Chapter Two: Gone

Legolas stood high upon a hill and he surveyed all that his eyes could see, and longed for what they could not.

The storms of two nights past had seemingly washed the earth clean, and the woodlands and plains sparkled green and the Anduin ran in a bright banner through it all. The sky overhead showed not a hint of threatening cloud, though he could not quite forget the warning on the storm winds. Just beyond the farthest reach of his eyes, he knew the wide silver sea thrashed at the shore, and here his mind could all but touch it.

He heard light footsteps behind him, but did not turn from his place upon the hill and his view of the world below.

The footsteps paused behind him, and her voice came lightly. "Brother, you stare at the fields as if from them you may glean the secrets of the Valar."

Legolas half-turned, welcoming with a sweep of his hand the fair she-elf that had pursued him up this long path and to the hill where he sometimes liked to come and stare across the land, towards the hidden sea.

Aeliné was perhaps the only one in the colony of Ithilien who might have approached him so easily, without worry for the interruption she caused. He supposed that might have something to do with the fact that they had both chased each other through Mirkwood with sticks imagined into daggers as elflings, and had side by side tormented all housed within the royal halls with their mischief. They were close in age; she had been born but three years before him, as they were close in temperament. There had always been understanding and ease between them.

He found himself glad of his sister's presence among the many elves who had chosen to follow him from his emptying homeland to this strange and beautiful realm. The land itself had been a gift from Aragorn, though Aragorn was quick to say that the presence of the elves was his own pleasure.

She did not treat him as overlord or Prince, and she did not pester him with grievances. Some days it seemed he never spoke to a soul without some complaint or need, and she was always nearby to assist him or remind him that he was to keep his peace.

Now, she stood beside him, her clear eyes watching him rather than the view he turned back to, and he felt her persistent and knowing gaze upon him. At last he raised an eyebrow in question and in invitation for her to speak her thoughts, though he knew she did not need nor seek permission for whatever she would say.

"Perhaps it is not the land at all, but the sea that you look to."

He did not like to speak of the sea, but he also did not like the weakness his inability to do so implied, so he smiled tightly, forcing it across his lips. However, when he turned to look at his sister, he found that the expression came more easily.

She was very dear to him, and if she tread in the dangerous waters of his sea longing, it was the love she bore him that prompted it. And perhaps she had earned the right to speak of trials, for she had known her share of them. Aeliné's story was one that was as sad as the shadow in her eyes. They both carried the scar of a common sorrow, though she bore the full weight of it upon her at all times.

Weeks before Legolas had departed to play his role in the War of the Ring, Aeliné's husband, and one of Legolas' dearest friends, a noble warrior called Nendil, had been slain by a party of Orcs who'd ventured far into the forests of Mirkwood.

Legolas had been with Nendil at the end, and had given his word that he would carry his friend's last words to his beloved wife, who awaited his return. His sister's grief had been terrible to behold, and Legolas had been nearly unable to bear his own sadness at his friend's passing, but it was much easier to bear than his sister's mourning.

For days he watched her drift, aimless and numb, through the palace halls, seeking neither sunlight nor nourishment. She desired the company of none, and eyes that had always sparkled when she saw her youngest brother turned dull and fathomless. She had withdrawn to such a great distance that he could no longer reach her.

Legolas had been almost glad to depart for Rivendell, and for the excuse to escape from her woe, but he had thought of her often during the long journey. He had worried how he would find her when he finally met her again, or if she would have already departed the shores of Middle Earth. He feared mostly the stillness that had lived in her eyes since he had stood before her and ended her hope and her joy, and diminished her light with words that had brought them both to their knees.

The stillness, even now, was still there in her eyes, and it ran deep.

But there was again love in her when she looked at him, and if she found joy in little else, Legolas knew that being with him was comfort to her. If for no other reason than because he reminded her of her husband, who had been forever at his side from the time they were mere babes.

"Will you go there soon? To the Havens, and across the sea Legolas? There is no reason why you should have to suffer so. And you do suffer. I see it."

