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
 
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“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…
 
 
 
 
 
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A/N: The song “Do not stand at my grave and weep” is actually no song but an old Irish Blessing.