Whispers in the Dark

by Nanethoiithil

Summary:

Only recently formed, the Fellowship find themselves at the mercy of ancient spirits of the forest, and Legolas sacrifices more than he intends to help rescue his new friends.

He is tormented by the worst memories that thousands of years of life can create, but Aragorn has no intention of seeing him suffer, and will do everything he can to save him.

Chapter 1: Ancient Voices

Legolas knew nothing of Hobbits, but he was eager to learn, watching in bemusement at the energy they seemed able to cultivate from nowhere the moment they were promised a meal and rest for the night. They seemed, to him, very different from Men, their worlds much smaller and their concerns much smaller in turn. They knew nothing of the horrors of the world that he had faced, and he found himself now struck by a strong desire to try and protect this innocence. He saw the same motivation in Mithrandir, a determination to keep safe what was so precious and rare in an intimidating world.

Their company seemed happy enough among trees, there was a security to the canopy of the forest that had been sorely missing as they travelled across open plains. Legolas was especially pleased, the trees here were not greatly accustomed to Elves, and they sung to him with a determination to prove their beauty to one who could finally hear it. They had chosen a large clearing to camp in for the night, and they now had begun the thankful process of settling down in the late evening light, starting a fire and beginning to unpack food.

Aragorn drifted past him, stepping nearly as silently as an Elf. His fingertips lingered for a long moment against Legolas' forearm, the briefest touch that they both sunk into, relishing the brief contact that was all they were able to snatch in the company they now travelled with. There was little time for love on this quest, but they clung to what moments they were able to steal in the dark.

"I shall collect wood for the fire." Aragorn told him in low, murmured Sindarin, voice soft and patient, urgency fading now that the day was done, "Will you take the first watch?"

"Of course, my love." Legolas answered softly, hand drifting to rest against the hilt of his blade as quiet assurance.

Aragorn smiled and nodded in silent thanks, looking upon him with soft eyes before offering one last small squeeze of the grip he had around his forearm and turning away. Legolas watched him disappear among the trees, keeping half his thoughts always on his location even as he turned back to the rest of the Fellowship. He could hear his footsteps in the otherwise silent forest, a betrayal of the blood of Men in his veins and proof that Elven teachings could only go so far. Legolas listened for a moment to the noise created by the remainder of their company and conceded that, though his lover could not move like an Elf, his softness was rare indeed among Men and their descendants.

He stopped suddenly, listening intently for a moment before reaching for his bow but not yet drawing it free from his pack. Turning in a slow circle, he looked over the trees that surrounded them, searching hard among their branches for any sign of movement. 

"Mr Legolas, sir, are you alright?" 

He looked briefly to identify the speaker as Samwise, but did not allow his focus to linger on him for long, quickly returning to his appraisal of the forest around them, "Tell me, Master Gamgee, is something missing?" He asked softly, pulling his bow into his hand and plucking an arrow from his quiver.

The Hobbit was silent for a long second, thinking before he gave his answer, "Well, I'd be mighty grateful to hear a bird or two, but that might not be what you mean me to say."

"Exactly." Legolas murmured, continuing his slow circle, "You are exactly right. The forest is still. It is waiting for something." 

"Waiting for what?" Sam asked nervously, looking to him for comfort and support.

"I do not know." The Elf admitted, straining to hear Aragorn's footsteps but unable to find them amongst the hubbub caused by the forming camp.

A distant cry of his name from among the trees caught his attention, and he turned immediately to look in that direction. Sam hovered anxiously beside him, clearly not having heard it. Hearing nothing more, Legolas frowned, motioning for Sam to stay back as he moved silently towards the tree line. He heard now the noise of battle, the snarl of Orcs and the cries of a person among them, a voice that he knew well indeed. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, a short, sharp breath escaping his lips as he started immediately towards the source.

The trees trembled wildly around him, fearful and desperate, warning him against stepping any further. A large bough swept down to block his path, shaking violently in desperation for his attention.

