Author’s Notes: This was my story for the "Winter Wonderland" Teitho contest. It won the first place.

I want to thank Michelle, Pentangle, Keji and Lee-Anne for their support, threats and encouragement. ;-) I don’t know if this story would have been finished in time without you. :)

Another thank you goes to all who voted for this story. :)

And the final thank you is for my betas:
Michelle, who emergency-betaed “Wounds” some hours before the deadline
and Imbecamiel who beta-ed the story once more and patiently answered all my questions. (huggles betas)

Now I’ll shut up and let you read the story! ;-) Reviews are very welcome.

Silivren Tinu




Warning: According to Michelle you should probably drink something hot while reading the story – it gets *very* cold! Also, there will be a tissue-alert on later chapters.

Disclaimer: I am not male, I am not dead, and I am no genius – therefore the characters and places in this story still belong to the one and only J.R.R. Tolkien. ;-)

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~ Wounds ~

Chapter One: Dreadful Discoveries

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“Hold a true friend with both your hands.”
Nigerian Proverb

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He had stopped moving some time ago. He did not feel the cold anymore. He just sat there in the snow, the large dark rock at his back the only thing that kept him upright. He was alone, with only his painful memories for company. But his mind was nearly as numb as his body now, and the memories slowly faded away. There was no regret anymore, no pain.

Overnight, the ground around him had been covered with a white, sparkling blanket. The air was fresh and icy cold, and it felt like daggers on unprotected skin. It was silent. It was the absolute silence only a snowy day in winter can have, when there is no sound to be heard and everything seemed to be waiting, as if in quiet expectation. Mountains loomed up majestically in the distance, their peaks hidden by mist and deep-hanging, dark grey clouds.

Slowly it began to snow, big snowflakes that floated on the light wind, tumbled, and landed gently on the already white ground. He watched the snowflakes for a while, and listened to the silence. It was peaceful. The snow continued to fall, clinging to his hair and melting on his face, covering his knees with a powdery white layer. Some time later, tired eyes closed, and the silence seemed to deepen.

A red spot stained the pristine white snow beside the still figure, like a molten ruby in the midst of glittering crystal.

***

The path was steep and slippery. Part of the ground was frozen, and both ice and uneven patches lay hidden under the snow. The man had to walk slowly and lead his horse behind him. The beast had even more problems than he had, and the frozen ground made it skittish. One more tug at the reins brought them both to a sudden halt. The horse snorted nervously, and the man had to turn and try to calm it down again.

For a while he made no move to go on. He just stood there, one hand on the horse’s neck, the other on its reins, following the path in front of them with his eyes. It was moving steadily upwards, into the mountains. He should have known that it would snow in the night. The signs had been there, but he had not been willing to listen. Now all traces were gone, and the way would soon be impassable.

Not that it would change anything. He knew he had to go on anyway, whatever the cost, but he was not sure any longer that he could justify taking the horse with him. It took him only a few moments to come to a decision. Quietly he started to unfasten two of the bundles that had been tied to the horse, and leaned them against the rock wall. The horse eyed him questioningly, and the man smiled.

“It is time for you to go home,” he told the beast softly, patting the strong neck. He knew that the way down would be difficult for the horse, but he was confident that it would be able to make it. It was easier than the way that still lay before him. “Go and be safe.”

He gave the horse a soft push, and the beast took a step back. Its ears flicked back, and then forward again. It seemed confused for a moment, but then, after a second gentle push, it turned around and slowly started to head back the way they had come. Relieved, the man shouldered the bundles and began to slowly and carefully move on again, freed of the responsibility for any other life than his own.

He knew that what he attempted was folly, but there was no choice in his heart, and his determination would not waver. A cold wind that blew down from the mountains made his eyes water. He kept his head down and hidden under the hood, and his cloak wrapped tightly around himself and trudged on. Behind him, the dark form that was his horse vanished slowly into the distance.

***

He did not know how long he had been walking – though it seemed like a small eternity to him – when he came to a bend and his surroundings changed for the first time. Instead of rock walls and ravines a wide, gently sloping plateau opened in front of him, which might be a meadow or a scree in summer, but was now no more than an expanse of white, only interrupted by occasional rocks jutting out of the ground.

If the man had not known his way, he would have been lost, as the path had long since vanished under the snow and his sight was obscured by gently falling snowflakes. Apart from his own breathing and the crunching of his boots in the snow, there was no sound. If he stood still and listened, it seemed to him that he was the only living being anywhere. For some reason, the thought made him shudder.

He found the landmarks he was looking for and slowly started to navigate his way through the snow and the rocks. Soon most of the expanse was hidden from his eyes by the swirling snowflakes. When he had crossed about half of the plateau, one of his feet got caught, and he stumbled, barely catching himself before he could fall to the ground. Straightening and blinking against the snow, he noticed that there were several elevations around him, where something lay hidden beneath the cold, white blanket.

The small mounds had a peculiar form, and something about them did not look natural. The man hesitated, feeling a dark foreboding well up inside him. He looked down at the flat mound directly in front of him. His face lost all colour, and he stepped back involuntarily. Where his foot had collided with the mound, the snow had crumbled away, uncovering what had been hidden before. On the ground in front of him lay a hand.

When he had recovered from the shock, he noticed that the hand was dark and formed like a claw. Orcs. Suddenly wary, he unsheathed his sword and looked around, but nothing moved apart from the lazily swirling snowflakes. The orc seemed to have been dead for quite some time. Perhaps it had died last night, or even the day before… The man paled again when he realized what might be hidden in the other mounds, and what might have happened here.

He used one booted foot to give the corpse a push, freeing it from the snow, and looked closely at the body. Then he went on to the next mound, and found another orc there, just as dead as the first had been. Both orcs had been killed with a blade. The movements of the man got more and more hurried now, as he went from one mound to the next, searching for something and yet hoping not to find it.

The sixth corpse he found had been killed with a green-fletched arrow. The man paused, and the sudden cold he felt had nothing to do with the temperature outside. He looked up, towards the mountains, where he knew the path that he had been following would lead. For a moment he was undecided, feeling a sudden sense of urgency, but not sure which way to choose. Then a new determination entered his eyes, and he went to uncover the next corpse, for by now he was sure that that was what he would find under all the deceptively harmless-looking mounds of snow, knowing that he would find no peace until he knew who lay hidden beneath them.

