A/N: This was my entry for the “If I could turn back Time” Teitho contest. I hope you enjoy! :)
Tinu
Title: The Arrow
Author: Silivren Tinu
Beta: Imbecamiel
Rating: T
Summary: A terrible incident during an attack threatens to change Legolas and Aragorn’s lives forever, and to destroy more than Legolas is able to bear. Will Aragorn be able to help his friend in a situation that seems to be hopeless? Nominated for the 2006 Middle-earth Fanfiction Awards.
Disclaimer: I do not own the recognizable characters and places in this story or anything that has to do with Lord of the Rings. They are only borrowed and will be returned (more or less) unscathed. ;-)
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Chapter One: Deadly Encounter
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“When it hurts to look back, and you’re scared to look ahead,
you can look beside you and your best friend will be there.”
Anonymous
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Aragorn thrust his sword right through the heart of the last of his attackers, killing the creature immediately. He held the orc down with one foot and pulled his sword free. The blade was dripping with black blood by now. For the moment in no immediate danger, the ranger looked around and saw with relief that the battle was going well. They really had a chance now to survive and live another day, though it had not looked like it at first. He and his companions were still greatly outnumbered by their attackers, but the orcs lacked both their fighting skills and cooperation.
He did not need to look for Legolas to know that his friend was still safe. The elf was in the tree right next to him and his longbow sang again and again, sending arrows with deadly precision against their foes. Whenever one of the green-fletched arrows whistled through the air, one orc would fall and never rise again.
Niras and Gûrel, the two elves who had been their companions for a while now, fought with fierce determination side by side. It was obvious that they were seasoned warriors and used to fighting together. The elves were surrounded by nearly all the remaining orcs and a considerable number of orc corpses. Though they seemed to be holding their ground, Aragorn decided that they would probably not mind some assistance.
With a loud battle-cry Aragorn joined the fray again, trying to draw the attention of at least some of the orcs from the beleaguered elves to himself. It worked almost too well, and soon Aragorn found himself fighting for his life again. More than once the only thing that stood between him and a violent death was an arrow that appeared suddenly in the throat or head of an attacking foe.
Finally the ranger had fought his way through the orcs that separated him from his companions and reached Niras’ side. The elf paused for a split second and nodded at him, acknowledging his presence, before he brought his knives up again to block the next blow. Using one of his long knives to divert the orc’s scimitar, Niras quickly slit the creature’s throat with the other one. Beside him, Gûrel wielded his slightly-curved sword with as much skill and accuracy. The faces of both elves were grim, and their eyes dark with loathing and rage.
Content that none of the elves was in immediate danger, Aragorn concentrated on further decimating the number of the orcs around them. Thanks to his long friendship with Legolas, Niras’ fighting style was quite familiar to him, and Niras was obviously used to fighting alongside swordsmen. They soon fought together instead of only side by side and tried to guard each other’s backs as well as possible. As Niras fought in the middle, Aragorn and Gûrel flanked and guarded him on both sides, and he divided his attention between them, turning where he was needed most.
Trying to keep count of their enemies as best he could, Aragorn soon realized that the tide had finally turned in their favour. They were winning. With fresh vigour he attacked a bulky orc in front of him, first cutting through the wooden handle of the raised axe and then beheading the creature with one move. At the same moment when he opened his mouth to call words of encouragement to his companions, a stifled cry of pain sounded behind him and caused the words to die in his throat.
Driving the orcs back momentarily with a vicious attack, he turned slightly and risked a glance to the side. He was just in time to see Gûrel fall to his knees, and then to the ground, his face a mask of pain. Even while Gûrel still fell, Aragorn saw the light die in his eyes and he knew that the elf was already on his way to the Halls of Mandos, dying before he hit the ground. No! everything inside of him screamed. Why now? Now that victory was so close?
Before he had even time to fully register the shock, the ranger’s eyes fixed on something else, and he froze. A green-fletched arrow jutted out of Gûrel’s chest, an arrow that must have pierced the elf’s heart, or at least brushed it. Aragorn blinked, but the arrow was still there. It was impossible. The orcs had had no archers with them, and no orc could have driven the arrow into Gûrel’s chest at such an angle and so deeply merely with its hands.