Already a few seconds had passed before he paused and considered, turning back into the circle of the clearing and calling out for his absent lover. Aragorn, after all, had been nowhere near that direction when he vanished among the trees, and Legolas surely would have heard him had he looped round, "Estel!" He cried again, ignoring the looks of concern that were beginning to form among the Fellowship.

Aragorn burst into the clearing after only a brief pause, sword drawn and gaze immediately locking onto the Elf, "Legolas?" He asked, anxious and urgent, crossing the space between them in but a few long strides and searching his eyes for his fear and uncertainty, "Are you well?" 

"You did not call for me?" Legolas asked hurriedly, searching him swiftly for injury and concluding that there was more to be afraid of in these woods than Orc.

"No?" Aragorn answered quickly, anxiety now permeating his usually calm tone.

Legolas immediately turned back towards the centre of the camp, light upon his feet and ready to fight or flee, "We must go." He announced urgently, "Now. These woods are not safe. We cannot stay here. All of you, come quickly. Leave everything that we do not need." 

Although Aragorn was briefly halted by his nerves and his confusion, he did not doubt his lover for a second and was instantly by his side, packing up the camp as quickly as he was able and spurring the others into helping him, "What do you hear? What creatures? How many?" He asked a series of hurried questions as he passed Legolas, drawing his sword and looking also to the trees.

"In Silvan they are called Naunómen. Ancient spirits, false voices." Legolas answered in a low voice, beginning to once more stalk the outer ring of the clearing, Elven ears straining for what the others had no chance of hearing, "A lot of them. Worse than any Orc, far more sinister, far more cunning." 

The noises that echoed through the trees to reach his sensitive ears grew more frequent and more intense, seeming now to know that they had struck upon a potential victim. He was certain many times that the voice of his Father was somewhere among the shrieks of Orcs or the howls of Wargs, or further pleas from Aragorn every moment he drifted out of his peripheral vision.

"Come, Master Took, we've no time for hesitation." Gandalf's voice boomed behind him, and he turned quickly to see the Fellowship packed and ready to move once more, agitated and uncertain about this invisible threat that only one of them seemed aware of.

"Legolas! Take the lead." Aragorn instructed him, and the Elf fell easily and confidently into the role, following the desperate counsel of the trees around them and taking them away from the distant creatures.

He had led many bands of warriors in his life, through forests far more dangerous than this one, but they were Elves with the best training that any Elven Realm could offer, and his followers now were a mismatched band of Hobbits, Dwarves and Men. He did not run as fast as he would easily have been capable of, choosing instead to stay at a brisk walk, not pushing the Hobbits above the uncomfortable jog they had been forced into.

"What do you hear, Thranduilion?" Mithrandir suddenly appeared at his side, easily keeping pace and looking sharply among the trees with every step he took.

"We are being hunted." Legolas explained softly, cautious of how much fear it would strike to the hearts of the Halflings, or even the others, if they knew the true danger they were now in, "By something beyond this world: Naunómen. No arrow or sword will do them harm; we have no choice but to run, and hope we reach the edge of the forest before they reach us."

Gandalf hummed slightly in recognition of the threat, immediately turning his attention to his staff and the crystal set within it. 

Legolas made the swift decision to allow him to work without interruption, focussing entirely on the footsteps of his companions behind him and the ever advancing screams and pleas that echoed through the forest.

The trees trembled around them, calling out to him and begging him to move faster. They knew well the danger that the Fellowship was in, and were determined to protect the Elf that had listened so intently to their song and praised them so highly for it. Legolas did not like to imagine what would have happened to them all if he had not received their warning, had not been deemed worthy of it.

"They are getting closer!" He cried out, and wished that, just in that moment, he was not blessed with the hearing of Elves, because the clamour just beyond the trees was so awful that it nearly drew him to tears.

He understood now more than ever what they were running from, and he did not need the trees to be telling him what would happen if they were caught because his own mind was perfectly capable of stretching to these assumptions. These unknown voices seemed now to know that he would not be tempted from the path, and their change of tactic stole the breath from his chest. He did not like to imagine how they knew his mind so well, knew what would be most likely to make him stumble, but the screams and pleas of his Mother were near deafening to such sensitive ears.

