Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Void (#2199)
Author: ExquisiteElf
Chapters: 1

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings (Movieverse)
Description: *ROTK gap-filler* Legolas and Gimli's reflect on Aragorn's supposed death. ...Please note that although this is a gap-filler, it does not go wildly astray from the overall LOTR plot...
Published: 28 Aug 2005
Updated: 28 Aug 2005
Warnings: None
Type: Angst
Characters: Legolas; Gimli; Aragorn


Chapter 1 - One

Over the Void

A/N: Ah, okay, let's see...Big thanks to my beta reader Wenont!...um, that's all...*waddles off to go find something better to do*






It cannot be true. It did not happen. He is not dead. He is waiting for me, back at the camp, sharpening his sword and laughing at some mindless argument of Gimli's and mine. I lie to myself.

In my palm lies Arwen's necklace, glistening innocently, unaware of its keeper's passing. He is gone. Gimli stands to my left. He is also disbelieving. How could a Ranger so accomplished, allow himself to be hurled from a cliff to his death by a single Orc's beast? I watch the dwarf's reaction as what he fears becomes real. Gauntness takes over his once hearty eyes.

King Théoden stands to my right, proud and erect. He says something that I cannot hear, for grief is screaming mercilessly in my ears, not bothering to consider sharing its stomping grounds with any other noises. For an instant, there is nothing, just a silence; empty of all emotion. For a time, the nothingness feels cool and refreshing; something new amidst the tiresome repetition of torment. For that split-second, I could have walked away without worries, and forgotten every painful thing that had ever happened to us all along this bitter journey. But then, the agony came crashing back, not unlike a wave pounding cruelly against a sandy shore.

“Leave the dead,” a voice boomed.

I turned to face it, furious as a demon out of the pits of Mordor. The voice belonged to King Théoden. I wanted to kill him, and I could have indifferently, with a lone arrow through his cold, black heart. It would have been easy. I wanted to scream, to cry, 'How could you say such when the man who saved your Eru forsaken life lies down there, not far out of reach?' But I do not attempt to slay him, unless trying to convey all the anger, grief and otherwise pure rage I now harbor within to him in a single glare, in hope that he would drop lifeless upon the spot, counts. I keep my silence even as he puts a sympathetic hand on my shoulder that is not really sympathetic at all.



******



“Gimli, does this all really matter any longer?” Legolas sighed.

It was less than an hour after daybreak and both Elf and Dwarf sat inside the walls of Helm's Deep, succumbing to sorrow and not doing much of anything. Legolas held the Evenstar pendant, twisting its chain around a fair, slender finger, and then unwinding it and absently repeating the movement. The Elf was keeping it for reasons unbeknownst even to himself. Memories were eating away at him and Legolas wanted more than ever not be able to feel anything. The pain was too much for him to bear, and he was in the throes of grief well over his head.

“Well, I 'spose it does, Sauron taking over and all, wiping out the race of Men,” the Dwarf replied, uncommitted.

Gimli had taken to wandering within his own thoughts, not speaking to anyone, save Legolas. Not even then, could he manage a long conversation, particularly one that involved the mention of a certain Ranger he had befriended what seemed like a lifetime ago.

“No, for us Gimli,” Legolas persisted.

The Dwarf said nothing. He didn't want to think, as all of his thoughts seemed Aragorn-related.

“We are not Men. You are a Dwarf, and I, an Elf. Do matters of the race of Men concern us, truly? I do not think so, Gimli."

A sharp sigh poured from the Elf's lips as he squeezed his eyes closed, clasping the necklace so tightly in his fist that it cut into his palm, drawing forth a thin trickle of blood. Legolas slowly opened his eyes, focusing upon the thin tendril of crimson weaving its way lazily down his palm, seemingly unfazed by the sight. Gimli's eyes widened in surprise at the rare sight of elven blood, but remained still and silent.

"I suppose we must stand until the end, for there are still the hobbits to think of. Though all I now desire, Gimli, is to leave this world forever," Legolas said, forcing Gimli to meet his eyes.

“Aragorn would want us to stay,” the Dwarf replied quietly in agreement.

