The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Seron vell – my beloved
Melin chen – I love you
Im naa sinome – I am here
Boen chen – I need you
Cuaren – my archer
Daro – stop
Hannon chen – thank you
Im naer – I’m sorry
Meldir – friend (male)
Meldis – friend (female)
Meleth – my love
Sa gwadoren – he is my brother
Ae syntrea chen – please
Veston – I promise


Chapter 46

We must have been quite the sight, Aragorn and I, as we left the town, both of us stiff from our exertions, but the twins said nothing, simply falling in beside us as we continued south, leaving the forest behind for the rolling plains of the Riddermark.

The rain started around lunchtime. At first, we ignored it. Then we endured it. We searched for shelter, but found none. So we kept walking. For two miserable days we bore the rain, sleeping at night huddled under wet blankets, walking during the day in wet clothes. The rain stopped on the third morning, but the sky did not clear. We walked on, despite the miserable damp. We really needed to find a farm or a village where we could dry out. I was not worried about falling sick, but I knew Aragorn could be prey to the illnesses of Men. I also wondered about the twins, never having asked if they were susceptible. The day wore on with no sign of habitation and no break in the clouds to let Arien warm us. I scanned the horizon constantly, searching for anything that might give us a clue where to go.

I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I first saw the billowing smoke against the clouds. That was not a sign of life; that was a sign of death. I squinted, trying to distinguish smoke from cloud, sure I was mixing the two. When the illusion did not change, I shouted an alarm to the others. We ran toward the smoke to investigate. We found a little hamlet, five farms in all, frantically defending itself against a pack of Orcs, many more than I had ever encountered outside of Mirkwood. As soon as we were within range, we fired even as we continued to advance.

Caught by surprise by an attack from behind, the Orcs milled about in confusion for a moment before deciding that the four of us were less formidable than the more numerous farmers. It was a miscalculation they did not live to regret as we fought with bow and knife and sword.

When the Orcs were dead and the dust had settled, I sought my friends and my lover, eyes checking for injuries. The twins were fine, but Aragorn was clutching his side. Even as I started toward him, he collapsed on the ground in front of me. I knelt beside him, hands tearing frantically at his clothes, seeking the wound or wounds. As I moved his hand, hot blood gushed out, soaking his tunic and my leggings.

Before I could panic, a young woman was kneeling at my side, pressing a clean cloth into my hand. I thanked her with my eyes as I screamed for Elrohir to help me. The cloth in my hand was soon soaked as well. I knew little of healing, only enough to bind a wound until the healers could arrive, but I knew Aragorn could not continue to bleed that way and still survive.

Elrohir took my place at Aragorn’s side. “Hold his head,” he told me, “and talk to him. It will help him fight to know that we are here.”

I moved to Aragorn’s head, cradling it in my lap. I bent to whisper my love to him, pouring out all the feelings I had not dared confess. I knew I was breaking my promise to Celebrian, but I could not – would not – let Aragorn die without speaking the words I have never said aloud to anyone. “Melin chen, Estel,” I whispered. “Do not leave me seron vell. Do not make me live without you. Not when I have just found you. Ae syntrea chen, meleth. Boen chen. Stay with me.”

Elrohir continued to work at Aragorn’s side. It seemed to me that Aragorn’s breathing was slowing. I reached for my knife to draw my blood, to form the bond that would save him.

The young woman from the farm grabbed my hand, wrestling me for the knife. Our struggle drew Elrohir’s attention. “Daro!” he ordered.

“I can form a blood bond, Elrohir. I can draw him back. I love him. I cannot just let him die!” I protested.

“A blood bond will not save him, Legolas. He is mortal. You cannot draw him back that way. He is strong. I have stopped the bleeding and bound the wound. He will stay unconscious, possibly for days, and be weak for longer, but he still lives. We must give him strength in other ways.”

We had spoken entirely in Elvish, giving no thought to those around us. Having done all he could for Aragorn, Elrohir turned his attention to the farmers, joining their healer in caring for the injured men and women in the hamlet.

The young woman who had first handed me the cloth stayed at my side. “Do you speak Westron?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I do,” I replied in the same language. “I am sorry. We should not have spoken in Elvish in front of you. It was rude.”

“You were worried for your companion. Will he survive?”

