Reviving Hope
Title: Reviving Hope
Author: enticing_affair
Warning: Ummm slight angst and kissing...aggressive kissing.
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rating: PG13
Summary: Aragorn thinks about Legolas' hopelessness before the Battle of Helm's Deep and seeks to help him overcome it.
Three hundred against ten thousand, Aragorn knew the odds. He knew that no matter how valiant the men of Rohan were, how well they could summon strength and courage, they would ultimately fall to the sea of Saruman’s forces. But it was his responsibility to give them hope. How could he abandon them when it was by his heeding that they were in the Deep? Aragorn hadn’t given much thought to his own death but to have Legolas contest it, to take hope from those already petrified, he provided them the only comfort he had. Then I shall die as one of them. He had said it and he had meant it. But as he stood placing his armor on, his thoughts alone to comfort him, he could not help but be slightly afraid of what awaited him.
Reaching down to the table adorned with his battle clothes, Aragorn gripped his over shirt tightly. Its soft black fiber crushed under his dirty hand, succumbing to the strength Aragorn was sure he’d lost. He’d not had adequate rest, returning only a couple hours before from a fall that should have claimed his life. Arwen had come to him, had given him strength to continue on but he doubted her light could save him now. No, he could not rely on elvish hope, on the slight chance that Arwen still resided in Middle Earth. He had to trust in those around him. On the men of Rohan, who were severely outnumbered but held onto the smallest hope of survival. On Gimli, whose strength was unchallenged by any Aragorn’d ever come across. The dwarf could best more orcs than Aragorn thought capable of any man. On Legolas, whose skills with both blade and bow were unparalleled. The elf had been a source of strength for Aragorn for many years and throughout this journey. Without him here, Aragorn would not have been strong enough to take leadership of the Deep. Whether or not the elf knew it, Aragorn spent much time thinking of him. Though he was of a different type of elf than those Aragorn was raised by, his presence alone renewed strength and hope deep within him. There was something about Legolas that Aragorn desperately needed and desired.
It was true, Aragorn loved Arwen. She was beautiful and caring and she showed him love beyond anything he’d ever deserved. But Legolas was different, almost as if he was everything Arwen was not. He was strong, resilient, his battle strategies and abilities were something of legend. Aragorn could trust that if ever he needed help slaying orcs that the blonde elf would be by his side in an instant. But it was more than that, more than camaraderie, more than trust. Aragorn found himself thinking of Legolas during his ride back from the brink of death, even though it was Arwen who had saved him. He thought of the way Legolas’ blue eyes seemed to shimmer in awe of nature around him, with years of wisdom that betrayed the youthful appearance of his face. Or the way the elf’s strong jaw clenched in contemplation and unclenched to smile at the passing of a bird or in appreciation of the falling snow.
Aragorn sighed as memories flooded his mind. Memories of Moria where Legolas, despite his fear of being in such a confined space, had managed to provide the hobbits with a distraction from the terrors that dwelled there. Memories of Amon Hen where he helped Aragorn in the water burial of Boromir, offering elvish prayers for a man the elf had little contact with. Legolas was more than a fierce fighter and a loyal friend, to Aragorn, he was everything he needed and wanted. Without him, Aragorn had no hope, no light and that alone was a thought more frightening than the ten thousand orcs waiting for him outside the Deep.
It was only today that Aragorn saw the elf’s strength falter, his hope die. Maybe that was why Aragorn had allowed himself to become so enraged. He could not stand having his source of strength falter. If Legolas faltered, if one of the first born, the fair folk, no longer believed in the strength of men then what hope was there?
Aragorn sighed heavily, drawing his shirt over his head. His mind was focusing on ideas and people whom needed not his thought, especially Legolas. But it seemed he could not prevent the blonde elf from entering every thought that now assaulted him. How could Legolas abandon hope so easily? How could he say such things in front of all those men, boys…tear them down? Did he not see the honor the people of Rohan possessed? Did he not know they fought for everything they held near? Aragorn could not understand Legolas but he could not understand himself either. Why was he spending so much time thinking upon his elven friend? There were thousands of orcs on the Hornburg’s doorstep and Aragorn could only think of Legolas’ hopeless eyes, his scared words. Perhaps, this time, it was Legolas who needed strength from another.
