| Part 3 Strider looked up and his eyes were clouded, like frozen ponds in winter, the darkest grey. Lost in thought he touched his lower lip as though traces of a kiss were still lingering there. Then, rousing himself from this reverie, he blinked, shaking his head in disbelief. “Indeed,” he murmured. “We weren’t watchful enough. A mistake we almost paid for with our lives. This must not happen again.” Swiftly, the Ranger sprang to his feet. “We’ve still a long distance to cover. We should go.” Legolas stared at him, wondering whether or not he should comment on what had just happened. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and swallowed his remarks. And in the end, what would he have wanted to say? Nothing had happened, after all. “You’re right,” he finally acknowledged, turning away quickly. Despite the fateful disruption of their journey they managed to cross the moor lands on that day and when the sun set they finally reached the path that would lead them up into the Gundabad Mountains. Time and again they gazed up to the sky, careful not to miss the birds again. Fortunately the dangerous creatures didn’t return. But as often as they looked around, carefully inspecting their surroundings, they never sought each other’s eyes. There was an awkward silence between them. *** The next day passed and finally they had almost reached the mountain pass that would lead them down to the Anduin valley and from there on to Mirkwood Forest. In the meantime, however, Strider’s health had rapidly turned from bad to worse. It seemed as though the birds’ attack had cast a shadow on the Ranger; darkness filled his heart and clouded his mind. With each hour he grew weaker. He no longer walked but practically stumbled through the wilderness, barely able to hold himself upright. Their journey had become an ordeal. Strider’s condition was deteriorating so fast that Legolas began to worry whether they would be able to reach their destination at all. The wound on Strider’s shoulder had fully healed, or so it seemed, but from the place the arrow had stuck a numbness had spread throughout his whole body. Legolas had completely removed the Orc-missile, but apparently this had not been enough to keep off the evil spell that had been at work since the Ranger had been injured. Watching his fellow traveller closely the Elf’s heart filled with grief. Strider hardly seemed to notice any longer what was transpiring around him. More and more he became lost in a world of his own. His eyes half-closed, he sometimes murmured words in a strange, foreign tongue. Legolas felt a cold shiver running down his spine at the sound of those harsh and discordant words. It was late afternoon when Strider, after an arduous way up the mountains, stumbled and almost fell, a deep gorge dangerously close. The echo of some pebbles falling down into the abyss resounded eerily from the surrounding rooks. Legolas caught him just in time and held him in a firm grip. “By Luthien,” he gasped. “What is it, my friend? You’re shaking ... and you feel terribly cold!” Strider stared at him with empty eyes, as though he had just woken from a dream. “Cold, yes, I always feel cold,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “The blackness and the cold ... they’re coming ever closer. They’re ... devouring me.” The Ranger shuddered again as if seized by a grim fever. “It’s as though I was walking through a haze. And all the time I hear those voices whispering: “Come. Come to us,” they are beckoning. “Join us. Give up your miserable existence and take the place amongst the noblest of princes that is yours by right. Powers will be bestowed upon you so supreme that your former life will seem nothing in comparison.” He looked up at the Elf; his face was ashen and his voice broken. “I no longer know who I am or where I belong. I wish I could follow them.” “No!” cried the Elf. “Not you!” He knelt before the man and took Strider’s face in his hands. “How can you forget who you are?” Strider smiled weakly. “So what am I, but a miserable wanderer in the wilderness? I am no longer Aragorn, son of Arathorn, descendant of the kings of old, but only Strider. A king without a crown who rules over a kingdom of forlorn ruins out there in the wastelands.” His mouth quivered, and Legolas flinched at the sound of that short bitter laugh. “All my hopes and dreams have gone astray. Shallow and pointless they seem to me now. And what about her, the one I once loved? She too has disappeared in the haze. He fumbled with a necklace, his fingers clutching a silvery pendant that was partially hidden under his shirt. Tears were glistening in Aragorn’s eyes when he continued. “Nothing more than a ghost she is now. A dream from a thousand years ago.” “Aragorn ... ,” Legolas interrupted him, breathless. “My noble lord, hold out, only a little longer! I’ll find a remedy against the cold and if you trust me, I may find a way to heal your soul, too.” “It’s too late,” Aragorn answered in a low