The curved blade of his knife gleamed softly in the velvet night, the cold surface of the shining metal reflecting light from burning torches. Deathly silence enveloped the sparse number of Men and Elves as trickles of rainwater ran down the length of their weapons.
Sliding the knife back into its rhinestone sheath, he looked ahead, hoping against hope that he might not see the advancing army of Orcs and Uruk-Hai. However high his hopes were, they were dashed against the sharp rocks lying at the bottom of the Helm's Deep fortress. His elven eyesight told him that they were no less than ten leagues away and the ten-thousand strong battalion was nothing more than a uniformed mass of darkness. Still, the tremor of marching feet and battle chants filled his ears.
By dawn, all those Fallen Elves would lay still in Helm's Deep, an assuring voice whispered in his heart.
Dead.
For a moment, a single thought flashed past his mind. Would he be dead when the skies lighten with glowing rays from the sun? Death had never crossed him for his kind had not fought a battle since the end of the Second Age. He grew up in the magical woods of Lothlorien, never witnessing bloodshed in his short seventy years. For the first time ever, he would be leading an army of Elves against the servants of the Dark Lord Sauron.
Looking left, a straight line of warriors with polished armour lining the fortified walls of Helm's Deep met his eye. The Lady Galadriel had entrusted him with one hundred of Lothlorien's most talented archers, each handpicked by him. Once again, after the defeat of Sauron, Man and Elf would stand side by side, protecting Middle Earth from being polluted by the Dark Side. Further down the line stood a Man warrior and his Elven heart skipped a beat. Even the filth and grim on the warrior's face did not hide his kingly features.
He was Aragorn, son of Arathorn.
Aragorn, Isildur's Heir, had been the first to welcome them when the elven army had reached Helm's Deep at sunset. A tingle raced up his spine as he relived the comforting embrace that the Man offered him. He still smelled of green grass, perspiration and musk; very much alike the last time when he lay cradled in his strong arms, both Man and Elf blanketed by auburn leaves shed by ancient trees in his homeland. The unique scent had ignited the dying embers of the passionate night they shared during Aragorn's visit to Lothlorien not many moons ago.
As those cherished memories were recalled, a fresh wave of pain washed over him, threatening to overwhelm his soul. Their parting by the riverside in Lothlorien had been unpleasant, each walking off in opposite directions instead of returning together with hands clasped. His own words were still clear as though they were spoken only mere seconds ago, "Aragorn, the Wind has brought rumours saying that Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Elrond, had chosen to be mortal..."
He remembered the conflict in the Man's eyes. "Indeed..." his response had been short and... painful.
"Am I..." he remembered stopping, unable to continue under Aragorn's intense gaze. Questions faded away when his eyes rested on a beautifully crafted figurine on a chain around the Man's neck. Arwen... I've lost him to Arwen...
With watchful gaze, a hand reached up to tuck the Evenstar into his weathered clothes. Now is not the time for me to choose, Haldir of Lothlorien. I shall speak of my choice when the time is right..." he replied simply and turned to walk away.
It had been the worst day of his life, but in Helm's Deep, everything was different; they were facing a life or death situation. Relishing in the familiar embrace, he wished that the moment would linger on for an eternity for they might never see the sun rise in this foreign land.
Just as quickly as Aragorn had swept him into his arms, the Man released him. A strange flicker flashed past those deep green eyes. It was almost as if Aragorn saw through him that he was trying to exorcise the mutual grief they shared. Nothing else passed between them, but the air was thick with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts.
Yes, unresolved conflicts.
Now standing among other soldiers, the Warrior turned to meet his gaze. His thin lips curved in an assuring smile, his eyes filling with confidence that Helm's Deep would remain as their stronghold. Those deep green eyes captivated him and brought back ancient memories - stolen kisses and midnight trysts clouded his vision as he stared into those deep pools of brilliant green.
'Aragorn, have you forgotten me? Why didn't you tell me your final confession in Lorien?' he wanted to call out, but Helm's Deep was no place to seek explanations. Before he could think any further, those green eyes were gone. The Warrior had ceased to make eye contact and he was forced to look ahead again.
The light drizzle continued as seconds dragged on. Seconds turned into minutes; still no sign of the Saruman's minions. The thunderous sound of marching feet drew nearer and nearer, but it seemed like an eternity before a large army or Uruk-Hai and Orcs gathered before the mighty walls of Helm's Deep. Drawing out his bow and arrow, he aimed at the hulking shape of a massive Uruk-Hai soldier. The taunt string of his elven bow cut into his finger as he waited silently in the dark.
