Fan Fiction ❯ The Breaking ❯ Chapter 6

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

His retreat led him back to the confines of the same hall in which he'd earlier found Aragorn. His boots made no noise as they passed over the flagstone and stopped before one of the arched windows; the only sound was the rushing of his breath as he inhaled deeply. Carefully, Legolas removed his quiver and set it and his bow on the floor to one side. Had he been more inclined to allow his emotions to overtake him, he might have thrown his things to the ground, but a warrior is never foolish enough to abuse his own weapons. Instead the only sign of the tumultuous onslaught within his breast was the slight shaking of his hands as he folded his arms, and the way the corners of his mouth were pulled back ever so faintly. Sickness rose within him in great waves that threatened to break at any moment, and it was all he could do to shut his eyes and allow the pitiful breeze to wash over him and fight them back. Legolas's efforts were proving futile, as the wind seemed no less ill than he, and it was not long before he turned his back on the vista before him and felt his legs give way almost of their own accord. His body slid quickly down the lower part of the wall as he nearly fell to the ground.

The elf drew his knees upward until his arms, still crossed, were pressed tightly against his stomach. There was not a time he could recall in his thousands of years that he had felt anything like this. He wondered briefly if it was at all similar to the common ailments suffered by the race of men; if it was he was certain he did not envy it. He sighed softly, trying to clear his mind. Yet lending to this dizzy, nauseatingly disarming storm that had seized hold of his insides was a feeling to which he was entirely a stranger. Legolas could sense it, needling beneath his flesh, beginning to work its claws into his heart. The feeling was faint enough, as a splinter beneath the skin that caused pain only when it was worried. But it was waiting, like the tips of an eagle's talons biding their time until the chance came to crush heavily into their prey. He squeezed his eyes shut softly, fighting back the grief that stalked silently in his chest, and tried to swallow down the sour taste that burned the back of his throat. That was one thing he might envy -- lesser degree to which men could feel.

At length, the sound of someone approaching caused Legolas to open his eyes. He watched the light from torch and window mingle in the corners and seams of floor and wall, but he did not stand. The heavy footfalls and gruff breath identified Gimli to his ears, and he was not sure he could trust his legs to hold him anyway. Realising his eyes were damp, he quickly wiped them with a sleeve in a motion of annoyance. Under no circumstances was he prepared to present /that/ to the dwarf, friend or not; he'd never hear the end of it, and he was angry with himself for the effect he was allowing his emotions to have. It was a minute before Gimli finally ambled into the corridor, making a satisfied sound as he spied the elf sitting with his back against the wall, the light filtering down to gild his hair and cast shadow upon his face.

Gimli cleared his throat as he approached Legolas, stopping next to him but making no move to join him just yet. "So, is our elvish princeling too good fer a bed? Have ta sit 'ere against'a bunch o' rock, suff'rin' like some crazy --" He was cut off by a sharp look from Legolas, and arched a brow.

"I thought I would leave the sleep to you, my friend," the elf said, his voice thicker than he would have liked as he could still feel a sour taste in his throat. He tightened his fingers where they rest around his forearms. "Out looking for more trouble?"

"Apparently so," Gimli said, half thoughtfully. The dwarf remained silent for a moment before deigning to seat himself a short distance from his friend. Legolas took notice that Gimli carried none of his typical accoutrement of axes, and though his brow lifted he made no comment.

"How did you find me, then?" the elf asked, feigning disinterest, although he could not help but hold a certain appreciation for Gimli's sudden appearance. It served to blunt the edge of his uneasiness. Legolas relaxed his position just enough to allow himself to drape both arms over his knees.

A snort reached the elf's ears, followed by the rumble of the dwarf's voice. "Aragorn told me I might wish ta look 'ere." Gimli did not miss the slight widening of his friend's eyes and added, with a dismissing gesture of his hand, "Said it was where 'e woulda gone." It was the dwarf's turn to widen his eyes, though in an unvoiced question rather than surprise.

Legolas looked away, letting his eyes roam down the hall through the haze of day that was cut through with the light slicing in from the windows. He let his gaze linger, watching the dust motes rise and fall, unwilling to speak until Gimli did so first. He could hear the dull, choking moan that the wind carried with it, likening it somehow to the breaths he took in this wordless silence, the sound of something trapped deep within him that had discovered it had no way out.

"Even those of us with less ability to take notice o' such things c'n see yeh've been troubled, of late." When the dwarf did speak it was with kinder tones than the elf expected, the burr of his voice almost soothing. Legolas turned back to his friend, and for the first time locked gazes with some trepidation. "I said b'fore, I don't claim ta know what's goin' on, but I cannot stand back an' watch this heartache any longer." Gimli's face was unusually grave as he spoke, the lines in his face for once betraying his near century and a half of age, his hands folded over his legs.