He found five more dead orcs, each time only taking the time for a short glance before he hastened on. Then he found himself in front of a larger elevation, half-hidden from his view by some rocks that jutted out of the snow in front of him. He hesitated for a moment, then he kneeled down, pushing the snow away with his gloved hands. He saw what he had expected to see: the cadaver of a grey horse.

The man bowed his head and let his hand rest on the head of the dead beast for a moment. Then he straightened and rose again. He could only see flat ground and rocks in front of him. He turned around and saw that the unearthed corpses were already covered again with a thin white film. His own traces had nearly vanished. He looked at the rocks again, trying to make out anything through the densely falling snowflakes. There was something strange about one of the rocks.

Stepping closer, he saw that there was a snow-drift at one side of the rock, but it was not formed as it should be. He tensed, and then he covered the distance in three long strides. The motionless being that sat slumped against the rock was nearly entirely buried under the snow-drift. Only on the downwind side a hint of pale gold and white skin could be seen and part of one arm and a hand lay free.

The man pulled his hood back, exposing tousled dark locks, and fell to his knees beside the still figure. He extended one arm towards the being in front of him as if in pleading, stopping just short of touching one snow-covered shoulder. Too late, a voice inside of him whispered, and a sudden fear broke over him, threatening to choke him.

“Legolas…?” he whispered.

***

There was no answer.

Finally Aragorn forced himself to move and touch the elf’s shoulder. Instantly the still body in front of him started to slide and would have fallen to the ground if he had not caught it. The ranger drew his friend into his arms, finally freed from his shock-induced daze. As gently and swiftly as possible he started to brush the snow from Legolas’ face and body. The skin of the elf was as pale as white marble, and his lips were nearly blue. His eyes were closed.

Numerous injuries lay hidden under the snow, and some of the cuts were deep. Especially one wound in the elf’s side had bled heavily. None of the wounds had been tended to. Aragorn had to suppress the fear that was threatening to overwhelm him again, knowing that he had no time for that now. If there was time left at all. He removed the leather glove on his right hand with his teeth, ignoring the bite of the cold air on his unprotected skin. He touched his friend’s face. It was cold as ice.

Aragorn unsheathed his hunting knife and just held it for a moment, staring into the elf’s face and trying to gather the courage for the next step. Finally he turned the shiny blade and held it closely to Legolas’ lips. When he raised the blade again to look at it, his fingers shook slightly. There was a gossamer-thin mist on the side of the blade that had nearly touched the elf’s lips. Aragorn’s hand shook even more and he barely managed not to drop the knife. He closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. Legolas was alive.

***

Aragorn wasted no time after that. Even if he had not been a healer, he would have known that the elf was fading fast. He took a blanket out of one of the bundles he had fastened to his back, and wrapped it tightly around his friend. He did not bother to dress the elf’s wounds, knowing that they would not start bleeding again until they were out of the cold. He took Legolas’ unresponsive body in his arms and staggered to his feet.

He needed to get both of them out of the snow and the cold if he wanted to have a chance to save the elf. It was hard to get one’s bearings in this world of swirling snow, but Aragorn’s years as a ranger had not been spent idle. He knew these mountains, and this was not the first snowstorm he had had to live through. He squinted against the snow, and then he began walking, remembering a place where they could find shelter if he found it in time.

Aragorn held his head bowed and the elf pressed tightly against him, trying to shield his friend from the snow and the icy wind. From time to time he had to stop and look for any traces that would tell him that he was still walking in the right direction. Moving through this white void, time soon lost its meaning, and nothing seemed to be real but the ground under his feet and the body in his arms.

In spite of the gloves and boots, the ranger’s hands and feet started to get numb from the cold, and the snow froze in his hair and brows. He felt tired, but he did not give in. He concentrated on each step, counting them in his mind to keep awake and alert. His arms were heavy now, and even the light body of the elf began to weigh him down. He had to adjust his grip more than once, but he refused to let go or rest. Again and again he had to fight down the fear that he was only carrying the dead shell of his friend, and that Legolas had already succumbed to the cold.

Then, finally, the man nearly walked into a rock wall that suddenly loomed up in front of him. He came to an abrupt halt, and sighed with relief as he realized where he was. Quickening his steps in spite of his weariness, the ranger followed the rock wall, until a yawning black hole opened up to his left. Without hesitation Aragorn stooped and stepped through the low entrance into the darkness of the cave, nearly stumbling when the crunching snow under his feet gave way to firm, even rock. Instantly, the snow and the wind ceased and stayed behind.

Aragorn walked slowly further into the cave, until he reached the back wall. He kneeled down and lowered the elf gently to the ground, unfastening the quiver and the twin knives from Legolas’ back and leaning them against the wall. Then he set down the bundles he had carried the entire way, and started unwrapping them. The firewood he had taken with him to prepare for the cold in the mountains had been securely wrapped, and was still dry.

Aragorn had not been able to carry all the firewood that had been fastened to his horse. He could only hope that it would be enough to warm Legolas and get them through the snowstorm. As quickly as he could, he made a fire and shifted Legolas as close to it as possible. He shook out the blanket before the snow could begin to melt and wrapped it around the elf again. Then he took his own cloak and his one set of spare clothing and lay them near the fire to warm them.

Afterwards he prepared the bandages and herbs he had taken with him, and when he was done he kneeled down beside the elf again. To his great relief, Legolas was still breathing, but his heartbeat was weak and erratic. Gently and carefully, he got the blood-stained clothes off his friend, revealing the wounds beneath. For a moment, he had to look away, and his hands clenched into fists.

When he looked at the elf again there was a deep sadness in his eyes, and a hint of something deeper, more painful. Once again, he had to force himself to start moving, knowing that Legolas’ life was hanging on a thread now. Aragorn worked over his friend for a long time, cleaning and bandaging his wounds, rubbing his limbs to get some warmth back into him, and using up the entire supply of herbs he had brought with him.

He put his now-warmed spare clothes on the elf and continued rubbing his arms and legs until his muscles ached. The ranger was rewarded by a hint of colour that returned to the elf’s pale cheeks, and a soft, barely audible moan. Legolas’ lips were not blue any longer, and his heartbeat was more steady and a little bit stronger.

“Legolas?” Aragorn asked softly. “Can you hear me?”

The only answer was silence. Aragorn sighed and wrapped his friend into his own warmed-through cloak, and then the blanket above it. He leaned back against the rock wall, holding his friend in his arms, keeping the elf between his body warmth and the fire.

A short time later, Legolas started shivering, and the shivers soon became so violent that Aragorn could hear his teeth clatter. The ranger held his friend closer, whispering soft words to him in Elvish that made no sense at all. At last the shivering abated, and the elf’s body went limp in his arms again.

