Author: Eärendil ([email protected])
Rating: PG [semi-gruesome descriptions]
Summary: AU. Aragorn POV. Legolas' father dies and Aragorn lends him a shoulder and a sympathetic heart.
Author's Note: This is dedicated to my friend Laura whose father was killed Saturday, February 1st, 2003 when a train crashed into his dump truck as he crossed to head home that evening.
Secondary note: I typed this up while watching CSI: Miami so this may be a little more gruesome than I originally wrote and or intended. Read at your own disgression. Btw, note the transition in time w/ the change in tense. It is intentional. This is also unbeta'd... wanna help me and be a beta? Email me.
Note 3: I used some elvish and I did not translate it. Esta is rest. And meleth or meleth-nîn is love/my love. There. The other... let's say this fic can be taken 2 ways: slash and non-slash. Those who like slash can see it that way (I even helped you w/ the elvish being what it is -- sorry non-slashy folks)... Those who don't can pretend the endearments say mellon [friend] instead. If you really want, email me and tell me you want a non-slash of this and I'll replace them for you (oh wow, 2 words I would need to change). It's extremely platonic on any level so enjoy and tell me what you think.
All I Can Give
I held him close as his body trembled, his sky blue eyes filling with silvery tears as he looked pleadingly at me. What could I say? How could I ease his pain? Softly I whisper to him -- not to tell him that everything would be alright, because it wouldn't -- but to attempt to calm him that he would not make himself sick from the power of his grief.
For what seemed like an eternity he shook, sobs wracking his frame as he brokenly denounced the Valar for their cruelty unto him. Finally, his body stilled and he sank into an uneasy slumber -- more akin to unconsciousness than true sleep, something to hide himself from the full power of reality for a time.
He looked so young, so fragile, as I carried him to his chambers and lay him upon his large bed. I sighed as I brushed the wet and matted blond hair from his pale face, watching the tear-stained cheeks glitter in the dull light of the room. I myself had lost both my parents, but then I'd not known either of them, but Legolas... Legolas had been raised by his mother until her brutal death a millenia ago, and then by his father who loved him as only a suffering man can, a love akin to worship. His life was full of love...
I leant back against the foot of the bed, the solid post not budging even under my added weight. Closing my eyes against the sickly palor of my shaken and begrieved Prince's face, it comes back to me.
-- Flash back --
Tangled and bloodied flaxen hair stuck to his face. Lack-luster pale blue eyes gazed blankly at the gathered Elves, sunken into the once regal face of their King.
Burns and abrasions marred the normally flawless skin, standing out starkly against the waxy grey of death it now held.
I gathered the frantic Elf-Prince to me, turning the sight out of his view, but Legolas is strong, even more-so in a panic. What he saw brought him to his knees as it had threatened to do to me. His wail rang through the forrest, a pained cry that shook me to my core even more thoroughly than the sight of the disembowled King.
-- End Flash back --
I catch myself as a pained moan errupts from the Elven archer's throat, his body violently bolting into a sitting possition. His eyes frantic as they scan the room, landing on me before he launches himself into my arms, sobbing and begging me 'not to leave him too.'
Quietly I stroke his hair, hoping the action placates him and will ease him back to sleep. His shoulders are tense and I feel the sinews in them vibrate from the tauntness. 'Shh,' I breathe, rubbing his back soothingly. 'I am here, I will not leave you.'
Where is the strong prince that fought with me at Helm's Deep? Where is he who stood beside me as all of Mordor rained down on the gathered peoples at Gondor? How could this sobbing and broken elf be he?
'Hush, meleth,' I whisper, holding him tight against me as he sobs again. Gently I rock, murmuring soothing words. 'I can offer you no comfort save for that of my arms, and I will always be there whenever you need me. This is promise.'
He nods brokenly, gulping as even his breath catches in his grief swollen throat.
I hug him again, wishing to lend him what little strenght I can. 'I know this will be hard, but I'll be here. Just call for me and I'll drop whatever I am doing to run to your side.'
I wish I could do more than that, but it is all I know to offer him. Tis pathetic indeed that all I can give him in his grief is a simple touch and a staid companion.
'Esta, meleth-nîn,' I breathe into his hair, combing the silken strands back with my sword-worn fingers. 'Esta.'
And as I pull him down to lay upon the coverlets and we drift off into sleep, I see the pain in his eyes ease just a pinch, but to me that is enough. I hope to one day see that pain linger only as a memory, faded and dimmed. For now though, I'll remain at his side and give him what little comfort I can. I just hope it will be enough.
- End -
Again, this is dedicated to Laura in memory of her father. I don't think I did a very good job with my gift, but it's the thought that counts yes? I wish I could have done better... The funeral is Tuesday Feb 4th at 1 pm CST if anyone would like to take a moment during that time to cast up a prayer to any deity you choose. *hugs Laura*
~ Eären