At this, the elf cast his eyes to the floor, his pale brow furrowing and serving to further darken his features. "You cannot understand, Gimli," Legolas said with a distantly strained voice. He was not entirely surprised that the source of the tension between himself and Aragorn had not gone wholly undiscovered. But he found he was not prepared to explain this, not to the dwarf, and not to anyone else.

"Oh, of course I can't," Gimli replied, clearly only to mollify the elf, as this was not the point. "But I c'n see in these times o' darkness an' despair, that one should not cast aside so easily chances o' the heart. We stand on th' edge o' the world ending, an' less an' less come to us all any chances of happiness." This set a dark cloud over the elf's face, and Gimli had trouble discerning his friend's response. "I only say that yeh may find reason not to be so 'ard on yerself, laddie. I can see no reason to throw yerself so readily to grief." The dwarf had begun to stand as he spoke these last words, and now he laid a roughened hand on Legolas's shoulder.

The elf swallowed sharply, his unusual discomfort showing in a slight grimace. But at last he looked up, finding he could do no more than give a small nod to his friend. The dwarf accepted this with a smile, and took a few steps back the way he had come. "We've a few hours yet I think," he said over his shoulder, his usual gruffness returning already. "I don' know about you, but I'm goin' to get some rest."

Legolas listened rather than watched Gimli depart, the heavy steps echoing like distant drums down the corridor. He sat motionless for a long while, fighting off the choking breaths that threatened to escape him and breathing from the foul night air deeply. He was almost thankful for its wretched taste. Gimli's words still hung in the air, substantial enough he could almost see them swimming in the shafts of light patterning the hallway. He shook his head to no one at all, his shoulders falling beneath the burden of responsibility and the things his dwarven friend could never understand. Ripping his glare from the ground, at last he stood, gathering his things to him and disappearing swiftly into the shadows of the Hornburg.

Aragorn sat with his head in his hands resting on the bed in which Gimli had been sleeping but a short time before. His fingers were curled around several tresses of hair, and his body sagged as if he were nearly asleep himself. The sound of footsteps roused him, and he untangled his fingers and let his arms fall onto his thighs. Little time had passed since Gimli had left him in search of the elf, and this puzzled him. Certainly the dwarf could not have given up looking so easily.

Appearing in the doorway, the dwarf paused, taking in the rather shabby sight of the ranger on the edge of the mattress. Gimli crossed his arms over his chest and straightened, giving Aragorn a discerning, and quite nearly disapproving, stare. "You were right," he offered finally, stepping into the room. "Those elves are a strange race, one moment complainin' about our so called uninhabitable caves o' stone, and the next seekin' out the same rock to rest against."

The ranger sought to banish all thoughts of the elf from his mind, and so was not inclined to join his friend's initial conversation. He'd told the dwarf where he might find Legolas only because he thought he would be allowed some time to himself while the two were together. He had imagined them spending hours mulling over whatever Gimli wished somewhat eagerly to discuss, judging by his earnest inquiries into the elf's whereabouts.

"What, did he not wish company?" the man asked with somewhat of a wry grimace. He would not be surprised to learn that Legolas had turned the dwarf away in a similar desire to avoid his post battle surliness.

"I think," Gimli said after a pause as he studied the ranger carefully from across the room, "that he quite desires company. But I had need only to relay some information, an' now that I've cleared that up, I'm back to rest with an unburdened mind." He stepped heavily toward the side of the bed with a look that left the ranger no room for protest.

Aragorn exhaled softly, but he gave his friend a small smile. "Of course, my friend," he said, sweeping his arm above the bed before stepping away and taking his belt from the table. He fastened it around his waist, situating the sword in its scabbard above one hip, and moved toward the door. "Your head is not causing much trouble, I take it?" he asked finally as he turned halfway in the threshold.

"Nay, less pain than a scratch," Gimli said with a throaty chuckle. There was in his eyes a gleam of thanks, though he did not put it to words, and Aragorn nodded deeply to his friend. "Aragorn..." Gimli's voice reached him just as he'd turned to pass through the doorway, and the ranger was forced to look back again. "We have all suffered at the hands of ill fate. You need not abandon yer heart to your sense of duty."

Aragorn could only stare at the dwarf, who suddenly waved him away with a grin. With a look of incredulity, the ranger walked out the door, catching the handle with his hand as he passed and sought to pull it closed behind him. Just before the door clicked shut he found himself face to face with Gandalf. The ranger managed to avoid starting at the sudden appearance of the wizard, but his brow lowered and he silently chastised himself for having failed to expect Gandalf's rather inevitable presence.

