Aragorn pulled his sword out of the body of the last warg he had felled. Around him, the sounds of the battle were slowly fading. The following silence settled on the few survivors like a heavy blanket, only broken by the soft moans of the wounded and the dying. The silence after a battle was never a comfortable one. It was the time to count the losses and to face what no one wanted to see - a task that demanded as much courage as the battle itself and could inflict even more grief.

Aragorn straightened up slowly. It had been hard work to cut through the thick hides and the hard bones of the wargs, and the battle had been fierce. His whole body felt sore and his muscles were aching. Looking around he realized they had been victorious. If it could be called thus. The ground was littered with the bodies of orcs and wargs, men and horses. The men who were still standing were far too few. Victory had been dearly paid for.

His searching gaze found Théoden, and for a moment, their eyes locked. The face of the king was devoid of any expression, but he acknowledged Aragorn with a slight nod. Without Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli the fight would have been lost, and Théoden knew this, whether he liked it or not. The ranger inclined his head and accepted the silent thanks.

Sheathing his sword, he began to look around for his friends and those of the wounded who might still need him, when a soft, wheezing sound of distress nearby demanded the attention of the healer in him. He did not have to search far to locate its source. His eyes softened when he kneeled down at the side of the faithful horse that had carried him so far after it had been given to him by Éomer near the Fangorn forest.

The beast's lungs had been pierced, and it was bleeding its life away while it struggled painfully for each breath. Aragorn found a deep sadness welling up inside of him, as the horse weakly nudged his hand with its nostrils as if trying to console him. He whispered gently to it in Elvish and stroked its neck with one hand while he drew his dagger with the other one.

"Hannon le, mellon-nîn. Navaer." [Thank you, my friend. Farewell.]

He killed the beast so swiftly that it didn't even know it happened. After that, he wiped his dagger on the grass, got back to his feet, and turned away. He was glad when he heard Gimli's voice calling out to him, creating a welcome diversion from his own gloomy thoughts. He felt a sudden need to be around his friends and to make sure they were unharmed.

"Aragorn!" Gimli's voice sounded alarmed now, as he called his friend's name for the second time.

"I am well," Aragorn hastened to assure him.

Gimli came to a dead stop in front of him and looked him over from head to toe. "Good," he commented finally with a gruff voice, seemingly satisfied by his brief inspection. "Now just tell me where that infuriating elf is, and I'll be content for the moment."

"Legolas?" Now it was Aragorn's turn to sound slightly alarmed, and a bit confused. He raised his head and looked over the battlefield searchingly. "I thought he stayed near you after you were buried under that heap of wargs!"

"He did not," Gimli answered curtly, trying to hide his mounting concern. "I am not able to find him, and I thought you would know his whereabouts."

Aragorn knew that Legolas was more than capable of taking care of himself. He was slightly worried, but refused to be concerned yet. There could be a lot of reasons why Legolas hadn't joined them yet.

"I do not," he answered the dwarf absent-mindedly, trying to remember the last time he had seen the elf. But he soon realized he had been too busy with his own survival to keep track of his friends. He reached out and put one hand on Gimli's shoulder in a reassuring way. "Let us find him."

Gimli nodded. They separated and began their search without further delay.

"Legolas!" The call sounded more and more urgent the longer Aragorn's search lasted. He ignored the inquiring looks from Théoden and his men and kept calling. He had not found a single trace of his friend. More and more often his gaze drifted to the corpses on the ground, looking for any trace of a golden head or a green tunic and dreading to find it. His stomach tightened into a solid knot when he realized how many of them had fallen…

He would have happily endured another onslaught of wargs right now if that had been the price for an answer to his calls. His heart longed to hear a certain musical voice scolding him for his foolishness or to look into those bright blue eyes sparkling with hidden amusement and exasperation. But the only answer he got was silence and the eyes that met his gaze were dead and empty.

Perhaps Legolas had trailed a fleeing warg and was still on his way back, he reasoned with himself as he reached the fringe of the battlefield. His search had been thorough. Legolas was not here. If Gimli didn't find him…

Suddenly his gaze fixed on a small group of horses that were standing some distance away. He spotted the white-grey coat of Legolas' Arod immediately. For one moment Aragorn didn't know whether he should be relieved or not. He had finally found something that belonged to his friend, if not himself. But why should Legolas leave Arod behind? He took a closer look and noticed that Arod was limping slightly. Before he could walk over to the horse however, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"ARAGORN!"

