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Title: Jewel of the Deep
Author: Kiera Kingsley
Pairing: Aragorn / Legolas
Rating: PG-ish
Summary: Aragorn and Legolas
encounter an adventure while journeying with their companions through
the mines of Moria. Written for Obsessed One in the Secret Santa
challenge.
---
"If the elf-king [Thranduil] had a weakness it was for treasure,
especially for silver and white gems; and though his hoard was rich, he
was ever eager for more, since he had not yet as great a treasure as
other elf-lords of old."
--from "Flies and Spiders", The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien
---
"I think I shall go mad," Legolas said softly to Aragorn in a dark
hour, when the light had completely vanished and they scrambled blindly
across rocky paths and up winding stairs.
"No, dear love, you shall not," Aragorn murmured wearily to him in
Elvish. The Ranger was aching and sore, his shabby clothes covered in
grime and dirt, and his step was heavy as he trod along behind the
hobbits. "We have but to follow Gandalf, and we will be free of this
darkness."
"Gandalf knows not the way through these mines," Legolas retorted with
a hiss. "He is merely lying for the little ones' sake, he is lost."
"Gandalf is wiser than any of us could ever be," Aragorn returned
mildly. "He will find the way out. Hush now, and watch carefully where
you walk."
The only sound was the distant echo of dripping water as they moved
silently through the mountain, eyes steadily fixed on the glimmering
brightness at the end of Gandalf's staff. It hung above them like a
star, shimmering in the shadows and casting a pale, faint light over
their faces.
The hobbits shuffled along together, huddled close; Sam clung to his
Frodo as Pippin hovered behind Merry, their eyes wide and dazed.
Legolas felt his heart stir with pity as he watched them hobble along,
lost and forlorn amid the great darkness, and then move with admiration
as he saw the stubborn strength in Sam's demeanor and the calm courage
in Frodo's face.
Beyond them Boromir was walking with Gandalf, behind Gimli. Legolas
could never explain the uneasiness he felt around the other man, the
tightness in his throat and chest. He was a noble and decent man,
courteous towards the others and protective of the little ones, and
yet... and yet something was vaguely wrong with him. There was an avid
hunger in his eyes sometimes, a startling anger that scared and
bewildered the Elf. He wondered why Aragorn ignored it, why he had not
retaliated against Boromir's bitter attack at the Council. He could not
know how keenly Aragorn felt the peril of the White City, or of the
strange bond of unspoken kinship this conferred on the two Men.
Gandalf stopped, his staff clattering against the rocks. He stood at
the height of the stairs, staring at the shadows. The others halted and
waited for him to speak; Legolas agonized over the silence, edgy and
nervous with impatience. He hated this cold, dark, dank place with no
sunlight or fresh air; he missed the trees, he missed the open sky. He
wanted... he forced down the childish feeling, it surged deep within
him... he wanted to go home.
When Gandalf spoke at last, his soft voice was faint with dismay. "I
have no memory of this place."
---
Legolas sat stiffly against the wall, his legs curled up beneath him.
Aragorn had touched his arm briefly; when there was no response save
sullen resentment, he turned his back and joined Boromir and Gimli at
the other side of the ledge.
The Elf fumed, chewing on his anger like a tough bit of meat and
chomping down on it. He was furious with Gandalf for losing the way; he
was furious with Aragorn for abandoning him; he was furious with the
Ring as it glimmered around Frodo's neck; he was furious with
everything. He nursed his rage and let it simmer, boiling in his blood.
The light from Gandalf's staff shone over their heads; Legolas's heart
fluttered with every weak flicker. If it went out... he focused on the
shadows, searching for any movements, signs of life...
Daroówait. A long drop from the edge, a far distance down,
something was glittering. It twinkled like a star as Legolas crawled to
the rocks and peered over.
An irresistible urge overwhelmed Legolas, and before he thought twice
he had climbed lightly over the ledge and clung to the cliff side as
his dangling legs sought an outcropping. He flattened his feet against
the wall and slowlyóever so slowlyódescended, his heart
in his mouth and his breath quick with excitement, as the sparkling
light shone brighter.
---
Moments later, when Gandalf got to his feet and scolded Merry
cheerfully, "When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose," it was
Frodo who looked about: "Where's Legolas?"