Thousands of years had passed since he had witnessed her death, cut down in battle with Orcs while trying with every last fragment of strength that she possessed to keep him safe. He tried mostly not to allow his mind to linger too deeply on these memories, they bought him only aching grief and burning rage, but he felt closer to that moment now than he had in many centuries.

His mind too distracted, he felt his foot catch on a tree root, and would have flown forwards had Mithrandir not grabbed his arm and pulled him back upright, looking upon him with such concern that Legolas wished only to recoil from his calculating gaze.

"Do you not hear them?" He asked him quietly, voice shaking and barely seeming loud enough to break through the screams for help that he was being forced to ignore. 

"Not as you do, young one." The Maia answered softly, pressing him onwards, not allowing his legs to give way beneath him, "Block them out as best you can, we are nearly to the edge of the trees."

A loud cry from Boromir had them both reeling and turning in an instant, and Legolas was forced nearly to jump forwards to stand in his way, stopping him with the entire weight of his body and pushing him back in line, "You cannot!" He cried out, desperate for him to understand, "Whatever you think you hear, you do not. The voices are lies, foul ploys of evil spirits to lure you to your death."

"You would keep me from my brother!" Boromir accused him with vicious anger, drawing his sword and trying to shove past him.

"It is not real." Legolas insisted once more, "That is not what I hear, nor what any others hear. These creatures will do anything to lure you to them, or to wear you down, you must resist."

A desperate scream of his name made Legolas turn sharply, a heavy gasp on his breath as he prepared himself to fight, to protect his lover. He had heard death screams many times in his long life, he was accustomed to the blood curdling horror of the final pleas of one whose life was slipping from their clutches, but he had prayed to never have heard it in the voice of the only person he had ever given his heart to.

His name was on his breath before he could stop himself, and Aragorn was beside him in an instant, placing himself back in his field of view and reaching out to hold him, to comfort him through what he could easily guess that he had heard, "My heart." He murmured, barely audible through the ever advancing sounds of battle, "I am here. Be strong."

Legolas wanted nothing more than to slump into his arms and relinquish all of his strength, to allow these vile creatures to reach him and finally abandon this deafening facade, to give his mind some respite from their awful tactics. To die now would be to slip into silence, and he could not help but crave such a thing.

"We must go." Gandalf asserted, firmly but gently, and reached out to drag Legolas back towards him, "Thranduilion, we must move." 

Nodding in silent acceptance of this order, Legolas forced his legs to work once more, trying to close his mind and follow only his instinct for survival and the slivers of moonlight that were now emerging among the distant trees. They were so close to the edge of the forest, to where the trees promised him that safety was beyond, and he was determined to reach it, to not fall after so long. The Fellowship were close behind him, he could feel their footsteps through the ground, and he counted every one with a rising sense of relief. They would yet endure this night, there was hope for them all.

 

Chapter 2: The Burn of Ice

Summary:

The Naunómen soon prove the extent of their malevolence, and Legolas suffers for it, trapped in its icy grip upon his mind.

The tree line was a relief beyond measure, no more than a score of paces away, and looking now like the greatest sight that Legolas could ever imagine. He moved faster still, feeling the now frantic footfalls of the Hobbits and cursing all forces that had led such innocence to face such fear.

He burst from the forest with a heavy exhalation of relief, looking immediately to Gandalf beside him and half smiling to receive his nod of approval. They were, however, allowed only the briefest moment to realign themselves and catch their breath before a shriek of surprise and terror had them both reeling. 

Legolas was able to move faster than the Wizard, rushing forwards into the group of the Fellowship that were only just emerging from between the trees.

His heart near stopped to take in the scene before him. Samwise was prone on the floor, trying to drag himself away from the shadowy figure that was pulling him by the ankles back into the forest. If this creature had ever once been human, it could not remember that time; it felt more a mist or a haze of what a person could look like, such unnerving inaccuracy to it that it paled as a weak, false imitation. 

Samwise was crying out in clear terror and panic, lashing out at the creature and struggling hard to break free, but it would not release him. Boromir and Aragorn had a tight grip on each arm, trying to drag him away from his captor, but even their combined strength was not enough.

