Confessions of a Wounded Heart

((A/N: Ok, you know the drill by now: I own nothing and no one, as sad as that makes me. The song quoted later (it’s centered…can’t find a better way to set it off) is by Christine Dente and it’s called “Will you be here?” Story idea’s mine, and I’d like to keep it that way. Enjoy!))

Something was wrong–horribly wrong–with his friend. It was not obvious on the outside, but to Aragorn, who knew Legolas so well, it was as plain as beacon fire on a cloudless night.

Honestly, outwardly, Legolas had never looked better. He laughed and smiled often. Maybe that was one of the clues that Aragorn picked up on: the laughter seemed to ring hollowly and there was something about Legolas’ eyes, even when he was smiling, that seemed wrong.

That was the true tip-off, Aragorn realized as he silently watched his friend that morning. Legolas’ eyes gave away more than the elf knew. In unguarded moments, Aragorn could clearly see pain and anger and deep, unresolved wounds. What they were from, however, was anyone’s guess.

Aragorn’s gaze followed Legolas as the prince went through the breakfast line, jesting with the elves in front of him as he picked and chose from the selections available. Though there was much to pick from, as it was summer, the most fruitful time of the year, Aragorn noticed that Legolas’ plate hardly had anything on it when the prince headed for the table where Aragorn waited with his full plate.

“Good morning, Strider,” Legolas greeted with a cheerful smile as he sat down beside his friend. “There was too much to choose from,” he added with a hint of a sheepish grin as he caught the pointed look Aragorn gave Legolas’ plate. “I could only choose so much.”

Aragorn refrained from commenting, filling his mouth with bread and ham. Legolas lifted one shoulder in his version of a shrug as he filled his mouth with a spoonful of porridge. The friends ate in silence, each thinking about the day before him.

Though Legolas had far less than Aragorn, the human finished first, as Legolas picked at his food quite a bit. Aragorn watched Legolas with a quietly intense gaze, not missing a thing.

At last, Legolas gave up on the rest of his food and shoved his bowl and plate away.

“You’re not going to finish that?” Aragorn asked in a neutral tone.

Legolas shook his head. “I suppose I am not as hungry as I thought I was.” He got up, straightening his clothes about his slender frame. “Are we still meeting for bow practice later?” the blond elf asked, lifting a dark eyebrow that clashed so oddly with his golden hair.

“Aye,” Aragorn replied with a small smile, picking his and Legolas’ dishes up. Legolas had only eaten a few bites, leaving quite a bit. “I need more practice than what I have been getting. I’ll meet you there after I grab my bow, agreed?”

Legolas nodded cheerily as he turned on his heel and headed for where his father, King Thranduil, sat. As he walked, the blond prince bowed his head slightly and sighed. It was getting harder and harder to hide his true feelings from Aragorn. ‘But I must,’ he thought, lifting his chin and squaring his slender shoulders. ‘He already has more than enough to think about.’

Aragorn carried his dishes to the servers, then headed to his room to grab his bow and quiver. Strapping the quiver on in front of the mirror, the human considered how best to talk to Legolas. “Perhaps the direct approach is the best,” he said aloud to his reflection. “Just come out and ask. But he might get offended,” he continued, flipping his chin-long hair back, “as he does have his pride.” Bracing his palms on the table before the mirror, the ranger sighed. “I just don’t know,” he admitted to his reflection, bracing his forehead against the cool glass.

Poking his head in Aragorn’s door, Legolas asked, “Do humans often talk to themselves?” The prince already wore his quiver and his black yew bow was in his hand.

“Only when no one else wants to listen,” Aragorn replied, straightening and trying a smile. “Are you ready?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, I am,” Legolas smiled, his façade firmly in place.

