Coming Home

Coming Home, Chapter 9.

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Aragorn stayed awake as Legolas drifted, not wanting to let even a moment go

past without witness. He tried to memorize the almost delicate, features, the

texture of his skin and hair beneath his hands, the exact shade of the blue of

his eyes.



He watched as Legolas's sleep became increasingly restless, and troubled. He

was there when his efforts at soothing Legolas back to sleep finally failed and

those beautiful eyes regained awareness and became filled with pain. The

hand the elf raised to rub awkwardly over his face was shaking violently, and

Aragorn caught it automatically between both of his.



Legolas brought up his other hand, and for a moment did nothing more than

hold onto him--hard. After a bit, he released Aragorn's hands, and pushed

awkwardly away. Aragorn helped him sit up and Legolas leaned against him,

body shuddering as pain raced through his body, every nerve alight with it.



Aragorn ran his hands lightly up and down Legolas's arms, wrist to shoulder,

not entirely sure what he was hoping to accomplish, but needing to feel like he

was doing something. Legolas closed his eyes, desperately fighting for

something like control. He was scared, Aragorn realized with a jolt. He'd

heard

Legolas admit to his fear, but to see it, made it real, and he wasn't prepared

for

it... not in the least. He froze. Legolas was leaning against him, shaking in

what was clearly nearly unendurable pain, and fear, and he just... froze.



He never knew how long he knelt there, unseeing and immobile before he

wrenched himself back to total awareness..., "Shhhh, I've got you Legolas.

I've got you," he said softly, directly into the pointed ear, kissing his

temple and

gently pulling the loose strands away from Legolas's face.



Legolas responded to him, turning his face into the side of his neck, as his

breathinenedened and deepened and the trembling shaking his body lessened

slightly, but noticeably. When Legolas tried to pull away from him, Aragorn

just

held on tighter, refusing to allow it. Legolas struggled against him with

surprising strength, before saying Hoadley, "Let me go Aragorn, I need to," He

swallowed audibly, and Aragorn didn't need to hear the rest of the statement.



Aragorn let him go and stood up behind him. Legolas was half staggering, half

walking, toward the bathroom. When he got there he fell to his knees, and

Aragorn followed him down, holding him tightly while his stomach emptied

itself. Aragorn didn't need to be able to see in the dark room to know that

what

Legolas was throwing up was pure, unadulterated, blood. The cloyingly

sweet, metallic odor told him more surely than sight would have.



When he settled, cool and limp in his arms, Aragorn picked him up and moved

him back to the bedroom. Legolas was barely responsive at that point, eyes

open but glassy as Aragorn settled him onto the bed and sat beside him.

Legolas was, mercifully, still only semiconscious when his eyes rolled back and

his muscles snapped taunt as he arched off the bed.



Aragorn closed his eyes when Legolas began to convulse, but he grabbed for

and found Legolas's hand. He was surprised when the elf returned the grip. It

was unusual, but not entirely unheard of for someone in the throws of a fit to

retain awareness. Legolas was holding on to him with so much force that

Aragorn thought he heard a bone crack, clinging to him desperately and

Aragorn could feel his terror. Legolas hated being out of control, and in the

grip

of the seizure he was utterly helpless.



Calling upon resources he didn't know he possessed, he managed to keep his

voice low and even when he said, "Don't fight it, Legolas. What's going to

happen, will happen. Let your body do what it needs to do... It'll be over

soon."



He could feel Legolas's grip relax infinitesimally and continued the quiet

monologue as the seizure activity lessened. He could only hope that it would

do some good. "That's it, you've got it, just a bit longer ...," He continued

talking

Legolas down until the awful tremors had eased to sporadic shivering and his

eyes focused on the man kneeling by him.



Legolas spent a few minutes looking at Aragorn, simply watching him wearily.

He looked... gruesome, Aragorn thought, bloody and dishelved, yet somehow,

even now beautiful-- though macabre.



