Feedback: Please. celli@fanfic101.com
Rating: PG for references to violence and implied slash.
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Archiving: ask, and I'll probably say yes.
Disclaimer: Tolkien's. New Line's. Not mine.
Spoilers: Movieverse (FotR and TTT), with a side of book canon.
Summary: Missing scenes from the first two films; Legolas learns about death, and hope, and his heart's desire. Written for the Alliance of Men and Elves Challenge.
Author's notes at the end.

Shines Like Hope
by Celli Lane

Even the great gates of Rivendell were crowded. More arrivals came hourly, called from all the corners of Middle-Earth to Elrond's Council; old grudges were set aside in this time of dire need. The delegation from Mirkwood clustered near the entrance, observing the chaos.

"Who is the Man standing with Lady Arwen?" someone asked.

Legolas looked up from where he was tending to his horse. "He is a Ranger," he said. "They call him Strider."

His companions studied the couple carefully. "How does a Ranger know Arwen?" one asked.

"He does not dress as a Ranger," said another.

Legolas simply smiled. "I did not say he was only a Ranger."

The others looked at him curiously, but a party of Dwarves rode through the main gates just then, causing a stir throughout the group. Most of the Elves in the Mirkwood party found some reason to follow the Dwarves, ignoring the dark looks they received. Old grudges might be set aside, but not yet forgotten by any who bore them.

Legolas waited until Elrond called his daughter away, then moved closer to Aragorn. "Well met, my friend."

Aragorn's wistful expression broadened into a smile. "Legolas Greenleaf! I had not thought to see you here." He clapped a hand on the Elf's shoulder in greeting. "It has been many years since we last met."

"Mirkwood has been quiet without your attempts at archery."

Aragorn laughed, a rare show of emotion indeed. "My bowcraft is not so bad."

"No, it's quite good. For a Man." Legolas raised a brow. "And why is a humble Ranger dressed in such finery?" He gestured at the velvet tunic, cut in the style of the Rangers but made with the craft of the Elves.

"I fear that Strider has no place in these halls now." Aragorn's hands settled on his belt, where a sword would normally ride. "I am told that Aragorn, son of Arathorn, must attend this council, whether he will or no."

"You have been Strider for many long years, my friend. Perhaps Aragorn can be of service in what lies ahead."

Another horse's hooves rang through the gate. Both Aragorn and Legolas turned to watch the Men ride in. "The leader carries the Horn of Gondor," Legolas said.

"That would make him of the line of the Stewards. Either Faramir or Boromir, by my guess."

The new arrivals trotted past them, casting only a curious gaze or two their way. Aragorn's hand settled back on Legolas's shoulder. "Your thoughts are easy to see, friend Elf. You would have them bow to me and call me King."

"It is your right and privilege," Legolas said quickly.

"It is my duty and responsibility, as you well know, Prince Legolas," Aragorn corrected mildly, but the hand on his shoulder tightened. "And like another of my line, I have turned from both."

The ground was cold, colder still after the heat of Moria and the flaming menace of the Balrog. Even an Elf should be chilled, but Legolas barely noticed the snow.

Gandalf was dead.

He occupied himself with the practical concerns of tending and comforting the hobbits, and he could see Aragorn and Gimli in the new dimness of his vision, doing the same. Boromir he would worry about, if he had any room in his mind for worry; his grief seemed nearly as great as Frodo's, and Legolas was not sure why. Boromir had never seemed that fond of the wizard.

Gandalf was dead.

The hobbits were curled in on themselves more from grief than from cold, but soon they would feel it, too. And simply surviving Moria did not mean the danger was past. Shelter must be found. Gandalf should--

--perhaps Aragorn had taken this path before and could help them find some small measure of safety.

They walked on. The fear of pursuit ebbed after a few hours, and the grief returned, dragging at their steps. Legolas tried to compose a song for his fallen friend, but music could not comfort him. Songs were for Elven heroes, those who had died in battles long ago, or traveled to the Undying Lands in the twilight of a full life. Gandalf had lived generations, yes, but to die now, when the quest to return the Ring had barely begun...none of the songs spoke of this.

Next to him, Pippin stumbled. Legolas swung the young hobbit back onto his feet. "Are you all right, my friend?" he asked.

"No," Pippin said quietly, "but I'm not hurt."

Legolas kept one hand on Pippin's back. When he looked up enquiringly, Legolas said, "The ground is rough."

Pippin returned his gaze to his feet. "Yes."