The two friends strolled down the hall, bows swinging at their sides as they talked about everything and nothing in particular. Exiting the palace proper, they entered the training yards and paused to string their bows. The yard was deserted, as most training took place after lunch and a lot of the trained warriors were out on patrol around the borders of the North Kingdom. Legolas selected a target and grinned at his friend. “Do you remember what I taught you yesterday?” he asked, the very personification of mischief.

“Please give me some credit, mellon-nín!” Aragorn laughed, stepping up beside Legolas.

The friends settled into an easy rhythm of shooting, Aragorn practicing what Legolas had taught him over the past two weeks Aragorn had been in Mirkwood. When their quivers were empty, the pair headed down to the target to gather their arrows and begin again.

Legolas wrapped his hand around two of his shafts and started to pull them out, but Aragorn’s hand covered his. The prince looked up at his friend in confusion and saw stark determination written on Aragorn’s stubbled features. “Aragorn?” Legolas asked, leaning towards his friend.

Aragorn took a deep breath and asked, “Legolas, what is troubling you?”

“What do you mean?” Legolas asked, not understanding the human.

“I have noticed it over the past couple days,” Aragorn explained, not looking away from his friend’s bright blue eyes. “There is something wrong and it’s driving me crazy. I want to help, but I cannot if you do not tell me what is wrong.”

Legolas shook his head and pulled his arrows out of the target, pulling his hand away from Aragorn in the same motion. “I honestly do not know what you are talking about, Estel,” the prince said, looking away from Aragorn’s searching gaze.

“I’ve seen it in your face.” Aragorn said quietly, his heart aching. “I’ve seen the pain and the open wound. I cannot deny what I have seen, but I also do not know what is wrong. Please…”Aragorn’s voice caught as he grabbed his friend’s arm. “Do not shut me out! I cannot bear it!”

Legolas’ calm demeanor belied the struggle in his soul, echoed faintly in his expressive eyes. “Aragorn, I-” he began, then bit his lip. Aragorn saw the shields clamp over the blue depths and his heart sank as he realized what that meant. “Nothing is wrong.” Legolas said coolly, freeing his arm from his friend’s hand.

Aragorn’s throat clamped shut as tears hovered behind his eyelids. He nodded numbly as he turned to pull his arrows out. He almost snapped two with his determinedly angry efforts, but at last all his arrows were back in his quiver. Swallowing hard, Aragorn turned back to face the prince, who had been watching him intently. Tear trails were visible on Aragorn’s pale face as he said, his tone clipped, “If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.” With that, he turned on his boot heels and stalked back into the palace proper.

Legolas watched him go, pain and confusion tearing at his insides. Oh, how he wanted to be open with his best friend! But…would Estel turn his back on his friend, if he knew? Legolas couldn’t take that risk; Estel’s friendship was too precious to lose. He ignored the niggling thought that hissed, ‘If you do not speak, you might lose your friend anyway.’

The day seemed to stretch on forever for both friends. Legolas went about his normal routine, helping his father with audiences and paperwork, practicing with his daggers and bow later in the afternoon and sitting, seemingly at peace, in the hall of music until he retired. Aragorn, on the other hand, remained either in his room or in the gardens where Legolas didn’t go. It was hard on Aragorn to see his friend’s silent pain and be helpless, so he avoided the prince.

As night fell, Aragorn went into his room, changed into his night tunic and trousers, and collapsed into his bed, rubbing his eye. He wondered if it was time to go home to Rivendell. Snorting and rolling onto his side, Aragorn threw that thought out with the rest of the garbage. He knew he would never be able to relax back into peaceful Rivendell life knowing that Legolas was in pain.

The night passed slowly as the stars spiraled overhead and the moon rose. Aragorn managed to drop off to sleep shortly before midnight. Legolas, on the other hand, tossed and turned, tangling his sheets around his legs and arms. He wasn’t able to forget Aragorn’s words…or the pain in his friend’s eyes as the young human turned away.