Arching an eyebrow in silent inquiry, not trusting his voice, Aragorn returned

the gaze.



"I-" Legolas stopped and cleared his throat when his voice emerged more

squeak than not, "Get me outside Aragorn."



Aragorn opened his mouth to refuse. Legolas really was in no condition to be

moved anywhere, much less into the damp night.



"Elessar, please. Get me out of here!"



He sounded frantic, and Aragorn vacillated, until Legolas continued, softer,

pleading, "What difference is it going to make? Aragorn... I need to get out

from

behind these walls."



Less than two dozen words and he was exhausted, falling back against the bed

weakly. It tipped the scales in his favor, Aragorn coming rapidly to his

decision,

and scooping Legolas, blankets and all, into his arms and heading for the door.



"Thank you." Legolas said simply, quietly, resting his head against a strong

shoulder.



The gratitude in his voice nearly broke Aragorn's heart. He carried Legolas

through the halls and down flights of stairs rather quickly, unaware of the

assorted servants standing about staring at the site of their King, carrying a

bloodied elf out of the castle into the dark night.



Aragorn took him to the gardens. He didn't want to actually go far with

Legolas, and the gardens, though still behind the castle's walls were large

enough to give the illusion of being truly away from the city. Aragorn

realized,

with a pang of regret that he had never brought Legolas here before.



The moon was full, and bathed the garden in shimmering light. Though there

was more than enough light to see, Aragorn thought there had never been a

darker night. Sitting himself on the ground at the foot of an evergreen,

Aragorn

leaned against the trunk, but didn't release Legolas from his arms.



Legolas lay against him,one hand clasped loosely about Aragorn's wrist,

tracing idle figure eights on the inside of his arm. His eyes were closed and

he

was so cold that just being in contact with him made Aragorn shiver. Aragorn

looked down at him and , with what was obviously a great deal of effort,

Legolas got his eyes open.



Neither spoke, just sat silently together. Legolas was clearly too weak and

too

exhausted for speech, and Aragorn was simply incapable of forcing words past

the lump in his throat. When Legolas tensed in his arms again with a low,

pain

filled, groan, Aragorn rocked gently, attempting to soothe or reassure him,

knowing that there wasn't anything he could really do at this point, and to be

truthful there never had been. So much pain.... Aragorn hoped, and prayed to

deities he was no longer sure he believed in, that it would at least end

quickly.



Legolas coughed harshly and then gagged, bringing up a truly staggering

amount of bright red, frothy, blood. As he held Legolas, bracing him against

his

body while blood gushed out of him, pouring over his hands, Aragorn

wondered if there was any blood left in the elf's veins.



When the coughing spasm passed, Legolas struggled for a moment, trying,

ineffectually, to clear the blood from his airway, "Inhale as hard as you can

love..."



Taking blood back down into his lungs wasn't something Aragorn would

normally have recommended, but Legolas wasn't going to last long enough for

it to matter, and it was clear he was still hemorrhaging and his lungs would

continue to fill until he bled out or suffocated, Aragorn thought.



The clinical detatchment evaporated when Legolas's eyes snapped open with a

soft gasp of pain. "Shhh, easy Legolas..."



He was still so panicked, Aragorn thought sadly, his heart aching. Legolas was

a warrior to his very core. He did not know how to surrender to anyone or

anything, even death. He was fighting an unwinable battle and it broke the

human's heart.



"Shhh, just relax for me Legolas. It's ok to let go.."



Legolas's eyebrows drew down in a slight frown, as he finally said very

softly,

"I'm--trying."



"Just focus on me love..," Aragorn said rocking gently,remembering Arwen's

advice to him. Legolas needed to be able to have faith in him, and to let go

for

him. " I will never forget you, and I will never stop loving you. You are part

of

who I am and nothing will ever change that."



