Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

PART 2: Aragorn

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CHAPTER 3: Estel

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      Aragorn sat on the porch of the wooden house, looking out at the rain as it fell endlessly upon the grounds.  He had settled Legolas in bed some time ago; perhaps it's been minutes since, maybe hours, maybe even days.  One could not tell the time in this cursed weather, when all was constantly gray and dark.

      Aragorn watched as his Captain sauntered over to him, bowing his head tentatively, as if asking for permission to interrupt the King's thoughts.

      "Get out of the rain, Rosio," Aragorn said wearily, "Sit by me.  You seem to have something on your mind."

      "The men and the horses are well rested, sire," Rosio said, sitting an arm away from the King, "I was wondering why we have not yet departed for Gondor.  After such a rest, this storm is one we can surely weather the rest of the way."

      Aragorn chewed the inside of his cheek.  "The host is an old friend of mine," Aragorn said, "This is a welcome respite from all my duties."

      "Of course," said Rosio quickly, "I apologize for being impatient."

      Aragorn shook his head to dismiss the apology.  Distractedly, he drummed his fingers together.

      "If I may ask," said Rosio, "Something seems to be bothering you, sire?"

      Aragorn paused, hesitating.  For a breath he considered not answering, and yet… His burden was great, and even the best of Kings often seek counsel. 

      "The children will lose their father soon," he said at last, "Our host here may seem an ordinary man to you, but he has saved my life, and played a pivotal part in the saving of Middle-Earth as well, one you could not possibly imagine.  We have been through much together.  He has the composure and wisdom of an elf, the iron will of a dwarf, the passions of a human, and the affable charm of a hobbit."  

      "That's saying a lot," Rosio said, not knowing what else to say, really, "I've come across a hobbit or two, myself."

      "He has given me his life," Aragorn said, "I think I could give him a few days of mine."

      "That soon, sire?" Rosio asked, glancing at the barn as if the children would soon emerge out of it.

      "That soon," Aragorn replied quietly, knowing with his healer's heart, "He does not have much time."

      "And what of the children?" inquired Rosio.

      "I do not know what to tell them," Aragorn admitted, "Though I have a feeling young Mattheas already knows.  And I do not know what my friend would ask of me regarding their future.  I do not know… much at all."

      --

      "You've never led us astray," Rosio said quietly, "I'm sure this you will handle with as much care and grace, and success."

      Aragorn smiled a little, "He once said something like that to me."

      The two men looked up at the barn, from which Mattheas had emerged, wearing his coat.  He walked towards them with his young head held high, his strides wide and sure. 

      "Good morning," he said, nodding to them regally.

      "Mattheas," Aragorn greeted, nodding back.  Rosio took this as an opportune time to leave.  Murmuring his excuses, he walked away.

      Mattheas glanced at the captain suspiciously, then looked at Aragorn with some hesitation.  His burning eyes bored through Aragorn's, searching the King's face.  He was inhumanly, beyond- elfishly, unearthly perceptive.

      "Papa has returned from his hunt?" he asked, warily sitting beside Aragorn.

      "Yes," Aragorn replied, watching the young boy who had kept his distance.

      "I clean the game everyday," Mattheas said, "And Adrianna cooks.  Mama… she used to spend the mornings in her cabin, and she would work.  Her pieces are the best in the land."

      "I assumed as much," Aragorn said, letting the young boy rant.

      ~Adrianna has taken a liking to one of your soldiers,~ Mattheas said, shifting topics as he shifted to Elvish, watching Aragorn's face closely, ~Though he looks at her as if she would suddenly sprout three heads and kill him.~

      ~He has a suspicious nature,~ Aragorn affirmed.

      "I wondered why you looked so amused when I spoke to father in this tongue," Mattheas said, shifting languages again, "Why does my father know Elvish? Why do you? Why does he go by different names? What does my father have to do with the King?"

      "We both share a past with the Elves," replied Aragorn cautiously, "The story is very long, one day we will find the time to speak of it."

      One day, you'll know how much I owe you, Aragorn promised silently, One day, you will know how much I've taken from you and your sister.  These debts I hope I will be able to repay…

      The boy was patient enough to let it rest.  He gathered his feet, and rose to do his chores.

      Aragorn grabbed his farm, willing him to stay for a moment.

      "I have something to tell you," Aragorn said quietly.

      --

      "You needn't," Mattheas said levelly, "I know it already.  I've known for awhile."

      Aragorn looked at him intently, said nothing.

      "You shouldn't have to fear for us," Mattheas said, his fierce pride and strength reminding Aragorn of Legolas's, "I am strong, as is Adrianna.  And we can look after each other."

      Aragorn released his arm, and let him attend to his chores.  The son was much like his father Legolas in this respect as well; both hid from his pain and fragility through his work, as if his pains would forget him, if he forgot them.

* * *

      The blood had unmasked him.  It's as if the assuring lies where the fragile strings that held the façade together.  Time was moving more quickly now, his passing more sure and swift.

