..::  T H E    O N E  ::..

Told from Aragorn's POV. I am still new to this fandom, so feedback is very much appreciated. This fic was inspired by the lyrics from Elton John's song, "The One".

"I saw you dancing out the ocean
Running fast along the sand
A spirit born of earth and water
Fire flying from your hands

In the instant that you love someone
In the second that the hammer hits
Reality runs up your spine
And the pieces finally fit"

Gandalf the Grey once warned me about the ways of Man and Elf.

He told of the existence of a rare bond, one of blood and fire, forged in battle. A twining of souls that would echo to the very heavens themselves, if one knew but how to listen.

As a youth I did not understand the words he spoke that day but now, as a Man, they are all that I can hear.

*

Even as I turn, my sword arching upwards to despatch the vile Uruk-Hai in front of me, I am aware of his presence. The sharp twang of the silken cord of his bow is soothing to my soul. As long as his bow sings then I am content, for Legolas the Elf is alive.

I twirl and duck underneath the guard of another orc. The foul breath of the creature cloys in the air.

My blood sings for his, as it did in Moria, as it does now. This acute awareness of his presence should frighten, yet it calms and centres me. The stories of auld tell of this pairing, of Man and Elf. Once I discounted them as myth, to be consigned to the halls of legend, but now I know different. This rare bond is true and lives between him and I.

My sword bites deep into orc flesh, blood races down the steel blade. Warm and metallic it coats my fingers, making me feel soiled but so very alive.

My gaze flickers over to Legolas and for the instance his dark eyes meet mine time stills and the heavens pause for breath. Then twin blades twist in his hands as the Prince of Mirkwood, this creature elemental, dances with death. The vision of his blond fury and sublime skill steals my breath away.

Then I am engaged with another of the vile creatures, this one pressing me hard. My lungs labour and my muscles strain, then it collapses. A thick elven shaft protruding from its spine. I raise my eyes to search out my saviour.

But in that instant Legolas freezes, listening to the wind.

The horn. Boromir's horn. I hear it an instance after it graces Legolas' sharp ears. It sounds upon the wind like a death toll.

"The Horn of Gondor," he whispers.

The forest floor is uneven as I chase the echo of those forlorn notes.

*

Too slow, I was too slow this time. By the time I had despatched the Urak-Hair and reached Boromir's side, it was too late. The three strong shafts of wood protruding from his chest told me that much.

I laid him to rest on the ground, listening to his confession and bearing witness to his passage to the Shadowlands. Laying him down under the shadow of the pentatant statue, his words of brother, captain and king cut deep into my heart, and the sorrow I feel cuts deep. Brother mine, he died protecting the halflings, Merry and Pippin, to no avail. The only respite from the pain is in knowing that together The Fellowship bought time for the Ringbearer to journey on alone.

My gaze falls over my two surviving companions, Legolas and Gimli. The dwarf is breathing hard, eyes glittering like dark diamonds as he watches the trees for signs of more foe. Legolas, I do not need to see him to know what he feels. I can intuit it like it is but one more of my own senses. Alertness fills his being, tinged with a sorrow for loss of another Companion. He tries to calm himself as blood lust still beats through his veins, just as mine has mellowed to a slow undercurrent with the passing of Boromir. With supply strength it is Legolas that lifts the body and lays Boromir into his final repose.

"Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore." His voice is strong as he pushes the boat out from the shingled beach. Energy flows from him to me, rejuvenating my weary being. Nothing marks his passage on the beach yet his course flames a trail in my heart. I watch him closely but say nothing, feeling him turn inwards to ascertain my intent. Watching him draw upon our connection, unafraid of what it may mean, of why it exists.

After a heartbeat he speaks to question. "You mean not to follow them?"

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," I answer simply. His sharp blue grey eyes pierce my own.

Gimli's gruff voice rumbles in anger. "Then it has all been in vain! The Fellowship has failed."

I step forward and grasp them both, trying to ignore the physical connection with Legolas as it flares into life. "Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left." I turn back to the forest. "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let's hunt some orc!"

"Yes!!! Ha-ha!" Gimli crows.

Legolas gives me a long look. I can feel the hope flare deep within him as he gazes at me.

"As you command, Estel," the voice is as soft as a caress and I barely catch it.

Then with a single nod of his head and a rare smile, he releases me. I turn and race through the forest, Gimli and Legolas on my heels.

*

For three days we followed their trail. So wide and coarse that even a blind man could see the destruction they left in their wake.

My fear for Merry and Pippin grows yet the contentment of travelling with Legolas whispers to the darker side of my soul.

The bond between Legolas and myself stayed my hand from the weakness of my ancestors. I had once thought that Arwen would be my saviour. Although her kindness and beauty soothed my soul for a short time, her light diminishes before Legolas.

I stoke the low camp fire, to spark the flames, all the time I watch him with hooded eyes.

Legolas stands like a lone white stag, majesty and strength amidst a wildness of sparse hope. Upon a stone promontory he watches the darkness for enemies unseen. Emotion tumbles from me as I take in his form and I see his back straighten as he senses my observation.

I never considered myself a man who found beauty and arousal in other men. But the fair Prince is not just another man. He is the other half of my soul - immortal and fiercely bright, the pale candle to my shadow. I realise that now, even as I barely understood it back there in the deep mines of Moria. The darkness within which this bond was first conceived.

Slowly he turns his face towards me, yet half-hidden in the dark. Blond braids swing silently as the moment thickens between us. Then he straightens once more and it has passed.

The dwarf regards us too closely and I pull back to light my pipe.

*

End of Part 1

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