Panic exploded in Aragorn's pulse, setting it racing as everyone stared
wildly about; the slender Elf was nowhere to be seen. "Legolas?" he
yelled, loosing a chorus of cries and calls: "Legolas? Legolas! Stupid
foolish brat of an elfling!" óthe last from Gimli, who was all
the more gruff and harsh because of his worry.
But the only response was a cascade of echoes from the towering rock
face. Aragorn bit his lips, shaking slightly with the sudden weakness
of fear as he rushed to the ledge. "Legolas!" he roared down into the
darkness. "Legolas!"
And floating up to his ears, faint and wavering, came an anguished cry.
"He has fallen!" Aragorn flung over his shoulder, scrambling in his
pack with trembling hands.
A rough, solid glove pressed a long length of rope into his palm. "I've
got the other end," Boromir told him, one hand steady on his shoulder.
"Go down, it should be long enough to reach him."
Aragorn only had time for one grateful look before he lowered himself
over the edge, grasping the rope tightly. The others gathered anxiously
about the ledge as Boromir braced himself, anchoring his feet amid the
crevices. Gandalf held his staff high and the light grew stronger,
falling down around Aragorn and fading into the darkness.
One hand after another he slid down, his fingers gripping the rope with
a white-knuckled clutch, his rasping breath unnaturally loud in his
ears. Deep in the abyss, a low drumbeat pounded and thundered through
the air before dying away. The rope swayed and swung with his weight,
creaking slightly, and he propped up his boots against the walls.
"Legolas...?" he ventured, his voice uncertain. "Legolas, where are
you?"
"⁄-tolo s"! ⁄-anglenno!" The cry was shrill and swift, and Aragorn
clenched his jaw with eyes hard as stone. "Get back!" There was a
scrabbling, scraping sound and the clinking of rocks.
"Don't move!" ordered Aragorn sharply. He hung onto the rope's end,
clinging to the fraying strands, and swung into view. Legolas was
scrambling along a thin ledge, his boots scratching against the gravel
as he frantically searched for something. His eyes were wild as he
panted, his long blond hair a disheveled mess and his clothes torn.
"Hold out your hand!"
"No!" the Elf yelled back, his clear voice sharp and deadly as a knife
as he turned his head. There was a strange light in his eyes as he
stared at Aragorn. "You shall not have it! I have found it, I keep it
for my own, and it will be the heirloom of my family forever more!"
Aragorn felt a little chill creep down his back. "Legolas, cease this
madness!" he shouted roughly aloud. "Give me your hand and come back
up!"
"You only wish to take it!" Legolas backed away from him, creeping
further along the ledge. A couple of loose rocks crumbled from under
his feet and fell into the void, disappearing into the darkness without
a sound. "You will not claim it, it shall be mine!"
"It shall be yours..." Aragorn was willing to agree with anything at
this point. His hands were cramped and his arms were growing tired. He
tightened his grasp on the rope and swung closer. "Legolas, anything
you wish shall be yoursóonly take my hand and come with me..."
"No!" Legolas swung at him and slipped, lost his balance, and slid from
the ledge. Aragorn nearly screamedóhe thought he
hadóflashing through his mind were the words of old lore: "For
the Elves die not till the world dies, unless they are slain or waste
in grief..."1
Before either could blink he had flung himself wide, grabbing Legolas's
slim wrist and clinging to it with a bruising grip, his other hand
grappling with the rope. His grasp was slipping and he panted hoarsely,
swallowing hard. Below him Legolas was struggling, kicking his long
legs and writhing in the bone-breaking hold. Taking a deep breath,
Aragorn bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Boromir!" he roared,
uttering a silent prayer to the gods. "Boromir, pull us up!"
And slowly the rope moved, sliding towards the edge with an effort.
High above Boromir was straining to haul the heavy weight upwards;
Gimli threw himself on the rope and leaned on it, then Gandalf tossed
his staff aside and joined them. Together the three pulled on the rope,
shouting encouragement to each other and the two hanging below.
"Hang on!" Aragorn heard dimly from above, and strained to keep his
grip on the rope. Every jolt and heave seemed to saw the rope in half,
snapping its brittle strands, and he drew deep breaths. The light was
becoming cleareróthe rope jerked, rocking back and forth with
short, shuddering movementsóhe could see the staff lying in one
corner, shining brightlyó
óand then warm, welcome hands were dragging them over the edge,
safe onto firm ground.