Gimli's voice wasn't only alarmed anymore, it sounded nearly frantic. Aragorn whirled around, his eyes immediately finding the dwarf, who stood near the edge of the cliff. Then he saw what the dwarf held in his hands. It was a bow, and there was only one such bow to be found in the whole of Rohan. A great strongbow of the Galadhrim it was, a gift from the Lady Galadriel herself. Aragorn would have recognized it anywhere. The ranger froze for a moment, then he started to run. It took him only seconds to reach the dwarf. Aragorn noticed that Gimli's fingers clutched the bow as tightly as if he never wanted to let go again.

"It lay on the ground," Gimli said, his voice rough.

Aragorn looked around as if he expected Legolas to miraculously appear in front of his eyes. Both of them knew Legolas would never have parted with his bow of his own free will. But the only thing Aragorn saw were the carcasses of slain orcs and their foul beasts. A repugnant smell poisoned the air around them. Then he heard the chuckle.

His searching gaze fell on an orc laying on the ground next to them. The creature was obviously grievously wounded and would die soon. Nonetheless, the orc kept chuckling, only interrupted by strange, gurgling sounds when dark blood would gush out of his mouth. Aragorn's eyes narrowed when they came to rest on the white hilt of an elven knife which was deeply embedded in the breast of the orc.

In one fluid movement he kneeled at the side of the orc, blade drawn and resting against the neck of the creature. The orc chuckled again and coughed up more blood. In spite of the situation, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Both the stench of the creature and the triumphant gleam in its eyes made the ranger's stomach turn.

"Where is he?" he asked quietly, his stormy-grey eyes boring into those of the orc and demanding an answer.

There was a cold determination and a silent threat in the eyes of the man that made the orc flinch and fall silent. For a moment, he nearly seemed to be frightened. Then he started to grin. "I killed him," he said. "You thought the victory was yours, but it is not. I killed the elf. The victory is mine."

Aragorn's look was lethal now. He had to restrain himself from slaying the orc on the spot. A sudden cold fear overcame him while he listened to those words, and his heart ached, but he refused to let it show. Gimli gave a strangled sound behind his back, which seemed to be part fury and part sorrow.

"Where - is - he?" Aragorn repeated slowly, pressing his sword against the neck of the orc for emphasis, ignoring all else around him.

"Fell over… the cliff…" the orc wheezed, nearly choking on his own blood now. He chuckled once more, gasped for a moment and then stilled, his face still distorted into a triumphant grimace, his eyes staring up into the skies unseeingly.

Aragorn sheathed his sword and rose slowly to his feet. Then, as if as an afterthought, he bent down again, pulled the elven knife out of the orc's flesh, and wiped it clean as he had done with his own dagger only… minutes… before. It seemed like a lifetime now. Then he walked to the edge of the cliff, moving as if in a trance, cradling the knife in his hands. He leaned forward slightly and peered into the abyss below. It was a long way down. There was a raging river at the bottom of the cliff, flanked by jagged rocks. He couldn't see any trace of his friend, but it was nearly impossible to recognize anything from this height.

Aragorn closed his eyes. His fingers held onto the knife as if it was a lifeline. He didn't even realize that the sharp edge of the blade cut into the soft flesh of his palm. Disbelief and paralyzing dread warred within him, clamouring for attention. Legolas could not be dead. He must not be dead. Not like this. No chance to say goodbye, to even know what had befallen his friend, how he had died, whether he had suffered… Icy fingers seemed to close around his heart, choking him with grief. He didn't think he could bear this. Fate could not be this cruel. The prince of Mirkwood couldn't be destined to die like this, murdered by a foul orc, shoved over the edge of a cliff… He refused to believe it.

He looked down once more. If Legolas had fallen into the river, there could still be a chance. The mere ghost of a possibility. If he hadn't been dead already, another more realistic voice in him argued. If he hadn't been unconscious. If he had survived the impact. If the water had been deep enough where he had hit the river. If he hadn't hit the rocky shore instead… He pushed both these thoughts and the images they conjured up in his mind aside. He was not willing to listen anymore.

Awaking as if from a daydream, but filled with a renewed determination, he noticed for the first time that Gimli stood by his side, looking down towards the river with an expression of shock and grief frozen on his face. There was no hope in his eyes. Aragorn felt another presence nearby, and he turned to find Théoden standing in front of him. The king hesitated for a moment. Then he placed a comforting hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

"Leave the dead behind," he said quietly, nearly gently, just enough to be heard not only by Aragorn and Gimli, but by the men standing behind the king as well. There was sadness and understanding in the king's eyes, but also determination and resigned acceptance.