"And how does our dear Gimli fair this late morning?" Gandalf spoke first, his high spirits evident in the smile he gave the man. The wizard made no move toward the room, however, and instead motioned for Aragorn to close the door completely. The ranger complied, dropping his hand to his side as soon as he felt the click of the latch.

"He heals quickly," the ranger answered, squaring his frame as he faced Gandalf. "I treated the wound earlier. It could have been much worse had his helm not taken the fiercest of the blow." The man grasped one hand loosely in the other. "He is sleeping now," Aragorn added as a soft snoring rattled trough the wood behind him. "We can wake him shortly before we are to depart."

The wizard nodded, moving his staff from one hand to the other as he stepped closer to Aragorn. "Good, good," he said cheerfully, motioning one arm so that the engulfing fabric of his cloak fell back and left it unhindered. "I am glad you were able to convince him to rest, he would have been most aggrieved to find himself staying behind while we ventured to Isengard."

"I wonder if he would have found himself at all," the man said, unable to prevent a smile from creasing his features, and it eased his heart for a moment. "Had we forced him to stay I fear he might singlehandedly have brought into question our standing with Rohan by stealing a horse and, I daresay, attempting to ride it on his own. In fact, I am not sure which would be the more serious crime."

This brought a great laugh from the wizard that reverberated off the walls and drifted down into the unseen corridors beyond. "Yes, yes, I imagine you are quite right," Gandalf said, placing his free hand on Aragorn's shoulder. His face became more serious, the lines around his eyes deepening and his mouth drawing into a line. "It is good that we can find such humour in the shadow of the days that await us," he said with a low timbre as his voice regained its rough gravity. Aragorn, who had been affected by the contagious laughter of the old man suddenly felt his change in mood abandon him, and the solemnity return. Whatever humour one might find was short lived, it seemed, and the ranger could not feel any lasting effects from the momentarily careless banter.

"We must not allow our hearts to drown beneath the coming days," Gandalf continued at length, leaning in to speak softly to the ranger. "Fate awaits us all, my friend, but even on such journeys as these we all have our choices to make. And not all of them are as difficult as they may at first appear." With this, he clapped his hand lightly before removing it from Aragorn's shoulder and taking his staff from his other hand. With a final smile, the wizard departed, his white robes billowing like stray cloud behind him, the only sound his staff tapping lightly with every other step.

Aragorn watched him retreat, his eyes unfocused, his features contorted in disbelief. It was apparent the wizard had not been oblivious to the tension in the air, and the ranger was forced to admit that he would have been rather disconcerted had Gandalf not so easily discerned the cause. A moment of reflection made it quite obvious to Aragorn that he and Legolas had been anything but discreet in their deliberations. Perhaps they had been too caught up in gauging the cause and delivering the effect to lend care to their actions. And now he found himself beneath offerings of advice for which he had not asked, which he had not wanted and which now brought up within him such a feeling of dread he thought he might be sick. In his mind he had come to a conclusion that was now called into question. With no outside influence he could allow himself to trust in the rightness of his decision, could fool himself into believing that his denial of heart was the only path forward. Instead he found words of contradiction coming from Gimli, and now Gandalf of all people: the wizard, the one who had long sought his return to the throne of Gondor and all the duties it entailed.

Lifting his hand, fingers contracting tightly, he placed a fist over his heart in response to the rapid tempo that sprang up within his chest. He closed his eyes and leaned lightly against the door to Gimli's room to brace himself as his head was once again thrown into a match of strength with his heart. It was like this, head hanging low as he used the door for support, his hand clutching at the very same fabric that had earlier been held in a much fairer hand, that Legolas found him.

The elf stepped silently up the hall, intending to track down Gimli. He found himself wishing to speak with the dwarf; of what, precisely, he remained unsure, but he was not entirely content to leave their conversation so open ended. As soon as his eyes fell upon the form of Aragorn, he paused, half prepared to turn without a sound and find shelter in solitude once again. It appeared Gimli was already resting, or else had company that was not to be disturbed, though he could hear no voices. He told himself he had no reason to stay.

Aragorn opened his eyes as he took a deep breath, straightening himself to his full height, though he still held his hand solidly over his chest. Legolas's chance at an unnoticed exit evaporated as the ranger looked down the hall and locked eyes with the elf. So instead of turning away, Legolas forced himself to approach, his fingers wrapped so tightly around his bow his knuckles were white. His heart beat wildly in his chest and he was sure the man could hear his breathing even at this distance. Stopping a few paces from the man, he jerked his chin toward the door and managed to avoid clearing his throat. "Sleeping again, is he?" he asked, determined not to show his unease. Aragorn was his closest friend, and he would not allow things to change because of some vile treachery upon the wind.