The entire world around him seemed to vanish, until there was nothing but Gûrel and the arrow and a truth that could not be true. As if from a distance he heard Niras call Gûrel’s name, his voice choked with pain. Niras sank to his knees beside Gûrel, dropping his knives and cradling the fallen elf in his arms, heedless of any danger. Aragorn knew them to be brothers, and he had long since guessed that Gûrel was the younger one. He saw Niras’ gaze fall on the arrow and his face pale, one trembling hand coming to rest near the shaft.
Suddenly Niras threw his head back, giving vent to his pain and fury and grief. A moment later he collapsed over the body of his brother, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Forcing himself with sheer willpower to finally tear his gaze away, Aragorn’s eyes searched for a familiar figure. He saw that Legolas had climbed down the tree and was running towards them. The worried expression on his friend’s face showed clearly that he was not aware of what had happened to Gûrel.
Aragorn stared at Legolas, trying to understand what was going on. What had happened? Had he really seen that arrow in Gûrel’s chest? It could not be true. It could not. An arrow whistled through the air right in front of him, hitting something with a thud. Aragorn started and saw an orc fall to the ground, dead. It brought him back to his senses. Angry at his own carelessness, he quickly raised his sword and changed position, so that he came to stand between the advancing orcs and the elves behind him.
The ranger realized that it was a miracle that they were still alive in spite of his inattentiveness. No. No miracle. Legolas. The wood-elf had guarded them while Aragorn stood frozen in shock and Niras had collapsed under the weight of his grief. Automatically, Aragorn started fighting again. Now that Niras and Gûrel were down, he found himself greatly outnumbered once more, but he knew that he could handle numbers like these. He had done so before, and Legolas would soon be at his side.
Another arrow cut through the air right next to him and he flinched involuntarily, chiding himself immediately. There was no time for doubts or explanations or even thoughts now. Now was the time for survival. With grim determination he went through the familiar movements of hacking, slicing, ducking, and parrying, but he was not able to drive away the image that had burned itself into his mind: Gûrel pierced by one of the green-fletched arrows from Legolas’ quiver.
Aragorn smashed the knob of his sword into the face of one orc, winning just enough time to draw his hunting knife and throw it at another attacker, piercing its throat. He stood alone against twelve orcs now, and while he was quite capable of defending himself he knew he could not keep them from reaching Niras much longer. He looked in the direction where he had seen Legolas last, planning to draw his attention and call for help and wondering at the same time why Legolas was not here already.
To his dismay he saw that Legolas had covered almost no ground in the meantime and had instead come to a dead stop. Looking closer, Aragorn recognized an expression of shock on the elf’s face, quickly followed by disbelief and then horror while he was still watching. The ranger knew immediately what Legolas must have seen to shake him so much. It was obvious that the elf had not known at all what had happened to Gûrel. Aragorn wished his friend could have remained ignorant a while longer.
Looking around, the ranger noticed that he was not the only one who had become aware of the elf’s distraction. Some of the orcs, who had previously tried to keep as far away as possible from the deadly arrows, were advancing on Legolas now, and one of them was almost near enough to run his scimitar through the back of the lithe figure in front of him. Aragorn’s fingers moved instinctively to the hilt of his hunting knife… and found only empty air. He suppressed a curse.
“Legolas!” he called as loudly and urgently as he could.
Legolas started and began to turn. Their eyes met. Aragorn saw that the elf was still too shocked and confused to really register what was happening around him, and at the same time he noticed that the orc was raising its scimitar to thrust it into Legolas’ back. Even if he got through to the elf, his friend would never be able to react in time. Aragorn did the one thing he could do. He let go of the only weapon he still had and threw his sword at the orc.
The long weapon tumbled awkwardly through the air, turning slowly, but its aim was true and it hit the orc in the chest with full force. The creature gave a screech of pain that ended abruptly and fell backwards, hitting the ground and being pinned to it by the sword. Legolas spun around as he heard the scream, his eyes widening as he became aware of what had just happened. Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief.
Legolas turned back to him, his eyes alert now. There was a short flicker of gratitude in them before he scanned the battlefield around them. One moment later he nocked an arrow to his bow and fired it so quickly that Aragorn was nearly unable to follow his movements. An orc right next to the human fell without even a sound. Looking at the creature in surprise, Aragorn realized that it had been ready to throw a dagger at him.
He nodded at Legolas with the hint of a smile and then bent down to pick up a scimitar that lay next to one of the corpses, right in time to parry the blow of another orc that had tried to sneak up on him. Legolas fired two more arrows, then he abandoned his bow for his twin knives. He fought his way quickly to Aragorn’s side, and they began to move together in a deadly, graceful dance that had been honed and practised through years upon years of joint fights and dangers. None of the orcs had even a chance to flee.