Aragorn closed his eyes, pain etched into his features. He started to rock slowly back and forth, bowing his head until his forehead touched the elf’s. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry…”

The fire crackled softly, and a stray gust of wind made the flames dance. A snow-drift had found its way into the entrance of the cave. Everything outside was hidden behind a curtain of whirling snowflakes, and the wind howled in the distance.


To be continued…

Disclaimer see Chapter One.
 
 
Thank you to my betas, Michelle and Imbecamiel! *hugs*
  
 
 
 
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~ Wounds ~
  
Chapter Two: Strife
 
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“A true friend never gets in your way
unless you happen to be going down.”
Arnold H. Glasgow

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In that night Aragorn prayed harder than he had ever done before, as he held his friend in his arms, willing him to live, willing the Valar to listen. He checked on Legolas’ wounds at regular intervals and took care that the fire kept burning. He did not hear the wind howling like a wild beast outside, nor did he feel the cold. He only listened to every single laboured breath of the elf in his arms, and felt a heart beat weakly under his hand.
 
“Wake up, my friend,” he said softly, watching the pale face for any signs of awareness and seeing none. “Please, wake up for me. It should be me being hurt and not you. I should have listened. I need to tell you… I’m so sorry…” His voice broke.
 
The elf’s condition seemed to have stabilized. It did not worsen any more, but neither did it get better. Aragorn could still feel him struggling, and he knew that the fight was not yet won. He could only wait. He continued speaking softly to his friend, hoping that the elf would feel comforted by his presence in spite of the things that had happened between them and that had caused all the pain and the sorrow and the guilt that were weighing heavily upon his heart now. From time to time the ranger would start to sing, songs that Legolas had enjoyed when they had listened to them in the Hall of Fire.
 
Aragorn realized then that he could not remember when he had last sung these songs. The last months had been bitter and grim, sapping both his energy and his joy from him. How could he have lost so much and not noticed it was happening? When had he stopped caring? He sighed, looking down at the elf with unveiled guilt in his eyes.
 
He must not have been too late. There must be a chance to put things right. None of all this had been Legolas’ fault, it was not right that he was paying the price in such a way. Aragorn closed his eyes, once more overwhelmed by pain and regret. If you want to punish someone, he spoke silently, then take me. For it must surely be me who has provoked your ire. If the Valar had heard him, they gave no answer.
 
Hours later, the ranger finally succumbed to the exhaustion of both his body and his mind. His chin sank down to rest on his chest, and he fell into a troubled sleep, plagued by dreams and memories. Man and elf rested in a soft golden circle of light, restless shadows dancing on the walls around them. Outside, the wind fell silent.
 
***
 
The camp was small, and it was carefully hidden deep in a fir forest. Aragorn watched his rangers quietly, reading the tiredness in their eyes and seeing the lines of exhaustion in their faces. The last weeks had been hard. They had been forced to fight far too often, and they had lost three men. Aragorn bowed his head. The men needed rest, and they missed their fallen comrades, as did he.
 

He could only hope they would be safe here, at least for a while. He needed to leave and get supplies soon. Aragorn did not want to burden anyone else with this task, now that they could finally get some rest. He had chosen a small rock on the edge of the camp to sit upon, idly twirling a branch between his fingers. There was a soft sound behind him, and he smiled, not bothering to raise his head.

The elf’s features softened, but remained troubled. “There is need for worry,” he said with soft regret in his voice, “though not because of any foe. I could find no traces of the enemy. This camp is safe.”

For a moment, there was a dead silence between them. “I cannot believe you ask this of me,” Aragorn spoke finally in a toneless voice. “Tell me you do not mean it. Tell me this is a joke.”

Memories that the ranger had tried so hard to forget were clamouring for attention once more, hurtful words that had been spoken and never been taken back by one whom he had trusted as a father. Before he could help it, his thoughts strayed to Arwen, her face, her smile and the tenderness in her eyes. Thinking of her was nearly more than his heart could take. He had avoided it even more than thinking of Elrond. Falling in love had not brought him happiness, but only pain and loss.

Aragorn took a step back, shaking off the elf’s hand, which still rested on his shoulder. Legolas let his arm drop to his side, making no attempt to hold his friend back. “It is my life, and I alone choose what to do with it!” he answered angrily, not even noticing that he had raised his voice enough to be heard by the men who sat nearby.

Disclaimer etc see Chapter One.

 
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~ Wounds ~
  
Chapter Three: Departure
 
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“The friendship that can cease
has never been real.”
St. Jerome

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Aragorn awoke with a start. The sudden movement sent a stab of pain through his cramped neck and shoulders. For a moment he felt disoriented, remnants of his vivid dream still clinging to his consciousness. He looked down, and the sight of Legolas wrapped in cloak and blanket and still resting securely in his arms cleared the last fog from his mind. He could feel the heart of the elf beating under his hand.
 
His own ragged breathing calmed down, and the ranger closed his eyes. The memories were still there, waiting for him, haunting him.
 
This is none of your business.
 
I believed you to be my friend… but it seems I was mistaken.
 
I do not want to hear anything from you.
 
As I said, you are free to go whenever you wish to. In fact, I think it would be better if you did.
 
Aragorn opened his eyes again and looked down into the pale face of the elf. How could he have spoken such words to his friend – how could he have believed them? He had been beyond weariness, disillusioned, and perhaps even a bit scared, but there was no excuse for what he had done. How could he not have seen that Legolas had spoken out of concern, that he had risked hurting him and incurring his friend’s anger in order to save him, to save all of them?
 
Legolas had been right all along, and he, Aragorn, had been willing to sacrifice his men’s safety to his own hurt pride and his fears. And the worst was that all that had happened to Legolas was entirely his fault. If he had listened, if he had been willing to trust his friend, the elf would be safe now. He would never have met those orcs, would not have nearly frozen to death in a snowstorm, and he would not be here at all in the first place. They would all have been on their way to Imladris, to safety.
 
But Aragorn had never been able to forget the hurtful words that Elrond had spoken to him when he had last visited Imladris. He had vowed to himself then to never come back. He had lost his home on that day, not wanting to be where he was not welcome any longer. Even now he did not want to go back, but if Legolas had been willing to trust Elrond, he should have done no less. Ai, Valar, he missed them, he missed his family, Elrond, who had been like a father to him, and his brothers.
 