Legolas barely allowed himself a moment to think before he acted, turning on the spirit and lunging towards it. He charged it with enough force that any mortal creature would have been knocked off their feet, but the mist held fast, rippling around the edges in what seemed to be surprise, but immediately recovering. 

It looked upon Legolas with a face that was nearly human, head tilting slightly to one side as it considered its attacker. Legolas held fast, staring it down and showing no signs of weakness against it, not prepared to allow the young Hobbit to succumb to this fate.

He heard the cries of relief and celebration as it released Sam, but he did not look away, holding the intense eye contact that had led to this decision. He knew what was going to follow for him, did not doubt it for a moment, but he was relieved beyond measure that the remainder of the Fellowship were now safe outside of the forest. 

Moving as fast as he was able, he turned to run, but, not being bound by any laws of the creations of Ilúvatar, the spirit caught him within moments.

The mist flowed over his skin, burning ice cold where it touched him and leaving patterns of red, sensitive flesh in its wake. Though he tried to cry out, he found himself silenced, contained by the wisps of smoke that enveloped him, digging into his mind and searching for vulnerability and fear.

His mind was forced to dig up the worst memories that it contained, presenting them all for this foul creature to feed upon as it relished in his suffering. He understood now why it had released Samwise; there was nothing in the life of Hobbits that could challenge the grief of his millennia of existence. 

He felt as though he was reliving every moment of these worst of times. He could hear the agony and terror of his Mother as she was beaten and tortured, could feel the vibrations of the footsteps of the Orc that cut her down and delighted in her suffering. He did not dare to open his eyes, could not bear to see the horrific scene once again unfold before him. On far too many nights as a young child, he had woken screaming and sobbing as the memories of more blood than he had ever known a body could hold played vividly in his mind.

That was the first time that he had known death in his young life, but it had grown to become far from the last. His homeland had become a battleground, and he had been always at the forefront of this war, fighting for his home and for those he loved.

While he bore no scars on his body, his mind carried many, flooded by the blood spilled by hundreds that he had known and cared for dearly, hundreds that he should have saved but had failed to. Too many had trusted him to their deaths, had named him their captain and ran with him to pain and suffering.

The trees of Mirkwood grew on the bodies of many companions and friends, students and siblings in arms.

He recalled the faces of every person that had fallen in battle alongside him, could feel the trust they had once placed in him and their fear when he had failed them.

The mist felt like ice against his skin and he found himself sinking into it, slipping into the freezing waters of the winter river and forgetting somehow to fight for breath. The cold air encircled him entirely, a cruel embrace that bit at his flesh and plunged into his lungs, shocking them into faltering.

His breath was coming in short, sharp pants, snatched whenever he momentarily regained control of his body and burning his lungs as his chest tightened beneath the pressure of the smoke. The spirit was now settled comfortably in his mind, dissecting his fears and anxieties, and Legolas felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks as his thoughts were overwhelmed by the introduction of his lover.

He thought of Aragorn often, especially when they travelled together so closely, but he wished never to think of him in this way. He preferred to close his mind to the understanding that their love would reach its conclusion in only one way. The creature, however, relished in it, striking to both his mind and heart as it reminded him so joyously of how their story would one day end. Whether it be that day, or in one hundred years, it would conclude only in isolation.

Legolas would be alone to grieve for him and for their love across the remainder of all time, doomed as his father had been before him to live always loveless and heartbroken until the world collapsed around him. Either by the biting blade of the sword or by the slow decay of mortality, Aragorn would one day be as cold to the touch as the mist that clung to Legolas now. He felt the spirit's amusement to his plight, and his tears burnt his cheeks even as the freezing smoke moved closer to his face. 

