Title: Despair
Series: Book of Days (basically, it's a series of missing moments. Little scenes between Aragorn and Legolas that will take place throughout the trilogy – please read author's note (2) for more info.)
Author: Erika
Rating: PG
Summary: Legolas despairs over hopeless odds.
Timeframe: Takes place before the battle of Helm's Deep.
Spoilers: For TTT, if you haven't seen it yet.
Category: Angst, H/C, POV.
Disclaimers: It would make me the happiest person in the world to be able to truthfully say that Aragorn and Legolas belong to me, but alas, it is not so. I make no money from this, and it is written (against my will) for entertainment purposes only.
Feedback: Both positive feedback and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated and will be cherished!
Archive: Please ask and send me a link to your site so that I can check it out. D
Author's Note: (1) It's been a few years since I last read the LOTR in its entirety so these missing moments are basically based on the movies. I apologize in advance if I contradict anything that's stated in the books; any mistakes are purely accidental. (2) So far, this series consists of the following stories: "A Light in the Darkness", "A Friend Such As You", "Darkness", "The Comfort of Listening", "There is Always Hope", "Fall of a Friend", and "Despair."
Legolas:
An unnatural hush had fallen over Helm's Deep. King Theoden's men rushed forward in a torrent of battle preparations but their manner was subdued, cowed. They knew that they did not face a great battle, but a massacre. Rohan did not have enough warriors to defend itself and in an act of desperation, the king had called for every able-bodied man and boy to be armed and made ready to fight. His people obeyed because he was their king and he commanded their loyalty but they knew that it was hopeless. They knew that they would all die.
I followed Aragorn and Gimli into one of the fortress' many small armories, where swords were being handed out to a long procession of old men and young boys. Each took the proffered weapon without comment, but I could see how their hands shook as they clumsily tested the grip of their blade. Most had never before held a sword or chanced to use one for more than sport. They knew not how to defend themselves. They were marching to their doom.
Coldness chilled my heart; my chest ached with a faint pain that could not be subdued. This was sickening! The elderly were supposed to die surrounded by their friends and loved ones. The young were supposed to enjoy the mirth of childhood and grow into adulthood. They were not supposed to be skewered by swords and spears or be riddled with arrows. They were not supposed to fall like this!
To a woodland elf, nothing was more precious than life. Trees were sacred to us. Animals were equally valued. When we took the life of a lympthas beast, we thanked the fleeing spirit of the magnificent creature for sacrificing itself and providing sustenance for our kin. Whenever we feasted on the meat of an animal, we uttered a silent prayer for it, hoping its spirit would find peace in whatever halls awaited it after death. There was no greater tragedy than losing one of our own. If an elf died, funeral marches would be held every night and mourning songs would be sung every day at dawn for a week following the heartrending event.
It was only out of necessity that we had learned to be warriors. Our keen eyes, strength, and fast reflexes made us exceptionally skilled fighters; being naturally passionate at heart, we tended to enjoy the intensity of battle but we lamented the need to take life. In the beginning, we recoiled from killing even orcs, but as the centuries passed and we saw that they knew only bloodlust and hate, we became able to strike them down without grief. Perhaps it was shameful, but I myself nearly rejoiced when I succeeded in ridding the world of another parasitic orc or uruk-hai.
Humans were not orcs or uruk-hai, though. In my long life I had had little contact with Aragorn's kin but perhaps due to my friendship with him, I respected them. I did not, as many of my people did, regard them as weak and untrustworthy. I could not think of the looming battle, of all the men that would die this night, without feeling my heart weep.
This battle promised nothing but death and destruction and that knowledge blackened my soul. So many people would fall tonight. So much life would be lost. It was terrible to think about…painful. But what truly caused despair to pool deep within me was the knowledge that this was only the beginning. When Helm's Deep fell, the rest of Rohan would soon follow. Without Rohan, what chance did Gondor have? Saruman was striking a deadly blow tonight. Against his web of darkness, the world of men would crumble.
I still had hope for Frodo and Sam. Their journey was treacherous but Frodo was strong and Sam was admirably loyal. I had to believe they would succeed. But… What would be left by the time Frodo destroyed the Ring? How many people would perish before Sauron was destroyed? How much would Middle Earth lose? At what cost would victory be achieved?
I looked at the men and boys that filled the armory. They would all lie dead tonight. How many more would soon follow them? How many would fall to this evil? How much would be destroyed?
"Farmers, farriers, stable boys. These are no soldiers," Aragorn interrupted my thoughts, his voice weary and tinged with regret.
"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli lamented sorrowfully.
Misery swelled within me. "Or too few," I agreed, sounding unreservedly bitter. My eyes fell on an old man with a bandaged head. Blood stained the dirty white cloth. Fear filled his eyes and marred his gait. Fear and death filled the eyes of all these men, flooding Helm's Deep with a reeking anguish.