~ * ~
A short time later the two friends stood side by side between the corpses of their enemies. Aragorn turned slowly in a circle, wanting to make sure that the danger was truly over. None of the orcs was left standing, and none of the fallen ones moved anymore. He relaxed slowly. Legolas sheathed his knives, and Aragorn threw the scimitar between the corpses. Their eyes met.
Aragorn smiled, but the elf’s face was expressionless and he looked away almost instantly, as if he feared what he would see in the man’s gaze, or did not want the ranger to read in his own. For a moment Aragorn was confused by his friend’s strange reaction, but then he remembered suddenly what he had seen before and what had nearly cost all of their lives: the arrow.
For a short time, while fighting alongside his friend, he had forgotten all about it, and he nearly wished it could have stayed that way. Seeing Legolas’ arrow sticking out of the dead elf’s chest had been like a strange, terrible nightmare and suddenly the ranger dreaded the moment when he would have to face it again. He could only guess what that sight must have done to Legolas, and how the elf must feel now. Legolas’ head was bowed and his muscles tensed. He seemed weighed down by dark thoughts.
Aragorn made one step towards his friend, intending to lay a comforting hand on his arm, but right in that moment Legolas turned away from him, facing the two elves behind them instead. Bracing himself, Aragorn followed his example. Niras had not moved much. He was still kneeling on the ground, holding his dead brother, rocking back and forth slowly while his eyes stared blankly ahead, as if looking at something only he could see. The grief that emanated from him was nearly palpable, like a cloud that threatened to darken the hearts of all who were touched by it.
Aragorn had seen that before, and he had hoped to never see it again. Elves could die from grief, and Aragorn knew that Niras had reached the breaking point. The elf would either fade from a broken heart or sail to the Undying Lands. There was no other way left for him. It reminded Aragorn of something Legolas had said shortly after they had first encountered the two brothers.
The friends had met Niras and Gûrel while they were traversing the Misty Mountains on their way from Mirkwood to Rivendell. As the two elves had the same way, they had decided to travel together. Shortly after meeting them, Aragorn had begun to wonder where their new companions were headed and why, and he had shared his thoughts with Legolas.
It was a rare thing these days to meet other travellers in the Misty Mountains, and what made it even more unusual was that these elves seemed to be from Lothlórien and not from Rivendell or the Woodland Realm. Legolas had not taken more than one look at their companions. “They are going to the Grey Havens,” he had said, compassion in his gaze. “Do you not see how tired their eyes are?”
Aragorn had watched Niras and Gûrel for the rest of the day, and finally he had been able to see it, too. The light in their eyes was subdued and their exhaustion seemed to stem from more than simply the hardships of their journey. Aragorn had been quiet and thoughtful for the entire evening. To see elves leave these shores always filled him with sadness, and he hoped with all his heart that he would never see such an expression in Legolas’ eyes. He had asked himself then what might have caused these elves to tire of this world so much that there was no other choice left for them than to leave it forever.
The ranger suppressed a sigh. He would probably never learn about the reasons for Niras’ and Gûrel’s journey now, and at least for one of them the journey had reached its end. Suddenly unable to bear the heartbreaking grief in Niras’ eyes any longer, he looked away and found his gaze drawn to Legolas instead.
His friend stood completely frozen, his gaze alternating between the green-fletched arrow in Gûrel’s chest and the grief-stricken face of Niras. There was horror in the archer’s eyes, horror and despair. He looked like someone who was trying with all his might to understand something that made no sense at all.
Alarmed by the despair on Legolas’ face, Aragorn put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Legolas, do you know what happened?” he asked the elf quietly.
It was enough to finally make Legolas tear his gaze away from the sight in front of them and look at Aragorn instead. His eyes were dark and empty, and he seemed to be strangely lost. It hurt the ranger to see his friend like that.
“No,” Legolas answered, and his voice sounded hollow. “I never follow the flight of an arrow once it is shot… I never need to.”
As if against his will, his head started to turn in the direction of Gûrel again, but Aragorn squeezed his friend’s shoulder slightly and drew the elf’s attention back to himself. Legolas’ gaze fixed on the ranger as if he was an anchor to hold on to.