Aragorn held his gaze, his jaw set, a stubborn glint in his eyes.

"Never."

He answered without a moment's thought, his heart speaking rather than his mind. "I will not leave him behind like this. Not ever." With these words he made to turn, but Théoden tightened his grip upon his shoulder and held him back.

"This is a fool's hope," the king said, nearly imploring. "Do not throw your life away like this. Enough has been wasted already." He looked over the edge of the cliff, then back at Aragorn. "You are needed here."

There was a dangerous sparkle in Aragorn's eyes that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He resisted the impulse to break free of Théoden's grip and walk away without a further word. He knew the king for once only meant well. He was actually trying to help, but whatever his motives were, Aragorn wouldn't let him stand in his way.

"There is one who needs me even more," he said, more calmly than he would have thought possible. "I will return."

Théoden nodded, defeat in his eyes. He released Aragorn's shoulder, turned abruptly away and headed towards the small group of surviving men and horses. Aragorn felt a short pang of regret, but he shoved it aside. He had no intention of breaking his promise to the king, and a promise it was, nor did he wish to disappoint Gandalf, but there was an older pledge and a deeper bond to be honored first.

Gimli grumbled something unfavourable under his breath and turned his back on the king and his men, showing clearly where his loyalty lay and what he intended to do. Aragorn smiled at the dwarf, though he knew Gimli wouldn't like what he had to say next.

"Gimli, I would like you to remain with King Théoden and his men," Aragorn said.

Gimli looked at him incredulously. "I have a right to do this, and you know that, Aragorn," he rumbled. "And you will need someone to watch your back, whatever the outcome of this may be."

"I do not deny the power of your friendship, nor do I doubt your abilities," Aragorn answered. "But I need you to fulfill my duty to the king for me. I want you to have an eye on him and provide counsel if necessary. I need you to take my place for a while, my friend. And… this is something I have to do alone."

Gimli hesitated, weighing the words he had heard against the wishes of his heart. In the dwarven society, grief was a very private thing one kept close to one's own heart. He understood that Aragorn probably would need to be alone after he had found Legolas. The dwarf held no real hope in his heart that the elf could still be alive. He knew that Aragorn and Legolas had known each other for a very long time, and that the bond between them was stronger than most family ties would ever be. He doubted that Aragorn would be able to recover from this loss at all. If his staying with Théoden would lessen the burden, so be it.

"This is dangerous, lad," he replied nonetheless, worry in his voice. "If you are attacked…"

"If we are attacked," interrupted Aragorn, "it will make no difference whether there are two or three of us. The servants of the enemy are many. Stealth and speed will be our only hope, as before."

Gimli nodded, defeated. "Take Arod, at least."

Aragorn sighed, sorry to refuse the dwarf once more. "He is hurt, Gimli. He will be able to carry you to Helm's Deep, but then he will need to rest. It matters not. No horse could climb down the walls of this cliff, as I will have to do. Worry not! I will return, and I will bring Legolas with me." Dead or alive, he added silently to himself.

Gimli nodded again and clasped Aragorn's forearm. "Be safe," he said, his voice gruff with emotions.

"I will," Aragorn promised.

Then the dwarf turned and followed Théoden. Aragorn watched as the men and the lone dwarf rode away, leaving him behind with the dead.

He took his pack from the back of his fallen horse and began to look for a way to reach the base of the cliff that would hopefully not require him to climb all of the way. He found one fairly quickly. Before he set off, he closed his eyes once more and tried to calm the overwhelming fear and the growing despair inside of him. "Legolas," he thought, concentrating solely on his friend, hoping against hope that he would somehow be able to hear him. "Hold on. Don't die. Don't you dare die!" If you do, he added silently, I swear I will kill you myself.

With these thoughts he began to climb down the steep, narrow pathway leading down the side of the cliff.

The first thing he found when he reached the base of the cliff was the broken and smashed body of a big warg laying on the rocks near the bank of the river, mouth still open and fangs bared in an eternal snarl. Looking closer, he found another ivory-handled elven knife buried to its hilt in the neck of the creature. He drew it out and looked at it with a mixture of fond pride and sorrow. Only Legolas could manage to slay a warg while the both of them were falling over the edge of a cliff, seemingly locked in a deadly battle. The orc had lied. It must have been the warg that had dragged Legolas down with it. But what had happened to him?