voice. “I can no longer help you or your people. You must continue your journey alone. The only thing I want to do now is lie down on these stones and shut my eyes. And then I will call them. And they will come for me ...” Heavily he sank against the Elf, his eyes shut tightly. Holding the Ranger close, Legolas struggled hard to put him back on his feet. “Aragorn, look at me,” the Elf cried, desperate. “Don’t give up! We must walk on, only a little further. Open your eyes, my friend! Listen to me! I think I know what has befallen you. For days I have tried to ignore the signs of your illness, wishing my fears were groundless. But there can be no more denying now. The moment has come when I must speak ...” Legolas put one arm around his companion and supported him with the other, thus steadying him and dragging him slowly along, each step a trial until they reached a small crevice where they could take shelter. “Many summers ago ....” Legolas began tentatively, looking at the half-conscious man at his side. “You’d probably say in another time and age, one of my distant relatives from Lothlorien came to stay with us for a while. Findarín was his name. He was only a little older than I, but already well-known among our kind as a great minstrel. He loved all things beautiful on this earth and he loved words, too.” Legolas sighed and suddenly all exhaustion was gone from his features. “When I listened to him reciting one of his ballads it was as though I could hear the mountain rivers murmur and sing their eternal song. It touched my heart when he described the loneliness of some ancient boulders out there in the wilderness or when he spoke about the silvery moonlight of a cold winter’s night glistening on new-fallen snow. When I was with him my heart was brimming with happiness. It seemed as though I had found my other half, the one without whom I’d be incomplete. I was never happier in my whole life, I know that now. At that time, however, I was everything but content. Never did I dare to show my feelings nor even acknowledge them to myself. I felt anxious, restless, and all the time there was this longing I could not understand.” Legolas sighed and suddenly his lovely face clouded. “Then, one day, when Findarín was out into the forest with a company of friends they were attacked by Orcs. He survived the assault, striking down a great number of his enemies, but he was hit by an Orc-arrow and, like you, he began to fade after that. Day and night I remained at his side, seeing to his injuries, changing his bandages. I so desperately wanted to hold him close and comfort him, kiss his white cheeks and pale lips and tell him how much I loved him. But again I couldn’t find the courage to do so. I thought it was unnatural that I could love another male so much. So I only held his hand as it grew colder. One night I fell asleep at his side, exhausted from long hours of wakefulness and taking care of him. For you see, apart from the healers, I wanted to have no one else near him. In my dreams a beautiful lady appeared to me, golden tresses flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes were crystalline blue and full of wisdom. I’d never seen her before, nor did I know her name, but she seemed like a queen among Elves to me. “Legolas,” she said to me in her clear, melodious voice. “Do what your heart tells you. Don’t be afraid of your feelings. Only love can save Findarín from the Dark Curse and nothing else. Only the Gift of Life can bring him back from the shades and only you can do it. Do not waste your time! Quick, before it’s too late.” When I woke, her words were still ringing in my ears “... before it is too late.” It was a chilly spring morning, the sky dark purple still, the hour before sunrise. I took a deep breath and turned around to Findarín, but when I looked into his face I saw ... that he was ... dead.” The Elf swallowed hard and looked up to the sky, blinking hard to fight the tears that rose to his eyes. His voice was thick with emotion when he continued. “Too late! That thought rushed through my mind again and again. And then I broke down, collapsing on Findarin’s body. Tears were running down my face. I could not stop crying. All the time I had been at his side and, without knowing it, had held the key to his rescue in my hands. I could have saved him if I had followed my heart. But my fears and doubts had been stronger. Stronger than my love for him ...” Legolas turned to the man at his side. “I won’t let this happen again!” Aragorn looked at him, his eyes misted. “The Gift of Life? What is that?” “We Elves believe that the Gift of Life was given to us by the Valar when the world was young. Men know it too, though they have different names for it and may not be able to experience it with the same intensity and depth as we do. What is the Gift of Life you ask? Some of us might say they feel most alive out in the forest listening to the wind whispering in the trees, others may prefer the merry company of