      Aragorn watched as Legolas caught his breath after a coughing fit.  He dreaded the time when at last his friend would have no breath to catch, and those burning eyes would close at last…

      "Don't look at me like that," Legolas chastised him, a smile teasing his lips.  Swathed in blankets upon his bed, he was pallid and thin, and… and… wasting away.  He leaned against the pillows upon the headrest, looking as if he would fall without their support, his shoulders sagging.  But his eyes still held a mischievous fire, and Aragorn clung to it like a man in a desert savoring the last drops of the rain.

      "I never thought you would…" Aragorn bit back the word die, "… pass… before I."

      Legolas smiled.  "Neither did I.  This is a strange life indeed."

      Aragorn let the silence hang for a moment, weighing his words.  "When you were practically immortal, how were you able to cope with the knowledge that you would outlive us all, that you would see us all die, and that you would be the only one left? This… loss is acute."

      "I've lived thousands of years," Legolas replied thoughtfully, "A lot of people have come and have gone, passing me by, leaving me.  To have such an immortality was a blessing, and a curse.  Either way, it was a reality I could not escape.  I made new friends since, and if they died, I could make others."

      "But people are not replaceable," Aragorn pointed out.

      "I never replaced anyone," Legolas said, "I let their memories enrich me.  I let them live through me."

      --

      Aragorn stared at his friend, nodded in understanding.

      --

      "Estel…" Legolas mused, cleared his throat, "You could not have been given a better name.  Or perhaps… no man could have given that name a better truth, than you."

      Aragorn's brows furrowed in confusion, and he was about to ask what Legolas meant when Mattheas appeared by the door of the room.

      ~How are you feeling, Papa?~ he asked quietly.

      Legolas flashed his son a smile, and the boy stepped forward.

      ~Adrianna cooked,~ Mattheas said, ~She will bring your food here, since you should not be getting up.~

      Legolas opened his mouth to say something, and instead turned his head away from his son and coughed into his hand.  It racked him, and shook him as if it would finish him, and Mattheas stood by uncertainly, glancing towards Aragorn for a course of action that he could not provide.

      After a few moments, Legolas leaned his head back against the pillows, catching his breath and closing his eyes.  Blood streaked his hands, and an unnoticed stream trailed down the side of his mouth.

      "Papa…" Mattheas whispered uncertainly.

      Legolas tried to calm him, making placating gestures with his hands, as if he could not find his voice.  But he did not even regain his wind before another fit shook him, and it seemed to go on for a minor eternity.

      Suddenly afraid, Mattheas took a step back, his usually brave, sure eyes clouding.  He watched his father struggle for his life, the dry coughs draining him, his blood running.  At last he stilled again, and leaned his head against the pillows, his eyes clenched tight, his mouth open and gasping for air.

      Aragorn felt as if his own heart was pounding wildly, as if the room was getting smaller, as if he himself did not have enough air to breathe.  This was too much.  This was not the way of things.  This was like a punishment for a man who deserved only rewards.  It did not make sense.  Aragorn's helplessness and longing was so potent that it filled the room, stifled it.  He wanted to leave; he did not want Legolas to feel such enormous regret and loss in his last moments and yet his feet were mounted on the ground.

      "Papa," Mattheas said, breaking the silence that was peppered only by his father's ragged breathing, "Let me hold you."

      Legolas's breath caught, and he opened his eyes, looking at his son with such fierce longing.  "You musn't."

      "I give you my word I will not get sick," Mattheas promised, his eyes afire, "If you wish, I will bathe right after, to be rid of the infection.  But let me hold you."

      Legolas's eyes glistened, "Only if you bathe right after—"

      Mattheas did not even wait for his father to finish.  He stepped forward and encased his father in a hug.  Aragorn watched as Legolas held fast to his son, his arms encircling the young boy, smelling his hair, closing his eyes in such great appreciation.  Crystal tears, sparkling like the jewels that they were, leaked from the corner of his closed eyes, and father and son held each other for a minor eternity.

      "Not fair!" Adrianna's voice came from the door.  Hurriedly, she passed the steaming broth she was holding to Aragorn's hands, and jumped into the bed and let her short arms encircle her family.  Legolas let out a short laugh, bringing his children against him in great delight. 

      The two children languished in their father's embrace, and Aragorn's heart warmed as he watched them.  Though it would surely not last for long, it had already made an imprint in eternity.  The memory had burned into Aragorn's heart, and surely the children's, and it filled them, enriched them.  Legolas had given up his life, yes, but not his immortality.

      Legolas pursed his lips and turned his head away from his children, giving them a tight squeeze before he released them.  His breath caught, and Aragorn knew the time was up.

      Putting the broth down on an old night table, Aragorn stepped forward and pulled the children away, who hesitantly let him.  It was only then that Legolas let his body be taken over by another shattering coughing fit.

      "Bath," he said to his children between coughs.

      Adrianna scrunched her nose, sniffed away her tears, "No one said anything about a bath."

      "Come along," Mattheas said in consternation, rolling his eyes, which were still watery, although he forced his voice to be strong.  He took his younger sister by the forearm and pulled her out of the room with him.

      Aragorn settled on the old chair, and pulled it closer to the bed as he let Legolas recover from the fit.

      "What?' Legolas asked him wearily, tired eyes still teasing, "You want to hug me as well?"