The ranger sighed. He had not even tried to understand, and now Legolas lay mortally wounded in his arms and they were trapped in a cave in the midst of a snowstorm. He tried to imagine what it must have been like, to be out in the cold alone, unable to go on, hurting and slowly dying from the cold and the blood loss. He shivered. What had he done? How could he ever expect Legolas to forgive him?
 
He bowed his head until his brow touched Legolas’ forehead again. The fear and the pain that washed over him at that moment took his breath away. Fear that Legolas might die, fear that he might have lost his friendship forever, even if the elf survived. He remembered the dead horse lying out there somewhere in the snow, knowing how much Legolas had loved the beast.
 
“Forgive me,” he whispered softly to his friend, holding him as close as he could. “Forgive me.”
 
If nothing else, he prayed that he would at least have a chance to ask the elf’s forgiveness. Legolas must not die because of him. He could not bear to live with the blood of his friend on his hands. He could not change what had been done, nor evade the blame for it, but he vowed that he would do all he could to make things right again, as far as he was still able to.
 
***
 
How he wished now that he would have understood sooner, that he would have turned back before it was too late. Halbarad had been much wiser than his chieftain that day. He had not spoken a single word to Aragorn during their ride to the village, but he did not need to. Aragorn could feel the thoughtful look of his second-in-command rest on him the entire time, and see the silent disapproval in his eyes, when he dared to meet them.
 
The ride to the village had been long, and Aragorn had had ample time to think and reflect on his behaviour. He had always relied on Halbarad’s opinion and advice, and the obvious disapproval of his friend and comrade first annoyed him, then made him feel unsure, and finally made him think.
 
While he kept repeating them in his head, the words of the elf started to take on a new meaning, and suddenly he had been able to understand the concern and the deep hurt in Legolas’ eyes for what they were: fear for him. The lost expression in those blue eyes that showed so much of his friend’s soul started to haunt him, and his own words suddenly seemed cold and cruel, and unnecessarily so.
 
When they arrived at the village and had bought the needed supplies, Aragorn suddenly could not wait to get back and try to talk to his friend. He knew he had wronged the elf, and he had never even given him a chance to explain his words, condemning them as treason to their friendship and as an attack on himself. His sudden eagerness to return had not been lost on Halbarad, who had suddenly deigned to speak to his chieftain again, very probably sensing the pain and remorse that had started to plague his friend.
 
Halbarad had never once mentioned the argument he had overheard or uttered a reproach, and Aragorn was grateful for it. They returned with all haste, but ere they could reach the camp they were halted by another small group of Dúnedain rangers who needed to speak to their chieftain. Aragorn had sent Halbarad on ahead with the supplies and had stayed behind, though with a heavy heart. He knew that he could trust Halbarad to not only deliver the desperately needed supplies, but to also keep an eye on Legolas until he was back.
 
Little had they known that it was already too late. When Halbarad returned, Legolas was gone. None had seen him leave or knew where he had gone. Having experienced the loyalty of the elf firsthand, Halbarad soon found out that there had been more to Legolas’ disappearance than his argument with Aragorn. A man named Géran was careless enough to brag at the campfire about his encounter with the elf, and Halbarad listened quietly.
 
Obviously Géran had waylaid the prince some time after his argument with Aragorn and taken the chance to vent his frustrations with elves in general and insult both Lord Elrond and King Thranduil. According to his description, Legolas had just listened, looked at him for a while, and then turned and left. No one had seen the elf afterwards, and his horse and his weapons were gone the next day.
 
To Halbarad’s satisfaction Géran soon found himself shunned by the other men, even without his intervention. Legolas was both liked and respected among the men, and the argument between the elf and their leader had worried them greatly.
 
When Aragorn returned and Halbarad had told him what had occurred in their absence, it had not been difficult for him to guess why Legolas had acted the way he did. The proud elf had not allowed Géran to provoke him, but he must have needed all his self-control to do so.
 
He also must have known that Géran would not stop of his own accord, and Aragorn doubted that Legolas could have listened to any more insults like those without showing a reaction. And knowing Géran, the result would have been a fight. Aragorn realized with a pang of guilt that Legolas had had no reason to trust him to deal with the situation after his return, and so the elf had chosen to leave rather than bring strife to men he had come to see as friends.
 
If the entire situation had not been caused by himself, Aragorn would have been in a mood to strangle Géran. He had never liked the man, and now he wished in vain he had dealt with him before. For a while he had watched Géran closely, not sure if he was a spy of the enemy, but then he had realized that the man was only clinging to old ways and beliefs and fears that would harm him more than do him good.
 
He had allowed him to stay, hoping that the influence of the other men would change him. Now he rued this decision dearly. Aragorn dealt with the situation quickly and effectively, as if to make up for former shortcomings. Géran had been banned from the camp and forbidden to ever return. The likes of him would never understand what it meant to be a ranger.
 
Afterwards, Aragorn had immediately prepared for his own departure, wanting to go after Legolas as soon as possible. He knew he would find no peace until things were settled between them, and he had had the chance to apologize to his friend, who had not done anything to merit the careless and hurtful treatment he had been given. Aragorn realized that he needed his friend at his side more than ever now, to help him to prevent terrible mistakes, and to correct him when he erred.
 
If Legolas even wanted to return. Aragorn would not have been able to blame the elf if he refused to come back. He knew instinctively that Legolas would not go to Rivendell, heeding the man’s wishes in this respect, though he had no reason to do so anymore. That left only Mirkwood, and to go there the elf would have to take the path over the Misty Mountains. Aragorn did not like that thought. There were orcs in the mountains now, and winter was near. The heights would soon be impassable. He could only hope that he could catch up to the elf quickly.
 
Halbarad had liked the thought even less, and Aragorn had had to do a lot of convincing before Halbarad accepted that he had to do this alone. “Be safe,” Halbarad had said in parting. “Both of you.”
 
Aragorn had nodded at him in quiet gratitude, mounted his horse, and left.
 
***
 
There was a bitter smile around Aragorn’s lips as he remembered Halbarad’s words now. It had been another mistake he had made. He should never have gone alone, not when there were orcs in the mountains and winter was so near. Without the snowstorm, his supplies would have been sufficient, though he doubted that he would have been able to catch up to Legolas before the elf had reached Mirkwood. But now, everything had changed.
 
Aragorn straightened slowly and leaned back against the wall. The ranger knew how dire their situation was. He had neither expected to find Legolas more dead than alive, nor to be surprised by a snowstorm. He had already used up all their medical supplies in tending to his friend, and the firewood would not last much longer than the night.
 
