Note: I thank all the readers who dropped me a line to let me know they are following this story - that was all I needed, and I will keep it at this site. 

I don't know about you, but I have been waiting a long time for what happens in this chapter...

CHAPTER 24:  FLIGHT OF SHADOWS

“Why are you here, Aragorn? How did we get here?”

As soon as the Ranger had released his friend from his embrace, the questions had come, catching the listener unawares. Despite the darkness of the cave, the look of distress in Legolas’ blue eyes was clear as he voiced the questions feebly. But barely were the queries past the elf’s lips before his breath hitched, his head began to swim and a retching sound escaped his throat.

In an instant, the bowl Aragorn had prepared for this eventuality was in place, and the elf began to retch painfully and uncontrollably, expelling what little was left in his stomach, his hands clutching tightly at his shirt. Aragorn held Legolas’ golden hair back from his face and rubbed his back gently, murmuring soothing sounds.

A movement from the cave entrance caught Aragorn’s attention. “Oy, what’s going on back there?” a sleep-coated voice drawled.

“Nothing, the elf is just emptying his stomach,” Aragorn replied calmly so as not to draw undue attention. “I can take care of it.”

The guards seemed like they could not have cared less if Aragorn had told them the elf had grown another head. They muttered something inaudible and settled down again to sleep, clearly not expecting an unconscious elf to attempt escape, or a healer to do anything but treat wounds.   

When Legolas had finished, he lay on his back again and closed his eyes, clearly spent. Aragorn fetched fresh water and gently cleaned his friend’s face in silence, then propped the golden head up just high enough for the elf to rinse and drink a little.

“Better now?” the healer asked soothingly, and was relieved at the soft ‘yes’ murmured in response.

He took just a few minutes to walk past the sleepy, listless guards and out of the cave to clean the dirty bowl and linen in the rain, and return to Legolas’ side. Peering closely at the elf’s face, he called to him softly, and the look from the blue eyes satisfied him that his friend’s discomfort was much less now. Speaking in whispers, he first warned Legolas that they had to talk discreetly, and then told him briefly where they were and who held them, knowing that the elf was familiar with the name of Sarambaq.

Legolas tried then to ask questions, but Aragorn hushed him, working silently and swiftly to replace the elf’s shirt and leggings that were soaked with sweat expelled by the fevered body as it recovered. At the gentle rebuff, the elf relaxed and complied quietly when the Ranger checked his wound and bruise, and he did not resist when his friend covered him with a blanket and cloak to ward off the chill of the rainy night. But his blue eyes never left the man.

Now, as Aragorn propped him up and offered him more water, the elf stayed his hand. “Estel, you should not be here,” he said, furrowing his brow. “I warned you away… did I not?”

The Ranger did not answer immediately, but laid his friend back down. Aragorn looked away from the blue eyes just long enough to confirm that the guards were either wandering in their dream worlds or too sleepy to care, and lay down again himself, placing his head close to the elf’s so that their whispers would be safely drowned by the loud drone of the rain. 

“Estel, are you all right? Did they…?” Legolas began again.

“Legolas, first tell me how you feel,” the Ranger interrupted, exasperation in his voice.

The elf blinked as he considered the pain in various parts of his body and replied: “I hurt in a number of places, and I feel very tired – and a little dizzy – but that is all.”

Aragorn gave a small snort. “That is all?” he asked, and even in the dark, his friend did not miss the gentle sarcasm in his voice or the incredulous look on his face. “By the Valar, Legolas, you have been slashed by blades, shot full of poison, and kicked in the ribs; you fought a raging fever, and for the better part of yesterday, I was not even sure when I would hear you speak again, that is all!”  

At the confused silence from Legolas, Aragorn sighed and briefly described how he had tracked him, witnessed his fall on the plain, and was now pretending to be Hama the healer in exile from Rohan. He finished his narration by admitting how worried he had been over the wound and the poison. “I think your body has expelled most of the poison now,” he stated hopefully before clearing his throat and adding “although… with all the tea I fed you, I fear you might be visiting the woods often tomorrow to expel more. But at least you’ll be able to walk then, I expect.” He smiled in amusement, imagining his friend’s embarrassment at realizing what Aragorn must have done for him all day. He anticipated the apology on the elf’s lips and shook his head to stop it.