Although he did not understand how, Legolas knew what it now wanted from him. His suffering would be all too easy to exploit in this moment, and the spirit slowly moved closer to him. It was hesitant, as though it could not remember the sensation of a kiss and feared to find out, but the quiet sob that Legolas finally forced from his paralysed body was enough to encourage it to cross the final inch. The pressure against his lips was impossibly cold, and the gasp it forced from him drew ice into his mouth, burning his tongue. He ought to have been angry, to allow his rage to dominate him as this unnatural spirit used him to its selfish will, but its clutch on his mind remained too powerful, and all that he could think of was his lover. It was impossible to ignore that, some day in the future, distant for him yet near for Legolas, his lips would be as cold as this, no comfort in his embrace and his gentle loving as Legolas could find now.

To die now would be to escape such a fate, to succumb to the cold would be to avoid the path of suffering that lay before him. He had walked it for long enough, and it had given him nothing but loss and grief, and that was surely all there was that would follow.

It could have been hours or mere seconds that he had been trapped in the clutches of this creature, but it ended abruptly as a flash of light burst through the trees, a warm, bright pulse of magic that lit something in Legolas' chest and reminded him that he was alive still. The spirit fled from Gandalf's magic, releasing its captive and vanishing back into the darkness. 

Legolas fell immediately to his knees, unable to gather the strength to hold himself up. He slumped over himself, hands shaking as he dug them into the ground, clinging to it with a  desperation to endure that had seemingly abandoned him so easily. 

Aragorn was at his side in seconds, and Legolas wanted to scream and cry and cling to him until all of his agony faded away, but he found all too quickly that he could do nothing but collapse into him, burying his head in his neck and melting into the scent of him. His hands were warm as he gently lifted him into his arms, and Legolas sunk into his chest with a low murmur of desperation as Aragorn moved them both quickly out of the trees.

His mind was still not fully his own, trapped in the overwhelming cacophony of the worst of his memories and the worst of his future. He craved nothing more than to remain in Aragorn's arms, hiding there and begging the march of time to slow to a halt. 

Sinking to his knees on the grass, Aragorn carefully lay him down, feeling for his temperature and checking his breathing and searching desperately for any awareness in his eyes. Legolas fought doggedly to regain control of his body, trying to kick out and swing his arms to force motion into them, and when that did not work, he settled for trying to move his fingers or facial muscles.

A wave of nausea swept over him, and he feared for the briefest of moments that, if he vomited now, he had every chance of choking on it. The intensity of this apprehension finally allowed him to begin the slow process of regaining control of his body, and he used all the strength he still possessed to roll himself over onto his hands and knees. He hunched over himself, trying to calm the swirling delirium that had swept over him. Aragorn sat ever beside him, murmuring quiet words of comfort and gently pulling his hair back behind his shoulders.

"What were those things?" Boromir broke the dazed silence that had settled upon the group, "I have never seen the like of such foul creatures." 

Legolas felt many eyes turn to him, and though his chest felt as though it was full of water, he did his best to speak, "They are ancient spirits." He choked out, and felt Aragorn wince for the hoarseness of his voice, "At one time, they were human, but there is nothing left of them now. They feed upon intense emotions, fear and pain, and once they have fed upon their captive, this person becomes another of their kind."

Aragorn's hand tensed where it rested against his back, and Legolas could understand easily what he did not speak. They both knew how close he had come to this fate.

"Have you encountered them before?" Frodo asked quietly, unable to resist his curiosity. Legolas assumed that even Bilbo had never written of these in his tales, and Gandalf certainly would not have told such stories to the sweet Hobbits.

"I know of a few that populate the forests of my homeland, but they have never been so bold as these ones, nor as malicious. I know no name for them in the Common Tongue, but my people call them Naunómen, false voices." He leant a little more against Aragorn's supporting hand at his back, hoping that he would not notice the failing of his strength, "It is rare indeed for them to give chase, normally they keep their distance, trying to coax their victims to them. Their calls are different for everyone who hears them, they will attract you with the sounds that you are most likely to follow, things that you need, or the voices of people that you would rush to without pausing to think."

Boromir released a mirthless huff of laughter, "Then they knew my heart well indeed. I heard the voice of my brother, calling for me, in need of aid. Nothing in any land would have carried me through the trees sooner." 

Despite himself and the awful situation they had found themselves in, Legolas could not help but smile a little. It was nice to know that the proud, cold Man was capable of such total love as he now demonstrated to them.