Normally, a small fire would have been enough to warm him through the night, and Legolas would not have needed any warmth at all. But now he could not take any chances. The elf’s body was too weak to fend off the cold on top of everything else, especially after he had nearly frozen to death already. Aragorn knew that he would have to find a way to get them both out of here tomorrow. He only hoped that one night spent in rest in the warmth would invigorate the elf enough to survive through the ordeal that would follow.
 
He studied his friend’s pale features for a while and gently traced the elf’s hairline with his fingers, noticing for the first time a bruise that was forming on one high cheekbone. “You have to wake up, my friend,” he said softly, “so I can tell you what a terrible fool I am.”
 
Legolas showed no response, and Aragorn had expected none. He wished so much to see his friend awake, to see him move and hear his voice. Even if Legolas yelled at him he would have preferred that to seeing him so still. Not that Legolas would be strong enough to yell anytime soon. Leaning forward over the limp body of his friend, Aragorn grabbed some more pieces of wood and added them to the fire to keep it going.
 
For the moment, he could not do anything but wait. It was still snowing, and it was already dark outside. They would have to stay here until morning. Even without the snow, the night would be bitter cold. Aragorn watched the dancing flames for a while, and listened to the soft crackling sounds of the burning wood. Then, against his will, he drifted off into sleep again, giving in to the hypnotizing flames and his body’s demands.
 
 
To be continued…

 
 
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~ Wounds ~
  
Chapter Four: A second Chance
 
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“True friendship is seen through the heart,
not through the eyes.”
Unknown

::::::::::::::::::::
 
 

The moment he saw his friend he could tell that he was dying. The elf was lying in the snow, unmoving. Aragorn fell to his knees beside his friend, gathering him in his arms. Legolas’ eyes were open, and they locked on his face. I’m sorry, Aragorn wanted to say, but the pain rendered him mute, choking him.

“No. NO!” Aragorn started to shake the elf, calling his friend’s name over and over again until his voice broke. Then he doubled over, collapsing over the dead body of his friend, consumed by unspeakable grief.

Disclaimer etc see Chapter One.
 
 
Author’s Notes: Warning: Tissue alert!!! Cliffie alert! Remember that there is still another chapter to come… I hope you enjoy nonetheless and let me know what you think. :)
 
Almut alias Silivren Tinu
 
 
Thank you to my betas, Michelle and Imbecamiel! *hugs*
 
 
 
 
 
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~ Wounds ~
  
Chapter Five: Defeat
 
::::::::::::::::::::

“Best friends just won’t leave your side.”
(Blink 182)

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It would be a night that Aragorn would not be able to forget for the rest of his life. For a while, everything seemed to be well. Legolas was resting as he should, hopefully giving his body the time to regain some of the strength it had lost. There was still enough wood to last them through the night, and all other concerns would have to wait until the morning.
 
But then, Legolas began to move restlessly in his sleep, and Aragorn soon found out that the elf showed the first symptoms of a fever. At least one of Legolas’ many wounds had become infected. The ranger wished with all his heart now that he had brought more herbs. For hours he fought the fever and treated the infection as best he could, and the only thing that gave him hope was that the wounds still showed no signs of poisoning.
 
Nonetheless, the fever kept raging through the elf’s body, and Legolas kept thrashing and moaning for a much too long time. When the fever finally broke, Aragorn felt exhausted, and the elf was left even weaker than before. Some of his wounds had re-opened and had to be treated anew, and the fight against the fever had depleted the rest of his strength. His face was ashen now, and his breathing shallow.
 
Aragorn had to lay one hand over the heart of his friend again to assure himself that the elf was still breathing. He spent the rest of the night in the fear of a relapse, but when the first light of dawn appeared on the eastern horizon Legolas was still breathing, and the fever had not returned.
 
***
 
Aragorn needed some time to even realize that it was morning. The light that filtered in through the entrance of the cave was weak and grey, and he soon realized why. The entrance had vanished, and instead of an open space, there was a wall of white. They were snowed in.
 
Aragorn stared at the blocked entrance in dismay, wondering how he could not have thought of this danger before. Not that it would have changed anything if he had. The ranger looked down at the unresponsive elf in his arms. He was reluctant to leave him, but he knew he would have to if he wanted to save them both.
 
Aragorn moved into a kneeling position and lowered the elf gently to the cave floor. He used Legolas’ discarded clothes as a makeshift pillow for his head, and tucked his cloak and the blanket in around him once more. The fire was smaller now, as their supply of firewood was dwindling, but it should still be enough to keep the elf warm.
 
The ranger donned his gloves and Legolas’ cloak – ignoring the fact that it was torn and blood-stained – and went over to the cave entrance. Not even a piece of sky could be seen – the entire world outside was hidden behind a wall of snow. Aragorn stared at the wall for a moment, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the task that lay before him.
 
He did not dare to think of how long it might take him to get through this wall and what he might find behind it. He looked back at the elf behind him and felt determination rise up inside of him. He had no time to lose. He chose one spot at the side of the entrance, near to the rock wall, and started shoving the snow aside with his gloved hands.
 
Progress was slow, and the work was tedious. After some time of digging into the snow, Aragorn’s hands and arms began to get numb in spite of the protection of the gloves and the fur-lined tunic, but he ignored the discomfort and kept going. They had to get out of here today, or Legolas would be lost. In fact, neither of them would survive the next night without a fire, and the last of the wood would be long gone by then.
 
Soon, the snow was everywhere, melting in his hair and clinging to the folds of his clothes. Sometimes, the snow from above came down on him, and he had to shake free again. Still, he was making progress, however slow. He came to realize that getting out of here would need more time than he had expected. More and more snow filled the cave behind him, and he believed that it was getting brighter in front of him.
 
Finally, he had to stop and go back into the cave, both to check on Legolas and to warm up again. The ranger was shivering by now, and the warmth of the small fire was more than welcome. To his relief, the condition of the elf had not changed. When he had recovered sufficiently, he went back to the cave entrance and started digging and shoving again. It soon became a kind of routine – he would work as long as he could, then come back to warm himself and check on the elf, and go back to work.
 
By now, he was cold all over and on the brink of exhaustion. The short times in the cave were no longer enough to warm him up or help him regain his waning strength, but he did not care. The only thing that counted right now was to get out of this cave as soon as possible. Finally, after what seemed like hours and hours of endless work to him, he was rewarded with a glimpse of sky overhead.
 