"Nay, I will not make the journey. There is need of me here. I would not leave Aragorn. I am bound to him in my love for him."

"But you will pay a price for staying," she observed. "You already have paid it. It has cost you much care and heartache already."

With that, she turned and studied the horizon curiously for long moments, which prompted Legolas to ask, "and you, my sister? Will you go soon to the West, where the pain of this world is lessened and the great weariness cast away and left behind in the waters?"

Legolas had always wondered why Aeliné did not depart immediately after Nendil was killed, why she hadn't sought to ease the grief with a reunion or at least a memory, rather than the grim reality of her loss day upon unending day. He had never asked her before now.

"Nay. I do not hear the call of the sea. I do not long for it."

"And how is that? I should dearly like to know."

Her great eyes were full of loss and he found it hard to meet them as she looked steadily at him and said in a final voice, "It is not the time. He waits across the sea, but I can not yet go, for there is much here to be done."

"Do you stay for me? Because I would not have it," Legolas asked, lowering his brow.

"Arrogant fool," was her response to that.

He set his arm around her slim, but strong, shoulders and together they turned back to look out toward the sea.

Legolas sighed heavily, and his throat ached for her sorrow, and his stomach churned with anger at his inability to do anything to give her ease, and joy, and laughter again. Pointlessly, he struggled for some words of comfort. But he understood, from both seeing his father suffer the loss of his mother and knowing of Elrond's longing for Celebrían, that there was some pain for which there were no words at all nor any measure of time that might ease such grief and wanting. There was only hope of meeting again across the waters, and this she denied herself for some reason unknown to him.

"There is great bravery in you, fair one," Legolas said at last and they looked ahead and did not look away again until shouts from far below reached their keen ears.

Turning back toward the growing colony, Legolas saw that the guards from the gate were riding quickly toward the road and attempting to flag down a horse charging down it. The animal seemed maddened; his eyes rolled back and he was lathered from a run that looked to have nearly ended him. From one flank, an arrow protruded, caught deep in the muscle. Though the horse's hindquarters were covered in dried blood, he did not seem to feel it at all. And as the animal's dangling reins were secured by a rider, not even Elvish hands could calm him.

He left Aeliné behind him without a word, taking great leaps down the hillside and calling for his own horse to be brought to him immediately.

For it was Éowyn's horse, and he had returned without her.

*~*~*

"Here, no, a little higher…just there," Arwen said, and moved Aragorn's hand and pressed it firmly into the curve of her belly. "Can you not feel that?"

Aragorn moved in front of her, keeping one hand tightly against his growing child, with the other resting upon his hip in a superior looking stance. Arwen looked at him as he scowled at her middle in deep concentration, brow furrowed and mouth pressed tight. A slow smile came unbidden to her face at his fierce expression, but she quickly flattened it as at last he glanced back at her.

Heaving a sign of frustration, he shook his head. "Nay. I cannot feel it."

"Perhaps it is too soon. Do not look so troubled, Aragorn. I am sure in coming months you will have many opportunities to feel him as he gallops inside me. I am fairly certain that I shall give birth to a foal, not a child."

"Then perhaps you were destined for Éomer, who would have gladly taken you before he met his dear wife." Aragorn sighed again as he took his hands from Arwen's middle and instead took her fingers in his as they continued their walk in the gardens. "I am beginning to think that you feel nothing, but enjoy tormenting me by pressing your icy elf-feet against me in the night to awaken me for no reason at all."

He was perhaps sulking just a bit, disappointed to let her have their child all to herself for so long. To lighten him, she stepped closer to him and kissed his cheek. "It is important for a child and his mother to spend time together. You are not invited yet. You have done all that is required of you, for now."

His silver eyes glinted, like a sword flashing in sunlight, every bit as sharp and poignant. "I enjoyed my part in it very much."

"I gathered," Arwen answered and squealed with what sounded as girlish delight when he swept her firmly into his arms and kissed her there, in sunlight streaming like yellow ribbons through the trees.