Legolas, who had brightened considerably at the prospect of leaving, sunk back against the Keep's cold wall. Shadows covered his fair features, but Gimli could tell great sadness had taken him once more. The Elf's pale, blue eyes contained a mixture of fury and sorrow. They screamed in agony. He just wanted to forget everything. But the thing Legolas wanted the most he couldn't have. He wanted Aragorn back at his side. The memories and the pain were slowly tearing him apart. He knew that he was dying, just as everyone had said he would when 'that mortal' died.

Legolas sighed, holding back tears and a murderous rage. He wanted to hurt someone, to make them feel the same kind of ache that he was experiencing now. ‘Stop,’ the Elven prince commanded himself while trying to regain his usual stoic composure. He shut his eyes for a second time, and began to fiercely rub his temples. Gimli watched the Elda inquisitively for a moment having never seen this side of the typically strong-minded elf.

“Aragorn is gone.”

Legolas compelled himself to say the words out loud, forcing himself to believe them, to fully realize that Aragorn was never coming back.

“Only memories remain,” he continued firmly.

Legolas' bottomless azure eyes bore into Gimli's brown ones that were still swimming in unshed tears.

The Elven prince continued, “Take his memories with you and cherish them always, for I fear that all is now lost, and we shall fall into Shadow at the end of it all, and in vain."

The Dwarf sighed heavily at hearing his friend's words. Hope…How could all be lost in such a swift passage of time? Just yesterday hope soared, and then evaporated, suddenly, in the blink of an eye, over an abyss. Gimli looked back at the Elf, shocked to see unshed tears forming in the Elda's eyes. Truly, was all wrought asunder as he had said?

They conversed with each other briefly, coming to terms with their newly found circumstances. It was agreed, then, between them; they would stand and fight. To the end. Though Elf and Dwarf planned to fight along side the men, they secretly agreed that, if victory was not theirs, and all was lost, they would take themselves out of the world by their own hands. Legolas knew that the Valar had bestowed the grace of the Firstborn upon his friend so, when death claimed them, they would rest together in the Halls of Mandos, returning to life in Aman in time.



******



The hours of darkness had become dismal and grave. Black clouds covered the skies with a sense of foreboding. Stars were scarce, masked by the ominous shade of the night. Yet a few remained unveiled, and their radiant blaze offered the console Legolas sought. The Elda stood quietly savoring the undying hope that the stars furnished in their light, resting one elbow on the ledge before him. He was edgy, discontented, and unable to focus on anything that required it, making sleep impossible.

For a few moments, the heaven’s glow calmed the restless elf. Slowly, he withdrew the Evenstar pendant from deep within his dark cloak. The Elda delicately laid the jewel on the rim of stone wall, glancing down at the hand it had cut earlier that day. His palm was completely unscathed, and no relic from incision remained, as was the way of the Eldar.

Yet still, Legolas grieved. The ache of loss throbbed within him, tearing at a soul already frayed. He felt as though a piece of his heart had been ruthlessly ripped away and thrown with Aragorn over the cliff.

Without warning, Legolas began to sing. An otherworldly voice pierced the darkness with the sad, beautiful words of the winds. It was the same song that he and Aragorn had shared upon casting Boromir’s lifeless body into the River Anduin. Shards of grief overflowed from each verse as they poured from the Elda’s lips into the night filling even the darkest of shadows. Words of the South wind followed those of the West. Sorrowful was the song, for with its splendor it brought also memories that flooded the ethereal sound with hurt.

But, it was the final verse was the most painful for Legolas. It was of the North Wind, for he, like Gimli, would sing naught of the East. The pain was almost unbearable, yet the elf’s voice did not crack. Instead, it grew stronger.

The song finished, and silence once again ran heavily throughout the Keep. A desolate sigh escaped Legolas’ lips. How many times more would he sing of the winds before this cruel war ended? The Elda did not want to know the answer.

Time slipped away, and Legolas stood motionless against the wall of the Hornburg. The moon continued its constant journey across the sky, giving way to a golden dawn.



******



Elf and Dwarf spent the next day preparing their weapons and discussing their plans, both keeping mostly to themselves and mingling infrequently with Théoden’s men.

