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“You’re late” Legolas uttered, scarcely above a whisper. It was his best attempt to remain void of emotion, as his curios eyes caught deep into the gaze of Aragorn’s, steely and grey as ever. It was short lived, as his face furrowed with worry, as his eyes darted up and down the body of the man before him, as he tried to keep a hold of his composure. “You look terrible”, in common tongue and as plain as he could muster was what escaped his lips.
Aragorn’s eyes remained locked in his for a moment longer, before he broke out into a smile, and then a laugh, hearty, though somewhat addled with pain. He leaned forward and gripped Legolas’ shoulder firmly, as was common for him, but Legolas guessed that it was mostly for his support; he looked ever so weak. The elf took a step closer to the man, and breathed in his scent, bloody, damp, and heavy. He smelt terrible too.
Legolas’ mind was flooded with emotions he hadn’t felt in a long while, a wash of relief hit him, knowing that Aragorn was still alive, yet grief at the sight of his state and injuries. And fear – fear like he had barely felt before. He could sense that something troubled Aragorn deeply, like the man knew of some impending doom.
Legolas reached into his pocket and pulled out the Evenstar pendant, and held it out. Aragorn’s bloodied hand fumbled clumsily over Legolas’, as he struggled to clasp a hold of the necklace. The grime of his clammy palms smeared Legolas’ pale skin, as he once again looked the man up and down. He was a pitiful sight.
Aragorn held the locket and for a fleeting moment, Legolas caught a glimpse of hope in his eyes. Though his smile quickly faded again. “What troubles you?” Legolas asked, once again in Sindarin, so the town’s people wouldn’t comprehend.
“There’s not time, I must speak with the king” Aragorn replied, gently pushing Legolas aside, making for the large oaken door of the great hall.
Legolas stood back and watched as he did so. Aragorn was barely strong enough to push open the doors alone. He groaned as the torn hem of his tattered coat grazed the open wound at his shoulder.
Half the talk with the king passed without Legolas’ noticing, his focus fixed solely upon Aragorn. His eyes traced his many open wounds, and dishevelled hair, still damp.
“They’ll be here before nightfall” Aragorn’s gruff voice pleaded. Legolas shook himself out of his thoughts. And an army of 10,000. It was unprecedented. They needed time, the town had scare arrived at Helm’s deep, nothing could be prepared by nightfall, the day was already half spent. And they had no army. A handful of guard’s men, and fewer than 300 men and boys could not stand against 10,000. Legolas felt they could hardly stand against a heavy rainfall. Aragorn was weak, but so were all these other men. d
Théoden seemed to believe in the walls of Helm’s deep, as he led the small party of leaders around the fortress. It was sturdy, Legolas would not argue, but sturdy enough to stand against an army of 10,000 Uruk-hai? The men were right, they would not survive the night.
“You must send horses” Aragorn tried to plead, but his words fell vain to Théoden’s ears.
The King gripped Aragorn’s arm, and Legolas saw that he had to mask a sear in pain. They couldn’t survive alone, Théoden’s stubbornness would not help them fight an army. Besides, they hadn’t the time to wait for a messenger, it would take a day or two for a response; by which time, they would all be dead.
Legolas didn’t listen to the reply, he didn’t need to to know what Théoden would say. Instead, he placed his arm on Gimli and shut his eyes. Gimli seemed to know what he was about to attempt and grasped the elf’s forearm in support.
Father? He called out of the depths of his mind.
A vision of Thranduil flashed in front of his vision, the Elvenking looked deep into his soul.
Father send help. These men are afraid, and they are right to be. They fear they will not survive the night, and without our help, they will not. An alliance once stood between men and elves, can it not stand once more?
An alliance did once stand, Thranduil’s response rang through his head, but it stands no more. Not with Rohan of all places. We here prepare for an attack from Dol Guldur, and I will not risk the safety of Mirkwood for the peasants of men.
Legolas flinched, but tried again, channelling his energy to implore with his father, The Uruk-hai will not stop with the men, father. They will take the women and children too. These people have no defence. Three hundred gather to take arms, but most are young boys, or old men. Show compassion, I beg you. You sent me to Rivendell as aid, in an act of mercy towards the men, you can do so again. Legolas broke off.
There was a slight hesitation, as Legolas waivered, but Thranduil stood firm in his answer, I sent you to Rivendell in an act of mercy toward middle earth. I hold no interest in the lives of men. I will say no more on the matter.
But I love them Legolas’ last thought lingered, though the image of his father faded. He blinked open his eyes to the bleak light of the afternoon. He looked down to Gimli, who shot him a questioning glance, but he shook his head.
His sharpened ears would soon hear the footfall of the enemy. And those around him could do nothing but face them in despair.
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As Theoden called for the women and children to be sent to the caves, Aragorn made haste for the armouries. Legolas followed in close pursuit. “Aragorn, please, you’re no use to anyone if you’re dead before the battle has begun.”
“Legolas, there is no time.” The man growled back through gritted teeth. Legolas knew this, but Aragorn was tired and hurt.
“You need to rest,” he reasoned, “if not for your sake, then for mine, and for these men.” He cast his hand around the townsfolk who surrounded him in the armoury. There were boys wielding swords taller than themselves, and old men leaning on their axes like canes.
Aragorn sighed heavily and slumped to a rock. He took the waterskin and bread that Legolas held out to him and took a bite.
“Farmers, farriers, stable boys… These are no soldiers,” he looked up to Legolas, who glanced around at those who took up arms around him.