As he spoke he could feel Legolas relaxing in stages into him, becoming

utterly limp. Acceptance or simply his body wearing out, Aragorn didn't know.

He hoped it was the earlier, feared it was the latter. Legolas smiled up at

him,

and sighed quietly, "I love you too Elessar, and I will always be with you..."





His voice was slurred and faded away toward the end of his short speech. His

eyes stayed open, looking up at Aragorn, focusing on him intently. His

breathing gradually grew slower, and more shallow, taking on a distressing

liquid quality, but there was never any hint or fear or pain, finally. As

death

grew nearer his eyes darkened and lost their focus, though he smiled slightly

when Aragorn's fingers settled against his throat, stroking lightly, monitoring

the

weak and erratic pulse beneath them.



When it stuttered, and then stopped, Aragorn sat as though frozen, his tears

dropping onto Legolas's face, leaving a shimmering trail across blood stained

cheeks.



When Aragorn finally stood, he felt absolutely numb. He walked stiffly back to

the castle, carrying Legolas's body with him. What he was doingwherwhere he

was going he did not know. When someone he dimly recognized as the man

who had initially allowed Legolas to stay in the stabel approached him, and

attempted to take Legolas from him he snarled. It was the sound of an animal

in pain, and the man backed off though he continued to follow. Aragorn wasn't

aware of his presence as he continued mechanically up the stairs into the

entrance hall of his home.



--------------------

Coming Home, Chapter 10.

There's a long author's note at the end.

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Arwen met him just inside the door. She had known, as had Aragorn that this

was the very end. She had been prepared, she thought, for the inevitable.

What she wasn't prepared for was the sight of her husband. He was clutching

Legolas's limp body, and they were both cov in in blood. Yet it wasn't the

blood that horrified her, it was the look in Aragorn's eyes, the expression on

his

face.



The raw pain, the guilt, the absolute, soul deep grief, that he could not

express. Once he saw her he stopped and stood motionless. She approached

him slowly and cautiously. He seemed so brittle, and so fragile, that she was

afraid that the slightest provocation he would simply shatter, and fly into a

million different directions.



When she reached him, she gently placed her hand on his forearm and

squeezed carefully, looking into his eyes steadily, showing none of her own

emotional turmoil. Legolas was gone. Aragorn needed her now, and her focus

was on the living.



She motioned the man standing behind his King forward and said steadily,

"Estel, I want you to let Randalt take Legolas..."



Aragorn didn't respond, or acknowledge the remark. When the manservant

tried to take Legolas, this time, he didn't actively protest, but Arwen had to

gently pry his fingers free from the corpse in his arms. When Randalt finally

took possession of Legolas's body, Arwen nodded to him and he left as quickly

and quietly as possible. He would see to the elf's burial. Clearly the King

was

in no condition to do it himself.



Aragorn allowed Arwen to steer him to their private chambers where he sat

automatically in a chair. He sat there through the entire day, and it wasn't

until

the following dawn that he moved at all. As light flooded the room, awareness

seemed to return to him and he shifted his position slightly and looked down at

his hands.



They were still covered in blood, as were his clothes. Arwen hadn't been able

to get him to let her wash him, or to change clothes. He was absolutely

covered in blood-- Legolas's blood. Suddenly a wave of intense nausea

washed over him and his head began to pound in time with his pounding heart,

blood roaring in his ears.
r />r />
"Estel?" Arwen asked, concerned by his pallor.



He turned to face her, eyes wide with shock and horror. He staggered as the

room spun and dizziness swept him away. He saw the floor rushing up at him

as he fell. By the time he hit, his mind had already retreated from the

painful

and harsh reality of the previous night, seeking the relative safety of

oblivion.



--------------------------------------------------------------



Aragorn woke slowly, reluctant for some reason he could not yet grasp to

return to wakefulness. He wanted to stay asleep, but his body wasn't

cooperating. He desperately needed to empty his bladder, and his stomach

was rumbling ominously, reminding him that it had been too long since he had

eaten. He shifted a bit, trying to ignore his body's nagging and get a bit

more

sleep. Since Legolas has reappeared sleep had been in rather short supply...