Feeling for his sword, Aragorn found it was no longer on the table. Turning slowly he came face to face with the elf, who held it out as if offering a sign of peace. His face was strong; his jaw clenched slightly, his blue eyes boring straight into Aragorn’s soul. He only wore thick armor on his shoulders over his normal green and gold tunic. Aragorn took a moment to stare, was he not concerned for his own safety? To go into such a battle with so little armor…was Legolas hopeless? So hopeless that he did not care whether his own body was protected?
Aragorn reached for his sword with a small nod. It was a movement of apology from Legolas and he knew not what to say. No matter the façade Legolas chose to wear, his voice and words from before haunted the man. Aragorn could not allow Legolas to fall to despair. He, like the Hornburg, needed to be brought back to the light. Saruman could not claim the Deep and he could not claim Legolas either.
“We have trusted you this far,” Legolas whispered, his soft voice contrasting with the strength he was trying to place upon his young elven face, “You have not led us astray. Forgive me, I was wrong to despair.”
Aragorn shook his head gently, placing his hand on Legolas’ shoulder. Aragorn could see the darkness and doubt that shadowed the normally glowing face. Despair and fear would not claim Legolas. Aragorn would not allow it. He tightened his hold the elf’s shoulder, squeezing it as much as he could through the thick armor. He had to restore Legolas’ faith in men before it was too late. “You need not apologize, Legolas, fear pulls at us all,” Aragorn reassured strongly. He would give his companion the strength he needed, every ounce Aragorn could spare he would give willingly to Legolas.
Legolas retracted his arm, Aragorn following suit, although feeling slightly hopeless himself when the contact was lost. His own thoughts had not helped him to accept the dire situation and small hope they had to survive but to have Legolas so close, like always, seemed to build his spirits. “You have such little armor, my friend,” Aragorn commented tying his sword around his waist before looking back up at Legolas. The elf’s face seemed to contort itself in attempt to smile.
“Too much armor and I shall be slower than Gimli,” Legolas replied. It was an attempt to lighten the mood, a sad attempt, but one that would not go unnoticed.
“Aye.” Legolas was slipping faster into despair and fear and Aragorn knew not how to stop it. If it were one of the hobbits, he could have easily asked them to speak of the Shire or give them a lavish meal. If it were Gimli, a pint of Rohan’s finest ale would do the trick as well as a competition of sorts. But Legolas, he was of the fairer race. His people did not speak of their feelings as openly as hobbits. They did not take part in drinking to loosen the tongue as dwarves and they certainly did not openly weep as men. How was he to stop his friend’s dissention?
“Something darkens your mind.” Legolas’ words were clear and crisp, snapping Aragorn from his thoughts much sooner than he had predicted. Looking back upon Legolas he noted the same concern that he was feeling upon the beautiful face.
“’Tis nothing, Legolas.”
“I hope my words from before have not shattered your hope. ‘Twas not my intent,” the elf sighed, his face no longer the stoic façade he always wore. Instead concern read all over it, cracking the normally smooth skin and aging him more than Aragorn had ever witnessed. The concern that struck the fair features only served to fuel the man’s desire to pull Legolas from his hopeless state. This Legolas was not the strong warrior they needed tonight. But how could he help him? Did it matter? Aragorn was determined to help Legolas even if he was unsure how to go about it.
“I believe it is you who is more troubled than I,” Aragorn replied closing the distance between them, the need to help him growing unbearable, “You have lost hope in men on the eve of battle.”
“A battle we cannot win, you know this,” Legolas retorted, anger and distress finding its way back into his normally melodic voice, “We need not discuss my beliefs now…”
“If you do not discuss them with me, who then shall you discuss them with?” Aragorn moved closer, the space between them almost nonexistent. Keeping his eyes locked with Legolas’, the man saw a small flicker of something; something that was neither fear nor despair. “Legolas, you are not yourself. The men of Rohan need you at your best…”
“’Tis not I the men of Rohan need,” came the quick reply, as the hard elven features sharpened in anger, “I am more myself now than I was when you made such a foolish error as to allow a warg to drag you across the plains! Have you no thought to your own future; to the understanding of your journey that you would carelessly throw yourself into a battle where you could not return unharmed?”
