Unlikely Rescue

Chapter 20 - Guilt

Thanks to y'all for reading it's a pleasure to read your comments please don't ever stop! Hope you enjoy this one:

Dead. Aragorn was dead. And it was his fault. Why had he frozen like that? What had caused it? So many questions, and one answer. Everything led back to it. Aragorn was dead, and it was his fault.

Legolas jolted from his thoughts as he was placed on... on a bed. He opened his eyes and stared unseeingly at the now empty room. Whoever had carried him in had assured him that 'Lord Elrond' would get to him eventually. Legolas vaguely remembered that Lord Elrond was Aragorn's father. He was too wrapped up in other, all-consuming emotions to wonder how an elf could be the father of a human. A human who was now dead. Because of him.

He could only imagine the pain it would have caused, for it was the first instance of love he had ever witnessed. He had realised in that moment just how much he had missed out on. He had known it was bad, but he'd thought he deserved it, and had had no idea just how terrible it had truly been.

He found himself wishing that he had a father. A father who would love him, and care for him, not beat him for something Aragorn had said wasn't even his fault. He had tried to avoid that subject, for he had been torn between what he had always believed, and what had been laid out so clearly before him by the human.

No matter now though. Thranduil was right. The voice was right. Aragorn was dead, because of him. Some gratitude; he deserved to be beaten. He deserved it.

Legolas climbed from the bed. It was distinctly uncomfortable sleeping on something so soft after so long with only a cold stone floor: he couldn't get used to it. After a moment's hesitation and a quick search, Legolas found the thinnest blanket and settled on the cool stone of the floor beside the bed.

Sobbing until the whole area beneath his face was one salty puddle, the elfling cried himself to sleep.

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Legolas woke after only what he guessed to be a couple of hours' sleep. Climbing to his feet, he stumbled in hunger, thirst and exhaustion to the door and pulled it open. Still dressed in his dirty clothes from the cell, he padded out into the bustling corridor. Glancing both ways, he made his way silently down the passageway.

Everywhere he went, whispers followed. Clusters of elves stopped mid-sentence to watch him pass. Heads turned as he made his way down the corridor. He killed Estel. He is a murderer.

He whispers grew louder and louder, echoing in his ears, filling his senses in a cacophony of whispered comments. Murderer. Murderer.

Until finally, Legolas couldn't take it anymore. He began to run, following the call of the forest, and, after much wandering in circles and ending up at locked windows, found the doors.

Legolas tried the handle tentatively. Locked. Thinking, he retraced his steps until he found a window which was just slightly open. When he tried to open it further however, he found it locked in place and so, very slowly, very carefully, he slid through the small gap and out, onto the small patch of grass beneath the window. Nobody else would be able to fit through there to follow him.

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Once he was crouched in the grass below the window, Legolas broke into a sprint, running as fast as he could toward the tree line.

He slowed when he reached the gate. Something was warning him back. No! Guards this way. Follow the river, there is a fallen tree which bridges it further down. Use that!

Legolas had no idea where this information came from, but he wasn't going to risk being caught by guards and most likely beaten. Creeping toward the bank, he stayed hidden until the bridge was out of sight. Once he had rounded the corner, he began to run again. Best to get as far as he could before the residents of Imladris realised the murderer was gone. He had no doubt that they would hunt him down and punish him, severely. Perhaps they would even kill him.

No. He had to get away. Away from the whispers, the hate, the stares. The truth.

Legolas felt ready to collapse from exhaustion as he ran. He hadn't eaten or drunk since... since Aragorn was hit with the arrow. Don't think about it.

He was beyond caring whether he lived or died. He was a murderer; he deserved it. It was true. Everything Thranduil had ever said was true. I killed Naneth all those years ago, and now I've killed Aragorn.

The spark inside him which had driven him all this way was failing. It was about to go out when he saw it.

A fallen tree, just as the strange voices, for there had been more than one, had told him. Its gnarled bark was treacherously slippery, and coated in a green slime Legolas couldn't identify. He gulped.

It's the only way across.

Stepping out onto the rotting wood, he tested its strength gingerly. It wobbled. Don't worry child. The voices whispered. Just don't look down, and you'll get across. Of course, this made Legolas glance down. The sight of the churning grey water beneath him caused him to wobble precariously and he stepped back onto the grass.

But if they caught him...

He placed his bare foot onto the log once more. Ok. Here goes.

Stepping out over the roaring current, Legolas shuffled out into the centre of the tree. It seemed to crack and splinter beneath him, and he tried not to look down again.

When the log lurched beneath him, he dropped to his hands and knees and held on with all his strength.

But all of Legolas' strength wasn't a lot.

Despite his best efforts, his fingers slid from the slippery surface and he plunged down into the icy water.

The moment he entered the river, the cold hit him like a physical blow. Head forced beneath the water, he struggled to hold his breath. The cold was making him hyperventilate, and yet he could get no air as the current dragged him downstream.

Legolas was forced down the river, and closer and closer to the waterfall.

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Morning found a small form held head and shoulders above the water level by the strong roots of an ancient oak. Unbeknownst to the elfling, the tree was putting all its strength into keeping him alive, and keeping him from being washed over the waterfall.

When Legolas blearily opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was the cold. He felt the cold and yet... and yet he didn't feel it. He was completely numb from his shoulders downwards, and felt as though to lift one finger would be like lifting a mûmakil.

It was so peaceful here. So quiet. He began to close his eyes. Why should he bother ever waking up when it was so nice here? He was warm, and he was safe.

He closed his eyes, and slept.

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The old oak was not going to give in. After all the child had endured, after all he'd suffered through, how could he let him die? No. Cradling the boy tighter in its protective embrace, the tree considered trying to get him back to Rivendell. But this was what the boy wanted. He wanted to run, so the oak would help him.

It took all of the tree's power to move. Lifting its roots from the rushing water, it carried the elfling to the bank and there it released its death-grip upon the limp body and plunged its roots back into the icy water, becoming motionless once more. No more doing anything for a long time. It needed to recover.

But that was fine. It was worth it. It had helped the one who didn't even realise how special he was to the forest. But it had helped him all the same.

Thanks for reading and sorry this is a bit late! Also yes, the last part is from the perspective of a tree!

Next chapter will be back to before Legolas ran away: Will Elrond be able to save Aragorn?

Oh, don't forget to vote :P