“Gûrel was moving away from the flight path of the arrow and the orc was moving right into it,” the elf said softly. “That is all I saw before I turned away to fire the next arrow. I do not know-” He broke off, a helpless look in his eyes.
Aragorn put his other hand on Legolas’ free shoulder and turned his friend around so that he was facing him. The elf did not resist.
“Listen to me,” the man said intently, his eyes boring into those of his friend. “I do not know what happened here, or how it did happen, but I know it was not your fault. Your arrows do not go astray, or I would be dead a hundred times over. I know you, my friend. Do not lose faith in yourself. It was not your fault. It could never be.”
Legolas looked back at him, and the sudden deep pain in the elf’s eyes cut right into Aragorn’s heart. “I thank you for your trust in me, Aragorn,” the archer answered softly. “But whatever you say, it is my arrow in Gûrel’s chest. It is my arrow that… killed him. You cannot change that.”
Aragorn felt Legolas’ shoulders slump slightly in sudden defeat. Then the elf took one step back, and reluctantly Aragorn released his hold on him. Legolas turned around and slowly began to walk away. As much as Aragorn did not want to let him go, he knew that his friend needed to be alone now. He was only too aware how terrible the situation must be for Legolas.
The wood-elf was a fierce and merciless fighter against any creature of darkness, but apart from that he avoided killing wherever he could. Whenever they had had to fight and kill men instead of orcs or other creatures of the Dark Lord, it had taken its toll on Legolas’ soul. As all elves, he honoured life, and he would not raise a hand against a child of Ilúvatar if he was given any choice. But now an elf had been killed, and seemingly by one of Legolas’ arrows.
Aragorn closed his eyes. He was not sure whether Legolas would be able to cope with Gûrel’s death at all. He opened his eyes again, turned, and looked down at Niras. His heart wanted to follow his friend, but he knew there was something he had to do, if he wanted to have a chance to really help Legolas. He had told his friend the truth. Aragorn found himself unable to believe that one of Legolas’ arrows could hit the wrong target, even in the heat of battle. Legolas was much too experienced an archer to allow that to happen.
As every archer, Legolas was aware of the dangers and would go to any lengths to avoid them. In all the years Aragorn had known the elf, none of his arrows had ever gone astray. To Legolas, archery was not simply a way to defend himself or his favourite way of fighting. It was a part of him, something that was almost as natural to him as breathing. That his arrow would not only miss the intended target, but also kill a friend on top of it was as likely as that the elf would accidentally stop breathing.
Aragorn knew he had to get to the bottom of this if he wanted to keep Legolas from destroying himself with his guilt and self-doubt. Niras was his only hope and he had been nearest to Gûrel when he fell. Right now, Niras was too far gone to reach, but Aragorn hoped that he would come to his senses again some time during the night, if he was not already fading. The orcs had attacked them at dusk, when they had already made camp at the western foot of the Misty Mountains and had believed the worst danger to be over.
The ranger rekindled the campfire and dragged the nearest orc corpses away, so that the sight of them and their stench would not be the first thing that would greet Niras if he ever woke up again from his trance-like state. Aragorn settled down a small distance away from the elf, hoping that his presence would provide at least some kind of comfort to the grieving Elda. He only wished that he could have done the same for Legolas.
As much as he understood the wood-elf’s reasons for leaving the camp, he still did not like the thought of his friend being out there alone with only his pain and agonizing thoughts for company. But the only way to truly help Legolas now was to stay and try to talk to Niras. If Niras had not seen anything… Aragorn did not know whether he would be able to help Legolas live with what had happened here today if he could not at least find a reason for it. At the moment, he could only try to hold on to hope for both of them.
To be continued…
Disclaimer see Chapter One.
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Chapter Two: Despair
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Legolas had no aim in mind when he left the camp and the battleground behind him. He just walked on, oblivious to everything around him, ignoring even the trees and their whispering voices until his way was blocked by the bank of a small river. Legolas stopped on the sandy shore, one of his feet already submerged in the water. The elf did not care. Moonlight danced and glittered on the small waves, and Legolas watched it for a while. All around him was strangely silent. There was no wind tonight, and apart from a light gurgling the river made no sound.
If he had been in another mood, the elf would have valued the magic of this place, but as it was he did not really notice anything around him, nor see anything else but a deadly arrow and eyes that were clouded by terrible grief. Suddenly the night air seemed cold to him and he shivered. Slowly he raised his hands and the bow he held in them, looking at the weapon as if he had never seen it before. He had picked the bow up and taken it with him, though he did not even know why.
The curved wood felt familiar under his hands and the bow did not look any different than it had before. His fingers automatically traced the intricate design that had been carved into the bow a long, long time ago. The bow had been his trusted weapon for a longer time than he cared to remember, but Legolas knew he would never be able to look at it the same way again. How could he have erred like that? How could something like that have happened?
Legolas had never had reason to doubt his abilities, but he had also never been careless. His abilities had been steadily honed and improved over the years. He never shot an arrow when there was the slightest doubt, the slightest danger that it could go amiss. He would never willingly risk a friend’s life. A mistake like that could not have happened to him – and yet it had. He closed his eyes at the thought that it could as well have been Aragorn who had fallen under his arrow. The thought was unbearable.
Legolas could not help playing and replaying the shot over and over again in his mind. There was nearly no time between firing an arrow and its hitting the target, so if he made sure that no one he did not want to hit was near the intended flight path or moving towards it, nothing should be able to go wrong. The orc had been barely moving, presenting a perfect target, while Gûrel had been busy avoiding the attack of another orc, which had quickly brought him out of the way. The arrow should have flown true.
The elf pressed his lips together in frustration, tightening his grip on the bow as if he wanted to break it. He was not able to see any mistake, anything that could have gone wrong, and yet the arrow had hit Gûrel and killed him. He could not understand how the orc had been able to escape the arrow, and how Gûrel could suddenly have been in the wrong place. It was impossible… if he had not made an error in judgement that he was not able to see.
Legolas had been an archer for so long that it was a part of his identity by now. Gûrel’s death had shaken him deeply, questioning not only his abilities, but also who and what he was. Whatever might have caused it, he had killed an elf today. It made him nothing less than a kinslayer. His hands began to shake and he lowered his bow as the frustration gave way to crushing waves of despair that brought him to his knees.
Only now was he able to fully realize what he had done, what he was guilty of. Gûrel was dead, and Niras would either die of grief or would have to sail to the Undying Lands without his brother, and all because of him. He had destroyed a life and a family today. Even if he was not a murderer, someone had died by his hands and nothing could change that.
He just sat there for a long time, staring at the bow in his hands. He felt as if something inside of him had died, too, leaving an empty hull behind. He did not know any longer who he was or what his place in this world was supposed to be from now on. There had never been a doubt in his mind that he would stand by Aragorn’s side, sharing his fight until the end, but how much use would he be if his arrows were as likely to strike friend as foe? How could anyone be able to trust him again? How could he ever trust himself again?
What use was a warrior who could not wield his weapon without endangering his friends? He could still fight with his knives, but he would always remain an archer in heart and skill. And even if he never touched a bow again in his life, could there not be another error in judgement on his part that would cost another life? He raised his head and looked out over the dark water in front of him. The wood of the bow had warmed under his hands, as if it was a living thing.
Suddenly Legolas could not bear the feel or the sight of the once-trusted weapon any longer. It would forever be a mute reminder of a terrible moment and deed that had changed his life irreversibly. He considered breaking the bow, but knew he could not bring himself to do it. Watching the swirling water, he realized that the river was all he needed to take care of the problem. He did not trust his legs to carry him, so he simply straightened a bit and raised his arm to hurl the bow into the river in front of him.
At the same moment a strong hand closed around his wrist, stopping his movement abruptly. “I would not do that, if I were you,” a familiar voice said quietly from behind him.
Legolas sighed inaudibly, not really too surprised about Aragorn’s presence. The only thing that had surprised him was that his friend had allowed him to leave at all. But then, there had been Niras who needed to be watched and taken care of. Again, Legolas felt the sting of guilt and a growing pain in his chest. He had not been able to look at Niras and bear his grief any longer. A slight tug at the bow in his hand brought him back to the present.
The elf hesitated for a moment, but then he let the weapon go. If Aragorn wanted to have it, then he could keep it. “How is Niras?” he asked softly.
Legolas heard Aragorn move and sit down at his side, but could not bring himself to look at his friend. He felt too ashamed. How the ranger could still believe in his innocence was beyond him, when all the proof anyone needed lay in the camp behind them, dead. One of Legolas’ hands started playing nervously with some blades of grass, but when he became aware of it he stopped the movement immediately, balling his hand into a fist. He could feel Aragorn’s gaze boring into him, scrutinizing him.