This fortress would soon be a graveyard!
Something broke within me. My last frayed piece of restraint shattered in an explosion of desperate anger. "Look at them," I shot a derisive glance at the doomed men. "They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes."
Aragorn turned to look at me, his face reflecting his surprise at my uncharacteristic outburst. Silence fell upon the room, my voice having carried farther than I intended. Now bearing the scrutiny of all the men in the armory, I switched to elvish so they might not understand. "And they should be," I continued, my despondency growing with each word I uttered, "Three hundred…against ten thousand!?"
I did not know why I was saying this. Aragorn had made his decision, as had King Theoden. Our course was already set. This outburst would change nothing. I knew that, yet I could no longer keep this suppressed. Could not stop my words even though they would accomplish nothing.
He glanced momentarily at the surrounding men. When he returned his gaze to me, I could read the sorrowful pain in his eyes. "They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras," he tried in vain to placate me. He didn't want to fight me. Things were already bleak enough; he wanted me on his side.
"Aragorn, they cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!" I could not stop my tone from rising in desperation.
"Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn retorted, anger and frustration strengthening his words as he advanced to stand before me. His eyes were wide and swirling with emotion. In his unfaltering gaze I was confronted with many things, including a surprising newfound devotion to his own people. Hope and fear battled each other for domination, darkening the blue pools. Disbelief that I would fling these concerns at him in front of people who already lacked hope also filled those avid depths. What was perhaps most obvious was the hurt. I had so often vowed that I would stand beside him, even unto death. Now, he thought I was ripping my loyalty and support from him at a time when he needed them the most.
Aragorn glanced away from me, looked back into my eyes for another brief moment, and then turned to leave the room. When I made as if to follow him, Gimli grabbed my arm and said: "Let him go, lad. Let him be."
Sighing, I nodded.
I looked around. The men were still watching me. They had only understood the first and last part of the conversation and they seemed uncertain and confused. The fear I had seen in their eyes had deepened and… I swallowed thickly. I had robbed them of what little hope they had. In venting my despair, I had increased theirs.
Shamed, I turned and walked from the armory.
The energy seemed to have drained from me. Without thought or reason, I found myself listlessly wandering through Helm's Deep. All the villagers had been armed. Those that knew something of fighting were instructing others. Groups of men were being told to take position along the outer or inner walls. Everyone would be ready by the time the army arrived, for all the good it would do.
We would fight. The soldiers and villagers would fight. Aragorn and Gimli would fight. I would fight. For as long and as hard as I could. In the end, it would not matter though. We would all die. By sunrise, our corpses would lay scattered across the fortress. There would be so much death.
So much death.
"Move to the outer wall!" I heard someone shout out a command.
I lifted my gaze to the abnormally quiet commotion that surrounded me. My eyes immediately settled on Aragorn. He was sitting on some steps that afforded him a perfect view of the battle preparations but he was not watching them. He was troubled. Calm, but troubled. I fervently wished there was something I could do to ease his mind but there was nothing I could do to ease mine. Besides, I had already done him great harm, for I could see now that I had diminished his spirits as well. He still had his hope but it was a fool's hope and he knew it. Knew it more keenly due to my outburst. He now felt as if he was going into this battle without my support, which subdued him. I had taken from him the assurance that I would always be there, even in darkness.
Aragorn scanned his surroundings. His eyes focused on something to his left and a flurry of unidentifiable emotions passed over his face. In less than an instant, he seemed to dismiss any thoughts of possible failure from his mind and his eyes blazed with newfound certainty. I could not say precisely what transformation Aragorn had undergone, or why, but I knew he had found a reason to believe that this night would not end in disaster.
I followed his gaze. Standing a short distance away from him was a young boy who looked lost amidst the flurry of action. The child held a sword but it was obvious he did not have any skill with a blade. He was examining it uncertainly and he kept looking around, hoping that someone would help him.
"Give me your sword," Aragorn said to him. I could barely make out his words over the constant din of other voices but with some effort I focused on my friend and the boy.
The child looked at Aragorn. He hesitated momentarily before ambling towards my friend and handing over his blade.
Aragorn took the weapon, "What is your name?"
"Haleth, son of Háma, my lord," he paused, "The men are saying we will not live out the night. They say that it is hopeless." His voice was small and morose. He sought reassurance.
Aragorn regarded the boy thoughtfully. Then he stood and gave the blade a terse examination. Slashing it in rapid figure eights, he tested its strength and balance. Seemingly satisfied, he closed the distance between the boy and him. "This is a good sword, Haleth, son of Háma," he told him.
Haleth took the sword back and gazed at it desolately.