"There is one thing I do not understand." Gimli interjected gruffly, looking upon Legolas with calculating eyes, "Why could these creatures affect you so greatly when the rest of us heard only faint voices?"

Legolas winced slightly at the question, it asked far more than he was willing to share with his travelling companions, still barely more than strangers to him, "My hearing is superior to yours." He answered simply, hoping that it would be enough. To his dismay, it was not. The Dwarf's gaze remained fixed upon him, and the others had now turned also in search of answers, "When the Naunómen realised that I could not be persuaded from the path, they aimed instead to overwhelm me. For every moment that we ran, I was forced to endure the sounds of battle, hear the deaths of many beloved friends, of my Mother, as they called out to me and I could not help them. The spirits wanted me to stumble, to give up and succumb." 

He did not realise that his hands were shaking until Aragorn reached out and took them in his own grasp, raising them to cup them gently against his chest as he caught his gaze and held it with such tenderness in his eyes that Legolas could do nothing to disobey him, "You must rest." Aragorn told him gently, and Legolas sighed softly, nodding, "We will speak of this no longer." He turned back to face the rest of the Fellowship, now sat in silence as though they perhaps realised the weight of emotions displayed before them, "Begin to set up camp, we shall travel no further tonight."

He held Legolas tightly before he could move to help, saying nothing more as he slowly released him and signalled for him to remain still, pulling his own sleeping mat out of his pack and laying it out for him.

"Rest, my dearest love." He whispered in Sindarin, concealing his words from the others, speaking them only for the one for whom they were intended, "You have done so well today, we all owe you our lives, of that I am certain." 

"My heart aches." Legolas confessed in hushed tones, allowing Aragorn's gentle hands to guide him to the mat, "The grief I bear now is a heavy weight indeed." 

Aragorn offered him a quiet hum of understanding, "I know, my love. Your strength in the face of so much astounds me."

Legolas leant forward against him, resting his forehead on Aragorn's shoulder and sighing softly as Aragorn turned his head to press a gentle kiss to his temple, "Wake me if you need me?" He asked quietly, unwilling to retract all support he offered the camp.

Aragorn kissed the side of his head once more, "Of course, my heart. Now sleep, I can feel your exhaustion." 

Giving a quiet nod of acceptance, Legolas sunk back down onto the mat, his whole body feeling heavy and cumbersome, "Thank you, my love." He whispered, relishing in Aragorn's closeness to him and the warmth of his skin as he reached out to brush his hair off his cheek.

"Sleep well, Legolas." The Man smiled, slowly rising to his feet and turning back towards the camp. 

Legolas turned away from everyone else, lying on his side and finally allowing the first tears to escape from his eyes and run in burning trails across his skin. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he did his best to clear his mind, settle into the oblivion of warriors and disregard all the pain and grief and anguish that tormented him.

He could not quieten his mind as much as he wished, and could not help but listen as the Fellowship bombarded Aragorn with questions, curious as to what exactly had happened to him and if he would recover.

"He has lived near three thousand years." Aragorn eventually broke the stream of constant questioning, "He was raised upon a battlefield, his home has been plagued with evil and conflict for his whole life. The forest was the final stronghold of Sauron, and he has been fighting to protect his home and his people since he was younger than Pippin. He has seen horrors that are beyond what any of us could guess at. And he endured that once more tonight to get us to safety. By Elbereth, let him rest." 

Legolas easily heard the frustration in his voice and his heart fluttered a little in his chest to know that he was so totally protected by the commitment and determination of his lover.

He realised then, with a feeling of nausea and anxiety in the pit of his stomach, that his eyelids felt heavy, that he had been affected so greatly that he was exhausted beyond what Elves should have been capable of. It was, however, a concern that he could face when he woke, and he reluctantly allowed his eyes to close and sleep to take him.

 

Chapter 3: By Firelight

Summary:

Still shaken by his encounter with the Naunómen, Legolas allows himself to find comfort with his lover, and Aragorn is determined that he will not suffer his grief alone.