Invigorated, he renewed his efforts, and then he suddenly broke through the last thin layer of snow and was greeted by a grey sky and a half-veiled sun. He fell to his knees in the snow, panting and shivering, but immeasurably relieved. Though the sun was half-hidden under a thin layer of clouds, the light was so dazzling that he had to shield his eyes. As far as he could see, there was only brilliant white.
 
His shoulders slumped. Many of the landmarks he was accustomed to had vanished. He would probably still have been able to find his way, but he was already completely exhausted and half-frozen, and he would have to carry an unconscious elf and walk through deep snow. It was already some time after noon – it would be impossible to get down the mountain or at least out of the snow before nightfall.
 
Aragorn closed his eyes, feeling defeated. His limbs were heavy, and his muscles ached. He felt tired and worn out. But what else could they do? Staying meant certain death. He opened his eyes again, blinking against the brilliant light. Perhaps trying was at least better than just sitting here and waiting for death to claim them. Perhaps there was even a tiny chance for survival. Slowly, he rose and turned back, half slipping and half climbing back into the cave.
 
***
 
The first thing he saw was that the fire had nearly gone out in his absence. It did not really matter, as there were only a few pieces of firewood left, but it worried him nonetheless. He rekindled the fire with the last wood they had, and used it to warm his numb hands. He needed to feel something to check on Legolas, and he didn’t want to scare the elf with his icy cold touch. Soon his fingers began to tingle and hurt and feel alive again.
 
Immediately he moved over to his friend. Legolas looked worse. His face was deadly pale, and there was a sheen of cold sweat on his brow. Worried, Aragorn checked the elf’s breathing and heartbeat. It had grown weaker and was slightly erratic again. He could feel that Legolas was still struggling, but he was losing his fight. The fever last night had drained all the strength that Aragorn’s previous treatment had given him, and he was not strong enough to recover a second time. The elf was fading.
 
The shiver that ran through Aragorn’s body had nothing to do with the cold. He stared at his friend unbelievingly. “No,” he whispered. “Don’t do this to me. Please!”
 
The prone body in front of him did not move and showed barely any signs of life. It seemed as if Legolas was already far gone. Aragorn took one of his friend’s cold hands in his own, his eyes never leaving the elf’s face. Then, slowly, he broke down. He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands and pressing Legolas’ limp hand against his brow. Silently, he started to cry.
 
***
 
He had repositioned himself against the rock wall, Legolas in his arms. The fire had burnt down, and the warmth was fading fast, as if it were somehow connected to the elf’s life force. When Aragorn had been able to think clearly again, he had realized that he needed to come to a decision. Legolas would not be able to survive outside in the cold and the snow, and though it made no real difference, Aragorn could not bear to hasten his friend’s death.
 
As he could not take Legolas with him and was unable to leave him behind, he had decided to stay and provide at least some warmth and company for the elf, who would undoubtedly die before him. In fact, it was a small miracle that Legolas still drew breath, and that he had survived long enough out there in the snow to be found by him. But then, the elf had never given up easily, especially not when Aragorn was at his side urging him to hold on.
 
Aragorn had to smile at the memories, but the smile soon faded as he became aware that this would be the end. He looked down in the achingly familiar, frighteningly pale face. To never see Legolas again, to never be able to talk to him or hear him laugh again… he was not sure if he could bear the thought. He was not ready to let his friend go, nor to die himself, but the choice had been taken out of his hands.
 
He knew where Legolas would go after his death, but no one knew the fate that Illúvatar had bestowed on the Secondborn. No one could say if they would ever see each other again. Once again, pain and grief threatened to overwhelm the man. He would have given anything to stop this from happening, to make the last days undone. Legolas was not supposed to die, not now, not at all.
 
He felt tears prick at his eyes again, and he let them come. He was not strong enough to fight against the grief any longer. Cold was slowly seeping into his body, stealing his life away. Legolas’ hand felt like ice in his fingers. Softly, the ranger started to hum. It was the same song that he had sung when he met Arwen for the first time, the Lay of Lúthien.
 
He thought about Arwen then, and though there was a painful longing and regret in his heart, he realized that it would probably be for the best this way. Arwen would not be forced to make a terrible choice, and Elrond would not lose her. He did not dwell on these thoughts, and soon started humming again, strangely comforted by the familiar melody. Aragorn looked down at the elf, hoping that the song would be able to reach him, if words could not.
 
He looked down just in time to see Legolas’ eyelids flutter. Aragorn froze, holding his breath. He had not expected the elf to regain consciousness again, and he dared not hope now. Legolas’ eyelids fluttered again, and this time Aragorn could not restrain himself. “Legolas?” he asked, squeezing the elf’s hand.
 
Legolas’ eyes blinked slowly open. He looked around for a moment, then his searching gaze found Aragorn’s face and fixed on it. He smiled weakly, and Aragorn smiled back at him. “It is good to see you,” he said softly.
 
“Why are you… still… here?” Legolas asked, and it pained Aragorn to hear the weakness of his voice.
 
“You are, too,” he pointed out gently.
 
“I am… dying…” Legolas said, struggling to form the words.
 
“I know.”
 
“Please go. Just… leave me.”
 
“I would never leave you, my friend.”
 
There was alarm in Legolas’ eyes now, and he tried to fight his way into a sitting position. “No,” he said. “Please… go. I do not want you… to die with me.”
 
Aragorn held him down effortlessly. “Shhh,” he hushed the elf, smiling reassuringly at his friend. “Out there is nothing but deep snow. I would not get anywhere in time to be saved.”
 
Slowly, Legolas calmed down again. There was a deep sadness in his eyes now. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
 
Aragorn shook his head. “Don’t be,” he answered. “I would rather be here than have you die alone.”
 
The sadness did not vanish from those expressive blue eyes, but there was also a deep warmth and gratefulness in them. Aragorn noticed that though the elven glow of his friend was all but gone, he still looked strangely ethereal, as if he were already part of another world.
 
Aragorn felt very calm now. He did not know if it was the cold, or if he had finally accepted his fate, but he did not really care. For a while, they simply sat together silently. There were no words that needed to be spoken between them. Aragorn could feel his friend growing weaker.
 
The elf fought to stay conscious, looking at Aragorn’s face as if he wanted to memorize it for all eternity, and the man looked into the familiar blue eyes that seemed to shine with an inner light now, trying to imagine that he would soon never look into those eyes again, and failing. Once more, he felt his eyes sting with hot tears. He held on to the cold fingers as if he could provide a lifeline for the dying elf that way, and the elf squeezed back weakly. Suddenly the man dreaded being left behind.
 