The Battle of Helm's Deep had started.
It was surreal, from the moment the Horns of Rohan blared and the Dark Army charged forward. Deadly arrows whistled through the cruel night, killing every foe which stood in their way. Those lowly creatures fell upon contact with those carefully aimed arrows but the Dark Lord's servants seemed to multiply rapidly. For every one soldier slain, two more would take its place.
He had lost count of how many Orcs or Uruk-Hai that had lost their lives at the tip of his arrows. The diminishing weight of his holster warned him that he was running out of arrows. Casting his beloved bow aside, he drew out his elven knife and swung gracefully, the long curved blade slicing effortlessly through the thick armour and hide of his opponents.
Gradually, he lost track of time. Dead bodies of Elves, Men, Orcs and Uruk-Hai lay around him, their faces and clothes stained crimson with spilled blood. Slashing his way through the swirling mass of enemy soldiers, he inched closer to Aragorn. The Man was fighting tooth and nail a few yards away, his brown hair wet from a mixture of blood, sweat and rainwater.
Suddenly, a horrifying sight struck him.
An ugly blade was raised high up in mid-air. The Uruk-Hai soldier snarled and swung downwards, aiming straight for Aragorn's unprotected back.
He knew what he had to do.
All inhibitions were pushed aside as his heart took control of his body. He leapt and landed in front of the Uruk-Hai, his slender knife clashing ferociously with the offending weapon. Using all of his remaining strength, he pushed the sword aside, forcing the Uruk-Hai to lose his balance. With a thrust, the curved blade of his knife sliced into the foul flesh as fresh blood gushed from the wound. 'Fallen Elves. They are descendants of Fallen Elves,' he chanted silently, his chest tightening with resentment that the pure blood of his kind would sink to the level of such monsters.
"Haldir!" a familiar voice suddenly screamed behind him, slicing the wild night like a sharp blade. Before he could turn, a hot searing pain exploded in his back, spreading to the very tips of his silken hair. The very last of his strength flowed out of his body as he slid slowly to the ground. He could not see clearly any longer. A blurry outline of a tall and dark man wielding a sword danced across his vision field as horrified orc-screams rang in his ears.
It seemed like an eternity when a pair of arms gathered his broken body and pulled him close to a deliciously warm body. With hair matted with blood and grimy cheeks. It was Aragorn. The Man's hand closed around his arm tightly, enclosing him with bodily warmth.
"Aragorn..." he whispered weakly, his throat constricted with a tidal wave of unspoken emotion. "Am I dying soon?" he heard himself asked again, knowing that it was a useless question. With every word, he could feel life slipping away from his body.
The man didn't answer him, and he only stared back with a stony silence. "Haldir..." Aragorn's lips moved to speak but he stopped after enunciating his name. The experience was ethereal as he felt Aragorn's hand gently brushed back a stray wisp of silky blonde hair away from his face. "Why did you put yourself in danger?"
"It doesn't matter now. It's going to end, isn't it?" the dying Elf continued, cutting off Aragorn's sentence with a weak smile. "I just want to hear you say your final confession, the confession that you couldn't bring yourself to tell me in the woods of Lothlorien."
Slowly, Aragorn parted his lips to say something. He could see the strain in those green eyes as he watched the man struggled with his innermost turmoil. What it so difficult just to hear Aragorn fulfil his final wish?
A lone tear slipped down his cheek as he gazed into Aragorn's face for the last time, leaving a wet trail of salt water. Slowly, the bloodcurdling screams of the raging war faded into muted silence as a welcoming blanket of darkness began to cover him.
Breathing out softly, he closed his eyes and etched every line of his true love's face in his mind, bringing his last memory to the Lands of Elbereth, the elven Nirvana.
He never saw Aragorn's tears nor did he experience the earth-shattering agony that was coursing through the Man's body.
He never heard Aragorn's final confession.
This was where he fell, cradled in Aragorn's arms, in Helm's Deep.
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Helm's Deep: Final Confession by Rhea
Story notes: This ficlet is written from the challenge set by 'The Library of Moria'. The challenge is to write a fanfic featuring any slash pairings based on 'The Two Towers' movie. Therefore, the movie is used as the canon for this fanfic and please do not send me any e-mails asking whether I've read the book or not.
I haven't written slash for a few years and I'm slowly losing my touch. Anyway, this is my first piece of work based on Tolkien's wonderful epic: Lord of the Rings. Some readers may ask, what is Aragorn's final confession? This, I leave to the readers' imaginations. All kinds of feedback are welcomed.