"Anytime you have need of my services, Lady, you know where to find me, and if you do not, have the Tower issue a call, and I shall come at a run," he promised.

He was quite serious, and she threw her head back as he held her there and she laughed. The sound rang off the stone of the buildings surrounding them and swirled high into the air and into windows thrown open to welcome the beautiful day. And everyone within hearing of that musical laugh quickened their step and felt their own mouths turn upwards in smiles of love for the King and Queen below, who had taken leave of the palace to enjoy each other and the afternoon in the garden.

"Aragorn! I must…" Legolas strode quickly into the courtyard and then stopped, for he had come upon King and Queen in a most intimate embrace. He had no time for the usual wit that would have soon followed if he'd discovered them so any other time. "My apologies."

Aragorn jerked back and had the grace to look abashed, but Arwen gave him a rather sly smile, like a cat pleased after a thorough stretch, until she saw his face.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked quickly, seeing Legolas bore some news.

"I come with ill tidings. Lady Éowyn's horse has returned to Ithilien without her and he is injured by arrows. I feel the party has met some opposition."

"Only the one horse returned?" Aragorn asked, and the doubt that had assailed him as he stood at his window and waited for the storm to come upon them struck him again.

"Yes. I have given word at the Tower for a company to be assembled so that we may ride for Édoras to give Faramir aid."

Aragorn gave Arwen's hand a squeeze and looked at her quickly. Before he could say anything, she nodded. "Go. You must."

With a final kiss and a last touch of hand to the shy child, Aragorn turned and followed Legolas from the courtyard, and those in the towers above heard the Queen's laughter no more that day, or for many days hence.

They rode as they had not since they came to Gondor's aid in the days of darkness. Aragorn and Legolas led the line. The hilt of Aragorn's sword pressed into his palm, and Legolas' bow traveled in his tight grasp.

They moved fast, and no force could have slowed them, yet a gnawing of thought in the minds of all in pursuit knew that it was likely far too late for aid of any kind. That grim thought only grew as the hours and then the day passed into night.

 Near dawn of the second morning, they learned that they were not mistaken.

As the mists rose and the sky gave over to gray, Legolas motioned Aragorn and the rest of the company to halt, and he stared hard into the deceitful light, as if trying to make out what he saw. At last, the lesser eyes of Aragorn and the men behind saw a lone figure stumbling down the road.

Legolas tightened his fingers about his bow and Aragorn pulled his blade from its sheath as they waited.

At last, the light shifted and aided their vision, and it became apparent that the stranger, though covered in both mud and blood that could not possibly have all belonged to him, wore the colors of Gondor.

"He is one of ours!" Aragorn cried out, and dismounted. With Legolas and several other men behind him, he ran to the faltering soldier.

Upon seeing Elessar, the young man fell to his knees before him and began to sob violently, gasping for air and pressing what looked to be a shattered arm to his ribs as he rocked there and reached with his good hand for Aragorn's boots.

"It is too late! I came for help as soon as I awakened, but it is too late!" Grasping him about the ankle, he choked out to a bewildered Aragorn, "you must kill me! For I have failed you, and Faramir, and the Lady! I have failed them all and such a coward should not live!"

Aragorn looked at Legolas in alarm, and then slowly kneeled with the soldier, taking his dirty face between both hands and tilting it up so that he could look him in the eye. Tears warmed Aragorn's hands, and made canyons in the mud caked upon the boy's cheeks. He trembled violently beneath Aragorn's touch.

"What has happened?" Aragorn asked urgently, but not unkindly, though the soldier cowed more at these words.

"An ambush in the night. They came from everywhere, devils out of the forest. We were outnumbered, Milord, and they just started killing. We tried to defend ourselves but it was too late."

"How many survived?" Legolas asked from above as Aragorn's wide eyes stared through the boy in front of him in shock at such news.