Legolas... Reality came rushing back, shattering the comfortably foggy state

of

his mind in an instant.



He kept his eyes closed, even when he felt a cool, soft, very familiar hand on

his face, brushing away the tears that were streaking across his temples before

disappearing into his hair.



"Estel, please open your eyes."



He didn't want to, he Vhe Valar, He did not want to open his eyes, afraid that

if

he did he would have to face the world and he honestly did not think he was

strong enough to deal with reality just yet. Yet for all that he wanted to

ignore

her, retreat into his mind again, the grief and concern in her voice prompted

him to obey, and he opened his eyes. He couldn't leave her alone to face this.



Legolas had been her friend as well, and she had cared about him as well,

though not in the same way.



When his eyes opened they found Arwen sitting on one side of him, and Elendi

sleeping on the other. Her eyes were compassionate and looked as though

she'd been crying. The baby's face was a furious bright red and he frowned

with concern and looked at her.



"He screamed until he finally wore himself out and fell asleep. I'm surprised

you were able to sleep through the commotion. He was inconsolable."



" He knows." Aragorn said without any doubt.



Arwen nodded and agreed, "Yes, he does," without looking away from her

husband. Finally he sighed and sat up, swinging his legs around to sit beside

her on the bed's edge, and rested his forearms on his knees. He noticed with

someone had taken the time to clean him up, removing all the blood and

changing his clothes. It was a relief, yet it felt-- wrong, as though the last

traces of Legolas had been washed from him. It felt as though the evidence of

his life had been removed, as well as the evidence of his death.



Aragorn raked a hand roughly through his hair, pulling roughly through the

snarls. When Arwen winced, Aragorn froze -- remembering her reaction when

Legolas had done the same thing and evoked the same reaction. Dammit, why

had Legolas come back? Why the hell hadn't he just stayed away? he thought

bitterly as tears began to fall again. Everything he did, everywhere he looked

brought back some fragment of memory. The feel of hair sliding through his

fingers, the sound of his voice, the way his eyes lit up when he was with

Elendi.

Would he ever be able to look at Elendi without remembering Legolas.



"Probably not," Arwen said gently, making him realize he'd spoken the last out

loud, "but do you really want to forget him?"



Aragorn finally looked at her, and said, "Of course not, but I can't remember

him without it transforming into this vision of him covered in blood and

clinging

to me, scared out of his mind."



Arwen wiped her own tears away with the side of her hand, "That is exactly

what Legolas feared would happen. That the memory of his death would

overshadow your memories of his life."



"I can't help it!" the King snapped, "it wasn't right, nor was it fair! Legolas

should

not have died. He died because he loved me, and in the end all I could do was

tell him to stop fighting and just die! The hands of the king are the hands of

a

healer..." he muttered with disgust. "The hands of the king are covered in the

blood of innocents."



"Innocents?" Arwen asked incredulously, "Legolas was many things Aragorn,

but he was far from an innocent. You would do well to hold true to the elf he

was, and not remake him into some vision of perfection. He was real and he

was alive, and like all living beings he was flawed."



Aragorn looked at her, anger and grief and bitterness threatening to consume

him, and was brought up short by the slight smile tugging the corners of her

mouth in spite of the tears in her eyes. Without waiting for his inquiry,

Arwen

elaborated.



"Pride... oh Valar was Legolas cocky-- and impulsive! Long before you arrived

in Rivendell he was more arrogant than anyone should be, and he certainly

found his way into trouble. I can not tell you how many times he was dragged

in to Rivendell, usually by my brothers, injured from some stupid adventure

gone wrong. The one that stands out in my mind was the result of Legolas

mouthing off to a dwarf, calling her Master, The result was beaten soundly

about the head and shoulders with the flat of an ax."