He placed the knife next to its twin blade in his belt and started his search. To his great relief, he didn't find anything else between the rocks. Legolas must have fallen into the river. The only thing he could do now was to follow the river downstream, keep his eyes open and pray that Legolas hadn't been swept away by the strong current and carried half the way to the sea by now - or simply out of his reach.

Aragorn followed the river for a long time, climbing over sharp-edged rocks until his hands bled and his knees ached, looking for any traces of his friend until his eyes tired and and began to burn. He had been searching for hours and hours now, and his hope was fading. More than once he was on the brink of giving up. Fear lay like a cold shadow upon his heart and weighed him down, and despair threatened to eat away at his resolve and his strength. The temptation was strong to simply give in and succumb to his grief at last, to allow himself to believe what he couldn't even bear to think of.

He wasn't sure if his heart would be able to take this blow. He was not ready to lose Legolas yet. He didn't know if he would ever be. Especially not like this. Not now. Legolas was more than a friend. He was as dear as a brother to him, but he was even more than that. From the moment they met their souls had known each other. Theirs was a kinship not of the body and the blood, but of the soul and the heart. They were kindred spirits. Losing Legolas would mean losing a part of his own soul. It would hurt more than he could - or wanted to - imagine right now.

Legolas was his right hand, someone he could blindly rely on, someone who knew and understood his thoughts and his heart alike. He didn't know how he would face the coming darkness without him at his side, and even if he should emerge victorious at the end, it wouldn't be the same anymore if it had cost the life of the one who had shared all the pain and the joy with him. It hurt even to think about it.

Legolas had to be alive. He must be alive. He would not give in so easily. He knew that Aragorn needed him, and he was strong. He would not go down without a fight. Aragorn tried to hold onto that thought, but it became more and more difficult as time passed by and his doubt and desperation grew. He didn't feel the aches of his body anymore, as they were nothing compared to the pain of his soul. The only thing that kept him going was a quiet whisper deep in his heart, and his own stubbornness, which would support him even if nothing else was left. He fought hard to keep the tiny spark of hope that was left in him alive.

He was nearing a bend in the river now, and a group of large boulders obstructed his sight. When he had finally found a way to get past them he saw that the river opened to a small sandy bay in front of him. There were fewer rocks here, and the water rippled gently on the shore. The gaze of the ranger fell on something he would never have expected to see, and he came to a sudden stop.

It was a horse. A dark brown horse wearing no saddle and no bridle and standing there as if it was a perfectly normal place for a horse to be in.

"Brego?" Aragorn asked, not really trusting his voice or his eyes at the moment.

The stallion turned his proud head and neighed softly.

It was all the answer Aragorn needed to know his eyes had not deceived him. "What are you doing here?" he asked, bewildered.

The horse pricked up its ears and looked at him attentively, but it didn't move again, as if it was standing a silent guard. Aragorn suddenly became aware that there was something else. Something that lay unmoving next to the horse's hooves, partially shielded from his sight by one of the rocks. He caught a glimpse of something golden - and his heart gave a sudden leap.

He moved one step forward, then a second, not daring to hope, not daring to think at all. Then he had a clear view. His eyes locked onto the still form lying on the ground in front of him. He would have recognized it anywhere, at any given time. Legolas. He had found him at last.

For a moment he froze, and it was all he could do under the sudden onslaught of emotions. The spark of hope suddenly became a bright flame, quickly followed by a new and paralyzing fear. How often had he seen the elf like this, and feared what he dreaded now? Legolas didn't move. Aragorn didn't even know if he was still breathing. Only the upper body of the elf rested on the sandy ground, his legs were still in the water. He hadn't had the strength to drag himself out of the river completely. This sight broke the spell, and Aragorn was at the elf's side in an instant, falling to his knees.

Brego tossed his head and moved a bit to the side, making room for the ranger.

"Legolas?" Aragorn whispered.

The elf reacted neither to his presence, nor to his voice. His face was deadly pale, the eyes closed tightly. Aragorn's heart constricted in his chest, and a sudden wave of anguish swept over him. He reached out with a trembling hand, searching for any signs of life. The elf's skin was cold to the touch, but under his fingers Aragorn could feel a steady, if slightly erratic, pulse. The relief that washed over him at that moment was so great that it made his head spin. He could feel a silly smile spreading on his face, but he wasn't able to help it. Legolas was alive. Somehow, he had survived this ordeal.