“No burden were you to me, dear friend,” he said warmly, then gently whispered a confession: “but long were the hours of waiting, and for many of them, Legolas, I feared I would lose you.”

The elf looked into the eyes of the Ranger, remembering the agony of his vague, hazy, fevered estrangement from the conscious world. Then he said simply: “I heard your voice.”

Aragorn smiled. “I never stopped calling,” he responded softly, holding his friend’s gaze.

For a few moments, the two friends allowed themselves to reflect on the strength of that bond, their minds touching, needing no words to capture all that their hearts had to say.

Aragorn broke the silence first. “You came back,” he said, “and now that you are awake, my heart is greatly eased, though you are still very weak and will need to rest. I will brook no argument on that score, Elf.”

“And I will offer none, Edain,” Legolas replied with a tired smile.

Aragorn chuckled lightly. “Are you warm enough?” he asked, and was pleased at the nod he received. “Then, if you feel up to talking, I would dearly like to know all that happened since you left Ithilien.”  

The elf seemed reluctant at first, but no longer saw any reason for withholding the information, so he narrated the events of his journey, beginning with a hesitant confession of the intentions that had driven him to make the trip, up to the battle he had fought. At that point, he halted suddenly as he recalled something, looking at Aragorn with wide eyes.

“Aérodel,” he gasped, the memory hurting him. “You saw – ?”

Aragorn pressed a comforting hand to the elf’s shoulder. “I imagine his death was quick, mellon nin, and few horses could be more heroic.”

Legolas sighed and closed his eyes, and the Ranger gave him a few moments of silence, feeling miserable over the revelation he had yet to make to the elf. In addition to the loss of his beloved steed, his friend would soon have to learn the truth about Sarambaq’s intentions.

“Aragorn…” the elf spoke again but faltered, his eyes still closed. The Ranger waited till he was ready to resume. “Aragorn, I could not… I set out to find out more about your foe, but I - I failed to do that, and now, because of me, you are here where you should not be…” His voice trailed off, and Aragorn could hardly hear his final lament: “Why did you come?” 

“You need to ask me that, Legolas? You should know: I came for you.”

“But you should not have. Sarambaq tried to take your son. This place is fraught with danger for you.”

The Ranger sighed sadly, for he knew he could not put off the distressing news any longer. Clearing his throat a little, and keeping his hand on the elf’s shoulder, he ventured nervously: “Legolas, there is something you need to know.”

Something in the Ranger’s tone – heard even above the roar of the rain – sent a small jolt of fear through the elf; he opened his eyes and gazed at Aragorn without blinking. Never releasing his comforting grip on his friend, and feeling more wretched with each word, Aragorn poured out everything that the prisoner in the White City had revealed, about the reason behind the attack on Ithilien and Sarambaq’s true target. As he listened, Legolas’ elvish face tensed first in shock, then hardened in fear and anger, for now he learnt that it was his own father who was in danger. 

“I know not his plans in their entirety, Legolas, but I know he has malice and vengeance in mind,” Aragorn finished, “and so, it is not I, but you who are in danger, my friend.”

The elf’s eyes widened. “Adar! My father, does he…?”

“We sent out riders immediately, both from the City and Ithilien. Your people should reach him in a few days. Your father will be warned.”

“He will come,” the elf said in dismay. “He should not, but he will come.”

“Hamille will try to stop him, Legolas. It is you we should be worried about.”

“I cannot be held here, Aragorn!” the elf said frantically. “I worry not for myself, but for Adar. Sarambaq will lure him here, he – ”

Aragorn hushed him gently, stealing a quick look at the guards. “Peace, Legolas. I understand. That is why we must think of how to prevent that. We have to escape as soon as you are able to ride, though I must confess I know not how or when yet.”