“His brother says he will and he is a healer. He should know.”

“His brother?” she asked, surprised, eyeing Aragorn’s curved ear and heavier form. “How is that possible?”

I smiled a little as I remembered asking the same question. I explained about Aragorn’s fostering. She accepted my explanation without question, keeping vigil with me while Elrohir helped their healer and Elladan organized the securing of the buildings and the burning of the Orcs. I should have helped, but nothing short of another attack could have pulled me from Aragorn’s side. I continued to murmur to him in Elvish from time to time, assuring him of my love, imploring him to return to me.

“You are very close,” the young woman observed. I hesitated before answering. I remembered all too clearly the reaction in the town. Aragorn was badly wounded and we would need their goodwill for a time if he was to survive. If I told her the truth, would we be chased back into the wild?

“We are friends,” I replied finally.

“More than that I would say. Shield-brothers if I have read the signs aright,” she retorted.

“And is that accepted here?” I asked.

“You are in Rohan now, Master Elf. We know the ways of warriors. None here will condemn you,” she assured me.

“You speak with great authority for one so young. Do you have a name?”

“I am called Freyla. And you, Master Elf? How are you called?”

“Legolas,” I replied, the the Woodland Realm, known to most as Mirkwood.”

“I know it not, but we are so isolated here, not even a spot on the King’s map. And your friends?”

“Elrohir, with the healer, and Elladan, over there, the twin sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. And Estel, their foster-brother.”“Not“Not just Elves, but Elven Lords,” she marveled, staring at the twins. “And you, Legolas, are you an Elflord as well to travel in such esteemed company?”

“My father rules in Mirkwood,” I affirmed.

“No wonder you were able to defeat the Orcs. We owe you our lives,” Freyla told me.

“As we will owe you Estel’s life if you allow us to stay.”

Aragorn moaned, drawing my attention back to him. “Im naa sinome, Estel,” I told him again. “Wake up. Ae syntrea chen.” He stirred at the sound of my voice, but did not wake.

Freyla excused herself to see to her family and friends, promising to find us a place to stay. I nodded absently as she walked among the remains of her home, taking in the burnt out buildings. My whole being was so focused on Aragorn that I noticed the tiny tremors running through him as soon as they started. Our wet bedrolls would be of no help.

“Freyla,” I called frantically. When she came running, I begged her for a dry blanket, or anything I could use to warm Aragorn.

“I have found a place for you. Can you bring him or do you need help?” she asked

“Lead on,” I answered, lifting Aragorn into my arms carefully. He was heavy, but not more than I could bear. I followed Freyla to the two houses that had not been burned.

“We are putting the injured in here,” she said, indicating the larger house. “It will make things easier for Hamaden and your healer if everyone is in one place. As we rebuild, they can return to their own homes.”

At her direction, I placed Aragorn on a pallet near the fire. “We have been traveling for days in the rain. Do you have anything dry I could dress him in? I fear he will take ill, on top of his wound.”

Freyla eyed Aragorn speculatively. “I think some of my father’s things will fit him, at least until his own clothes can be cleaned and repaired. They will not be what he is used to,” she cautioned.

“He will not care, Freyla, nor do I. As long as they are dry, they will be an improvement over what he is wearing now. Do not worry about our titles, meldis. We are warriors, used to rougher conditions than we will find here.”

“What is that word you called me?” she asked, handing me a towel so I could begin to dry Aragorn’s shivering form.

“Meldis? It means friend.”

She nodded. “I will get those clothes now,” she said, disappearing into another room. We were in her house then, I decided. The laces on Aragorn’s tunic were knotted and I could not untie them, damp as they were. I finally had to cut them to remove his tunic and shirt. The sight of the bandage against his golden skin hurt. I dried his chest, but waiter Frr Freyla to return with dry clothes and a blanket before stripping his leggings, not wanting to offend anyone with his nudity. Freyla offered to help me when she returned, but I declined, needing to care for Aragorn myself. She seemed to understand my need, circulating through the room to check on others instead, giving me the privacy I desired to change Aragorn’s clothes and wrap him snugly in the blanket she had brought. I could not stop myself from bestowing gentle caresses on his skin as I rubbed him dry and dressed him in Freyla’s father’s clothes. They were not, as she had said, of the quality we were all four accustomed to, but they were in serviceable cotton and wool. They would keep him warm.