At last, the prince got up, frustrated. ‘Mayhap if I take a walk, I can sleep,’ he told himself, wrapping his light robe about his slender frame, over his sleep clothing. Slipping out the door, the elf wandered the halls, his steps silent.

Somehow, his path led him to the door of Aragorn’s room. Staring at it, he realized that he had intended to come here all along. He hesitated for an instant before opening the door and slipping inside.

~~~~~~~~~
Should be easier now wrapped in the dark

Still there’s some courage required

And I’m missing the mark.

Weary and worn, torn at the seams

My insecurities rise and devour my dreams.
~~~~~~~

Aragorn was stretched out on his stomach, his tousled hair fanning over his face and closed eyes. One arm was curled under his head and the other dangled down the side of the bed. His covers were kicked off and his nightshirt was hitched up. All in all, Aragorn looked disarmingly young and vulnerable.

Aragorn was sleeping too hard to hear Legolas come in, his dreams filled with memories of Rivendell. The revisitation of pleasant times broke as his bed shifted under Legolas’ weight, and Aragorn was brought to full clarity when he heard his name whispered in a broken voice.

The human’s eyes flew open and he lifted his head, looking for the source of that heart-wrenching whisper. His eyes, turned to silver-grey in the starlight, caught on Legolas and rested. Aside from his surprise at seeing the blond elf in his room so late, Aragorn saw other things in Legolas’ face that worried him. The pain that Aragorn had caught glimmers of over the past few days was now plainly obvious, rippling in jagged waves over his fair features. Blood oozed from a small wound in Legolas’ lower lip where he had bitten through the skin during his inner battles.

Aragorn rolled over onto his back and sat up. “It’s late, Legolas,” the human whispered.

“I know,” Legolas whispered back, curling his legs under him. “But…I could not sleep. Can–can I talk to you?”

“Certainly.” Aragorn yawned, rubbing his eyes and shoving his hair off his face. “What can I do for you?”

Legolas ran his tongue over his lower lip, tasting his own metallic blood. After a moment, he asked, “Do you remember the skirmish at our westernmost border four days ago?”

Aragorn frowned, not seeing the connection. “Of course I remember,” he replied.

In truth, it would have been amazing if Aragorn had been able to forget it. That fiasco had started off innocently enough: just a simple border patrol, led by Legolas. Aragorn had joined just for the heck of it. Before the patrol set off, Aragorn had had a feeling he couldn’t explain, but that prompted him to fill a knapsack with medicinal herbs. As the patrol traveled, the warriors teased Aragorn mercilessly about bringing all that extra weight.

Legolas had joined in the banter for a time until his ever-alert senses warned him of some hidden danger. He stopped, lifting a hand for quiet. Standing slightly behind him, Aragorn could only hear perfect silence, unbroken by birdsong or leaves rustling.

Without any warning, Legolas spun and grabbed Aragorn’s arm, yanking both of them to the ground as he shouted a warning in his native tongue.

As Aragorn hit the ground, his heavy knapsack driving the wind from his lungs, a volley of dark arrows whizzed over the prone beings, hitting an elf that had not ducked fast enough.

The next fifteen minutes seemed to be an eternity as the elves and Aragorn fought off the swarms of orcs, a nightmare with no hope of dawn. Aragorn’s breath came in harsh sobs as he fought. Bodies of orcs and elves fell around the tiny clearing like flies, but whether it was by chance or the fact that Legolas never let Aragorn get more than five feet from him, Aragorn barely got a scratch.

At last, as all nightmares must, the fight ended. The orcs that had not been killed ran for the refuge of the deeper woods, followed by most of the unwounded warriors. Legolas and Aragorn stayed back to do the messier work: patching up the wounded and recording who was dead.

~~~~~~~~
Now the torture must end

The secrets I hide

Can’t be denied anymore

God knows I’ve tried.

So I breathe my confession

With nowhere to run

And wonder if I’ll see your face

In the light of the sun.
~~~~~~~~~

In the present, Legolas twisted his long, calloused fingers together as he sought for words to express what he was thinking, the images that haunted his sleeping and waking hours. “I can see them,” he finally said hoarsely. “All the widows and the orphans and the dead.”