Legolas lapsed into silence again, and all that was heard in the cave was the sound of the rain.

“Ten years,” he mumbled at last, “Ten years of plotting revenge. How it must have eaten at his heart, darkening it.”

Aragorn had no response to that, so he held his tongue. 

“It is no wonder then that I sensed the shadows of Dol Guldur sitting on our prisoner like a dark cloak, and again as I neared this place,” Legolas said in a dejected tone. “Oh, fool was I not to have seen it!”

“None of us knew, Legolas, do not berate yourself so,” Aragorn countered.

The elf merely hissed and turned his face away, and Aragorn allowed him the time he needed to ponder the implications of all that was happening. The Ranger watched the flickering shadows on the cave walls as he waited. But when long moments had passed and still the elf did not speak or turn back to face him, he grew concerned.

“Legolas?” he queried softly, his hand tightening slightly on the shoulder. 

When only silence greeted him, the Ranger’s heart clenched in fear again, and he raised his head while reaching out to turn his friend’s face back in his direction. For a moment, he stopped breathing when he saw that the elven eyes were closed, but exhaled in relief when he saw that the elf had not lost consciousness, for he was biting on his lower lip, holding back his emotions. The fair face was wet and the expression of regret on his face was heartbreaking.

The elf tried to turn his face away again, but Aragorn stopped him gently with a palm against his cheek. The Ranger said nothing, waiting for his friend to swallow what sounded like sobs so that he could speak.

A cough came from the direction of the cave entrance, and Aragorn turned to look at the guards, his body tensing. One of the guards shifted slightly as he readjusted his position against the wall; then his head bowed and he went still again. The Ranger relaxed and turned back to his friend.

“Oh, Eru…” the elf said at last in a low voice that started to shake, and he opened blue eyes glistening with moisture to look at his friend, the remorse in them twisting the Ranger’s heart. “Estel, I am sorry, so sorry.”

Aragorn’s brows knitted in genuine surprise. “For what do you seek forgiveness?”

The anguish in Legolas' voice was palpable as he spoke between uneven breaths. “This evil plan was targeted at me, and at my father. It is bad enough that six of my kin – six good elves – died because of that, because he wanted me. But none of this…” and his voice broke then. “None of this should have touched you or your family. Eldarion… that child was hurt because I was the one being sought.”

“Legolas...”

“Then I came here to seek your foe, but it was mine all along. And now – ”

“Legolas, stop.”

“I should not have come here on my own, and my foolish actions have brought you here into danger.”

“You came to do something for me, Legolas!” Aragorn protested, taking care not to speak too loudly but wishing to emphasize the point. “And do not forget why you even came in the first place. It was because of my harsh words to you in the healing room that night – which is the reason I went to Ithilien to seek you out.”

It was now Legolas who looked surprised and Aragorn who cast his eyes down. “No blame at all should I have laid on you for what happened to Eldarion, my friend. Since that night, every waking minute has been filled with my desire to seek your forgiveness. I went to Ithilien for that purpose.”

“But it turned out that Eldarion did suffer on my account. The dart – ”

“It matters not whom the dart hit,” Aragorn interjected, looking at his friend with wide, firm eyes. “Do you not see, Legolas, even if it had really been meant for Eldarion, that would not change what you did. Even without knowing who the target was, you took care of my son and my wife with everything you had, and you risked your own life. In all of this, it is the vile actions of Sarambaq that are to blame, not you, and the only words that should have reached your ears were my words of gratitude.”

Legolas was silent as he reflected on what Aragorn had said.

Aragorn took the elf’s hand and held it tightly, closing his eyes as he voiced his heartfelt apology. “It was I who spoke foolishly in anger, mellon nin, and to my shame, I was so blind I could not see you were wounded, so that my careless hand added to your pain. I beg you to forgive me.”

“I was distressed,” Legolas said honestly, “but I have not held it against you. I have never held anything against you. Not even your words at Imla – ” he stopped abruptly.

Aragorn furrowed his brows, puzzled. “What words?”