---
Aragorn sat close to the fire, hunched over with bent shoulders as he
listened to Gandalf. His cloak was tucked in around him and he was
puffing away on his pipe, lips trembling and breathing still shaky.
All he could think of was Legolas lying limply on the ground, curled up
beside the fire with a blanket covering himóhe had collapsed the
moment he set foot on solid groundóbut the others were staring
at the wizard, watching him with fascination as he held his hands
cupped around a stone.
And such a stone: a sparkling, glimmering jewel, shimmering with a
thousand cut facets, shining with the light of golden sun and silver
moon and stars. "What is it?" breathed Merry, his eyes wide with
wonder.
"It is a Silmaril," Gandalf said softly, staring down into its gleaming
depths. "An ancient jewel, far more rare and precious than we could
ever imagine."
"A Silmaril..." Gimli shook his head. "But that's an Elvish myth, a
childhood fable. No-one alive could ever create a jewel like that."
"F"anor did," insisted Boromir, and at Gandalf's surprised look, "The
story is still kept in the scrolls of Minas Tirith, where I read it
once. I wonder that you did not come across it during your travels."
"What story?" Frodo spoke up. "I've never heard of it, it's not in
Bilbo's books."
"It would not be, Frodo, for it is very old..." And gently Gandalf told
them the tale, the story of the death of F"anor's sons. "...but the
jewel burned the hand of Maedhros in pain unbearable; and he perceived
that it was as Eˆnw" had said, and that his right thereto had become
void, and that the oath was vain. And being in anguish and despair he
cast himself into a gaping chasm filled with fire, and so ended; and
the Silmaril that he bore was taken into the bosom of the Earth... and
thus it came to pass that the Silmarils found their long homes: in the
airs of heaven, and one in the fires of the heart of the world, and one
in the deep waters."2
Everyone kept silence for a while, watching the flames flicker, until
Aragorn lifted his head. "It drove Legolas to madness," he said
quietly. "He would have fallen into the great void had I not caught him
in time."
"It is a cursed thing, stained with the blood of noble and brave men
and Elves," Gandalf said grimly, curling his fingers around it and
pacing to the ledge. "And so it goes back to the depths where it
belongs."
With a swift movement he threw it hard, and it sparkled as it hurtled
down into the darkness. Every eye followed its shining arc, and a soft
sigh was exhaled as it disappeared. "It was pretty, though," Sam was
heard to murmur as the fire died down and they drifted off to sleep.
---
Legolas awoke with the rest and took his meal in silence, listening to
the talk; Aragorn came over to sit close by him, almost protectively,
as he ate. "Elessar?" the Elf whispered as Aragorn was finishing a last
spoonful.
Aragorn stopped, startled; he had not heard that name since his
departure from Rivendell. "Yes?" he said tentatively.
"I... I am sorry... the jewel... I could not think, I..." Legolas was
visibly nervous, his blue eyes downcast as his long fingers fiddled
with his bowl. "I am sorry if I hurt you..."
"You did not," Aragorn assured him, winding one arm around his waist
unseen. Legolas leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and resting his
chin against Aragorn's shoulder; the Ranger felt familiar warmth
seeping through his side and relaxed, shifting his weight so that they
were even closer. He let his love for the Elf overwhelm him and pressed
a kiss to Legolas's cheek, his lips soft and slightly parted. "Dear
love," he murmured tenderly.
Boromir looked over but made no comment; his eyes, which once held
bitter hostility when they saw Aragorn's affection towards the Elf,
were now merely observantóand even respectful. The Ranger
allowed a smile to stretch across his face, and was rewarded with
oneóslow and hesitant, but genuinely warmóin return.
Soon enough they were packed up and ready to depart; Gandalf led the
way with the hobbits gathered around him, while Gimli hung behind. "Let
me risk a little more light," Aragorn heard him say as they trooped
down the long tunnel.
Legolas strayed a little at the last, looking over his shoulder at the
ledge and the gaping abyss beyond. His blue eyes glimmered brightly, as
if reflecting the lost jewel, and then he resolutely turned his head.
With light steps he caught up with Aragorn, just as they all emerged
into Durin's vast and empty hall.
---
1 From "Of the Beginning of Days", The Silmarillion, J.R.R.
Tolkien
2 From "Of the Voyage of E‰rendil and the War of Wrath", The
Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien