Into the Arms of Death, by Sue Castle. Rated R, no copyright
infringement intended. Fellowship of the Ring movie story; also borrows
from book-canon. Sequel to Interlock.
"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark
places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is
now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater." Haldir, Fellowship
of the Ring.
The journey begun with such resolution had drawn first blood, and the
wound was a grievous one. The mines of Moria claimed the steady light at the
center of the Fellowship, and the companions' hearts were leaden with grief.
Legolas stood unsteady upon the snow, the relief of the clean air in place of
the close confines of the crushing mines nothing to the ache upon his soul at
the remembrance of Gandalf falling into the dark, defending the Fellowship from
the beast of shadow and flame.
All about him lay Hobbits and Men and Dwarf, heads bowed as they sobbed
or raised to the sun, eyes blinded still by darkness. He wished, for a bare
moment, that tears came to Elven eyes with such easy grace, but it was not the
way of his kind. His loss lay heavy within him; only a great distance of time
spent in honor of memory and many hymns of lament would eventually lighten it.
Then Aragorn called for them to resume their journey; Boromir protested,
but Legolas moved to obey. Survival must take precedence over all, no matter
how their hearts were rent; with a glance at Boromir, he saw the same
understanding sink into the Man. Together they gathered the remnants of their
Fellowship and continued on their way to Lothlo'rien.
As they neared the city, famed in song and legend though strange to his
eyes, he felt the shadow on his heart shift. The trees sang to him; the river
eased his physical aches and lightened by some degrees his emotional pain as well.
This journey had caused turmoil in his mind unlike any he'd encountered in his
long life, and with so much ground yet to cover, he knew the loss was only the
first of many, whether by death, or disgrace, or denial.
But once within the grace of Lothlo'rien, a place out of time, he could
put such dark thoughts aside and find comfort in rest. The initial response of
the guardians of the Wood to the Fellowship was hostile, as Haldir and his
warriors reacted with instinctual distrust to the presence of Gimli among them,
but the Lady Galadriel herself gave word of welcome, and they found ease under
the mallorn trees or wandered the paths of Caras Galadhon, delighting in the
sweet peace in the air, sinking into beds of soft grass decorated with golden
elanor and pale niphredil when the urge to sleep was upon them.
Days passed, as their wounds healed and their strength was recovered.
Legolas spent little of it with his companions, needing, more than he could
ever recall, the company of his own kind, the caress of the leaves against his
skin and the whisper of the wind in his hair. Soon, for reasons he did not yet
closely examine, he invited Gimli to join him on his wanderings, and as time
passed, he found his heart opening to the Dwarf in ways he had never before
experienced, least expecting to find such close understanding in such an
unlikely form.
Yet even in a land unstained by darkness as the Golden Wood was, deep in
the cradle of the heart of Elvendom, time passed, and destiny could not long be
denied. At long last yet too soon came their final night in Lothlo'rien before
resuming their journey, and Legolas forced his mind from the joys he was
discovering in Gimli's presence, and the lingering pain of the loss of Gandalf.
Casting his eye on the company, he found himself somewhat dismayed.
The Hobbits clustered together, in their disparate pairs, Sam supporting
Frodo whilst Merry and Pippin leaned against one another. Gimli sat close by
during council, and his warmth by Legolas' side was solidly reassuring. Aragorn
was torn, his way uncertain, his path unguided for the first time since the
quest began. Having perforce taken on the mantle torn from Gandalf as Frodo's
guide, he made the decision to continue the dread journey to Mordor, leading
the Fellowship, before turning his face toward Gondor and fulfilling his
promise to Boromir to support their people. Boromir himself, however, appeared
distracted, his eyes flickering to Frodo and away, his lips tightly compressed
as if to hold back hot words or stem the outward flow of some dark internal
debate.