      "Yes," Aragorn said with a smile, his eyes glistening, "But I don't want to take a bath."

      "Well then you won't get one," Legolas said, grinning.

      The two friends fell into a comfortable silence, that was only filled by Legolas's hitched breathing.

      "You fill me with hope, Aragorn," Legolas said softly, "This time, you are not late in coming at all."

      "Late?" Aragorn inquired.

      "At first, I did not want to fall beneath your watchful, mourning eyes," Legolas said, "But then you came, and I'm leaving, and… things feel as if they are falling into place."

      "I don't understand," Aragorn admitted.

      "You've come in good time.  Now I can pass, knowing that my children will not only be taken care of," said Legolas, "but be looked after by the best household in all the kingdoms.  Your household.  Your hands, where they can only grow to be as good as you."

      "You give me too much credit," Aragorn said, wincing, "Legolas… If I could give you my life…"

      "I do not need you to die for me," Legolas told him, "I need you to live for me.  Look after my children."

      "I've robbed them of their father," Aragorn said bitterly, "Why must things come to pass this way?"

      "You live in these regrets which you do not deserve, my friend," Legolas coughed, "Do not.  It's not you.  You burn in the dark, Aragorn.  You shine like a beacon.  You always have.  You are a King, more than your blood, more than your name.  It is your spirit.  You have graced the land with it, as if it was so easy, as if it simply overflowed.  You have shared it with me, and when I gave you my life, it was only because you deserved nothing less.  Give some of that light to my children."

      Aragorn did not know what to say to that.

      "On your way home to Gondor," Legolas murmured, his eyes starting to cloud, "pass by the grave to the Lunaris, and lay upon them a lavender bloom from my yard of flowers.  It is a promise I never found the time to redeem… Do you know where this grave is?"

      "No," replied Aragorn, "But I have a man in my squad who most certainly does.  I will redeem your word for you." 

      And I will be a father to your children for you, Aragorn promised silently, I will tell them stories at night that stirred their blood.  They will never find me lacking.  Because you live in me.

      "Thank you," Legolas whispered.

      "Good night, my friend," Aragorn said to him, as he fell to a deep sleep.

      "Thank you," Legolas said again, and it was the last thing that he would ever say.

* * *

      He fell into a deep sleep from which he never woke.  Through the night and to the next day, he slept.  His coughing had eased, as if his body no longer had the strength to even try and rid itself of its demons.  By the afternoon, his breath gradually slowed, until there was none.

      His chest rose, then fell, and stilled completely, just as the storm clouds slipped from the horizon.  The rains have stopped, clearing the darkness just long enough to show a wild sunset through his bedroom window, its tempestuous streaks of red, gold, amber and violet streaking across the skies as it boldly defied the end of the day, sinking beyond the horizon over the thrashing sea.

* * *

      The children said that surely, their Papa would want to be buried next to their mother, near the back of the house.  Aragorn could not deny them, nor Legolas, this wish.  His friend had said that all of his longings have come to rest here, and therefore, so too, shall his body.

      They laid him to the ground, and spent the night in the house.  By the next morning, bearing the purple flowers, Aragorn had asked Diego to lead the way towards the grave of the Lunaris.

      "But sire," he had said, "the spirits there would hardly welcome a Lumenari."

      "Something tells me," Aragorn said to him cryptically, "That you would be most welcome this time."

      A few minutes later, he had asked Adrianna with whom she wanted to ride with on their way to their new home, and she said, without a doubt, she wanted to ride with Diego.

      Diego's face had been a mixture of pleasure, flattery, despair and panic.  And yet he assisted her with such care, that Aragorn found himself smiling for the first time since Legolas died, as he watched his friend's daughter charm her way into another heart.

      Mattheas rode with Aragorn, the young boy strong and silent and solitary as he always was, although once in awhile, he would look up at his new guardian and smile tentatively, asking quick questions about horses and arrows, and elves and dwarves, and strange adventures.

      And life moved along as it was wont to, with blood and tears, and laughter, and legends, and memories.

THE END

September 10, 2003

SOME IMPORTANT NOTES:

sorry for any inconsistencies, especially with characterization.  I feared for over-dramatizing, but I did not make the characters say anything that I felt awkward about so I hope you guys didn't mind :) I want to say a big massive thanks to the reviewers.  You're the reason why I want my work to be the best that I can possibly make it :) On the original characters: I took time thinking about their names, because I wanted them to sound as if they were part of this universe.  Also, I introduced an original character who had a romance with Legolas.  I did not delve into how their relationship developed because first, the story was never about that aspect, and romance was not my intended genre.  Secondly, I used it as a literary tool; I wanted us to feel how Aragorn felt in the story, that this woman was a stranger, we just had to take our friend's word that she was a good person.  As for the children, I worked hard in trying to make them likeable, so I hope that came across :) On the title: well the fic is all about hope.  The story began with hope (Legolas's finding a cure for Aragorn) and it ended with hope (Aragorn finding it even in death).  I didn't want to entitle it outwardly as "Hope", so I used "Estel," which means the same. anyway, thanks for your time and I hope this wasn't too bad :)