Legolas left the hobbit alone with his thoughts. His gaze fell on Aragorn, walking at the head of their group, one hand resting upon Frodo's shoulder in a familiar gesture of support.

Frodo's parents were dead, Legolas remembered suddenly. As were Aragorn's. He had heard them discussing it once. They knew death, although from their faces he could tell familiarity was no comfort. Legolas had lived many of their lifetimes, and yet death was alien to him. Would it still be this arrow in his chest if little Pippin died before him? Or brave Frodo, Ringbearer? Or Aragorn?

His eyes narrowed as he took in Aragorn's face, still turned down towards Frodo. When they had first met, upon a royal visit to Rivendell, Aragorn had been a child still, though tall as a grown man, and years later, Legolas had taught him archery in Mirkwood. Aragorn did not look older now, but he looked less young than he had in those days, swearing at his arrows and allowing Legolas's sisters to braid his hair on lazy afternoons. In an Elf, that would mean only that he had entered the prime of his life, and had centuries left to celebrate. In a Man--

Gandalf was dead.

Aragorn -- would die.

Legolas stumbled.

Now Pippin was trying to hold him up, futile as the effort might be. "Legolas!" he cried.

Legolas righted himself, to find the entire fellowship staring at him in shock. "I--I--" He avoided Aragorn's eyes and took a deep breath. "My grief makes me clumsy," he said finally, and they seemed to understand.

Fool, he told himself as they walked again. Clumsy fool. Of course Aragorn will die. They all will. He is not an Elf. You knew that. There are more important things to think of now, and more immediate threats to all our lives.

When night fell, he volunteered to take a long patrol, to scout for any of the enemy that might somehow have crossed out of Moria and followed them. Aragorn let him go, and Legolas was himself again by dawn.

Night had long since fallen on Lorien. The songs of the Elves had died away, and most of the Fellowship slept. Legolas ignored the temptation of oblivion, and remained staring into the fire.

A slight noise behind him had Legolas turning. "You should be asleep," he said softly.

"So should you." Aragorn knelt next to him. He also pitched his voice low; the Hobbits slept not far away. "Have you slept since Moria, Legolas?"

"I am not tired."

"I did not ask if you were tired. Why are you studying the trees so intently?"

He could say he longed for the woods of Mirkwood. He could say he was thinking of Gandalf, and composing a song in the wizard's memory. He could speak the truth.

"I have not felt easy since Boromir spoke."

"Galadriel tested him as she tested us all. Boromir wants only to help his father and his people. He believed for that moment that if he abandoned the Quest, Gondor might be saved, and yet he still stayed."

"Perhaps he does not understand that it was only a test. He worries me still, Aragorn."

"And me as well. But Galadriel sees into our hearts, and she meant to unsettle us."

"Yes."

"She has the right to test us."

"I agree." His voice was harsher than he had intended.

Aragorn stayed silent.

Legolas sighed. "Not all of us have hope to keep us company on this journey, Aragorn. Not everyone has their heart's desire waiting as a reward when we are finished."

More silence. Then Aragorn said, "Arwen has left Rivendell. She will sail to the Undying Lands."

Legolas shook his head. "She will not."

"What?"

"You have too little faith in yourself, my friend. Arwen will wait for you. You will have your success and your desires all in one at journey's end."

"Hm." Aragorn shifted next to him; Legolas kept his eyes fixed firmly on his own hands. "Do you really think any of us will receive our heart's desire? That Galadriel's reward will be made real?"

"You will. And perhaps Sam, with the garden he spoke of."

"I would like that. Sam should have whatever his hobbit's heart desires. And you, Legolas? Will your reward be waiting for you?"

Galadriel's voice echoed again in Legolas's mind. Aragorn's part in this quest will destroy him. You can save him from his fate. Take him away, far away from the Ring, from Gondor, from the Enemy, and sail West. Simply leave the Fellowship, and Aragorn will follow.

And the image that accompanied her words: Aragorn, standing tall and proud, the Evenstar shining like a beacon against his cloak. His face was free of the sadness that Arwen brought to it, free from the grimness the knowledge of his fate had worn into it. He was smiling as he had in youth. Smiling at Legolas.

You can save him, Legolas of Mirkwood. You can free him. You can--

"No." He forced himself to turn and look at Aragorn. "If more of us live than die in this adventure, I shall consider it reward enough."

He dreamed of the Evenstar that night. Of Galadriel holding it out to him. "It shines so for love," she said. "The love Aragorn bears for his lady; the love you bear for him as his friend."