“Better,” the ranger answered finally. “I think with Elrond’s help he will be able to survive long enough to reach the Grey Havens.”
Legolas simply nodded, not trusting his voice enough to speak. He looked at the silvery moonlight on the water in front of him and tried to find solace in its beauty and the fact that some things never changed, but all he could think about were the things that had changed, and irreversibly so. Gûrel was dead, Niras would die of grief or sail, and he himself did not know how to live on with the heavy burden of guilt on his heart.
“Legolas?” Aragorn’s voice sounded worried, and the elf felt a hand touch his arm. “It was not your fault.”
The words were enough to break through the dark mood that Legolas had sunk into. He raised his head and stared at his friend, unveiled pain in his eyes. “How can you still say that?” he asked, his voice rough. “Gûrel is dead, and it was my arrow that killed him. If you do not believe in an invisible orc archer who shoots elven arrows, there is no one else to blame!”
Legolas regretted his outburst in almost the same moment he heard himself say the words, but he also knew that Aragorn had to accept the truth sometime. The friend the man had relied upon for so long had failed in a terrible way. Legolas was sure that their friendship could never be the same after today. Aragorn could simply not afford to trust him with his life any longer, the way he had done before.
The elf knew that his despair showed clearly in his eyes, and that the man would see it, but in that moment he was beyond caring. He had already lost all there was to lose. Before he could turn away again, he felt Aragorn’s hands on his shoulders and the piercing grey eyes of the man caught his gaze and held it.
“There is someone else to blame,” the ranger said emphatically. “You did not kill Gûrel. He moved into the path of the arrow.”
There was confusion in Legolas’ eyes. “But… he was moving away from the arrow!”
“It was no error in judgement on your part,” Aragorn said decisively, forestalling any attempt of the elf to heap more blame on himself. “He moved into the arrow’s path intentionally.”
Legolas stared at the man disbelievingly, struck speechless for a moment. “He was an elf, Aragorn,” he protested then. “He would never do anything like that. He would not even contemplate it! I value your attempt to prove my innocence, but-“
“I would never say anything like that if I was not sure of it,” Aragorn interrupted him gently. “Legolas, just listen to me and let me explain, will you?”
Legolas looked at him hesitatingly, but then he nodded, his trust in his friend overcoming the absurdity of the man’s words. Aragorn released the elf’s shoulders and leaned back slightly.
“As I told you before, I know you, Legolas,” the man began. “I do not think you are even able to make an error like that out of negligence. You would do anything not to endanger a friend or ally - I have watched you often enough to know that.”
Legolas looked down at the sand and some blades of grass in front of him, not sure if he could bear the warmth and the conviction in the ranger’s words right now.
Aragorn watched him closely. He knew he had come at just the right moment. His friend had been about to break under the terrible weight he had taken upon himself. Legolas’ bow had become nearly a part of himself over the years, and to see the elf about to destroy it had alarmed Aragorn and told him all that he needed to know about his friend’s state. He wished Legolas would stop avoiding his gaze, but he knew he could not help that now.
“Niras was closest to Gûrel when he was hit by the arrow, so there was the small chance that he had seen something neither of us had,” Aragorn continued. “I could only hope that he would finally come out of his grief and be able and willing to talk to me. Some time ago he came to his senses again, and when he realized that you were gone, and why, he was not only willing to speak to me, he insisted on it.”
With an inward smile Aragorn noticed that Legolas’ eyes had been drawn back to his face, perhaps without even realizing it, and that the elf was listening intently.
“Niras did not see what happened, but it turned out that he did not need to.” Aragorn thought of Niras’ broken voice when he recounted the tragedy to him that had become the two brothers' life, and took a deep breath. “You were right with everything you told me. They were indeed on their way to the Grey Havens. Some years ago, Gûrel had fallen into the hands of a marauding horde of orcs with his entire family. He was the only one alive when Niras finally found them.”
Legolas bowed his head. “There was a deep pain in their eyes,” he said softly, and Aragorn knew that the elf was speaking about a pain that was at least partly familiar to him.
“Gûrel survived,” the ranger continued his sad tale quietly, “but he had seen his wife and his two children die and had been tortured for a long time. Niras said Gûrel was never the same again afterwards. He also told me that the two of them were the last of their family who still lingered in Middle-earth. Their mother had sailed after their father had fallen in a battle. As Niras noticed that Gûrel did not recover as he should and was constantly plagued by fears and nightmares and grief, he decided that the only way to save his brother and to save himself from having to live through his brother’s death was to sail.”