Leaning over, Aragorn placed a hand on Haleth's shoulder. He waited for the boy to look at him before he continued compassionately, with real fervor. "There is always hope."
Haleth gave my friend a timid smile, which Aragorn returned.
When Aragorn straightened, his eyes immediately found mine across the crowd. He didn't nod or make any movement, but his intense gaze held me motionless. I realized, then, that Aragorn had been aware of my presence and that his words had been as much for my benefit as they had been for the boy's. He seemed to silently be reminding me that each time things had seemed hopeless we had somehow prevailed. That if we had given up hope all those times we had faced innumerable odds, we would not have succeeded in making it this far; that Aragorn would not have led us here if he thought we had no chance whatsoever. There was also another reminder in his eyes. Many times throughout this long journey one of us had lost hope and the other had always been there to give that hope back. It was no different now.
Before I could acknowledge Aragorn, he turned and briskly walked up the steps he had been sitting on moments earlier.
Automatically, I followed.
The chances of our success tonight were slim. We were outnumbered and the villagers had little to no fighting experience. However, to give up what little hope we had left was folly. I had forced myself to not give up hope for Frodo and Sam because I had realized the futility of such an action. I could do no less now. To give up hope would doom us to failure. Without hope, we had no chance. Without hope, we would seal our own fate.
Perhaps we all would die tonight, but we would die fighting for all that was good in this world. We would die for our families, for our friends. Or, perhaps we would live, live to fight another day. Live to see the destruction of the Ring and the defeat of Sauron. Live to see the world we loved saved from this darkness. And that was something worth hoping for, worth fighting for. Even if it was a fool's hope and a fool's fight.
I took a deep breath. I had much to apologize for. I had trivialized the villagers' efforts and destroyed the remaining tatters of their hope. I had hurt Aragorn by breaking my vow to stand by him through fire and through darkness. Though, even if I had made no such vow, I owed it to Aragorn to lend him my support in this time of trial. These were, after all, his people that were risking their lives, not mine. It was men that stood on the brink of destruction, not elves. No matter what fate befell Middle Earth, I at least knew that my people would live on. Aragorn had no such comfort. He did not need me adding weight to the burdens and worries he bore.
Following Aragorn into the now-empty armory, I found him preparing for battle. Grabbing a belt with a dagger attached to it, he tightened and fastened it around his waist. He then proceeded to knot the ties of his outer tunic. Seeing that his sword was the only thing that remained on the table, I swiftly grabbed it while Aragorn was distracted.
Unaware of my presence or my intrusion, Aragorn reached for his blade and was momentarily taken aback to find it missing. When he looked up at me, I held the weapon out to him.
Taking the sword, Aragorn offered me a small, half smile and nodded his thanks.
"We have trusted you this far, you have not led us astray," I began meaningfully as Aragorn gave a slight shake of his head. He knew an apology was forthcoming and was telling me it was unnecessary. I, however, could not leave this unspoken. "Forgive me," I beseeched, knowing by the kindness of his eyes that forgiveness and understanding had already been granted, "I was wrong to despair."
Aragorn shook his head again. "There is nothing to forgive, Legolas," he assured me in the harmonious tones of elvish. He gripped my shoulder reassuringly and I returned the gesture. For a moment, we allowed the contact to continue, each taking comfort in the other's presence, but then I stepped back, knowing I had more to ask forgiveness for. Aragorn had discovered or rediscovered his own reasons to maintain hope but I could not forget that I had temporarily added to his downtroddeness.
"I am pleased we are not going into battle with harsh words hanging between us." He seemed as if he would say more but he must have seen something in my eyes for he asked, "What is it?"
I swallowed a flutter of nervousness. "In Lothlorien I vowed that you would never walk alone. Yet, today, I stood against you."
Aragorn held up a hand to silence me. "You did not stand against me, Legolas. You simply–"
"No," I interrupted him, "I did stand against you. You have my love, Aragorn, and thus command my loyalty. It is my chosen duty as a friend to stand by you, to always stand by you. I support you when you falter, strengthen you when you are weak. Today, I increased your turmoil when already you suffered. That was unforgivable and I am sorry. I now renew the vow I made in Lothlorien." I took his hand in mine. "Aragorn, you will never walk alone. I will follow you, even unto death."
Aragorn's face softened and his eyes overflowed with emotion. "I do not know what I have done to deserve a friend such as you," his voice shook, "but words do not exist that can accurately describe my gratitude."
Smiling, he hugged me.
I returned the embrace. Aragorn did not seem to realize that what I gave him paled in comparison to what he had already given me. From the day we had first met, he had granted me light, comfort, and understanding. No matter what oaths or pledges I took, nothing could repay him for his kindness. "Nor mine to you, Aragorn," I answered, "Nor mine to you."
THE END