-This is a Lord of the Rings fanfic. Characters and places in this story are property of JRR Tolkien.
SideNote: in ROTK, Aragorn uses athelas as an herb in hot water for an aroma-healing
approach. However, in the movie he uses it as more of a healing plant that you -apply- to a wound. I went with the movie form of usage for the herb; it suited my purpose better.
Solace, Serene, Sorrow
It had been two nights since the battle at Helm's Deep. Legolas had been captured
and taken to Isengard, so Aragorn concluded from their trail. After he saw him being
dragged off by about forty or so orcs the Ranger followed after them for as long
as he could, but soon fell behind at the speed and endurance of the orcs. Their course led
straight to Isengard; straight to Saruman. Aragorn turned back and met with Theoden
and his company at the Hornburg. From there they had set out the next morning, Aragorn
and Gimli now with a new quest: to save their friend, while Gandalf and the King of
Rohan awaited audience with the Lord of Orthanc. Though Gandalf wanted the elf brought
to safety, he told Aragorn his main duty of the mission was to Saruman and so any
action of a rescue would be left to them. Eomer offered his assistance, and Theoden offered
him as many men as would be necessary.
They were approaching Isengard at a steady pace. Driven by their worry of Legolas'
safety among such foul enemies, Aragorn and Gimli had hardly spoken over the past
two days. Gandalf had also remained less than sociable, for he was not only afraid
for the elven prince, but also complacent of his approaching encounter with Saruman of, now,
Many Colors. Gimli was riding with Aragorn, going over and over in his head the events
of two days passed, trying to think of why he could not save his friend on the citadel wall. But no reasons except for his own weakness came to mind. On the upper wall,
the dwarf had been fighting beside him. Gimli smiled slightly at the thought of their
small slaying contest. He regretted letting a group of the creatures come between
them. Fighting for his life, blinded by the instinct to fight, Gimli never noticed Legolas
being surrounded by more than he had the ability to fight. Caught off-guard when
the elf had swung his white dagger to the right, two orcs from the opposite side
grew tired of this opponent and cast him over the side. Only when Gimli heard the shriek
of his companion did he realize what had happened. The dwarf watched, unable to reach
his friend, as he struggled for anything to grab onto. But there was nothing but
stone. As he reminisced, Gimli could only stare dully at the road in front of them.
"I used to ride with him like this..." Gimli said quietly, breaking the long-established
silence. But Aragorn needed no reminding of his elven friend, for his thoughts were
already occupied by such memories. He had been fifteen feet down from the upper wall when Legolas fell... perhaps it had been more, he did not know or care to guess.
He had heard the elf's cry and ran to the window staring up. Seeing his friend he
outstretched his arm and grasped him tightly. The force of his fall being jerked
to a halt nearly pulled Aragorn down with him, but he stood firm with his other hand clinging
to the stone frame. The heavy and terrified breathing of his friend could be heard,
and his eyes spoke louder than any voice of man. "Don't let this happen, Aragorn!"
they cried out silently. "Please!" But there was nothing he could do. Legolas' hand slipped
from his fingers, not being able to hold the weight of the elf's body. Helpless,
the Ranger saw his elven companion fall, endlessly it seemed, into the swarm of blood-thirsty hosts below. They had carried off their prize greedily, not giving much care
to the battle around them. It had lost their interest quickly. Now they had new entertainment.
Aragorn cringed at that thought and closed is eyes, not wanting to see the bright rays of the sun Legolas had not seen since before Helm's Deep.
As the riders approached the realm of Saruman, they saw that wide pools of water lay
beside the road, filling the hollows as rills went trickling down among the stones.
The doors to Isengard shockingly lay hurled and twisted on the ground. All about,
stone was scattered, cracked and splintered into countless jagged shards. The great arch
still stood, but it opened now upon a roofless chasm: the tunnel was laid bare, and
through the cliff-like walls on either side great rents and breaches had been torn;
their towers were beaten into dust.
The ring beyond was filled with steaming water, in which there heaved and floated
a wreckage of beams and spars, chests and casks and broken gear. Twisted and leaning
pillars reared their splintered stems above the flood, but all the roads were drowned.
Far off, it seemed, half veiled in winding cloud, there loomed the island rock. Still
dark and tall, unbroken by the storm, the tower of Orthanc stood. Pale waters lapped
about its feet.
The sight of this as Aragorn and Gimli passed through the shattered gates filled them
with a horror unlike any other they had ever experienced. Was Legolas buried beneath
all this rubble? Was he brought here by his enemies only to be killed by his allies?
Though they did not know how this destruction of Isengard came about, they knew it
must have been someone on their side, against the evil. Beside the rubble of the
doors there was a small cabin, used by Saruman's guards of his city, so they guessed.
There was a small figure lying relaxed on the hillside, playing impatiently with the fork
on a platter beside him, as if waiting for something. Moments later another figure,
of the same height as the other, emerged from the guardhouse signaling to his companion
and shouting in a familiar voice.
"Merry! Legolas stopped his spasm-thing! He's not shaking anymore! oh... hullo, good
fellows of Rohan! We've been expecting you."