The elf did not answer, but looked away. Aragorn would not accept his mute response.

“What words, Legolas? What did you mean?” he demanded.

“They matter not, Estel.”

“Yes, they do. If you remember them, they must matter. Now, tell me: what words?”

“They are nothing.”

“Legolas, please…”

The elf sighed. The nightmare played in his mind again, and his next words were uttered so softly that Aragorn could not be certain he had heard them: “The folk of Thranduil failed your trust.”

Aragorn was stupefied. “What?...When?”

“At the Council called by Lord Elrond. You said…” the elf paused again, but Aragorn grasped and raised his chin so that their eyes met.

“Saes, Legolas, tell me, please.” Aragorn’s voice was pleading now, disturbed by the shadows flitting across the elvish face, not sure if they were from the light of the feeble torches or from a painful memory.

The elf released everything in a rush. “Gollum had escaped. From our hands. My patrol. When I broke the news at the Council, you said – you asked how the folk of Thranduil came to fail in their trust. I never forgot your words, Aragorn, and now I have failed you again. I lost my prisoner, and you are here where you should not be, embroiled in the troubles of Mirkwood. Because of me.”

The Ranger was dumbfounded as his mind worked furiously to recollect the events of the Council and the verbal exchanges that had taken place. Men and elves and dwarves and hobbits and one irate Istari – they had all learnt of the existence of the One Ring and of the dire threat to Middle-earth, and they had all been faced with dismaying discoveries and hard decisions that brought little hope of salvation. It had been a trying time for all, not the least for him, whose destiny had propelled him into the heart of the peril, and on whose shoulders the future of Men and Middle-earth, in part, rested.

In the greater turmoil surrounding the fate of the free peoples of Middle-earth, the Ranger and the future king of Gondor had not realized what his words – impulsively uttered – had meant to one elf whose people had been charged with a creature they did not love, a creature that played a role they had no knowledge of, in a war they could not foresee. He remembered the words now: as blunt an accusation of failure as there could be.

And Legolas had borne that memory for ten years. Kept it in his elvish mind, yet remained unflinchingly loyal to the one who put it there.

Ten years of unresolved pain had festered into bitter venom for Sarambaq, but such pain could not sully the noble heart of Legolas or overpower the love in it.  

For the second time in less than a day, Aragorn felt humbled. His emotions caught in his throat when he studied the look of hurt on the fair face of his friend, though the elf tried to hide it behind downcast eyes. His mouth was dry when he tried to speak.

“Legolas,” he began and swallowed. “My words… they were rash, foolish words spoken in a moment of fear, for each piece of news and each tale told at the Council promised only certain danger and little hope for all of us, for all of Middle-earth.” He paused in brief reflection.

“My heart was in great distress, my mind in turmoil over a precarious future. Yet, that was no excuse for my thoughtless tongue. No, saes, let me finish…” he held up his hand when Legolas tried to interrupt, and continued. “The news you brought to us about Gollum – it was dismaying, although as things turned out, Gollum’s being alive was critical to the fate of the Quest, that you know. But no matter the outcome, you did not deserve the insult I dealt you. Not you, not the elves of Mirkwood, not the folk of Thranduil.” He looked deeply into the eyes of the elf before him. “Will you forgive me once more, Legolas?”

The look of sincere regret and pleading in the Ranger’s eyes plucked at the heart-strings of the gentle elf, who hoped his voice could capture the depth of his love and conviction as he replied:

“I say again, Estel, I have never held anything against you. Hear me and believe me.”

Aragorn tightened the hold on his friend’s hand and allowed a single tear to trace his cheek in the dark as he responded.

“I believe you, dear friend, and that is what brings me shame. Yet, in my shame, I have one more thing to ask of you: as we would wish Sarambaq to release himself from his desire for revenge that has consumed him for ten years, I beg you to cast aside the memory of my words that seems to have haunted you for that long. You have never failed me, Legolas, not in the forests of Mirkwood, not in the woods of Ithilien, and not in the healing rooms of Minas Tirith. No fault could I lay on you for what happened at any of those places. It was my weakness, not yours.”