His Mother had long stopped moving when he crawled from the safety of the tree canopy to get to her. Trying his best to stifle his tears, he tried to wake her, pulling at the fabric of her tunic and shaking her shoulder. When he still received no response, he began to grow more impassioned, calling out to her and balling his tiny fists in her clothes. There was so much blood upon her that he was coated in seconds, but he was not perturbed, now crying in earnest as she continued to ignore him. He cried for his Father, begging him to come and protect them both like he always promised that he would, but still his Mother would not wake. 

Legolas awoke with a start and a gasp, the agonised screams of a terrified child still playing in his mind. He dared not close his eyes, lying still on his side and trying to will away the tears that were threatening to spill once more. He could feel the tremor in his hands without needing to check, and he drew in a long, deep breath to try and steady himself.

"Legolas?" Someone called out his name, taking him by surprise, an unusual sensation for him, "My love?"

Aragorn's voice soothed him even before he offered him any words of comfort, and Legolas swiftly rolled over to seek him out through the darkness.

The Man was sat on a tree stump by the fire, a constant and soothing presence for the still uneasy camp, and he extended a hand towards him, "To me." He instructed him softly, and Legolas was powerless to resist, climbing swiftly to his feet and crossing the space between them.

He paused before him, looking down at him with doleful eyes, silently begging for comfort. Aragorn's face was half illuminated by the firelight, revealing his expression of deep sorrow and sympathy, and Legolas wished more than anything to see the joy and freedom of his youth returned to him.

Aragorn raised a hand to rest it gently on the curve of his hip, pulling him a little closer between his thighs, "Your eyes were closed as you slept." He informed him gently, and Legolas knew that he had no hope of disputing his words, "How are you feeling?"

The Elf shrugged a little, "Tired." He answered eventually, "I was not expecting to face such pain today." 

Aragorn nodded in gentle understanding, passing no words of judgment as his lover decided to forsake the need to be the ever watchful warrior, sinking to his knees between his legs and resting his head against one thigh, "Your strength will never cease to astound me." He murmured into the cool night air, beginning to slowly run his fingers through his soft hair.

Legolas sunk into the soothing sensation with a low sigh, finally releasing the tension from his shoulders, "I heard you die today." He whispered, afraid that speaking the words too loudly would draw them into being, "Pleading for me to save you, and I did not." 

"Those creatures speak nothing but lies, you know this." Aragorn tried softly to assure him, "I am going nowhere."

Legolas gazed up at him, studying the lines of age that had recently begun to form on his weathered skin, emphasised now by the dim light and the flickering fire. He looked so different from when they had first met, no less beautiful, but there was a visible maturity to him now that Legolas himself would never experience, "Not yet." He said softly, hating to speak the words aloud but knowing that neither of them would have him suffer in silence, "One day you shall suffer and fall and I will not be able to save you. The march of time has been made clearer to me, and I dread the day that I will lose you, now more than ever. It shall come as surely as the sunrise, and I do not wish it." 

Aragorn's hand drifted from his hair to cradle his cheek, brushing the tears from his skin, "Whether we wish for the sunrise or not, we cannot live our lives by night. To cast your thoughts so far into the future will do nothing but poison the present. Do not mourn me while I am still by your side."

Trying to place his faith in Aragorn's words, Legolas offered him a weak smile, turning his head slightly to press a soft kiss to the palm of his hand, "I love you." He whispered, words that he had never spoken to any other with such depth of meaning.

Aragorn smiled, recognising the calming of the storm that had been swirling through his heart when he joined him, "I love you too." He paused for a moment, considering him, pale eyes tracking over his face, "I am proud of you." He said eventually, "Today, you did what, I think, no other would be capable of. I saw every second of your suffering, no matter how well you concealed it, but you endured and you led us to safety." 

"As was my task." Legolas reminded him with quiet humour, he had no wish to exaggerate any heroism the Man may have perceived in him that day.

"Your task was not to suffer so greatly." Aragorn countered swiftly, gently capturing his chin between delicate fingertips and lifting his head to draw their gazes together, "It pains me to see your heart in such agony. Do not bear it alone, I beg of you." 

