Searching...
Days and nights passed, one melting into the other then dissolving back again as the ranger started scouring the city for some more signs of his lover. There were times he thought he saw him in pictures that were displayed on what Kaycee had called 'magazines', but the dark hair and behaviour was not that he could mistake for Legolas. Even given the time that had passed, if it was possible the Elf was still living he couldn't behave as such.
Some evenings Aragorn would find himself sleeping huddled with others in dark alleys, his nostrils afflicted with odours and scents he'd not experienced in the darkest of civilised places in Middle Earth.
Middle Earth.
One morning, before dawn, he'd woken, the sounds of scuffle rousing him from the light sleep he's allowed himself to take. Two men were hunched over the body of another, the unmistakable intent clear in their movements. Before Aragorn could reach them the body on the ground lay still, soundless. The urgent mutterings of one were not needed to muffle the soundless approach of the ranger, the pointless kick of the dead body confirming his suspicions, one signalling to the other another sleeping huddle a short distance away. Before they reached it both were lying prone on the ground, oblivious as to what had happened to put them there. Both had experienced a sharp jab, then a dull ache across the base of their skulls, their bodies incapable of moving as they heard some whispered words.
"Never come here again."
Melting into the darkness Aragorn tried to inhale, the stench suddenly becoming too much for him and his feet carrying him swiftly away from the place. The weeks of searching were not as intolerable as the discovery along the way that this place was in fact even less humane than many he'd journeyed through in his days in the North. What has this world become?
His journey took him in a direction he'd not taken till now, his nose guiding him, seeking air he could breath without a bitter taste being left in the back of his throat. Again the sun rose and set, his stride not lessening any. Another day passed, the terrain changing. Buildings were smaller, what he'd come to recognise as residential homes now frequent, his eyes now saw a blue tinge in the sky again. Another day and he'd reached an area through which he was willing to pass more slowly, but with no less determination.
It was toward the end of that day that finally he spied what his heart yearned, what his mind needed and where his feet were leading him. A small grove of woodlands, nothing compared to the great forests of his time, but a small sample of it all the same. It wasn't until he was within its boundaries that he felt his feet slow willingly, the ground beneath them now starting to feel more familiar and his lungs filling slowly with the clean crips air that was within the perimeter. He stopped, a hand reaching out and propping against the trunk of a tree, the bark unfamiliar yet similar to ones he knew. It was as if things had been tilted off kilter before and reaching this grove had started them back toward the right way. His breathing slowed once his lungs felt cleansed and his deep, desperate breaths became more comfortable again. Slowly working his way into the centre of the woods he finally allowed himself to consider rest, something his body yearned after the days of constant movement. A fallen trunk, a hastily formed bed of leaves and his cloak drawn around his curled body tucked against the old wood saw the Ranger of the North finally fall into the deep, deep sleep of exhaustion.
Some evenings Aragorn would find himself sleeping huddled with others in dark alleys, his nostrils afflicted with odours and scents he'd not experienced in the darkest of civilised places in Middle Earth.
Middle Earth.
One morning, before dawn, he'd woken, the sounds of scuffle rousing him from the light sleep he's allowed himself to take. Two men were hunched over the body of another, the unmistakable intent clear in their movements. Before Aragorn could reach them the body on the ground lay still, soundless. The urgent mutterings of one were not needed to muffle the soundless approach of the ranger, the pointless kick of the dead body confirming his suspicions, one signalling to the other another sleeping huddle a short distance away. Before they reached it both were lying prone on the ground, oblivious as to what had happened to put them there. Both had experienced a sharp jab, then a dull ache across the base of their skulls, their bodies incapable of moving as they heard some whispered words.
"Never come here again."
Melting into the darkness Aragorn tried to inhale, the stench suddenly becoming too much for him and his feet carrying him swiftly away from the place. The weeks of searching were not as intolerable as the discovery along the way that this place was in fact even less humane than many he'd journeyed through in his days in the North. What has this world become?
His journey took him in a direction he'd not taken till now, his nose guiding him, seeking air he could breath without a bitter taste being left in the back of his throat. Again the sun rose and set, his stride not lessening any. Another day passed, the terrain changing. Buildings were smaller, what he'd come to recognise as residential homes now frequent, his eyes now saw a blue tinge in the sky again. Another day and he'd reached an area through which he was willing to pass more slowly, but with no less determination.
It was toward the end of that day that finally he spied what his heart yearned, what his mind needed and where his feet were leading him. A small grove of woodlands, nothing compared to the great forests of his time, but a small sample of it all the same. It wasn't until he was within its boundaries that he felt his feet slow willingly, the ground beneath them now starting to feel more familiar and his lungs filling slowly with the clean crips air that was within the perimeter. He stopped, a hand reaching out and propping against the trunk of a tree, the bark unfamiliar yet similar to ones he knew. It was as if things had been tilted off kilter before and reaching this grove had started them back toward the right way. His breathing slowed once his lungs felt cleansed and his deep, desperate breaths became more comfortable again. Slowly working his way into the centre of the woods he finally allowed himself to consider rest, something his body yearned after the days of constant movement. A fallen trunk, a hastily formed bed of leaves and his cloak drawn around his curled body tucked against the old wood saw the Ranger of the North finally fall into the deep, deep sleep of exhaustion.