The only reaction the ranger gave at his surprise was to clench his fist more tightly on the cloth of his shirt. A moment later, he swallowed visibly and released his hand, leaving the fabric wrinkled and out of place before he dropped his arm. "He is," Aragorn replied with a curt nod, taking a step away from the door so that his voice stood less of a chance of carrying through to Gimli. "Gandalf has agreed to wake him shortly before we leave," he added, thinking the elf might wish to know when he could approach the dwarf if his visit carried some urgency. "We have some hours before our departure. He will do well with the rest."

Legolas nodded absently and had to force himself to stand his ground as the ranger stepped away from Gimli's room. Whether this was because he thought he might find himself retreating, or because he feared he would step toward the man he was not sure, but he held fast and kept his feet planted as they were. Aragorn's face appeared conflicted, and it looked as if the ranger were struggling for the right words amidst a sea of contrary ideas. The elf was uncertain how long the silence hung between them, but at last Aragorn stepped toward him. Eyes narrowing slightly, Legolas searched the man's face, but found himself unable to discover his intent.

As Aragorn closed the distance between them, he lifted an arm toward the elf in a jagged motion that broke off as soon as it had begun as he thought better of it. Instead he let his hand fall awkwardly onto the pommel of his sword. Believing that if he did not set some task to his limbs he might find himself in a less, or perhaps more, desirable position, he motioned with the other arm for them to walk down the hall. Aragorn did not allow the silence to draw out much longer, and he set his jaw, deciding that if he said nothing now he would only find himself lost in the same struggle that had plagued him for so many hours.

"I know I spoke of forgetting our apologies, and the wrongs we thought we had done one another," the ranger began, his voice more throaty than he'd hoped, and he fought back a cough. "But for the days past where I have seemed inconstant and distant, I do offer my regrets. It was never my intent to neglect our friendship. And I have taken your earlier words to heart --" His voice broke there because he knew that this was untrue; he had taken them to mind but his heart would hear them not, and fought tooth and nail to free itself from beneath their oppressive weight. He forced himself to continue, feeling the metal of the sword handle bite eagerly into his flesh as his grip tightened. "I will no longer let whatever underhanded presence that holds these lands stand in the way of our friendship. I would not have some unfounded turn of heart make strange the air between us."

Legolas could do naught but offer a nod as the words buried themselves in his skin, igniting a terrifying cold in his limbs. The claws surrounding his heart constricted, and he was barely able to defy a small gasp that bubbled up from the ache in his breast. He steeled himself by sheer will alone, as he already gripped his bow so tightly his hand had begun to burn. The elf's head swam, and he found his legs protesting their role in supporting him. He could not help but scrutinise Aragorn's face, which seemed to him faintly twisted, his eyes a dark and brooding curtain. Had the man truly deemed his desires unfounded, and determined the best road was to set them aside as folly? Legolas held his gaze steady, and after what seemed an age Aragorn's expression faltered, shattered like a mirror that breaks not completely, but just enough to see past the reflection to some shards of the world behind. Legolas caught the uncertain quirk of the ranger's brows and the sharp flash deep within his eyes. For a moment, the elf was unwilling to acknowledge it.

It had been so easy for Legolas to hide behind the bonds of friendship when there was no chance of anything else. He'd found some vague salvation in his role as friend, and the terms to which he'd held his heart then had been just acceptable enough. But since the days he'd first felt that searing gaze his heart had been troubled, unable to find respite and growing day by day ever more desperate and sore. It was in some ways worse that he thought these nearly discarnate feelings Aragorn presented were conjured by some ill ward of the Shadow. But the idea that it would pass and the honour gained in his refusal to allow either of them to fall into it had been enough to console him. This, though -- this was the culmination of what he had feared above all. That the man's feelings might have arrived from within his own heart, and it was not some form of vile trickery, was what had brought him to grief in the past days. It had taken hold of his heart and surely would never again let go.

It was not his anger at this that drove him, rather only broke his restraint. His free hand rose up and grasped that same place of unkempt cloth it had the day before, and in an instant he had pushed Aragorn against the wall for a second time. Legolas ignored the man's evident surprise and stepped closer, pressing his body against the ranger so close did he stand. The elf's face was close enough to the man's that their breath became indistinguishable. His eyes seared into Aragorn's, melting away the last of the icy backdrop that held at bay the truth the man tried so desperately to hide, and Legolas witnessed it all.

