Disclaimer: I only own the Rucin, and I’m not sure I really want that!

Rating: PG-13 (For heavy angst and later events)

A/N:

This is a companion piece to Flying High, Flying Low, written for the competition on Mellon Chronicles website. It’s also posted here. I strongly suggest you read that first because this won’t make much sense otherwise!

Time Period:

Pre-trilogy. The events in this fic occur when Aragorn is around 23/24. He has been travelling with the rangers for a time and is aware of his heritage.

// Denotes flashbacks //

‘Denotes Thoughts’

***

Aragorn dreamed of falling. Behind his closed eyes he relived the sight of Legolas diving backwards off the cliff, sinking beneath the lake’s surface. Tossing in his bed, he moaned in horror as the figure fell out of sight, his muscles reflexively kicking as he remembered diving forward in a futile attempt to catch his friend. Lying flat on his stomach at the edge of the cliff, arms outstretched in despair, he could only watch, as the elf seemed to fall ever onwards, time crawling by, as it often seems to in moments of horror. Beneath Legolas’ figure, Aragorn could discern the waves scattering across the surface of the lake below, momentarily distracting him. Aragorn watched as Legolas, true to his word, caught the falling arrow in his left hand and waved it in ecstasy at him.

“See Estel I can fly!”

The wind caught the words and funnelled them up to him. The words echoed around him seemingly bouncing of the trees, in a chant, which kept escalating. Unbeknownst to him, his sleeping form was mouthing the words as well. Louder and angrier grew the chorus, and Aragorn began to recognise individual voices within it, that sparked memories.

//

“Estel my leg is fine, I cannot feel any pain and I do not need to lean on you. I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

The elf’s words did nothing to appease Aragorn’s guilt. “If it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t have been hurt, please let me help you. I have no wish to cause you to bleed again today.”

Rolling his eyes with frustration and impatience Legolas tried his best to dissuade Aragorn from his needless guilt. “It was not your fault Estel, it was the orc who slashed me not you. Now come, you go so slowly; I want to dance, to fly.” With that Legolas leapt into the trees and began running lightly along the branches, outpacing the human who watched him worriedly form below. If not for a slight stiffness in the leg it was impossible to tell that Legolas was injured, yet Aragorn was concerned nevertheless, the elf was not acting like himself.

“Legolas are you feeling alright, you are acting quite strangely even for you!”

Legolas turned back, looking down at him. “I grow impatient Estel, it is you who were in such a hurry to return to Rivendell yet you dawdle so! I wish to chase the wind.” On which note he turned again and began running ahead, gaining speed with each leap.

Aragorn sighed in exasperation. “Legolas the Rucin only numbs the pain, it does not accelerate healing, if you do not ease up you shall burst open your wound, or exhaust your leg and fall. Come down here and walk sedately beside me. Try acting like one of the elven folk.”

Legolas complied albeit with a very unelven pout and glare at the human for his over protectiveness. Looking out over the cliff edge he observed the birds darting and chasing each other, smiling he imagined what it must feel like to fly . . .

//

Aragorn swallowed hard at the memories evoked by the voices, swamped by guilt. Picking up on his thoughts the voices began to taunt him. “Your fault, your fault.”

“You drugged him and prompted him, let him fall.”

“You idiot Estel!”

“You gave him Rucin? Have you learned nothing?”

The paralysed figure of Aragorn gazed down at his still falling friend, his dream prolonging the sight; the fall longer, slower than it had been in reality. The wind blew the voices fiercely around him, now chanting with fury at him.

“Your fault Estel, your fault.”

Back in Rivendell his sleeping figure muttered those same words, arms and legs twitching in a desperate attempt to break the paralysis and catch his friend. Unable to bear the guilt any longer Aragorn closed his eyes, blocking the scene from sight. Just as quickly he opened them again in horror at his cowardice, in time to see his friend hit the surface of the water and sink.

“LEGOLAS!”

Aragorn sat bolt upright with a start, trembling with shock, cold sweat plastering his nightshirt to his fatigued body. He rose and paced about his room, unable to remain still. Muttering quietly to himself “My fault, all my fault” he marched over to the window and leaned his throbbing head against the cool pane. Arms wrapped tightly around himself, he looked out into the darkness taking deep breaths to try to calm himself down. Finally realising that the only way to dispel his fears would be to check on Legolas, he left the room.

Creeping silently along the corridor in an effort not to wake anyone, Aragorn eventually found himself standing outside the slightly ajar door to Legolas’ room. Peering inside he perceived the relaxed figure of the elf reclining on the bed, blissful smile upon his face, and light snores of contentment emanating from him. It appeared that he was the only one dreaming of falling then. Relieved that Legolas was spared that horror, he backed away, careful not wake either Legolas, or Elrohir, hunched uncomfortably asleep in the corner chair. Silently, Aragorn returned to his room to continue his wrestle with sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Legolas dreamed of flying. He found himself perched among the uppermost branches of the tallest tree he knew, wind gusting, hair blowing around his face, he looked out at the majestic Greenwood forest. Inhaling he caught the scent of the forest, deep pine and wild berries competing with damp grasses and the earthy smell of the wild creatures that dwelled there. The forest teemed with wildlife; small rodents rooted amongst bushes, searching for berries, while evading their predators. These larger beasts moved with surprising silence, chasing their prey. Almost elf-like in their ability to camouflage themselves, they made a worthy challenge for the hunting parties, which regularly departed from his father’s home. The beasts could stalk nearly as quietly as the elves themselves, but without the advantage of height from the trees they were more vulnerable. The creatures that Legolas most identified with however were the birds. Lying motionless, resting high above the creatures forced to walk the ground, Legolas was level with the flying creatures.