Aragorn still did not fully understand where his friend was coming from. He leaned forward and asked quietly, “Why do you see them?”

Legolas’ proud shoulders sagged wearily as he whispered, “They torment me, telling me that they are orphaned, widowed or…” his voice cracked, “dead…because of me.” His lifted his eyes, tears catching the starlight and glimmering like miniature diamonds. “Because of my neglect,” he continued, the pain in his voice echoing in his eyes, “my inattention. I am at fault, none other.”

“No.” Aragorn said quietly, but firmly. “Legolas, no one could have foreseen that tragedy. None could have guessed that half of the warriors who left would never return in this life.”

Legolas gripped Aragorn’s shoulder, his knuckles turning white. “But I was the one in charge. I should have been paying attention, not joking around. I made the error, so I must pay the price.”

Aragorn put his hand over Legolas’ as he replied quietly, “Legolas, I knew everyone who died. I joked with them, practiced with them, and, at the last, I was one who tried to save them.” Aragorn leaned forward, his silver eyes holding Legolas’ as surely as his hand held Legolas’. “I failed as well, failed when it meant lives. Does that make me responsible?” He let the question hang for a moment before saying firmly, “No, because I did all I knew to do. Do their faces haunt me?” Again, the question hung before the answer came softly. “Yes, every time I close my eyes. I know it is hard, but it will pass.” Legolas tried to look away, but Aragorn captured the prince’s chin with his free hand, forcing the elf to look at him as he finished, “You cannot let the dead shadow your life. None who died would want that.”

It was at this point that the last of Legolas’ control snapped and he dissolved into tears. Aragorn wrapped an arm around the blond elf’s heaving shoulders and gently pulled the sobbing elf against his solid body. He rocked back and forth, murmuring soft words of comfort. Legolas turned in the embrace and buried his face in Aragorn’s shoulder, clinging to his friend as he cried himself out.

At last, Legolas’ tears stopped, but he made no move to pull away from the comfort of his friend’s embrace. Aragorn rubbed a hand lightly up and down the elf’s spine, soothing him with his presence and touch. “Grieving is not an evil,” he murmured against Legolas’ mused hair. “But continually beating yourself up…and not disclosing anything to those who care for you…is. Please promise you will talk to me in the future.”

“You have my word, Estel,” the elf prince promised, pulling away and pushing some hair behind one pointed ear. As he did so, his other hand came up to cover a yawn.

Aragorn laughed around his own yawn. “I have to admit, sleep is looking really good,” he commented, yawning again. He lay back down onto his pillows and closed his eyes, expecting that Legolas could see himself out.

The bed shifted subtly as Legolas stretched his full weight out beside his human friend. Aragorn opened one eye sleepily. “What’s wrong with your bed, elf?” he mumbled.

Legolas yawned again as he pulled a blanket over himself. “Too far,” he replied. “Would you rather I fell asleep in the hall?”

“S’pose this is better,” Aragorn agreed, closing his eye again. “G’night.”

“‘Night,” Legolas replied, settling himself into the pillows.

Within moments, the only sound in the room was the friends’ even breathing. Legolas’ colbalt blue eyes stared into nothingness; Aragorn’s arm dangled off the side of the bed. Peace rested on their brows, and for the first time in several days, Legolas slept peacefully.

~~~~~~~
I’m sorry to see you sharing this burden of mine

But I cannot relieve you by telling you

Everything’s fine.

Maybe you see.

Maybe I’m blind.

Still you are here

Though my weakness shows

Did I really suppose you did not know

Already the things I disclosed?

Still you are here

Still you are here…
~~~~~~

The End.

((A/N 2: Good? Bad? Lemme know, please!))