Legolas settled against a tree, the smooth bark soothing to his spine,
and considered the
That ease was broken, now. Boromir scarce glanced at Gimli, held himself
apart from Legolas, and made small nervous movements as if the Wood itself
pulled at him with sharp-nailed claws. His demeanor gave Legolas pause, causing
unease to grow in his mind. There was no evil in Lothlo'rien that was not
brought into it by outsiders; though Boromir was not evil, he could at times be
impulsive, acting without thought, and his words at the Council of Elrond
regarding the usage of the One Ring in the defense of Gondor echoed in Legolas'
memory.
The decision was eventually made by Aragorn and supported, if
reluctantly in Sam's case and grudgingly in Boromir's, to go downriver to the
Falls by boat before heading to the far side, toward Moria. Legolas watched as
the Hobbits, nearly all asleep already, were bundled off to their beds. In
response to Gimli's look of invitation, Legolas smiled and shook his head in a
gentle negative, then nodded in Boromir's direction. Gimli's face darkened, but
he nodded in return, and left to take his own bed. Aragorn lingered to speak a
few words in private to Boromir, and Legolas was somewhat reassured by the warm
clasp of hands they shared before Aragorn, too, sought his bed. Boromir stood
to leave and Legolas stepped forward.
"I would ask that you abide by me awhile," he said quietly.
Boromir gave him a look surprising in the depth of its wariness. "Shall we
walk?"
He gestured toward the still distance, shadowed with night but still
somehow warm with the memory of sunlight. Such was the feeling when one was
encompassed by the Golden Wood, and Legolas knew it was a comfort he would
sorely miss once passed from it. Judging by the lines of care and sorrow carved
deep by Boromir's eyes, he would not share that sense of loss. If anything, he
looked as if leaving Lothlo'rien behind him would bring him relief. It puzzled
Legolas, making him feel remiss at being diverted by his growing fascination
with Gimli, his absence leaving an empty space for Boromir's doubts to grow
unchecked.
In silence they walked for some way below the trees, listening to the
wind, watching the light of the candles flicker through the shifting leaves. To
Legolas, it was the song of hope and home, receding even as he listened. From
the tension in Boromir's shoulders, it appeared to Legolas that the air sang a
warning or a threat to the
A hand Boromir shook off, the movement taking Legolas aback. He had not
believed the rift between them grown so great in such a short period of time;
but then, the days of Men passed quickly, and for Boromir, at least, Legolas'
distraction must have been seen as abandonment.
Gathering his thoughts to speak, to press the Man on his rejection,
Legolas was startled anew as Boromir broke into rough speech. "It was a
slip of the tongue, nothing more; Frodo has nothing to fear from me, for while
it is my belief that our way is not the best for the future of my people, I
will support this quest with blood and blade until it is done." His eyes
stayed on the trees, refusing to meet Legolas' questioning gaze.
Of a sudden, the wind cut sharp, and the song through the leaves grew
shrill. A shadow fell upon Boromir's face, chilling Legolas to the soul. As the
days had passed the knowledge had been growing in him that his way lay with
Gimli, but for his heart's ease and for the sake of their past companionship,
he would not willingly leave Boromir to despair.
"Come," he said quietly, risking once more the touch of his
hand to Boromir's sleeve. This time, while the muscle beneath the cloth
tightened, his hold was not thrown off. "Will you speak to me of your
thoughts? I believe that the Halflings have no need to fear you, for you have
proven yourself in their defense, as we have proven ourselves a Fellowship, in
the course of our quest. You are a good and honorable man, Boromir. But there
is a question in your mind, one that has been aired before; one I fear grows
stronger the closer we come to the end of our journey and the moment of truth
when the Ring will be destroyed. It is the truth that the Ring cannot be used
to good purpose, for it embodies evil of a strength neither mortal nor immortal
can withstand. Yet you wonder and you question."
"No," Boromir denied, too quickly. His eyes flashed up, a
glance of green in the night two shades darker than the grass on which they
stood, and his mouth hardened into a thin line. "The decision has been
made, and with my oath and my sword I will support it. Let us speak no more of
this, for there is no good can come of it."
