally revealed itself as an undeniable, desperate love, too late, just too late.

From his place on the outside edge Legolas would go through periods of relative lucidity in between the severe disassociation and blank trances that consumed his mind the majority of the time. During the moments of semi-clarity Legolas watched the ranger covertly, pain ripping at his heart to see the man's hopelessness and suffering. Seeing the torment he was inflicting on the man he loved served to carve the feelings of self-loathing and desolate bleakness deeper into Legolas' heart and even when his eyes were able to see and his ears to hear he looked at the world through a grey fog of anguish.

The Fellowship had finally reached the edge of the Celebrant and were making their way along its rocky banks under a cloud of uneasy despondency, silent and distressed, each in their own dark thoughts. With Legolas in no condition to guard against threat and Aragorn distracted and far from his usual alertness, the company had no warning when they were ambushed on their third day by a band of orcs at least thirty strong. Although they were taken completely by surprise the Fellowship recovered quickly and the battle was joined.

When the orcs attacked, Aragorn drew his sword and threw himself at the enemy with single-minded ferocity. In the minutes, hours and days since he had found Boromir with Legolas, Aragorn had been cutting himself to pieces for the fact that he had failed to protect his friend. Though he had felt a savage sense of vengeance when his knife had opened Boromir's throat Aragorn hated himself for not stopping the horrific chain of events before it had even happened. Each vicious slash and powerful blow with Aragorn's sword was fuelled by rage and desperation and he fought his way through the surprised orcs with almost no thought to his own safety.

Out of the corner of his eye Aragorn caught a glimpse of Legolas with a knife in each hand and an almost feral look on his face fighting a path to the hobbits who were only just holding their own in a fighting square. Gimli was beset by a large group of slavering orcs, unable to assist the little ones and Aragorn felt a small glow of hope that Legolas had come back to himself enough to protect his small friends. Another wave of orcs came at him and Aragorn lost track of the rest of the Fellowship, using all his skill turn his blade into a glittering blur of silver death.

At the appearance of the howling orcs Legolas had frozen for a brief instant, almost overwhelmed with irrational fear and sickening helplessness. The shouts of the beleaguered hobbits however pierced the elf's mental storm and his warrior instincts took over. The elf whipped out his twin knives, stalking around the edge of the melee and waiting for a chance to break through to the hobbits. In front of him an orc spun to face where Gimli was roaring his defiance and in that moment Legolas darted forward with the deadliness and sinuous grace of a dragon, mercilessly cutting his way through to where the hobbits battled doggedly.

Legolas' mind disengaged as his knives flashed faster than the human eye could see. Every orc that found itself in front of the blank eyed elf was brutally cut to shreds with pitiless efficiency. Spinning and dodging Legolas became a whirlwind of pain, orc after snarling orc screaming at the bite of his flashing blades and falling in spray of blood into death Even though the hobbits were hard pressed by the few orcs that dodged around Legolas, they still were taken aback at the savagery of the elf who usually dispatched his enemies with a minimum of suffering.

For the first long minutes of the battle it was doubtful that the Fellowship would be able to fight their way out of the slavering horde, as they were without Boromir's skill and strength with the blade and also without Legolas' peerless talent with the bow. But when the elf threw himself into the fight with unrestrained ferocity and Aragorn channelled the battle-madness gifted to him by his ancestors the tide began to turn. Although each of the Fellowship suffered varying degrees of injuries, the orcs were beginning to lose heart at the massive losses they were sustaining.

Aragon opened a huge orc's chest from throat to hip and stepped forward to face his next foe. The ranger was startled to see that the majority of orcs were disengaging and fleeing the battlefield, leaving only a few to hold the Fellowship from following and continuing the slaughter. A feeling of triumph rising in his chest Aragorn gradually fell back until he was alongside the rest of his friends, preparing to end the fight beside the ones who had fought so valiantly and bravely. Standing beside Legolas, Aragorn battled with strength born from the anticipation of victory and when he dispatched the last orc that stood in front of him he turned to Legolas, ready to try once more to break through the elf's defences.

In his haste to engage his friend before he again faded from the world, Aragorn dropped his guard and his awareness of the remnants of the battle. Behind the ranger, beyond the circle of the dead rear guard, a long orc rose from behind a large boulder and drew its black bow to full stretch. All Aragorn saw was Legolas giving him a beautiful, broken smile and then the elf was suddenly standing like a living barrier in front of him, a crude black shaft buried deep in his heart.

As if in slow motion the elf fell backwards to the sounds of the hobbits screams and Gimli's gruff shout of denial. Aragorn couldn't force his brain to work and make sense of the scene until Legolas' light body crashed into him and his hands were covered in the heart-blood of the elf. Falling to his knees, too dazed to fully comprehend what had just happened, Aragorn stared down into Legolas' face, gazing blankly at the fragile smile that still graced the lifeless elf's lips. Slowly the reality of what had just happened penetrated the fog that filled the man's mind and Aragorn began to shake violently, his breath catching in his throat, choking him with horror and disbelieving grief.

The pitiful remaining fragments of the Fellowship of the Ring stood by the icy, rushing waters of the river Celebrant. Shoulders bowed and his face a pale mask, Aragorn placed the final stone on the cairn that marked the final resting place of Legolas Greenleaf. The numb ranger had allowed the devastated hobbits and dwarf to assist him in digging Legolas' grave and he laid the elf to rest with his own hands, making sure to face him towards the far distant trees of his home. Though he was grateful for the help of his friends in digging the grave, Aragorn was firm in his insistence that he alone build the cairn.

Oblivious to the tears of his friends, Aragorn knelt by the last resting place of the one he loved with dry eyes and emptiness in his face. Behind his impassive mask Aragorn's thoughts were moving slowly, grinding through his mind with the weight and speed of great glaciers. In his long life of sadness and hardship Aragorn had always looked to the future and the promise of hope that it held, but for the first time in the darkness that had followed him through his dark years the man found himself thinking of death.

Darkness filled with razor-sharp shame and guilt welled up in Aragorn's heart and the thought passed through his mind that he deserved nothing but death for his failure to protect or save the elf who had stood beside him as a sword-brother and more through so many years. The small, duty-bound part of Aragorn knew that he had no choice other than to travel with and protect all that remained of the Fellowship, but he knew that he would leave his heart at the cairn that stood at the joining of the Celebrant and the Nimrodel.

Clouds covered the sun and chill wind blew as Aragorn rose slowly to his feet, staring for the last time at the pile of stones. With a shaking hand the ranger touched his fingers to his forehead and then to his lips in a gesture of farewell and sorrow before turning and walking away. Moving over to the hobbits who were huddled against Gimli in their anguish, Aragorn knelt down and the six that were left of the once strong Fellowship clasped each other tightly in an attempt to lessen the anguish that engulfed them. After a time Aragorn pulled away from the embrace and stood slowly, squaring his shoulders under the weight of the grief he now carried and preparing for the journey he knew he had to continue.