For a moment they both stayed silent, the thoughts of each resting on the sad fates of the two brothers. Legolas gaze was thoughtful, and Aragorn realized with relief that his friend’s eyes were clearer and a bit calmer now that his attention had been drawn away from his own problems for a while.
“That does not yet explain why Gûrel would want to… end his life,” Legolas finally broke the silence between them. He was clearly still wrestling with the thought that an elf would be willing to even consider such a death, as each life was sacred to the elves. “We were winning the fight. He could have lived on and sailed.”
Hearing the renewed doubt in Legolas’ voice, Aragorn rued that he had not immediately told all there was to say. “Niras said his brother did not think clearly. Since his captivity Gûrel was terrified of the possibility of falling into the hands of orcs again, and Niras is convinced that all his brother saw was that he was surrounded by orcs. He believes that his bother preferred to die rather than have the past repeat itself.”
He looked directly into Legolas’ eyes. “Niras saw the arrow fly. He confirmed that it would not have posed a danger for either of them, so he did not even look to see where it struck. He also saw fear in Gûrel’s eyes and knew that his brother was close to losing control.”
Aragorn leaned forward and put a comforting hand on Legolas’ knee. “It was not your fault,” he repeated slowly. “None of it.”
Legolas stayed silent for a long moment, searching his friend’s eyes. Then, finally, he relaxed slightly. “I see,” he said softly.
Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. “Good,” he answered. “You made me doubt for a moment whether I would be able to hammer the truth into that stubborn head of yours.”
There was the hint of a smile around Legolas’ lips, and he covered Aragorn’s hand with one of his own. “Thank you,” he said in the same soft voice as before. “Thank you for believing in me.”
Aragorn could see that his friend was still badly shaken, but he was glad to see that the darkness and the despair were gone from the elf’s eyes. Legolas would recover from this blow, as hard as it had been. When the ranger had first heard Niras’ account, he had been angry at Gûrel for doing that to his friend, without even thinking about the consequences for Legolas. But after hearing the entire tale, all he had been able to feel was sadness and compassion and regret at the tragedy of it all.
“The real tragedy is that his death was completely needless,” Legolas spoke up as if reading the ranger’s thoughts, and there was a deep sadness in his voice. “If Gûrel had not… acted like he did, he would still be alive now.”
“I know,” Aragorn said simply.
For a while they just sat there together, listening to the soft gurgling sounds of the river and watching the moonlight, each dealing with his own turbulent emotions. Finally Aragorn looked at his friend again. “How do you feel now?” he asked quietly.
Legolas hesitated for a moment. “I do not know,” he then answered truthfully.
Aragorn understood that the elf would need more time to answer that question, as much as he wished that it was different. “It is about time to return to the camp,” he said.
“Niras?” Legolas asked.
“He is asleep, but I do not want to leave him alone for too long. Will you come back with me?”
Legolas looked at the sky and the river, as if not sure how to answer that question. Aragorn did not press him, knowing very well how difficult it would be for Legolas to face Gûrel’s body and Niras again. Finally Legolas turned to him and nodded. “Perhaps I can be of help,” he said simply.
Aragorn eyed him for a moment, once more marvelling at his friend’s strength and compassion. Legolas not only held nothing against Gûrel, but he was already thinking about helping Niras in his grief, while he had been close to breaking down under his own supposed guilt only a short time ago. “I have no doubt about it,” Aragorn answered with a smile.
He rose and offered his friend a hand, which the elf accepted. Spotting the bow that lay still on the ground, Aragorn picked it up. He looked down at the beautifully-crafted weapon for a moment, then he offered it to his friend. “You might want this back,” he said softly.
Legolas stood frozen for a while, staring at the bow with renewed pain in his eyes. Then he extended his hand and accepted the weapon. “I will keep it,” he said, “but I will never use it again. No arrow shall be fired from this bow from now on. It has been tainted with elven blood.”
He looked up, meeting Aragorn’s eyes. “I did not kill Gûrel, but it was still my arrow that pierced his heart, and it was my hand that he used to cause his death. I do not think I will ever be able to forget that.”
Aragorn put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, offering silent comfort. At that moment he wished nothing more than to be able to turn back time and prevent Gûrel’s death and all the grief and guilt it had caused.
“Just remember that you do not have to carry that burden alone,” he said.
- The End -