Legolas disagreed, but faced with the Man's obstinacy, knew of no
approach to the sore question that would allow honest discourse. Thinking
perhaps persistence might win forth when confrontation failed, he withdrew his
touch and settled himself on the soft grass; he looked up at the Man, his face open,
his hands gesturing to the ground beside him in an inviting manner. Boromir
stood, irresolute.
"Surely you have other places to rest, and other people with whom
you'd rather share this last night in your Elven haven?"
The words had an edge of bitterness, and Legolas mourned silently for
the loss of ease between them. Shaking his head, he told Boromir, "This
night, I have but one purpose and one desire." Allowing the silence to
build, he waited for Boromir to ask, but again the Man was obstinate, and Legolas
sighed gently. "You have not known the peace we others have found here in
the Golden Wood, and I wish to share with you, if only for a moment, a little
of the lightening of the burden I have felt."
As if against his will, Boromir's legs folded and he sat beside Legolas.
Still his mouth was harshly thinned, and his eyes were narrowed. "I am
well aware in what guise your comfort has come, Legolas. It is not only the
trees that make in you such lightness and joy."
Reaching out to stroke back a wayward strand of hair, the better to see
Boromir's features in the half-light, Legolas was not surprised at the Man's
withdrawal. This time, however, he did not allow it. Hands moving faster than
mortal eyes could track, he clasped Boromir's chin in his fingers, his hold
gentle but unbreakable. Turning the Man's face until perforce their eyes would
meet, Legolas stared a long moment into the shuttered depths.
"This journey has shown me wondrous and terrible things, Boromir. I
have felt friendship and loss to an extent never before experienced in all my
long life. Each day I am confronted with choices; each path I take, I leave
other paths behind. I cannot know what the future will hold, and so accept from
each moment the joy or pain it gives me."
Leaning forward, a breath away from Boromir's lips, he whispered,
"That does not mean my friends are any less dear, for all my choices made.
Let this be a moment of joy, not of pain." He dropped the lightest of
kisses on Boromir's mouth, then a second, and a third, each longer and deeper
than the one before.
These touches, at least, Boromir accepted with a grace bordering on
need. The touch of shadow Legolas sensed earlier returned, painted in the
unspoken desperation in Boromir's hands as they clasped Legolas' shoulders and
the strength in his arms as he drew their bodies together.
An instant later, Legolas found himself thrust back away, Boromir
sitting with his legs pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped round them, his
head buried against his forearms. It appeared to Legolas as if Boromir was
trying to disappear, to make himself so compact as to become nothing at all.
"What of Gimli?" came the muffled question, and Legolas took a
deep breath, to unravel as best he could the ache of confusion growing in his
chest.
"I know not," he answered truthfully, wishing not to cause
pain but unable to lie to avoid it. "He is a part of the larger whole of
the future I cannot see."
"As I am the past?" The question was less muffled, as Boromir
turned his head to rest his cheek against his arm, staring aslant at Legolas
through the fall of brown-gold hair.
"No," Legolas denied immediately. "You are the present,
as we all are, and in this moment, I wish to remind us both of the closeness we
may share. You are part of the future as well, Boromir, although I know not in
what capacity." He took another deep breath, and tangled his fingertips in
the Man's hair, brushing it back behind his ear. "I am no seer, merely a
bowman, but I am also your friend. Regardless the fate to come, that one fact
shall remain true."
Boromir's hand caught Legolas' and drew it from his hair to bring it to
his lips. Lifting the captive hand to his face, he ghosted a kiss over the
fingers, then brought the palm up to cup his cheek. The bristles of his beard
were rough against Legolas' skin, a friendly roughness that reassured him.
Curling his fingers, he scratched gently, as he would a cat, and was rewarded
with the barest easing of strain in Boromir's shoulders.
