“No,”

Aragorn froze as he passed the door. A voice had gasped softly, but it was not in pain but desire. The voice sounded like Legolas, and yet didn’t. He was not accustomed to hearing the elf sound . . .he did not want to think along those lines. He began to take another step, but the voice came again.

Aragorn frowned, wondering what was going on. As far as he was aware, there were only three people in the palace. Himself, Gimli, whom he had just left eating in the great hall, and Legolas. He eyed the doorway that led to Legolas’ bed chamber. It had to be Legolas.

A tremulous sigh of passion filled the room beyond the door, which had been left ajar. A moan followed. Who was he with?

Aragorn’s eyes widened. Whoever he was with must have gained entry through a window.

Whom did he love?

Aragorn almost reached out to open the door, but something made him freeze.

“His mother?” he whispered.

If Aragorn had been confused before, now he was very confused. “What is going on?” he whispered to himself.

Aragorn winced at the pain in his voice. There was sobbing from within, the sound of a heart breaking.

Aragorn lifted his eyes. “Birth?

Aragorn sucked in a breath. He whirled to look back along the hallway towards the great hall. What dwarf? What had a dwarf done?

There was another groan of pleasure, but this time, there was a struggle.

Aragorn tensed.

Someone was torturing him, Aragorn thought.

Bonded? Aragorn had not known the elf had a bond-mate.

Aragorn was beginning to understand.

There was silence for a long moment, and Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed to be the end of Legolas’ nightmare. He began that step again, only to hear the plaintive voice again.

Aragorn sank in his boots. “Dwarves killed an elven child, and his mother,” he breathed in horror. A moment later the voice turned tender.

Aragorn heard the sobs wrack the elf beyond the door.

Aragorn leaned his forehead against the door jamb and closed his eyes.

Aragorn lifted his head from the jamb. Tears brightened his eyes as he fought not to let them fall, empathy burning through his heart for his friend. “May the Valar hear my vow, Legolas, son of Thranduil,” he whispered. “I will help you all I can,” he whispered, a single tear rolled down his cheek. His body shuddered gently as he straightened and continued his journey down the hall.

A small figure drew away from the drapes that hung near Legolas’ door. His face betrayed his disbelief and horror, and then the pain slammed into his short frame. In his hands was a tray, set with the meal Legolas had missed. Would he want it? Gimli wondered. Hadn’t he said so himself?

He could not bear to be near him, the pain too great, his friendship was like acid on his tongue. But before he could think of turning, Gimli paused for one moment more. Waiting? Was Legolas waiting for that he already had?

Those last words had not been of hatred but love, the sincere love of one friend to another. Gimi’s breath shuddered in his throat. He suddenly realised that there was only one thing Legolas could be waiting for, and that was his turn to leave for the white shores. He shifted his feet a little, in two minds, leave now and never return, or stay with the one person who needed him.

“If there is one thing I can do better than Aragorn, it’s be there for Legolas,” he said to himself. “He has duties, meetings, pleasantries, while Legolas dies from grief?” Gimli shook his head. “Not while this dwarf still draws breath.”

He stepped closer to the door and nudged it open with a toe. Legolas was lying in the bed, asleep, his face wet with tears. His body shuddered now and then as a sob escaped. Gimli set the tray down on the bedside table and gently sat on the edge of the bed to wipe the tears from Legolas’ face. Legolas sobbed gently, but did not wake.

Gimli was content to wait, and did not have to wait long before the elf shifted beneath the blankets. Blue eyes opened to find a face peering down at him.

Beyond the door a man walked back along the corridor and passed the door, still set ajar. Legolas’ voice rose again.

He stopped. Legolas seemed to be awake now.

“I brought your dinner,” Gimli’s voice said. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday, and don’t say you have,” Gimli warned him as Legolas opened his mouth.

Aragorn frowned. Astute dwarf, he thought. He had not noticed Legolas missing meals. Now that he thought about it, he should have. There was a pause before Legolas replied.

“I am not hungry.”

“You’ll eat it all, lad,” Gimli scolded him gently. “Besides, you’ll not reach the white shores if you starve yourself to death.”

Aragorn smiled, but the smile died. Gimli had overheard the nightmares plaguing Legolas’ soul as well. And there he had been thinking he had been alone in the hallway. He heard a gasp and imagined Legolas’ face filled with pain. He had never seen Legolas in pain, so imagining seeing it was hard to do.

Legolas’ pained whisper.

Gimli softly spoken words.

Aragorn heard the rustle of sheets and the creak of wooden bed. Legolas had turned away. If it had been him, he would have curled into a ball in attempt to shut out the world.

Aragorn stifled a gasp at Gimli’s question. His ears strained to hear the response. It was muffled, indicating that Legolas had indeed turned away and rolled into a ball.

He could not bring himself to say the words, Aragorn could tell. He heard the faint but distinct sound of a hissed sob.

“I didn’t do it,” Gimli almost whispered. “I am not a killer . . .although I have wanted to throttle you a few times for the glares you kept sending me.”

Legolas laughed softly through his tears. That was a distinct sound too. He heard the gentle pat of gloved hand against cloth-shrouded shoulder. Aragorn tensed, waiting for resistance, but there was none.

There was a pause before a rustle of bed clothes and a creak of bed indicated that an elf had rolled back, probably in surprise.

There was silence. Aragorn held his breath.

Aragorn stilled, feeling the deep tenderness in the dwarf’s voice.

There was a long, long silence from within but steadily the sobs grew in intensity.

Gimli’s voice was broken. It must have been as hard to sit there and watch the usually strong elf being torn apart as it was to hear it from out side the door. Aragorn shuddered gently, trying to ignore the lump that rose in his throat. The sobs from within continued.

“If she won your heart, I think I would have loved her, too.”

Gimli’s whispered confession was sweet and pure, his soft voice carrying over the sounds of a heart breaking. Aragorn smiled with difficulty. Gimli was one unique creature.

Aragorn wiped away a tear. He had heard enough. If he did not leave now he would break down completely. He had too much time on his hands. Slowly he took a step down the hallway and made for the great hall. He was certain he could find something to do . . .whitewash the potatoes . . .polish the coal . . .or . . .

And behind him the ever tender voice of Gimli reminded the elf that life was still worth living.

El fin

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