Aragorn recovered quickly. One look at the face of the elf had been enough to know that Legolas was hurt. The ranger let his eyes roam over the prone body in front of him, trying to judge his friend's state. The clothing was torn and bloody in many places, and there would be cuts and bruises everywhere. Aragorn had expected as much. A gentle examination revealed that some of the elf's ribs were at least bruised, if not broken. Both the hair and the tunic of the elf were still damp.

As soon as he was sure that Legolas could be moved without inflicting further harm, Aragorn dragged him all the way out of the water. He removed the quiver from Legolas' back, spread out his own grey Lothlórien cloak and laid the elf gently down on it. There was a still bleeding wound on Legolas' temple that had been hidden from his sight before, and a sprained ankle that also demanded his attention. He closed his eyes once more. It could have been much, much worse. All he was able to feel at that moment was an overwhelming gratitude.

Then he set to work, taking his healing herbs and bandages out of his pack and treating Legolas' wounds as best he could. After he had finished and made sure that the elf rested comfortably, he leaned back and regarded his work. Legolas was breathing more easily now that his two broken ribs had been tightly wrapped, and some color had returned to his cheeks. His face, which had been pale and drawn before, seemed to be nearly peaceful now, whether it was due to the presence of his friend or the influence of the healing herbs.

There was still wonder in Aragorn's eyes as he fondly took in his friend's face.

"I am glad you did not leave, my friend," he said softly, not caring that the unconscious elf couldn't hear him and the horse didn't understand him.

Brego snorted, and Aragorn shifted his attention towards the horse. Brego was standing on the other side of the elf, watching them both. Aragorn smiled as he looked at the faithful horse. Somehow Brego had found Legolas, keeping him company and guarding him while Aragorn could not. Because of him, Legolas had not been alone.

"Hannon le, Brego," Aragorn said to the horse.

Brego snorted again, lowered his head, and gently nudged Legolas' shoulder with his nostrils.

"He will be better soon," Aragorn answered. "Or so I hope." And became suddenly aware that he was having a conversation with a horse. Shaking his head, he couldn't help grinning at the strange situation he found himself in.

"This is all your fault!" he said to the elf, taking advantage of the fact that Legolas, for once, couldn't argue. "I was a rather dignified person before I met you, and look at me now! Talking to horses and crawling over rocks to retrieve a lost elf!"

"Not… lost," a weak voice protested from the ground.

Looking down in astonishment, Aragorn's gaze was met by two sparkling blue eyes, which were still a bit confused, but firmly fixed on his face nonetheless. Aragorn's breath caught.

"Legolas?" he whispered, not sure whether he could believe his eyes.

"I am here," Legolas answered, responding to the concern in Aragorn's voice with a soft smile.

Aragorn took one of his hands in both of his and squeezed it gently. There was such a genuine joy in his face that Legolas felt slightly overwhelmed and even more confused.

"I've missed your voice," Aragorn told him quietly.

In this moment, Legolas could read all the answers he needed in his friend's eyes. He saw the traces of fear and exhaustion in Aragorn's face, and a deep, heartfelt relief.

"So bad?" he asked softly.

"You nearly… I nearly thought…" Aragorn trailed of, his voice failing him. He didn't want to remember. It was still too painful to face.

Legolas understood. Still he didn't really know where he was and what was going on around him. His head ached, and the rest of his body seemed to be in no better state. There were some practical questions that needed to be answered.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Don't you remember?" Aragorn asked in return, concern evident in his voice.

Legolas squinted and tried to concentrate, but the memory still evaded him. "Not really," he confessed.

"You decided to fall off a cliff," Aragorn informed him with a perfectly straight face.

"I decided nothing of this sort," Legolas replied without thinking, his voice sounding indignant in spite of its weakness.

Then his eyes widened as the memories came crashing back on him. He remembered being dragged over the edge of the cliff by a warg, then the fall… the impact. Water everywhere, pressing him down, the dreadful feeling of drowning, the pain as he hit a rock, his useless struggles to fight the raging current, to draw breath… And then, between all the fighting, the pain and the noise, he had heard a voice. Aragorn's voice speaking to him in his own heart, whispering words of comfort and courage to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, as the memories became too much to bear. He had been washed ashore a seemingly endless time later. Someone had been with him - no, not someone - something. A horse.