They sat there for long moments in silence, Boromir gradually relaxing
in Legolas' presence; the Elf wondered what thoughts chased themselves in the
Man's mind, and was gratified that his company could bring comfort. In time,
Boromir turned to face Legolas, one hand rising to sift through the fall of
bright braided hair, coming to rest round the nape of his neck.
Eyes watchful, body relaxed, Legolas flowed with Boromir's urging,
tilting his head to meet the kiss Boromir offered. There was comfort in this as
well, acceptance of the limits inherent in his friendship, imposed by his
growing closeness with Gimli; willingness to share what they might whilst they
could. Taking the touch and returning it in kind, he felt an ease growing
between himself and Boromir that mirrored the companionship they'd found before
entering Lothlo'rien, and his heart rejoiced.
As their kisses deepened, so too did their touches, as hands roamed
beneath clothing, loosening fastenings and pushing back cloth to reveal skin
hungry for that touch. His courtship of Gimli, for that he now knew it to be,
was a chaste one, and his body was all too ready to remember the feel of
another against it.
This coupling held none of the play that marked their first
coming-together. The days had left their mark on both, and this joining was
made of night and soft whispers and mingled regret. As Boromir's hands skimmed
over Legolas' chest, moving over his ribs, down his belly and along his limbs,
it felt to the Elf as if the touch both greeted and bid farewell. Their kisses
had a bittersweet flavor, the fears shading the future mixing with the
knowledge that this moment, once passed, would only again be revisited in
memory, never in fact.
The grass was soft against his skin as Legolas lay back, pulling Boromir
over him, the bulk of the Man's body blocking out the shifting light from the
candles; as Boromir leaned to kiss him, the moon painted a nimbus of light
round his head, fire glinting from the gold in his hair, before their lips met
and the moonlight was extinguished to Legolas' eye.
In that instant, he knew that the path ahead, perilous as it already
was, had darkened yet more. Boromir was the one Companion more truly on the
edge of the knife than any of the others, not through circumstance but through
the doubts and fears hidden within his own heart; Legolas made a vow, heard
only by himself but no less vehement in its silence, that he would do
everything in his power to ensure when Boromir fell it would not be into
shadow.
Newfound determination in his movements, Legolas wrapt strong arms about
Boromir's shoulders, strong legs about his waist, and guided the Man's
movements until they were one. Head thrown back, eyes open to drink in the
pleasure on Boromir's face, Legolas moved with him until ecstasy overcame the
Man, drinking his scream in a kiss, holding him through the shaking afterward
until Boromir lay still in Legolas' embrace.
Long moments passed, as the heart thundering beneath Boromir's ribs
gradually slowed, the sweat cooled on his skin and the trembling in his muscles
diminished. With affectionate kisses, he gathered Legolas against him, his hand
embracing the hardness still lingering, until Legolas shuddered to his own
completion, burying his face against the Man's warm throat and biting at the
thin soft skin beneath his mouth to stifle his cries.
They spoke little as they lay there together, the closeness of their
bodies a reassurance in itself. After a time, Boromir made a move as if to
untangle himself from Legolas' arms, but the Elf stopped him with a touch.
"Stay with me and rest awhile, Boromir," he whispered against
the Man's ear, nuzzling gently as he spoke. "This is time out of time, and
it is our time. Let us enjoy it whilst we may, for such an opportunity
for private peace may not come again for a long while."
Unspoken lay the truth that such close moments between them, in word if
not deed, would wither as the quest continued, and the intimacy they'd shared
that night would not occur again, although the knowledge of future denial lay
heavy on Legolas' heart. Still the shadows in Boromir's eyes had lessened, and
that had been the Elf's intent, so he was content with his night's work.