“Most have seen to many winters” Gimli grunted, looking to a gabble of retired farm hands.
“Or too few” Legolas replied distantly, as Aragorn reached to help a boy no more than 12 adjust an oversized helmet. “Look at them, they are afraid” He breathed in deeply, “I can see it in their eyes”
Aragorn shifted, looking over to Legolas, his breath hitched, that’s enough, his face read, but Legolas wasn’t finished. Not this time. He slipped in Sindarin, so that none other than Aragron would understand.
“And they should be. Three hundred, against ten thousand?”
“They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras” Aragorn tried to reason. Hope, there was that word again. Legolas felt his blood begin to boil. This was where he would die, where all these men women and children would die, where Gimli would die, where Aragorn would die.
“Aragorn, they cannot win this fight” Legolas almost spat, “They will all die!”
“Then I shall die as one of them!” Aragorn cried out in common, making those around him gasp. He took several lurching steps towards the elf, until they met eye to eye once again. Legolas stared hard, angry and afraid, not feelings he was familiar nor comfortable with.
Aragorn stared back, but his gaze softened into a kind of longing sadness. Legolas knew he was no stranger to fear, certainly not to the threat of death. Something in Legolas melted, and he tried to move forward to apologise. Just as he did, Aragorn made a sharp turn on his heels and strode off.
Legolas lurched forward to tail him, but Gimli stepped between them. “Let ‘im go laddie”, he held up his arm, as Aragorn vanished into the sea of people.
The dwarf lead Legolas out of the armoury and into one of the deserted streets. “The fresh air’ll do you some good.” He grunted. “Haven’t seen you like that before… mortal emotions getting to you heh?” Gimli jeered, but it was half hearted. Legolas knew he wasn’t in the mood.
“I’m afraid.” Legolas sighed. He looked curiously down at his hands, as if somehow, he was beginning to melt away.
“Aye, well I can see that” Gimli retorted, “but there’s something else, isn’t there? You’re in love.” He snorted, though Legolas could see it was his best effort to remain serious. Even as Gimli and he had become great friends, the dwarf wasn’t the first person he would seek for advice. But the one person whom he wished for console was the exact one person he had just pushed away.
Legolas didn’t say anything, instead he just heaved a sigh and sat next to Gimli.
“You know, I didn’t think elves were capable of love, at least, that’s what I was told as a lad.”
“Neither did I.” Legolas said distantly. “Until I met Aragorn.”
“It’s a funny thing really. But I don’t suppose any of this will matter by tomorrow.” Gimli chuckled a little, as he stood up and hobbled off. “I need to find a new set of chain.”
Legolas made no move to leave, and instead felt the silence around him. The air was heavy, there would soon be rainfall.
Then, ever so quietly in the distance, Legolas heard it. The sound of army footfall. There was little time, in no more than two hours, battle would be upon them.
It stirred up something in Legolas. The air of a looming battle was familiar, and before, he had almost always been confident in its presence. Legolas thought back to all he’d fought before, almost all had been since he left Mirkwood less than 100 years ago, and most of which, he had been alongside Aragorn. The man was courageous, hard, and the greatest ranger Legolas would ever encounter. He was the best man with a sword throughout middle earth, his fighting came close to the skills of an elf. But his fighting style was not what made Aragorn great. It was his gentleness. How years of hardship, rejection and brutal living had not once toughened the man’s heart. How he sought to take the thrones of Arnor and Gondor, not for himself, but for his people. He desired king not to be served, but that he might serve. How no matter what suffering afflicted himself, he would always rush to someone else’s aid.
Aragorn. Legolas breathed his name into the night. He trusted the man in life and death and had vowed to go wherever he went. Tonight will not be the night I betray you. He whispered, underneath the distant clattering of swords, and the growing murmurs of the Uruk-hai army. And in that moment, he sensed something he hadn’t felt in a while.
He leaped up, made a dash for the cellar he saw Aragorn slip off to. He found the man heaving a little as he struggled into armour. No doubt the chain mail would be uncomfortable against his wounds, but there he was, pious as ever, serving others until the end.
“Estel” Legolas whispered, as Aragorn fumbled to put the Evenstar pendant back on. He held the man’s sword outstretched for him to take.
Aragorn looked up, slightly bewildered, “No one has called me that in years”
“Not by name maybe,” Legolas replied, stepping in closer to Aragorn. He reached out to take the Evenstar necklace from the man’s grasp and fastened it around his neck. His slender fingers gently caressed the back of Aragorn’s neck. Aragorn turned “but they know that is who you are.” And then, in common, “hope.”
Legolas was the one to initiate the kiss. It was a first for him, in the 60 years they had known each other. Aragorn had always been the more tactile of the two, and a better judge of the right moment. But Legolas knew that this might well be the last opportunity he had.
The kiss was chaste, but tender. Tender even as Aragorn’s beard scraped against Legolas’ smooth cheeks. Legolas cupped Aragorn’s head in his deft hands and combed his long fingers through the man’s unkempt hair. Aragorn rested his weathered hands around Legolas’ waist, and brought the elf in closer to him, so their bodies were pressed against each other.
A horn cry startled them, and Legolas broke the kiss, “That’s no orc horn!” he exclaimed, cupping Aragorn’s head. That was one of the horns of the Mirkwood elves. His father had come to his aid.
His eyes lit up, as he pressed a final kiss to Aragorn’s brow, before turning to fly up the stairs to the gates. Aragorn followed on his heels swiftly.
“Open the gates!” he cried.
There is always hope.