“Legolas, I could not have foreseen falling from the cliffs, you know I posses no elven foresight. I have returned…” Aragorn tried, slowly realizing the source of his friend’s hopelessness.
“But barely alive! Ten thousand are at the Hornburg’s door, you know this, and yet you take no rest. You revive none of your strength. How is a man half-alive prepared to lead an army of children?” Legolas snapped clenching his fists tightly at his sides.
“They are not children, not all at least. And I am prepared to lead them in battle,” Aragorn said quickly before Legolas could interrupt his thoughts, “My wounds are not severe enough to delude my mind.” Legolas was frightened for more than the people of Rohan; Aragorn was not sure how he had been so blind to it before. They had barely exchanged words when he first arrived to the Deep, but the concern was eminent. How had he not been able to read it in the elf’s blue eyes as they stole just a moment to register his return from what was certain death? “’Tis not the battle you fear,” he whispered placing a hand on the elf’s shoulder. Legolas froze temporarily under the man’s touch, giving Aragorn a chance to continue. “Nor the orcs, nor the outcome of this battle. ‘Tis my mortality, the chance that I will fall…”
Legolas’ eyes widened only a fraction before he shook his head, his blonde hair coming slightly undone. “You know not of what you speak.”
Denial of feelings, that was what flashed in his friend’s eyes. Aragorn had not seen much of it but he could see elven lies when they presented themselves--especially on Legolas. His jaw clenched slightly and his shoulder tensed under Aragorn’s touch. Was Aragorn presuming too much? Was it only the fear of losing a friend or was it something more? Did Legolas feel his heart pound relentlessly when Aragorn was near? Did he feel the same warmth and hopefulness Aragorn did when they were close? Were their feelings the same? Aragorn could not be sure but he knew there was no other time to be had. Uncertainty and death were storming the Deep and nothing could be left until tomorrow, if there even was a tomorrow to be had.
Aragorn did not move from his spot. His body would not allow it, his mind forbade it. Being this close to Legolas was compelling and addicting. It allowed Aragorn’s mind to clear and his heart to pound. It poured lust, need, and want into every ounce of his body and he could no longer ignore it. His hand moved, albeit slowly, to Legolas’ throat causing the elf to tense even more.
“Aragorn…”
Never had his name sounded so enticing. Aragorn ran his calloused fingers over the unnaturally smooth neck, stopping to feel his heart beat. “You are concerned for me, Legolas,” he whispered, the closeness causing such heat to erupt in him, “Can you deny it?” The elf’s heartbeat quickened beneath his touches and from his words and Aragorn needed no more proof.
He felt Legolas place his hands on his chest and push him but nowhere near as hard or as powerful as Aragorn knew he could. He watched as denial flashed through those eyes, through his face. They had no time to deny themselves, no time to linger on insignificant words. This feeling, this need, could not be contained. “Can you deny that your feelings are plaguing you, my friend?” Aragorn repeated moving his face closer to Legolas’. He could feel the heat that emanated from the other body, the warmth of Legolas’ panting, the pounding of his heart.
“I must. Aragorn, Arwen’s love hangs from your neck.” The reply was heavy with sorrow both spoken and gestured as one of Legolas’ strong hands was placed on the silver jewel. “I will not do anything to betray her.”
Betrayal. That was what Aragorn was committing and he found himself unable to care. Arwen had left Middle Earth, she was gone, and Legolas was not. Why should he ignore this yearning any longer? “There is no certainty that we both shall live through this night.” He felt Legolas recoil at the words. The softening body had gone rigid at the mention and he’d retracted his hand. Death scared this being more than Aragorn thought it would. His hand moved to touch Legolas’ cheek and felt himself amazed at the fact that Legolas’ skin was almost softer than Arwen’s and was only slightly more amazed that Legolas allowed him to touch him so intimately. “She has left Middle Earth on my insistence,” Aragorn explained as Legolas met his gaze, “You need not worry about betraying her.” His fingertips dusted the elf’s jaw line. “Allow me to renew your strength as you have mine.”
“I cannot give you what you seek,” Legolas whispered, his voice slightly cracked.