Legolas closed his eyes, afraid of the guilt that would shine through if he held his lover's steady gaze. Aragorn would be able to read his pain in an instant, and he would push him towards allowing himself to feel it. While Legolas knew that his lover was right, that he had his best interests at heart, he was not ready yet to admit the depths of his pain, not even to himself.

"Legolas." His lover prompted him, soft but firm, "Please do not hide from me."

"It is not you that I am hiding from." The young Elf finally confessed, the slight breath of wind on the air carrying away the small exhale of his grief, "I am not ready to face it. Even after hundreds of the lifetimes of Men, I am a slave still to my grief and to my guilt."

"You were never to blame." Aragorn interjected swiftly, catching Legolas' gaze the moment he opened his eyes and holding it with unflinching certainty, immediately knowing of what he spoke, "You were little more than a baby. There was never anything that you could have done."

"I should find more comfort in such a thought." Legolas admitted, all too aware of the cruelties of his mind and the selective nature of his memory, the memory that gave him so few thoughts of his Mother other than those of grief and loss, "And yet, it does not feel enough."

"You know yourself as the warrior you are now." Aragorn murmured, gently brushing the pad of his thumb over the first tear that fell unbidden from Legolas' tightly closed eyes, "The soldier that would have leaped to her aid and rescued her. You cannot ask that of a child. You yourself would not ask it of any other, you know that much to be true."

Nodding, Legolas leant once more against his lover's thigh, melting into the support that he so readily offered, "Her screams still feel so real in my mind. She tried so hard to be strong, to fight, and when she broke-", he trailed off, tears now flowing in earnest down his cheeks, "There was nothing left of her by the end, her spirit shattered and her fëa so tormented we never truly knew if it had endured to pass to the Halls of Mandos." 

Aragorn gently joined him on the cold ground, drawing him fully into his arms. Legolas looped his arms around his neck, hiding his face and finally succumbing to the grief that he had carried alone for so many centuries. His lover simply held him, cradling him close against his chest and rubbing soothing patterns into his back.

"She would be so proud of you, Legolas." Aragorn murmured against his temple, pressing a gentle kiss to the same point, "Of the man you have become. You are wild and of the forest and free in your heart, but you are also kind, loyal and, above all, generous to all that have need of you." He hesitated briefly, unsure if he should reveal the truth that he carried in his heart. He drew Legolas a little closer to him and spoke again, "Your father told me once that you are more like her than you shall ever know. He sees her in you, sees her spirit endure. She is kept alive by your memory, and the honour you do her in your life."

Legolas leant back a little and finally chose to search out his gaze, holding it and allowing him to see the pain and the relief that now settled within his heart, "Thank you." He whispered, made fragile by his grief but held gently in the embrace of his adoring lover, "For everything."

Aragorn smiled, an expression so warm and beautiful that Legolas felt a little more of the chill in his soul melt away. He stretched up to kiss him, searching for the warmth of life and clinging to it with all the strength that he was able to muster. Aragorn kissed him slowly, softly, and Legolas' soul breathed a heavy sigh of relief. His lover was with him, and the heat of his lips proved his life and proved his love and, slowly, the ice that the Naunómen had left within his heart began to recede.

Even when Aragorn pulled away, the gentle buzz of adoration and the giving of life remained on Legolas' lips, a constant reminder that he was not alone.

"You must rest." Aragorn murmured, "You are still exhausted." 

Legolas leant a little more heavily against him, resting his head in the crook of his neck and hoping that Aragorn would understand his silent prompts. 

Aragorn chuckled softly, lifting him fully into his lap and winding a supportive arm around his waist, "Sleep, brave warrior. I command you."

Smiling against the rough fabric of his tunic, Legolas settled comfortably against him, breathing in the smell of him and at last feeling the tension ease from his chest, "I love you." He whispered.

Once more, Aragorn kissed the top of his head, "I love you too."

Legolas breathed out slowly and, doing his best to ignore any thought of nightmares, once more allowed his exhaustion to overwhelm him until the pull of sleep finally claimed him.