Aragorn sat on the fallen stone; the slim knife carving into the apple as he slowly chewed the sweet fruit. His body protested the overuse of muscles and as he looked about the pass, the ruined wall, the stench of orc blood cleaved his stomach as he forced himself to swallow.

Keen eyes, heightened in part from Elvin training saw the smoke from the funeral pyres that had burned steadily for three days. The bodies of men and elves alike; men, warriors, children, husbands and shield maidens that had held Helms Deep lay together in the sodden earth which only now heaved a sigh of desperation as a single drop of rain fell. A harbinger of the storm it was not enough to drive him inside and yet he could not fathom why he stayed. Perhaps it was the almost sweet scent of rain, or the fresh air, to look once more on the carnage of Helms Deep. Her proud walls split asunder by the thunder the orcs had unleashed or the pain that he knew welled from the desolation.

Perhaps, but no, he knew all too well what kept him outdoors and his heart bled for the loss of the friend, of the comrade who had come in his hour of need and knew the keening song that drifted across the tortured landscape was that of a lone Elf. A prince in his home land who had seen too much to ever be truly free from grief again. Legolas had not slept, had not eaten and with almost unwavering verve had helped bind wounds, carry injured and tend to all others who might be in need of his arm or his help. But to his own body he cared little and now stooped still in the sodden armour and clothes that cloyed with dark vile blood, he stood alone on the parapet looking out to the funeral fires, the song of mourning still on his lips. Honouring the dead and fallen, the children who were taken, the friends who traveled the cold halls to Mandos as their ashes were interred with the earth. And Aragorn found within his heart the moment to grieve.

He was not alone, Gimli had watched the elf for days and now worry gnarled his worn visage with something akin to paternal pain as he approached the man who would be king.

"He refuses to rest." Aragorn said simply as he sliced another piece of the apple into his mouth pretending to enjoy the sweet texture.

"Ai, so I see." Gimli dropped to the stone next to the ranger and stroked his beard. "Yet the battle is only barely won Aragorn. He needs rest, even for an elf, his bow will be sorely tested in the days to come and without him I am afraid we will loose our way."

"I think perhaps he has already lost his way, his heart is broken Gimli and I cannot fix it, I am no mage, I have no 'erbs to cure what ails him."

"By that you mean he hasn't found Haldir's body amongst the dead."

Aragorn smiled, the dwarf may appear slow at times but beneath the burgeoning beard and wayward hair was a sharp intellect that understood too readily the ways of the heart.

"Ye looked surprised, man I am no fool. I saw his eyes when the March Warden entered with the Elvin guard. There was pride."

"And love." Aragorn said simply.

"Ai born of a thousand years of comradeship and loving. Is there no hope that the elf is alive?"

"Nay." Aragorn stood up and turned his face up to the rain. "He died in my arms Master Dwarf."

"Then where is the body?" Legolas asked from a distance, his voice soft and full of anguish, his eyes still seeking the place beyond the curve of Middle Earth where the sun slept in her pain.

"I cannot say, his bearers came for him and on the battlements I saw him no more my prince."

"Aye, so you say Estel, but still my heart believes."

"Come." Gimli strode closer to the elf. "It is time for you to rest, and nay I'll not hear a word otherwise."

"Stubborn Dwarf." Legolas protested as he allowed himself to be led away from his lonely vigil.

"Ai and a crazy elf, what a pair we make ey? Still you'll be needing rest and food and you'll be having it if I have to be sitting on you to keep you still."

"My prince." Aragorn extended a hand to the elf and withdrew it quickly. "They will keep looking."

"My thanks." He inclined his head and before he could right himself the wound caught against his chest and stole his breath, he knew nothing in that moment but pain and without a sound he crumpled to the wet stone as dark blood oozed from beneath his stained tunic.