Surrounding him were the chirps and trills of the many species of birds; each movement and flight produced flashes of colour, so beautiful, against the dark green and brown forest hues. They entranced him. Reaching out a hand to brush the feathers of the nearest bird, a sudden gust of wind caused the elf to knock against it by mistake startling it away with a disgusted squawk. As one, the remaining birds hurtled from their perches into the sky, with cries of alarm; flashes of reds, blues, and yellows streaked in formation as they flew southwards. Enraptured, Legolas decided to follow them, leaping lightly from branch to branch, always gazing up at them.

Faster he moved, and still faster, as the flashes of colour became less frequent, and grew more distant. No longer heeding the strength of the branches he trusted his weight to, Legolas concentrated only on catching those colours. The wind surrounding him, lifting him. Feeling cleansed by it Legolas breathed deeply, for what seemed the first time in years, clean air above the forest, untainted by smells or sounds; only the wind accompanied him now. Without realising it Legolas had closed his eyes, following the birds now by instinct. Every nerve felt like it was alive with sensation, he could sense the creatures around him, the trees, everything seemed to fit together; seemingly for the first time he truly felt alive. Even from his great distance he could hear the individual beats of their wings, sense the vibration they caused in the air. Opening his eyes again he realised he was gaining upon the flock of birds, nay he had caught them! With a smile he glanced down to see how far he had travelled in pursuit of them, and gasped!

He was no longer settled amongst the tree branches, he had in fact left the forest far behind, he was flying! Revelling in his new feelings, he stretched his wings and soared higher, for he was no longer an elf, but a pure white falcon, muscular wings stretched out either side, tinged with green and brown at their tips. Experimenting with his newfound wings, Legolas soared through the sky, faster than he had ever seen any creature travelling before! The feel of the wind as it flowed through his feathers was unbelievable, both a comforting stroke, that soothed and lifted him, and the strongest force against which he had ever had to do battle. Looking down to gauge how fast he was travelling Legolas was shocked to realise that his sight was even keener than it had been before; he was astounded to be able to perceive the individual blades of grass at the base of trees 40ft high! Flipping over, Legolas flew looking up at the stars, for night had fallen during his chase. Peering up at them, so bright, so close, Legolas was tempted to fly up until he could touch them and catch one in his beak, but the antics of his flock-mates attracted him. Entering into a game of chase, the birds spent the remainder of the night, diving, dodging and generally trying to outperform each other with daring. Diving until within a feather’s breadth of the ground then pulling out of the dive at the last possible minute was the favourite game, and one which Legolas excelled at. Fearless, his final triumphant attempt ended with him rising victorious to the sky proudly bearing a flower in his beak as proof of his bravery. At last, as the sun began its slow crawl upwards, the birds set flight back towards the forests.

Legolas felt himself growing tired and falling further behind, his wings beat with less force, and it seemed to take more energy to flex them. Gliding onwards towards the trees, their colours seemed to him to be faded, the woods darker and less abundant with life. As he neared the edges of his home he was saddened by the decline; the multitude of life he had observed earlier had seemingly vanished, conquered by the vicious spiders that had colonised vast areas. There was no trace of any birds, and most worrying of all even the trees seemed less vibrant. Decay and rot had taken root among those on the edge, a creeping virulence that was encircling and enclosing around the outskirts of his home, drawing ever nearer the centre. His fatigue greatly increasing and unable to remain at his current height, Legolas began to descend through the trees; each moment spent in them seemed to drain him further of energy, of life. Thankful that his senses seemed dull compared to earlier in his flight, Legolas was able to shut out much of the despair, but when he eventually landed and stood up, he could no longer feel the fresh wind in his face; even the air seemed tainted with this corruption. Truly his home had earned the name of Mirkwood. Sighing with fatigue he took a step forward and froze! No longer bore he a glistening coat of white, no longer had he powerful wings to lift him soaring high. Once again he was but an elf, light and graceful as always, but it felt less; it felt as he had always imagined being a mortal would feel. He saw less beauty, less spirit, his senses were blunted. Sighing again he awakened in his bed, tears rolling down his face, for this feeling of loss remained with him. He had soared; he had felt alive, now he was only an elf; less than an elf even. He felt mortal and diminished.

Legolas’ headache returned with a vengeance then, every muscle in his body seemed to throb in time and it took all his effort not to groan out loud. He had glimpsed Elrohir seated in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position, and had no intentions of wakening him just because he was feeling a bit low. Risking turning his head, he winced as his brain seemed to tilt over as well. After several minutes of blurred vision he managed to focus his gaze upon the window, and perceived that there were still several hours until dawn. Quietly sighing he closed his eyes, hoping that his nausea would vanish and allow him some more sleep, and hopefully more flight-filled dreams.