Succumbing to the gentle pressure of Legolas' hands, Boromir allowed
himself to be drawn back into the Elf's arms, and there he slept, cradled
against the fair chest, until dawn was breaking. Legolas lay listening: to the
wind; to the breathing of the Man in his embrace; to the rush of mortal blood
through a heart perhaps too large to deflect the doubts assailing it. As the
first rays of bright sunlight broke through the leaves, picking out the strands
of auburn and gold in the tangle of brown beneath his hand, Legolas stroked the
softness of Boromir's hair one last time.
The Man was awake with the sun, leaning into the touch on his head then
pulling back to place a soft kiss on Legolas' mouth. Boromir smiled, and while
there was a hint of darkness underlying the curve of his lips, there was also
the charm of old; Legolas found himself heartened by it. He returned the kiss,
then watched Boromir rise and dress. Marks of passion were scattered upon his
body, from forays of hands and mouth the previous night, and Boromir paused at
the sight of them.
Lifting his head, he gifted Legolas with another smile, sweeter this
time and full of mischief, so like the Boromir of early on their journey that
Legolas was helpless in the face of it. Rising to his feet, he wound his arms
round Boromir's neck and kissed that smile, smiling himself through the kiss.
All would be well, as long as light maintained dominion over the
darkness in the Man's nature. It would be Legolas' task to do all he could to
ensure that it would. He owed his friend no less.
"Alas for us all! And for all that walk the world in these after-days.
For such is the way of it; to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is
on the running stream." Legolas.
The fate of the Fellowship balanced on the edge of a blade, until
balance was lost.
Distracted by the threat growing in his mind, the silent marching
footsteps ringing in his bones if not his ears, Legolas did not see the final
act begin. The boats were tied at the head of the Falls, the Hobbits falling
about in their usual disarray once again on dry land, Gimli grousing, Aragorn
moving among them; but of Boromir there was no sign, and Legolas' eyes, bent as
they were on the shadow coming up fast upon them, took no notice of the
darkness bursting forth amongst them.
Aragorn took counsel with him on future plans, and Legolas gave him what
warning he could, unclear as it was. The enemy drew nigh, hastening upon them;
a shadow and a threat grew behind them, greater than the Orc, darker than any
he'd sensed since the demon in the deep had taken Gandalf. Before he could be
pressed on what he could not yet explain, the alarm was raised.
Frodo was missing.
As was Boromir.
The round shield lay by the Man of Gondor's bedroll, but the Man himself
was absent. His sword and Horn, of course, were missing as well; no matter how
divided his thoughts by the siren call of the Ring, he was a warrior first and
last, his blade as much a part of him as his strong right arm or his duty
toward his people.
It was discomfiting to all that he and the Ringbearer should both be
gone. Legolas exchanged a glance with Aragorn, and the hunt for their errant
companions began.
It did not end well.
The Orc were upon them before the search had scarce commenced. Legolas,
Gimli at his back, fought wave after wave of the foul creatures, in numbers
unlike any he had ever seen in long centuries fighting the vermin. This,
indeed, was a fell army, proof if proof be needed of how low Saruman the Wise
had fallen. For these were not the army of Sauron; they included in their ranks
fearsome creatures unlike any Legolas had ever seen, great hulking beasts that
were nigh unstoppable. Upon their faces they bore a mark, a white hand on their
twisted brows. The ownership brand of the once-mighty Lord of Isengard. The
purity of the mark against the filthy skin was a mockery, light consumed by darkness,
wisdom undone by fear and greed for power.
Bloodlust sang in him as Legolas fought, hands a blur as arrows flew
until his quiver was empty. Still the enemy advanced. His knives were next to
find flesh, singing in his hands as he dealt death blow after death blow to the
masses of dark soldiers. In his heart of hearts the sure knowledge came to him
that this was the end, that the quest had failed, as they would surely be
overcome by the sheer weight of their enemies' number.