Elrohir came in a few minutes later with the other healer, Hamaden presumably, each bearing a patient whom they placed carefully on other pallets in the room. Hamaden exchanged a tender glance with Freyla before going back outside in search of other survivors. Elrohir came to check on Aragorn.

“He was shivering,” I told him. “We brought him inside to warm him up.”

“You did the right thing,” Elrohir assured me, checking Aragorn’s temperature and the bandage. “The bleeding has stopped. If we can keep him warm and dry, he should recover. His is by far the worst injury. Their healer knows what he is doing. Between us, we will return Estel to you. He will be sharing your bed again before you know it, meldir. Veston.”

“Hannon chen, ‘Ro.”

“Sa gwadoren, Legolas.” With that gentle reminder, he, too, returned outside.

Freyla came back to my side with another change of clothes. “I doubt these will fit you, Legolas, but they are dry,” she said, offering me the clothes.

“Your father might not appreciate you giving away all his clothes,” I teased gently.

“My father died during the winter,” Freyla informed me sadly. “He would be glad to know his belongings are helping others.”

“Im naer,” I said automatically. “I am sorry to hear that,” I repeated in Westron.

“He was old and infirm. He died gently in his sleep. He is at peace now,” she replied. Her acceptance of mortality surprised me, as it always did when I dealt with the mortal creatures of Arda. Even Arwen eventually accepted it.

“I will watch him while you change, if you would like,” she offered. “You can have some privacy in there.” She gestured to the door opposite of the one she had used to retrieve the clothes. I followed her direction and found myself in a bedroom. A quick glance told me that this was Freyla’s room. I could smell her in the air, sense her in the simple decoration of the room. I changed quickly, not liking being away from Aragorn longer than necessary. When I returned to the main room, Freyla sat by Aragorn’s side as she had when I left. She had one of his hands between hers, stroking it gently. “He was calling for someone,” she told me, “but I did not recognize the name. Cua something, but I did not understand the end.”

“Cuaren?” I asked.

“Yes, that was it,” she replied.

“He calls me that sometimes,” I explained, taking Aragorn’s other hand. “Im naa sinome, meluin,” I reassured him.

“I saw buildings damaged or destroyed. How much was lost?” I asked Freyla, not relinquishing Aragorn’s hand.

“They did not destroy the crops, only the storage sheds and barns. Those we can rebuild before winter. We will also have three houses to rebuild.”

“Was anyone killed?”

“We lost two people that I know of. We will see who recovers from their injuries.”

“It will be some time before Estel will be well enough to travel. You must let us help.”

“You have helped so much already,” Freyla protested. “We would probably all be dead without you.”

“What is past is in the hands of the Valar. If we stay while Estel recovers, we will be eating your food and living in your space. You will find, meldis, that we are unused to being idle. Let us help.”

“That is for the elders to decide. In the meantime, I must see to my friends.”

I sat a while longer at Aragorn’s side, hoping he would wake, or at least call out, anything to let me know he was still with me. As I kept vigil, I watched Freyla move through the room, giving a sip of water to the thirsty, bestowing a gentle caress on those who needed it, generally dispensing peace and comfort. She had read right into my soul in identifying me feelings for Aragorn. If I had read hers correctly, Hamaden was a lucky man indeed. Elrohir came in along with Hamaden several times over the course of the day, bringing others to benefit from Freyla’s tender care. Each time he came, Elrohir would check on Aragorn, assuring me thatwas was stable, that he would recover. By the end of the day, there were fifteen wounded in the room, Aragorn’s injury by far the most serious. Later in the afternoon, Freyla organized the women to provide food for us all. I counted another twenty Rohirrim as they came in to eat. Thirty-four people in all, from the smallest child to the oldest greybeard. And they would all have to squeeze into two houses until the others could be repaired or rebuilt. I had no skill as a builder, just as I knew Elladan and Elrohir did not, but the quiet dignity of these farmfolk had touched me, especially after Freyla’s calm assurance that Aragorn and I would not be ostracized here. I would try to convince the twins to stay long enough for us to help these gentle people who had opened their doors to us so willingly. Our strength could be put to good use with a little guidance.