"Legolas?"

Aragorn's concerned voice brought him back to the present with a start. "Just… memories," he hastened to reassure his friend. "I'm fine." And then, realizing that Aragorn looked positively alarmed after that statement: "I do remember now. I just needed a moment to sort out the memories. They are not… entirely pleasant."

Aragorn tried not to snort at this understatement.

Legolas sighed and admitted grudgingly: "I do not feel fine. I'm aching everywhere, but all in all it doesn't seem to be life-threatening. So, considering the circumstances, I'm fine."

Brego snorted and Aragorn couldn't help chuckling at that.

Legolas looked from the man to the horse and back again. He raised an eyebrow. "You two know each other?"

Aragorn nodded. "This is Brego, the horse I met in the stables. I told you about him."

"What is he doing here?" Legolas asked, confused.

Aragorn smiled at him. "I do not know," he confessed. "I take it he likes elves. In fact, I am rather glad about it."

"So am I," Legolas agreed softly. Strange as it was, the comforting presence of the horse had made him feel safe as he succumbed to the pain and the darkness. He raised a hand and gingerly touched the light bandage around his head, trying to suppress a wince. Aragorn had released his hand by now, but Legolas could feel his friend watching him with the eyes of a hawk. The elf tried to sit up - and would have fallen back immediately if if there hadn't been a strong arm around his shoulders, holding him upright.

"Slowly, Legolas," Aragorn reprimanded. "You have survived the fall, but you have also suffered many injuries. You have two broken ribs, a head wound, a sprained ankle and bruises all over. Take it slowly."

Legolas blinked and waited until the red and black spots in front of his eyes had disappeared and his vision had cleared once more.

"How do you feel?" Aragorn asked him anxiously. He would have preferred to let the elf rest some more, but he knew they couldn't afford to stay much longer if they didn't want to be found by the enemy after all. They needed to get to Helm's Deep as soon as possible. Once more he was immensely grateful for the presence of the horse.

Legolas opened his mouth to answer, caught Aragorn's warning glare, and sighed. "I was not going to say I am fine," he said, slightly annoyed. Aragorn gave him an unbelieving look. "I am well. Just a bit dizzy. And sore."

Aragorn spared him an answer to that. "I do not think you should be moving yet, but we need to leave," he commented instead.

Legolas looked up at the sky and realized for the first time how many hours had passed since they had fought the wargs in the morning. How long had it taken Aragorn to find him? He looked the ranger up and down and noticed for the first time the cuts on his hands and the disheveled and torn state of his clothing. Aragorn must have been searching for him for hours. Suddenly he understood the fear, the immense joy and relief he had seen in the ranger's eyes.

"Why did you come after me?" he asked quietly. "Anyone else would have thought me dead."

"Anyone else does not know you the way I do," Aragorn answered with a smile, but Legolas saw that it was strained. Aragorn looked into the elf's eyes for a long moment. "I could not leave you behind," he confessed softly.

This time it was Legolas' turn to grab his friend's hand and give it a squeeze. "Thank you," the elf said simply. And, after a moment's hesitation: "I heard your voice. In the river, when I was nearly drowning. You told me to hold on. To fight. And I did."

Aragorn smiled at his friend. "I didn't dare hope you would hear me."

They shared a moment of comfortable silence, both cherishing the presence of the other.

"We need to leave," Legolas then reminded his friend.

Aragorn nodded and slowly helped the elf to his feet. Legolas swayed a little, then found his balance and managed to stand on his own. Aragorn retrieved his cloak and his pack, put Legolas' knives back in their sheaths and slung the quiver over his own shoulder. He didn't want the elf to carry the quiver yet, knowing that it would upset his broken ribs. He was relieved that Legolas didn't comment on his actions.

When he saw that Aragorn was ready, Legolas grabbed Brego's mane and hoisted himself on the back of the horse. His movements were less graceful then usual, and he straightened slowly, pain showing on his face. Aragorn mounted behind him, putting his arms around the waist of his friend to steady the elf.

"Hûl, Brego!" [Go, Brego!] Aragorn called softly to the horse, and Brego obeyed.

At first, the stallion moved slowly over the rocky terrain, then he dropped into a trot, and finally he broke into an easy canter as the plains of Rohan opened before them. After a while, Aragorn felt Legolas fall heavily against him as the elf tried to cope with his pounding head and aching ribs. It worried him, but he knew they could not delay any further, so he kept his silence and a firm hold on the elf and rode on.