Yet, he did not fall. Rather, those he could not kill flowed past him,
eyes forward, snouts drawn into the snarls of hunting dogs, black hearts fixed
on a prize beyond him. Fighting against the tide of bodies, slashing and
stabbing on all sides as his desperate pace left Gimli behind, Legolas
struggled to gain Aragorn's side. For where he would find the King, there he
would find the Ringbearer, and as long as Frodo remained alive, their quest had
a breath of hope to succeed.
He was too far from his goal when he heard a sound that froze his heart
in his breast. The Horn of Gondor, a cry for help in the wilderness from
Boromir's lips, in this time of need drawing the eye of the beast as well as
the help of friends, too far distant from his homeland to draw the warriors of
Gondor to his side. The battle shifted, carrying Legolas along with it, and he
lost sight of Aragorn as he fought to defend himself and carve his way clear to
Boromir's side.
Orc died like leaves in the last days of autumn as Legolas felt renewed
energy burn through his body. Plucking arrows from corpses as he ran, shooting
them as quickly as he retrieved them only to retrieve them again to be shot, he
followed the clarion call of the Horn.
Until it was no more.
Slaughtering the last of the enemy impeding his path, he ran as swiftly
as the wind over grass, but his best speed was not quick enough. Bursting into
a clearing, near-stumbling over the mass of Orc slashed to pieces by Boromir's
sword, the heart frozen within him shuddered, and cracked.
Boromir, pierced through shoulder and gut and heart by the black arrows
of the beast, lay dying in Aragorn's arms. His valiant defense of the Hobbits
for whom he'd cared was easily seen in the grievous nature of his wounds, and
his failure in that defense was as easily heard in the heartbreak of his words.
Legolas could do naught but stand, useless weapons hanging limply at his side,
as Aragorn gave Boromir his forgiveness, and Boromir in turn swore his fealty.
His final oath was telling, as his breath expired with his life, upon the
last words. Accepting in death as he had never admitted in life, that Gondor
did indeed need her king; for himself, acknowledging Aragorn as his brother,
leader, and sovereign. Gifted in return for his acceptance with the blessing of
that king, the love of that brother, the gratitude of that leader, and the
knowledge that he had given his life with honor in the defense of the
Fellowship.
Cold comfort to the Companions he left behind, but a sliver of warmth
curled round the ice coating Legolas' heart to know that Boromir the Fair had
died a warrior's death; for those left to lament, he would be remembered a hero
in song as long as memory survived. Legolas watched with burning eyes as
Aragorn kissed Boromir's pale face, only then moving forward to assist in preparing
the body for the final journey.
Over the falls. As befit a hero of Gondor.
Still, as it had been when the darkness claimed Gandalf, there was no
time to grieve; no time to bring forth the pain in his heart and craft it into
song; no time for dwelling in memory of fondness bestowed and affection
returned. Their quest pressed upon them. As Legolas carefully placed the sword
along Boromir's chest, he glanced into the calm, still face, and vowed that the
day would come when that lament would be sung, and the memories bring what
comfort they might.
Back at the sole remaining boat, watching Frodo and Sam disappear on the
far shore, he listened in disbelief as Aragorn admitted to abandoning the
Ringbearer. Gimli spoke Legolas' own thoughts when he angrily decried the
failure of the Fellowship; but Aragorn's quiet resolve to rescue Merry and
young Pippin, as well as the sideways glance and soft smile with which the
Dwarf gifted him, gave Legolas' mind what peace his heart could not yet find.
For in the end, whilst Man and Dwarf and Elf still fought shoulder to
shoulder for the future of Middle Earth, in defense not only of the Halflings
but of the Light itself, then they truly would not fail. Glancing but once more
over his shoulder at the rush of water over which Boromir's body had vanished,
Legolas closed his eyes, gave silent farewell, then turned to join his
companions in rescue.
"It is a choice between defending a strong place and walking
openly into the arms of death. At least, that is how I see it." Boromir.
His choice had been made. It was the honor and the duty of the surviving
members of the Fellowship to ensure that his sacrifice had not be in vain.
end