Aragorn's lips twitched slightly "That would explain a good deal...,"



"Such as the barbed remarks we directed at him, saying a blow to his head

was responsible for his handicap?" Arwen smiled sadly and then curled

against Aragorn's side, resting her hand on his chest. When he wrapped both

arms around her, she continued, "Don't turn him into a saintly being, love. To

deny his flaws, to remember only the good, will diminish him. It's all part of

the

complicated, convoluted, and brilliant being of Legolas Greenleaf."



Aragorn sat quietly, contemplating her words, but not really absorbing them--

not yet. He felt as though he were only half present, that the biggest part of

him had been ripped away from him, leaving a raw bleeding wound in it's place.

He knew he was crying, but only because he could see them falling in front of

his face, fast and hard. He was almost entirely unaware of his body as he held

Arwen and shook with the force of sobs ripping themselves from his chest. He

had never cried like this. Then, he had never hurt like this either.





Finally the baby stirred, and mewled softly as he began to wake. It shook

Aragorn from his reverie, and he asked her, his voice obviously unsteady,

"What now?"



"Now, I would suggest you visit the lavatory, and then arrange to have

something to eat" She said pragmatically, "After that... We will remember, and

we will grieve, but we will go on."







____________________________



Epilogue: Three years later:

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It was near dark when he made his way, finally, back to his family. It had

been

a long, hard day. There had been a string of murders the previous week, and

the culprits had finally been caught. He had witnessed their execution and

then spent hours in council with his advisors discussing security and safety.

That it was the anniversary of Legolas's death hadn't occurred to him until he

was at his door and the realization troubled him. He did not want to forget

Legolas.



Yet day by day, memory failed him and the image of his friend grew less

distinct as time passed. In his dreams, occasionally, he could still hear the

sound of his voice, feel the silk of his skin and hair, remember the exact

shade

of blue that his eyes had been. Yet dreams, like memory were destined to

fade, and he was left with nothing but the impression of Legolas, and it hurt

that he was forgetting him. That he had forgotten that today was the day he

had died, no matter how busy he had been, did not sit well with him.



When he walked into their apartments, he found Arwen putting Elendi to bed.

He would have a sibling soon, and had been particularly clingy and needy, in

spite of repeated reassurances that he would never be replaced. She was

sitting with him, and he walked in to hear Elendi asking curiously, "Did he

have

ears like yours?"



"mmhm," Arwen said smiling slightly. Aragorn walked in and leaned against

the wall, watching. Elendi seemed unusually serious as he asked the question.



He glanced at his father, as did Arwen, then immediately drew his attention

back to his mother.



"Did he have yellow hair?" he said with instensity that should have been

impossible in such a young child, "and blue eyes."



"Yes," she said simply and continued Elendi's bedtime story.gorngorn sat on

the floor with his knees to his chest and listened as she told him all about

the

elven prince and his adventures. His memory would, by necessity, fade and

blur, but Legolas and his life who he was, would never, could never, be

forgotten.



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A/N: I promised some of you an explanation about why I felt it necessary to

write a multi-chapter death fic. I've read a lot of death fiction, and

honestly it's

something I enjoy. (Yes, I am a masochist) but while some of them are quite

good, some of them also left me feeling--dissatisfied with their treatment of

the

subject matter. Death, dying, the process of dying is not something to be

taken

lightly. It is a powerfully emotional experience. One that, in my opinion,

can

not be adequately portrayed in a 2,000 word piece. This piece is,

admittedly,

sad. I cried when I wrote it, and that is highly unusual. Yet, there's a lot

of love

and laughter as well. It's life and it's death, and while I realize it could

have

been better, I am, overall, very `happy' with what I've done. Feedback would

be greatly appreciated.



If you want to archive this, please just ask. I will not deny you, but I would

like

to know where it's going.