Brego was strong and fast, and he carried them across the vast and empty plains without showing any signs of fatigue. After they had ridden for nearly an hour, Aragorn felt Legolas stir and tense in his arms. The elf straightened and turned his head to look around them.

"Danger approaches," the elf stated quietly. Aragorn's hand lay on the hilt of his sword before Legolas had even finished.

"What is it?" he asked, alarmed.

"I do not yet know. But I feel a great darkness, and it is headed towards us." Legolas' body remained tense, and his head was turned to the right. "It comes from Isengard," he whispered.

Aragorn let his hand rest on the hilt of the sword, looking around them in apprehension. He knew neither of them were in any shape to engage in a fight with Saruman's creatures right now. He felt Brego slow down imperceptibly. The horse's nostrils widened, as if sniffing the air. Whatever Legolas had sensed, Brego felt it, too.

The pounding of the horse's hooves suddenly seemed to be very loud, as did the pounding of his own heart. Legolas shifted restlessly against him. The light seemed to dim, and there was a soft drumming sound that seemed to reverberate through the ground beneath them. It reminded the ranger of the terrors of Khazad-dûm. A nameless threat engulfed them, and a shiver ran through the body of the man. Legolas didn't move anymore. He sat stiff and upright in front of the ranger, his muscles tense and his body ready to fight.

Then Brego reached the top of a hill, affording them a free view of a vast valley in front of them. The horse shied away from the sight that greeted them, giving a soft sound of distress like a stifled whinny. Legolas and Aragorn froze, and their eyes widened. The ground of the valley seemed to be moving, drowning under a dark flood of Uruk-hai, thousands and thousands of them. The earth groaned and shook under their feet, and they left a trail of destruction and burnt soil behind them. The sound of their marching feet resounded throughout the valley like war-drums, and their numbers stretched in the far distance like a gigantic lindworm.

Aragorn felt the elf's body tremble as his senses were assaulted by the presence of the vile creatures and the suffering of the land beneath their feet. The trembling subsided quickly, as Legolas refused to give in to the shock.

"Oh, no," Aragorn whispered. "They are marching towards Helm's Deep."

"The whole of Isengard must have been emptied," Legolas answered softly. "War is upon them now, and the Rohirrim will have to make their last stand. If Saruman is not defeated, Rohan will fall." There was a sadness in Legolas' voice that worried the ranger, but he did not comment on it. Now was not the time.

"We have to reach Helm's Deep before they do," he said. "Théoden must be warned."

Legolas nodded. He leaned forward, whispering quietly to the distressed horse in Elvish. Brego tossed his head, turned, and broke into a gallop as soon as they had left the steep slope of the hill behind them.

Soon, the sounds of the approaching army faded in the distance, and both friends breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Some time later Aragorn noticed that Legolas was still as tense as a bowstring, as if he still expected an attack any moment now. The elf's silence concerned him, and he wished he could see his friend's face.

"Legolas?" he asked gently. "Are you all right?"

The elf was silent for a long moment. "I am only worried," he answered finally in a soft voice.

"An approaching army of ten thousands of Uruk-hai does that to anyone," Aragorn remarked, and Legolas could hear the smile in his voice.

As Legolas remained silent, he gently added: "You are hurting, are you not?"

Again, the answer was silence, but this time he didn't need an answer. "Lean back on me," he said to the elf. "Try to rest as long as you can."

Legolas hesitated, but then he did as he was told. Aragorn smiled as he could feel the elf relax against him. Brego's hooves still thundered across the plain beneath them, and a fresh wind cooled their faces and played in their hair.

Aragorn didn't know how long they had been riding, when he finally brought Brego to a standstill on another hilltop. Legolas straightened in front of him, and together they looked down on the stronghold of Helm's Deep far below, where King Théoden had led his people in a desperate attempt to keep them safe, and where they were now trapped. The fate of Rohan stood on a knife's edge, and it would be decided tonight.

"The night will be long," Legolas said, as if mirroring the man's thoughts. He turned and tried to look into his friend's face.

"Yes," replied Aragorn, smiling at him. "But I am glad I do not have to face it alone." There had been one miracle already today. He was not about to lose hope now.

With these thoughts, he gently touched Brego's flanks with his heels, and the horse broke into an easy canter, heading for the long ramp and the open gates of Helm's Deep.