The light in the elf’s eyes was now dimmed by sorrow and grief, and Aragorn knew that it was his desperation that pained the elf so much. He did not want their last moments to be like this. He did not want his friend to die that way. He thought for a moment about a way to put his friend at ease, then he softly started to sing. The man sang slowly, haltingly, as the words did not come to him easily. He had never learned the song, and not often heard it.
 
 
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry –
I am not there... I did not die...
 
 
It was a haunting melody, sad, but also filled with hope. The first time he had heard it, Legolas had sung it, after one of the wood-elves who had been on patrol with them had died. It was a song of the wood-elves to either ease the passing of their warriors, or to honour them after their death. It was also sung when one of the elves decided to sail towards Valinor, but as the wood-elves lost far more of their number to a violent death than to Valinor, it made sense that the song mentioned a grave.
 
He could see Legolas calm down, and knew that his friend was comforted by the familiar melody. The elf was too weak to speak by now, but his eyes shone in gratitude. Slowly, his eyelids drooped and closed. Aragorn sang on, needing something to cling to, to hold on to. He did not know if Legolas still heard him, but he knew that the elf was not yet gone.
 
Some time later, when Aragorn could not sing any more, he hummed the melody, and then, finally, he fell silent. He did not remember the words or the melody any longer, and he did not know if the elf in his arms yet lived. The ranger did not feel the cold anymore. He was only tired. He closed his eyes, and felt the welcoming warmth of the darkness around him. His body slid down the wall and fell to the side, his head coming to rest near the face of the still elf beside him.
 
Then, there was only silence.
 
 
 
To be continued…
 
 
 
 
 
--------------------------------
A/N: The song “Do not stand at my grave and weep” is actually no song but an old Irish Blessing.

 
 
 
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~ Wounds ~
  
Chapter Five: Healing 
 
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“True friendship never dies.”
(Unknown)

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There were voices. They seemed to be rising and ebbing, first in the distance, and then closer to him. He did not understand, and he felt no need to listen. Then there were hands, touching him, but they seemed to be as distant as the voices. He ignored them, content to drift in the comforting darkness. Suddenly, there was a shock of warmth, more painful than pleasant, nearly rousing him out of his stupor, but he clung to the darkness stubbornly.
 
There was a memory of pain and despair, and he shied away from it. The voices were louder now, and there was someone beside him. He heard parts of sentences, and then, a voice broke through to him. “Is he alive?” the disembodied voice asked, but then there was only murmuring. There were hands on him again, and this time the darkness receded and he could do nothing to stop it. So he gave in, slowly becoming more aware.
 
Suddenly he wanted to know who was here with him, and where “here” was. He fought to open his eyelids, and though they seemed to be filled with lead, he finally succeeded. There was a blurry face in front of him, leaning over him. He spotted a hint of something golden, and it triggered a memory.
 
“Legolas…?” he asked, surprised how weak and rough his voice was.
 
The face in front of him got clearer now and he looked into green eyes that showed both sadness and sympathy. “No, my friend. I am afraid I am not him,” a melodious voice answered.
 
“Glorfindel?”
 
“Yes, it is me. Rest now, Estel. You are very weak.”
 
A warm hand touched his brow, and then he knew no more, falling into darkness once more.
 
***
 
When he awoke for the second time, everything had changed. It was warm, there were no voices, and he was lying on something soft. He felt surprisingly well and could not stifle a sigh of contentment.
 
“Estel?” a voice asked.
 
It sounded familiar. He felt quite awake now, and in spite of his comfortable position something inside of him was restless, urging him to wake up, reminding him of something that he should remember. Aragorn gave in and opened his eyes. The sight that greeted him was unexpected, yet welcome. One look was enough to tell him that he was back in his room in Rivendell in his own bed, covered by a heap of blankets.
 
Something about that felt wrong. He looked around, still a bit confused, and soon found the face that belonged to the familiar voice he had heard before.
 
“Elladan?” he asked, disbelievingly.
 
The face of the dark-haired elf immediately lit up in a relieved smile, and he came to sit on Aragorn’s bedside. “Welcome back, little brother,” he said. “I have missed you. You could have chosen a less dramatic entrance, you know?”
 
The face of the elf showed lines of worry and fear that Aragorn did not remember seeing there before. It was obvious that he had caused his brother pain. Something bad must have happened to him. His memory stirred, and something in him screamed for attention.
 
“I have missed you, too,” he answered softly, while he was still trying to sort out the bits and pieces of broken memories in his head.
 
Rivendell. He should not be in Rivendell. Elrond. And then suddenly everything fell into place. “Legolas!”
 
He bolted upright, but Elladan immediately grabbed his shoulders and gently pushed him back again. “Easy, Estel,” he chided gently. “Take it easy. You were nearly dead when they found you.”
 
“Legolas?” Aragorn asked again, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer or run from it. Fear turned his stomach into tight knots as he remembered the last time he had seen his friend, and grief threatened to tear his heart in two. Who had found them, and when? Legolas… Had he already been… dead? He slowly looked up at his brother, fearing what he would see in the other’s gaze.
 
Elladan hesitated, and Aragorn felt his world start crumbling around him. Then there was a light touch on his arm. “I am sorry,” Elladan said, searching his gaze and holding it. “I did not want to scare you. Legolas is here, right in the next room.”
 
Aragorn looked at him apprehensively, not able to ask anew.
 
“He is alive, Estel,” Elladan added with a soft smile, seeing that Aragorn needed to be reassured. “He was on the brink of death for quite some time, and he has yet to regain consciousness, but he is alive.”
 
Aragorn was suddenly glad that he was still lying down. The relief that washed over him with hearing those words was so strong that he was not sure whether he would have been able to remain upright anyway. He remembered Legolas’ closed eyes, his still face… He was sure that these memories would haunt him for a long time to come, if he would ever be able to forget them.
 
He was still unable to shake the image of his dying friend from his mind, and suddenly he knew that he needed to see Legolas for himself. He sat up again, looking at Elladan warningly to forestall any attempt to keep him back. “I need to see him,” he said simply.
 
Elladan did not look too happy, but he nodded reluctantly. “As long as you dress in something warm,” he said. “You were nearly frozen when they brought you here.”
 
Aragorn nodded, shoved the blankets aside and placed his feet on the floor. Slowly, he rose. There was a short bout of dizziness, and he felt a bit weak, but all in all he felt well. Wordlessly he donned the additional clothes that Elladan handed him, and then he walked over to the door without hesitation, impatient to see his friend.
 