The hours passed in agonizing slowness, both warriors becoming agitated with the wait for the coming battle. Finally, just as the previous eve, Legolas could remain idle no longer, suddenly pushing himself to his feet. Gimli looked up from the place he sat, back against the Inner Keep's wall.

"Where do you be goin ta, lad?" asked the Dwarf worriedly. He had feared that the Elf would wander off in his grief, at some point, and he did not relish seeking one of the Eldar on the eve of battle.

Seemingly knowing Gimli's thoughts, Legolas put a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, reassuringly.

"Still your heart, my friend. I desire fresher air than dwells within these walls. I need to walk a bit, clear my mind and settle myself to the malice that soon shall befall us."

The Elf smiled reassuringly while gazing down at his sturdy friend, then added, "Rest while you are able, my friend."

Gimli nodded as he clasped his friend's hand in his, and then released the Elf to his wanderings.

"Don' ye be gittin too fer from the Inner Hornburg, Elf!" he called after his friend. "I dinna have tha time ner patience ta be up and chasin over all of Arda fer a wayward, pointy-eared whelp, wit a war on!" he finished.

Legolas chuckled lowly and began walking towards a group of men, gathered at the stairway leading down to the Deepening Wall.

But, as he approached them, a middle-aged woman darted from the stairwell and shouted, “He's alive! Aragorn, son of Arathorn, has returned!”

Everyone occupying the floor stared at the peculiar woman, and then broke out in excited whispers. “But I thought he was dead!” “Did he not fall?”

Legolas stopped in mid-step, frozen to the spot. Was this some kind of cruel jesting? Slowly, the Elf lifted his head to meet the eyes of the woman. There was no lie in the mortal's eyes. The Elf's spirits swelled, and a rush of adrenaline surfaced. He raced to edge of the Keep and gazed over the wall. Sure enough, his keen elven eyes spotted a rider racing towards the Hornburg, and not just any rider. As the woman had said, Aragorn, son of Arathorn had, indeed returned. Legolas smiled, virtuous exuberance lighting up his pale face. Had he really thought that a simple fall was the end Aragorn? The Elda threw his head back and laughed, running a hand through his long blond hair.


******



Legolas stood anxiously waiting in the open corridor in front of King Théoden's chamber. He knew Aragorn would come this way to seek council with the King. Seconds later, almost as if on que, a dark figure came striding down the corridor.

Heads looked up from their chores to observe the passing figure, and whispers followed the man down the hall. The disheveled figure was Aragorn; the Elf had no doubt. Legolas knew the Ranger's determined stride all too well. Aragorn's hair hung in tangled clumps and was matted with dried blood. His jerkin was ragged and torn, bloody wounds visible beneath the torn fabric. His face was marred with numerous cuts and smudged with dirt. Legolas beamed, finding no need to conceal his happiness. Aragorn was now less than a foot from him, the mortal's head bowed in grim foreboding. He had almost walked passed Legolas' still form, but stopped abruptly, inches from the Elf's face. He lifted his head, and for a moment, defeat flickered in Aragorn's tired, silver eyes. Yet, upon meeting the Elda's euphoric gaze, defeat turned to weary rejoice. Legolas smirked at the Ranger's bemused expression.

“Le abdollens,” Legolas remarked in Sindarin, still smiling. “You are late.”

The Elf's brow furrowed, as he examined Aragorn's appearance. His bottom lip curled, descending into an upset frown; his eyes scanned the mortal's body, slowly, from head to foot. The miserable state of his friend's health plainly bothered him. Then a slight smile wavered momentarily at the corners of his mouth

“You look terrible.” At this, Aragorn grinned. It was a sadly amused sort of grin, and Legolas could tell that something was deeply troubling the Ranger. The Elf held out his hand. In it, was Arwen's necklace. Aragorn stared at it incredulously. For an instant, he stood mystified, unable to reach for the precious gift he had thought was eternally gone. Still a little preoccupied as to how Legolas had come to be in possesion of the jewel, Aragorn reached out and grasped the gem in a bloodied hand. Broken spirit mended anew, his eyes found those of a friend who never ceased to amaze him. The mortal could find no words that would do justice to the way he felt just then. Nor could he find words great enough to thank the overjoyed Elf.

“Hannon le,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”
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