"I fear none lived save me. I was injured in my sword arm, and hit upon the head and I crawled away, and all went dark for some time. I do not know how long it has been since the attack!" With this, he burst into gasping sobs again and doubled over, again seeking to touch Aragorn's boot. "May all forgive me, but I crawled away when I should have stayed and done my duty of guarding the Lord Faramir and the White Lady until my death. I am a coward and I deserve no mercy! Please, you must kill me for this disservice. I have betrayed your trust!"

With that the guard reared up upon his knees and threw back his head, exposing a pale throat streaked with mud and with blood, as he waited for the King's blade.

Aragorn reached forward to place his hand on the young man's shoulder and asked, "what is your name?"

Looking bewildered to still be alive, he said tentatively, "Turen, Milord."

"Turen, there is no shame in survival and you may be of great service to us yet. You must show us where you were ambushed and search your memory for any information that may lead us to those who committed this act."

"You are merciful, Milord. I will tell you all I know."

With Aragorn's help, Turen gained his feet and was quickly tended by the King's healing hands. When his arm and the cut on his temple were bound, he was put upon a horse with another rider and they set off at a more reckless speed than before.

As the sun edged directly overhead, they arrived on what was not a battlefield, but rather a graveyard, and the armor of the fallen men of Gondor glittered in the high sun, and the brightness seemed an obscenity on the bloodied grounds. The fine Rangers and the Royal Guard of Gondor lay broken in the road, their weapons in many cases undrawn and expressions of surprise and agony upon their still faces. The stench of death and rot curled into their nostrils and they could not escape it in this place. Birds of carrion scattered and retreated to lower branches at the arrival of the company, watching keenly. Many unseeing eyes stared back as Legolas and Aragorn both sat motionless upon their mounts, fighting waves of fury and grief and sickness.

Swallowing hard, Aragorn's eyes scanned the field for signs of life, and for Faramir and Éowyn.

A vulture swept down and picked at the body of one soldier, and with a shout of rage, Aragorn hurled his sword at the bird, who took flight before the blade drove home into the bloody ground.

"It was a massacre," the men behind them were saying and looking fearfully into the woods for the enemy.

Murder. Ambush. Assassination. Devilry.

The voices of the soldiers behind Legolas murmured on, and at last, he understood what the winds had been whispering on the night of the storm.

"Riders at the head of the column set up a guard about the perimeter! The rest of us will begin burials. Search for Faramir and Éowyn! We shall not leave this place until we find them. We shall then ride in answer to this atrocity!" Aragorn commanded, and in his raw voice was both venom and grief, barely held in check by his strong will. His hands trembled with it, and he curled them into impotent fists so that his men would not see.

At that moment, as if in answer to his ragged cry, there was a flash of silver at the edge of the wood, and all stilled and turned, holding their breath collectively, as if they feared that to draw air would somehow cause the sight before them to dissipate.

Faramir staggered from the shadows, and from him two broken arrow shafts protruded, one in his chest, the other in his middle. The white tree and stars on the front of his armor were crimson, and in his face there was no color at all. His eyes seemed to look past them all, to some unseen foe. He dragged his sword behind him, for he had not the strength to wield it. He looked as the walking dead, and Aragorn felt new horror drop like a stone in his stomach, for he feared only one thing could bring such a look of defeat to the Steward's face.

Faramir gave an airless sort of cry when he at last he recognized the banners of Gondor, and his strength failed him. He fell upon his knees in a pool of sunlight, head lowered in defeat. For a moment, a strange merge of past and present nearly dazed Aragorn as the memory of the fall of Boromir assaulted him and bled into this new sight of his brother, injured in much the same way.

Aragorn leapt slain horses and waded through bodies to come to his Steward's side, and Faramir looked up at him, and his eyes had gone blind to all save the horror of whatever had brought his men to their deaths.

Aragorn took the hand Faramir raised weakly with his own trembling hand, and clutched it tightly to his chest, and Faramir's skin burned with fever even as Aragorn's own eyes burned with tears of deepest fury for this needless slaughter.

"She is gone," Faramir whispered in a broken voice, and seemed to not know what else to say. "She is gone. Gone and I cannot find her."

***