The elf was silent as his friend bared his soul to him, but his eyes were fixed on the man, and he removed the Ranger’s tear with one slender finger.

“We have been through so much together, Legolas, through fire and snow and hurt and war and death. In all the years I have known you and through all the years of my struggles as the heir of Isildur, I have had no truer companion in elf or man. No one need remind me, for I know what lengths you would go to for me, and you know I would do the same for you. Let no foolish words hold sway over us or come between us.”

“They do not,” came the reassuring reply. “Im innas anna-nin cuil an beria lin,” Legolas said softly, looking directly into the eyes of his friend. “I would give my life to protect yours.”

“A im sui eithel,” Aragorn whispered his pledge in return, returning the steady gaze. “And that is why there is to be no talk about whether this grudge of Sarambaq’s towards you and your father should or should not involve me. Between us, this should not matter.”

Legolas’ half-parted lips seemed on the verge of saying something else, and a shadow of a lingering doubt crossed his fair face. Aragorn waited, but the elf let it go and said nothing, so the man did not press him. Instead, he continued.

“I have missed you, my friend, truly missed you. Whenever the burdens of my kingly duties become too much, my thoughts turn ever to Arwen and Eldarion for solace and warmth, and to you for strength and companionship even across the miles. How I have longed to spend time with you again,” the King said pensively. “Yet here we are now, in another mess,” he added with a sudden chuckle, and a faint beastly screech from above reinforced his observation. “I really do not know what is going to happen, or how we will escape this… but we had better do so, for I have a bottle of good wine back home with our names on it, waiting to be opened.”

In the darkness of the cave, and despite his aching body, Legolas smiled back. For a moment, their conversation and their predicament struck Aragorn as amusingly odd.

“Here we are, saying things from the heart that should be said in another time and place, instead of in the middle of a… well… a battle,” he said with a wry grin.

But the look in Legolas’ eyes was one of profound reflection rather than mirth, as if he was recalling similar moments from some other time and place in his long life.

“What needs to be done and said, should be, in any situation.” he replied sagely. “And perhaps it is in battle, when one is close to possible death, that we feel the reality of those truths keenest, and so should we speak them.”

Aragorn looked fondly at the face next to his.

“Why, my friend, you have grown wise indeed,” Aragorn jested, though he felt a pang of sorrow that the elf should be thinking those thoughts. He still held his friend’s hand and squeezed it again as he said with unmistakable conviction, “I know not what tomorrow will bring, Legolas, but I am with you, and we will get through it together.”

The elf smiled quietly in return, the tiredness in his eyes not escaping the healer’s scrutiny.

“Now… let us rest in sleep again, and I will brook no argument, Elf.” 

“I offer none…” the elven eyes glazed over in reverie even before the rejoinder was finished. Just one moment longer, the Ranger looked tenderly at the fair face, innocent in slumber, before his breath released in a soft sigh and his own eyes closed in sleep.

Tomorrow, a new and different storm would be upon them.

Tomorrow, they would have to face Sarambaq.

But tonight, the two friends would sleep peacefully, secure in the resolution of an uncertainty long kept hidden, and caressed by the solace of forgiveness given and received.

Tonight, in the gloom of an enemy’s cave, the ten-year-old shadows of a Ranger’s words, and the dark nightmares that had accompanied them, would vanish from an elf’s mind in the light of a renewed understanding shining brightly from the depths of two souls bound by love and loyalty.

I know not what tomorrow will bring… but we will get through it together. 

As the night passed for Middle-earth, and the rain fell around them, and the stars wheeled overhead in a cloud-covered sky, they held on to those words and to each other for strength and comfort. 

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~In the end the Shadow was just a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. ~

- J.R.R. Tolkein., The Two Towers - 

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Note:  There is nothing more precious – or harder to come by – than such depth of friendship and devotion. I thought it deserved a chapter by itself. The elvish lines in this chapter were kindly lent to me by Deana, who used them in her story Tears of a Soul, published at another site. My thanks to her.