Aragorn felt the elf’s pulse quicken as their eyes met again. How could he continue to oppose this? The air around them was thick with unsaid thoughts and feelings and was almost crushing them with insistence. He would not take anything from Legolas--he would not force him--but he knew that the elf desired this more than he would allow himself to admit. They could not linger in this purgatory. Aragorn had to do something before the battle of Helm’s Deep began, before they were lost to the battle. “You should not deny this. How can you be certain you shall live with such little armor to protect you?"
“My abilities need not cause you concern. I have lived through more wars than I care to admit. ‘Tis your own abilities that should cause you concern. You are more susceptible to death than I.” Legolas stared at him, his breathing still slightly labored, his face straining to keep anger as its façade.
The words he spoke were supposed to convey anger but they only revealed fear. Aragorn had to silence it. Fear was always the first thing that brought down a warrior. As soon as fear consumed them, their skills suffered and they became an easy target. Legolas knew this as well and perhaps it was why he had not made a move to dislodge Aragorn’s hand from his face.
Aragorn knew of only one way to remove fear: confrontation. If it was not confronted and overcome then Legolas would be lost in the battle that lay ahead. “You fear for me more than for the men of Rohan,” he whispered causing Legolas to sigh and move his face away from the calloused hand.
“Should I not? Middle Earth will fail if you are not here to lead it. Why must you choose battles you cannot win? Why must you harm those around you in order to skirt your destiny?” Legolas’ eyes thinned as he slammed his hand back on Aragorn’s chest, forcing the silver necklace into his skin. “How long shall she-shall all those who love you-suffer whilst you try to find your way?”
Aragorn grabbed Legolas’ hand and yanked it away from the Evenstar. Legolas knew that Arwen was leaving, as were all his people, he was only doing this to push Aragorn from the truth. Time was no longer on their side and Aragorn was not going to waste this moment. Grabbing Legolas’ other wrist, he moved swiftly, catching Legolas by surprise-something that was almost impossible. He pushed the stronger being into the hard brick wall behind them, causing Legolas to release a small gasp. Aragorn moved faster, moving closer to him, forcing their chests to slam together, their hearts to pound synchronously. “We have not the time for this Legolas,” he whispered, their faces a mere centimeters apart. The elf looked bewildered but still made no move to obtain freedom. “Confide in me now, there may not be another chance for you to do so.”
Aragorn watched as Legolas looked at him then sighed. His ego was bruised; Aragorn was sure, not only for being caught off guard but also for being so easily read. “What would you have me confess, Aragorn? What purpose would my words serve now?” Legolas leaned his face forward, “I am not blind, I know what it is you want.”
Legolas’ breath was warm on Aragorn’s lips, the space between them as nonexistent as the control Aragorn thought he possessed. His heart pounded creating a burning heat inside every muscle in his body. This need was overpowering, he couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“Legolas…” In an instant their positions were reversed, Legolas’ elven strength overpowering him in mere seconds. Aragorn tried to ignore the loud thumping of his heart as it rang in his ears or the feeling of pain in the back of his head as it banged against the wall but found it harder as Legolas pressed their bodies together.
“I would not betray her,” he whispered releasing Aragorn’s wrists and slowly stepping back.
He missed the contact as soon as it was withdrawn and Aragorn found himself unable to take anymore. He lunged forward grabbing Legolas by his strong jaw and pressing their mouths together heatedly. Legolas faltered but a moment, allowing Aragorn to overpower the elf faster than anticipated but Aragorn soon felt the other’s tongue slowly react. The warmth of his mouth was intoxicating, and Aragorn needed more. He forced himself on Legolas harder, taking more than he was giving.
Legolas gasped in his mouth before gaining his composure and pulling his mouth away.
“Death…is upon us, Aragorn…” he panted.
Aragorn held his face tightly as Legolas looked at him, his lips red with the sudden abuse. “You need not worry,” he replied before aggressively taking Legolas’ mouth again. The odds had not changed since Legolas had entered this small room but Aragorn felt as if they had. His strength and hope had returned, albeit weaker than usual, and it became much clearer that Legolas was not the only one in need of reassurance. Aragorn knew it was folly, that his hopes be raised by such contact with Legolas, but it didn’t matter. Let the forces of Saruman come, the Deep would withstand, as would they.