Legolas’ usual room was right beside his own, and there was a connecting door between the rooms that now stood wide open. Obviously someone had anticipated that he would want to see his friend immediately. He paused in the doorway for a moment, his eyes fixed on the still figure on the bed. The pale face woke too many memories, and for a moment he was afraid to go on.
 
Then he felt Elladan’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “It is alright, Estel, he is only sleeping,” he said, and Aragorn was grateful for the understanding in his brother’s voice.
 
He stepped forward, slowly walking into the room until he stood at Legolas’ bedside. For a while, he simply looked down at his friend. Legolas’ eyes were still closed, which sent another pang of fear through him, but now he could see that his friend’s face had regained some colour, and his breathing was deep and regular.
 
He sat down on the bedside, lightly touching one of Legolas’ hands. It was warm. Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief and felt himself slowly relax. There was no doubt that Legolas was very much alive. Legolas had about as many blankets heaped on him as Aragorn had had, and the man lifted them gently to get a look at the elf’s wounds.
 
Legolas’ light sleeping tunic was half open, and he could see that the body beneath was wrapped in bandages. Satisfied, Aragorn covered his friend with the blankets again and tucked them back in around him. Elladan had come to stand beside him, watching both him and Legolas.
 
“How are his wounds?” Aragorn asked softly.
 
“Healing well,” the elf answered. “Though I did not think anyone could survive through this when I first saw him.” He saw Aragorn’s curious glance and realized that the man still did not know how they had been saved.
 
“When he saw the signs of a heavy snowfall in the mountains, Halbarad decided to follow you. Luckily he met Glorfindel and Elrond and an escort of elves who had set out from Rivendell to find you.”
 
“They were looking for me?” Aragorn asked, stunned.
 
“Yes,” Elladan answered. “We had seen the signs that the winter would be long and hard, and we did not even know if you and the rangers had the necessary supplies. It was father’s decision to look for you, and he left Elrohir and me behind to guard Rivendell. I do not know if foresight had anything to do with it, but it might very well be the case, as I dare say none of you would have survived otherwise.”
 
“So… Elrond really led them?” the ranger asked, still not able to fully understand what he was told.
 
“Yes, he did,” Elladan replied patiently, understanding only too well why this was so important for Aragorn. Halbarad had decided to tell them everything, hoping that he would help his leader by doing so, and not do greater harm.
 
“Halbarad told you…?” the man asked softly.
 
Elladan simply nodded. “When they heard what had happened, father and Glorfindel immediately decided to go after you. As elves, they were not hindered by the snow. It took them a while to find you, but as you can see, they finally succeeded. At that time, Legolas was already well on his way to the Halls of Mandos, and you would not have survived much longer than nightfall. Father needed all of his skill to keep Legolas alive until they reached Rivendell, while Glorfindel was taking care of you. You needed nothing but warmth, but Legolas… We had to fight for his life for two days.”
 
Aragorn looked both shaken and relieved, his gaze fixed on the face of his peacefully slumbering friend. “It was my fault, Elladan,” he said quietly.
 
Elladan said down beside him, hearing the distress in his brother’s voice. “You could also say it was father’s fault,” he answered thoughtfully. “Or mine. Or Elrohir’s. I am quite sure Legolas would tell you it was his fault.”
 
Aragorn could not help smiling. “He did tell me,” he replied. “He was awake for a while after I had brought him to the cave. When I found him-“ He shook his head, looking down at his friend to calm himself. “I thought he was dead,” he whispered.
 
Elladan put an arm around his shoulders, and the man smiled gratefully. “He had run into some orcs. He had managed to kill them all, but they had slain his horse and wounded him grievously. When I found him he had been lying there in the snow for who knows how long. He was barely alive. I carried him into the cave and tended to him, and after a while he regained consciousness.”
 
“So you had time to talk?” Elladan asked.
 
Aragorn nodded. “He forgave me, though I really don’t know why. Then, in the night, one of the wounds got infected and he was burning with fever for a while. That drained the last of his strength. In the morning I discovered we were snowed in. The last thing I remember is that Legolas was dying…” He trailed off, the memories still too painful to put them in into words.
 
“It is over now,” Elladan reminded him gently.
 
Aragorn smiled back at him. “I cannot believe that I am here again. I have missed my family.”
 
“You have been missed, too,” a voice behind them said.
 
Aragorn stiffened. He rose and turned slowly. Elrond was standing in the doorway, looking at him. Finding no traces of anger or bitterness on the elf’s face, the man allowed himself to relax. “Thank you,” he said, heartfelt gratitude in his eyes. “For saving our lives.”
 
Elrond walked into the room until he came to stand directly in front of Aragorn. “Foolish child,” he spoke softly to the human. “I may not be happy to lose my daughter, but do you really think it would make me happier to lose a son instead?”
 
Aragorn looked at him, completely bewildered, and in the next moment he found himself enfolded in a tight embrace. After some seconds, he hugged his father back just as tightly.
 
“I am sorry,” Elrond said softly. “I did not want for any of this to happen, and it was never my wish to hurt you.”
 
“I know,” Aragorn murmured, and in that moment he did. “I am sorry, too. As you said, I was foolish.”
 
“I told you so, you know,” a sleepy voice spoke up behind them.
 
Aragorn tensed, then he whirled around and met the gaze of two slightly drowsy blue eyes that he had never expected to look at him again in this life. Legolas smiled softly, and Aragorn sat down beside him, feeling joy and relief well up inside of him. He looked into the face in front of him for a long time, then he leaned down and carefully hugged the elf.
 
“I should have listened,” he said softly. And then whispered into one pointed ear: “You scared me so much.”
 
“I know,” Legolas answered quietly, holding the human close for a moment. Aragorn smiled into his shoulder, rejoicing in the fact that the terrible weakness had finally left his friend.
 
Then the human straightened slowly and looked down at his friend, watching him closely. “How do you feel?” he asked, not even trying to hide the concern in his voice.
 
“Better,” the elf answered with a smile. “Much better.”
 
Suddenly Aragorn became aware that he was home, that the friend he had believed to be dead was alive and would recover, and that the family he had believed to be lost to him still loved him. Once again, he felt humbled, and immeasurably grateful. He felt Legolas’ gaze on him, and knew that the elf was reading his thoughts. When he looked down, Legolas had turned his head and was looking out of the window. Aragorn followed his gaze and saw that it had started to snow.
 
 
 
- The End -