At this, Merry turned around and saw the noble riders approaching them. At the mention
of the elf, Aragorn jolted his horse forward and Gimli cried out. "The score between
us will wait for a time. Where is Legolas?" Aragorn immediately dismounted and Gimli didn't even wait for assistance as he rolled off the horse of Rohan and fell heavily
to the ground. "Thank the Valar!" Aragorn mumbled as he came toward the cabin lit
by a meager lantern lit on a round table by the entrance. It was surprisingly visible
through the fog, and all four companions, forgetting they had not seen each other for
weeks, made their way to the guardhouse (Strider firstly because of his long and
heavy strides).
What the two remaining hunters saw was a sheer horror to them, but sadly not unexpected.
Legolas' lower body was covered with one of the hobbit's cloaks, and the cloak of
the other served as a minor pillow. Dark bruises blemished his skin. Numerous lashes
and blood-marks indicated many a night and day of torment and torture.
"In the name of the gods..." Gimli uttered, his voice as cold as stone. "What did
they do to him?"
"At least thank them he's alive!"Merry said, stroking the elf's arm with compassion,
re-wetting the cloth resting on his forehead.
Aragorn spoke softly as he approached the sole figure of his worries since that fateful
night at the Hornburg. "Some times, Meriadoc, to end one's life is an act of mercy..."
"Quickbeam said they pulled him out from one of the surrounding prisoner-keeps in
the less deep trenches before the river was poured in," Pippin explained. "He brought
him over to us, letting us do what we could to help him. We recognized him right
away, despite how he looked." Pippin shuddered at this.
Aragorn's eyes softened even further, and he looked toward the young hobbit. "Did
you think to find a reasonable amount of athelas for when I arrived, if you were
expecting us?"
"Yes! I picked it not three hours ago, hoping you would be here by mid-afternoon,"
Merry piped in. He lifted small white cloth with a bundle of small green and white
plants. The Ranger hastily began to chew small pieces of it and place the remnants
in the elf's worst open wounds. Legolas winced slightly, but quickly adapted to the stinging.
"We should leave him to his work," Pippin suggested. Merry nodded and, with a last
look upon their suffering friend, he and Pippin regretfully left them alone and went
out unto the company of Gandalf and the Rohirrim. Before Gimli reached the door,
he turned back to Aragorn with a sorrowful look. "Will a mere herb cure him, Aragorn? Can
you truly heal him?"
Aragorn sighed without much expression, fearing his eyes may give too much away. "I
know not, Gimli..." He looked up at his dwarven companion. "His fate is in time's
hands now."
Averting his eyes from the ruined form of his most precious and dear friend, Gimli
left the guardhouse, glad for the afternoon sun. For if it had not been there to
remind him of day, burning tears may have trickled the stone surface of his features.
After applying all the spice Merry had gathered, Elessar sensed something unusual.
Glancing up, he knelt down by his friend, looking at him as though for the first
time. The smooth, ageless skin glistened in a slight sweat, apparently from the harsh
dreams he was experiencing and had been ever since he was rescued by the Ents. His calm
features, though marred with bruises and scars, seemed more beautiful than Aragorn
had ever seen them. The Ranger saw that his eyes were closed; he was unconsciousness
rather than asleep. When those eyes were open, the glossy shade was greener than the moist
ferns of spring after a morning rain. Aragorn couldn't help but stroke the soft golden
strands that fell around the slender cheeks. With each caress the velvety feeling
seemed to grow. Noticing all the purple and blackened areas on Legolas' previously flawless,
creamy and pale skin, Aragorn felt angry; a kind of anger he had never felt before.
He could not block his mind from imagining the foul creatures violating the elf's body.
Brought back to reality by the somewhat harsh and out-of-step breathing of the companion
laying before him, Aragorn saw the inconsistent rise and fall of the elf's soft but
well-muscled chest. Bringing his gaze back to the other's gentle features, the Ranger, without noticing what he was doing, brought his head down to the delicate curvature
of the elf's crimson moist lips, slightly parted for the soft intake of breath, and
tenderly kissed them. A strange emotion burned within him; one he had not felt before with anyone else. The elf felt a tranquility fill him at this new touch, and the
terror of his dreams subsided for a time. As Aragorn slowly pulled away, Legolas,
still bathed in unconsciousness, moved forward trying to find the solace that had
just filled him, not wanting to fall back into the terror of his nightmares. He recaptured
Aragorn's lips with bruising intensity, and the Ranger felt a surge of passion flow
through his own veins. Legolas tasted sweeter than the ripest fruit of Lothlorien,
a perfect harmony of lusciousness taking his breath away. A soft moan came from deep within
Legolas' chest, and the melodic sound melted Aragorn's heart. It then changed to
a desperate but soft cry; a plead for this new-found savior to take him from his
horror. After a long moment, Legolas released Aragorn from his kiss and fell back against his
pillow, a serenity overtaking his features. Aragorn had saved him from darkness for
a time.
Aragorn turned away quickly. He knew it was not he Legolas had felt; it would never
be so. These new feelings he felt toward his elven companion could not be. They were
wrong and the son of Arathorn knew it. This was his closest companion he had just
kissed. If Legolas ever knew of what he had done, the Ranger knew the elf would never speak
to him again. Legolas' fate was in time's hands, Aragorn had said minutes before.
But his own fate, he knew, had been sealed with a kiss.
Aragorn left the guardhouse with a heavy heart; having enjoyed a few moments of utopia,
ready to endure a lifetime of pain because of it....
<--Back