"You lie," he said, his voice almost a whisper he could barely hear over the rush of his heartbeat in his ears.

Aragorn found himself incapable of protest at the mercy of the elf's fury. He managed to release his hand from his sword as the scabbard clattered against the stone behind him but did nothing with it. His breath caught in his throat as he felt Legolas's weight bearing into him, and as his friend spoke he lost complete control of the shield he'd placed between them. "Legolas..." he began, direly wishing for the elf to understand his intentions, but he found he could not speak. He fought a shiver as Legolas's hot breath swam over his mouth.

Legolas allowed his eyes to linger a moment longer, tracing with them the angles of the ranger's face, watching the firelight dip and flow over the peaks of his brow and cheekbones and then delve into the valleys of his eyes and mouth. But it was only a moment, and then he crushed his lips against Aragorn's. The man did not pull away, but lifted both hands to the elf's face, cradling it just below his jaw and letting his fingers rest in the soft hair behind his ears. Aragorn allowed his eyes to slip closed and moaned softly, then pushed Legolas back just far enough to break the contact between them. He found the elf's eyes burning into his almost challengingly.

"Legolas," the man said, finding himself with barely a breath. "Ú herio man ú teliach," he whispered, his lips gently brushing Legolas's as he spoke.

The elf's smooth brow creased and his eyes sharpened. His gaze bore into Aragorn, unwavering, and the world was still -- even the torches seemed to quiet and the shadows ceased dancing. Legolas carefully released his bow and did not wince at the noise it made when it clattered lightly to the ground as he brought his free hand up to grasp the back of Aragorn's neck. He pressed his mouth to the man's again as fiercely as the first time, pulling him closer and twining his fingers in the dark curls of hair. This time he felt Aragorn respond, and Legolas flicked out his tongue to feel the lips beneath his part. A small groan escaped from the back of Aragorn's throat as their tongues intertwined, and Legolas savoured his exploration of the ranger's mouth. The kiss deepened, and the aggression behind it heightened, as if they were both long seeking answers that could be found there in that moment. Aragorn felt himself shake beneath the force Legolas threw forth, and he felt the blood pounding in his head as he fought to return the kiss with as much fervour. Their breath mingled and the ranger drank in Legolas's scent, of pine and wind and musky earth, feeling it imprint itself in his memory without effort.

Legolas pressed himself more heavily against Aragorn, feeling the knot that had been consuming him for so many days incinerate, sending waves of heat outward from his stomach and down to his groin. He groaned softly, pressing his hips into the ranger as he bit down on the man's lower lip. Aragorn growled softy in response, curling his fingers in the elf's hair as the rush of blood in his ears drown out the sounds of the world. He dropped one arm to encircle Legolas's waist and pulled him closer, his heart feeling as though it might burst beneath his rib cage.

When the kiss finally broke, the pair were breathing hard, the elf's hand crushed against Aragorn's chest, his slender fingers twisted in the man's hair. They watched each other, eyes half lidded, and Aragorn had his answer to the question he had barely asked. Legolas would see this through to the end, no matter what end might find them.

"I do not know if I can accept what you offer," Aragorn said at last, his arm drawing the elf reflexively closer for fear he might recoil. But Legolas made no move, save for the slight widening of his eyes that glistened cobalt, insistent blue tides that served to batter at Aragorn's will.

"And I can offer you no more than you can offer to me," Legolas replied softly as the torchlight flickered in the depths of dark pupils. The man found himself lacking the facilities to analyse the elf's words, so gave a nearly imperceptible nod. In response Legolas pressed his growing hardness into Aragorn, grinning faintly to find his arousal was matched before he leaned in and dragged his lips hungrily along the man's neck, scraping his teeth lightly over flesh salty with sweat and running his tongue down and across the ranger's collarbone.

Aragorn loosened his hold on the elf long enough for Legolas to release the man's hair and free his trapped arm, dropping them both to take a hold of Aragorn's hips and force him closer. The ranger stifled a cry as a jolt of pleasure shot through him, threatening to unravel his senses. He held on, if only barely, and suddenly realised they were still in the corridor. With obvious effort he pushed Legolas back from him, trailing his fingers down the elf's throat before shooting dark glances to his left and right. Legolas seemed to glean understanding without words, and Aragorn found himself being pulled through a doorway to an empty room before he could object; although somewhere beneath the fire that slowly consumed him, he had doubts he would have, even if he'd had the chance.

--------------------- ** Ú herio man ú teliach. -- 'Do not begin what you cannot finish.'