friends under a starry sky. But it is said that nothing makes you feel more alive than the act of love. And only thus, by becoming one in body, mind and soul, by sharing the divine spark of ecstasy the Dark Curse can be dispelled. This is the greatest gift of all. Freely and for love this gift must be given, and just as freely and in love it has to be accepted.” “So you’re saying ..., “Aragorn questioned, struggling for words, “That ... that we should be together like a man and a woman would be?” “Nay, like two men would be. It matters not who gives the gift and who accepts it,” Legolas answered calmly. “There was only one thing that held me back so far, that I didn’t now whether you were bound already. But be that as it may. I’d rather beg your love for forgiveness than stand-by and wait any longer. I could not forgive myself if I let you fall under the shadow of death as Findarín once.” “I don’t know, Legolas,” Aragorn looked up, bewildered. “I feel ... confused. But my heart quickens when I hear you speaking. Your voice is like a sweet, soothing balm for my soul. My past seems no more than a vague blur of hazy memories now. The last thing I remember before darkness fell on my heart is you standing on that hill in the morning sun, with your hair flowing in the wind, on the day when ... the birds attacked us.” The Ranger shuddered at the recollection. “If you hadn’t protected me from these vile creatures by shielding me I would have surrendered to the darkness right there and then. It was as though you’d cast a spell on me to guard me from the evil emanating from those beasts. But it was not terror I felt when the birds came down on us, instead ...” Aragorn’s voice trailed off, while studying Legolas’ face. “What did you feel?” the Elf questioned softly, mesmerized by the Ranger’s inquiring eyes. “I felt ...,” Aragorn began hesitantly, rising a hand up to the Elf’s face, cautiously, as though touching a rare flower. “I felt an overwhelming desire to hold you even closer. To touch your face ...” Hesitantly, the man’s fingers traced the contours of the Elf’s high cheek bones before wandered down to his lips. Legolas’ lips parted; he leant in to Aragorn’s touch, eyes half-closed and sighed: “Love is so easy, they say. And I feel it’s true. When the right moment has come ...” “Could it be the moment is here?” Aragorn asked, barely audible. Once more their faces were separated by only a thin band of air. But this time the band was torn when Legolas drew Aragorn towards him and sealed the Ranger’s lips with a kiss - a kiss like spring rain, washing away all grief and pain. And Aragorn no longer fought against it but surrendered to the Elf’s gentle caresses; and it was like sinking under, though no longer in a sea of darkness and despair, but in Legolas’ warm embrace. Wanton kisses like butterflies, fluttering from here and to there, from lips to neck, from cheeks to eyelids and back again, and deft fingers that snaked under Aragorn’s tunic, working a magic of their own upon the Ranger’s tormented body. Suddenly Legolas stopped, holding up the silver pendant Aragorn wore around his neck. Questioningly he looked at the man: “What is this? How come you to wear this piece of Elven jewellery?” Aragorn sighed. “It’s the token of a promise that was made a long time ago. A promise that will either have to be renewed, if she finds me still worthy of it, or declared null and void forever.” The Ranger covered his face with his hands. “Oh, my fair friend,” he muttered. “If only I knew what to do. My sense of honour tells me I can’t break my vow. I can’t do it. But my heart is in turmoil. I don’t know any more which path to follow. I don’t know.” Legolas closed his arms around the man. “I don’t want to steal your heart from her,” he whispered in Aragorn’s ear. “All I want is to touch your soul - for this one night. It’s my gift to you, given freely and for love. It’s yours to decide whether you accept it.” For a long time they sat like this, the Elf holding the man tightly. From the snow-covered mountain peaks high above, a cold wind blew down on them. The stars shone clear and bright, so near as if one could touch them. Once more Aragorn began to shiver and Legolas wondered whether the chilly breeze was to blame or whether the cold had seized the Ranger’s heart again. But from one moment to the next it was as though something had broken up inside the man. He lifted his head from Legolas’ shoulder and sought the Elf’s beautiful face again, grey sinking into blue, looking his companion up and down as if searching for answers. And Legolas returned the glance openly, sincerely. Not a word was spoken. Then Aragorn freed himself from their embrace. Raising his hands, he reached back and took off the necklace. “Legolas,” he whispered, handing him the precious amulet and closing his hands around the Elf’s. “Into your hands I give my life. Save me, I pray you” And Legolas answered. “I will.” |
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