In Lorien, even under her harshest gaze, he had not faltered. In his dream, he could not meet her eyes. "It is not the love of a companion I bear him," he admitted.

Her fingers were cool on his cheek. "It shines for you yet, Legolas Greenleaf. And while it shines, there is yet hope in the world of Elves."

He woke to the sound of hobbit voices, and Gimli's rumbling laugh as Merry spoke to him. But his gaze strayed often to the jewel at Aragorn's neck, and he wondered at his strange dream.

"We must rest."

Aragorn slowed his headlong dash to a brisk trot. The sun was beginning to set, turning the plains of Rohan into a strange and shadowed land.

"No, Aragorn. We must rest."

Aragorn stopped and wheeled on Legolas. Gimli was some steps behind. They could hear his harsh breaths on the night breeze.

"You do not cry for mercy, my friend," Aragorn said. "I have not yet seen an Elf who must sleep before a Man."

"Gimli needs rest."

There was a reckless glint in Aragorn's eye. "Let him rest, then."

"We will need him when we overtake the Uruk-hai. We must rest," Legolas said again, and Aragorn's head bowed.

"A quarter hour only. Gimli, rest," he said as the Dwarf approached.

"If you insist." Gimli did not lie down so much as collapse where he stood. He rolled himself in his cloak and began snoring.

"I will keep watch," Aragorn said.

"No. Rest." And Legolas stared at his friend, until Aragorn shrugged and lowered himself to the ground.

Legolas perched on a nearby rock and scanned the area. No one within range of his eyes or ears. He took a deep breath--Elf or no, running for days was wearying--and his gaze strayed back to Aragorn.

The young King was still as death, but even in sleep, the lines of worry lay deep on his face. Beneath the scents of dirt and sweat that marked all of them after such a run, Legolas could still smell Boromir's blood.

And the memory of the battle with the Orcs, and following the scent of blood to Boromir's death, the clear anguish in Aragorn's eyes...that was not a comfort on this dark night.

Instead, he concentrated on the face before him, bending all his gifts of sight to draw this image, this memory into his mind. The line of Aragorn's nose, the fall of hair from his brow. The coarse spread of his beard along his cheeks, so unlike the Elvish look he had adopted in his youth. His eyes, tightly closed against dreams now, so sharp and fearless in battle, so bleak when he spoke of Arwen.

Aragorn's eyes opened. Legolas started. Aragorn simply said, "It is time," and stood.

"Indeed," Legolas said, and moved to wake Gimli.

The water that struggled into Helm's Deep formed something of a stream. The women of Rohan clustered on its banks. Some filled water skins for the soldiers on the wall; others rinsed blood from wounds and clothing. Legolas could see a mother scrubbing mud from her child's hair, scolding when he tried to wiggle away. It nearly made him smile. Men and wizards and Orcs might clash, but children must be scolded and scrubbed.

He made his way to an empty spot, ignoring the curious looks from those on either side of him, and knelt, the Evenstar a heavy weight in his hand as he bent to work.

The Orc blood was as stubborn as he who had shed it. Legolas cupped his hand in the stream and poured water over it again and again, but the black blood remained until he feared the jewel was simply stained.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. There was no use. Arwen, even in Valinor, must know by now; the Evenstar could not comfort her. Helm's Deep was doomed, and even Elves were not immune to Orc arrows. Why try to save what would soon be buried in blood and earth?

"My lord?" The woman to his right laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. When he looked over, she offered him a scrap of cloth. "For...for your jewel, sir."

"I thank you," he said, very softly. He stared at the rag for a moment, then applied it to the Evenstar.

It took a deal more work and most of the cloth, but finally it was clean. Legolas held it to the light.

"It glows." There was reverence in the woman's voice.

"It shines," Legolas said.

It shone like friendship. It shone like love. And while it shines...

"Legolas!" Gimli's voice, ringing loudly across the keep. "The scouts bring word! Aragorn! Aragorn returns!"

It shone like hope.

Legolas pressed the cloth back into the woman's hands. "Thank you." He kissed her cheek and stood, hurrying for the gate.

--the end--

Author's notes: I have a lot of people to thank.

Rhysenn, who provided the challenge and prodded me into joining;
Alissa, who read every draft and was encouragement personified;
Mel, my Style Goddess, who provided some of the best lines and made me take out all the worst;
Caro, who caught the little things;
Diana, who provided the title and much-needed reassurance;
And Shelley, my evil twin, who listened and listened and listened.