"You are hurt." Rough fingers lift up to gently caress Legolas' shoulder, though only come up to feel cold metal choking an entire upper arm.

"As are we all," the elf says in a dismissing tone, shrugging off the man's concern. His eyes burn under the constant strain of keeping them open amidst complete carnage and ruin. 

"Where is...where are they all?" Aragorn questions, briefly shut his own eyes, his eyebrows subsequently creasing. He doesn't really expect a reply but gets a halfhearted one anyway.

"I do not know Estel." The elf's clenched fists speak otherwise though. He looks battle-weary. He feels battle-weary. 

Aragorn grinds his teeth, jaw locking. Everything is too much to focus on right now and the sudden absence of battle noise is not doing anything good for his jittery nerves. 

"Legolas. I need to know."

The elf wearily runs a finger over the arch of his brow then stares Aragorn dead in the eyes. "You won't like the answer," is all he says. His icy gaze is met by the man's owlishly, blinking eyes unflinchingly. Legolas uses the pad of his thumb to wipe the blood from his swollen bottom lip, proceeding sucking on the wound. The blood splatters to the ground with a flick of his wrist. "Let us find-" he is cut off by a nervous whine. 

"Please, I need to know," Aragorn pleads, removing his eyes from his friend's irritated lip wound. "You don't---I just...they're all I have!" the man stutters, forehead creasing and mouth beginning to tremble. 

There is a short pause where Legolas drops his gaze to the ground before the man's feet. And when he finally has the courage to look his friend in the eyes again without feeling the uncomfortable sensation of guilt envelope him, he says, "Alright."

Everything is ruined. Damaged. Completely gone. All gone and destroyed by war.

As the two walk and limp towards the centre of the underground elven realm they ignore the thick stench of mutant blood and the disgusting colour it paints their surroundings. 

"Their bodies have disappeared," Aragorn observes, mouth pinched tightly. Running a shaken hand over his dirty forehead, he drops his head miserably. It has all been for nothing.

Aragorn pushes back all his surfacing emotions and focuses on following the elf in silence, copying his footfalls and his breathing, which he is sure Legolas is doing on purpose to calm him down. He appreciates this sentiment, but is too tense and weary to address it with the elf right now.

And then he sees it. The sheer ruin and destruction. 

They have come upon the battlefield. Or what had been made a battlefield against their will. The once beautiful elven kingdom is no more pure and full of life - quite the opposite in fact. Blood spatters every single tree in sight, not missing a single one, and enemy bodies litter nearby twined pathways. 

No ally in sight, however. The possible reason behind that both worries and gives the man hope.

He sees the small grimace forming on his friend's face as they cross the field of destruction, avoiding stepping on black limbs and mutilated bodies. 

How did it become so brutal?

"Are you alright?" Legolas asks out of the blue. 

The question momentary wavers his determination and slightly hinders his calculated strides and breaths.

Mumbling under his breath, he lets out a small, "Yes." Then, turning to acknowledge the elf, he forces the most genuine grin he can muster right now. As expected it fools no one. "Are you?" he asks quickly, shifting uselessly - side to side. 

Legolas scoffs in disbelief. And yet he graces his companion with a small, real smile, whispering, "You continue to surprise me."

Aragorn doesn't know what to say to this. So he changes the topic before he can spiral into a panic induced monologue. "Do you not hurt? How are you so...undisturbed by this?"

Legolas slows down; tense. There is no reply. 

Suddenly the elf speeds up as they reach a curved intersection, and in one swift motion he kicks an Orc's corpse to the side so that is goes tumbling somewhere to Aragorn's right. His eyes remain distant as he ignores the ranger's bewilderment. Legolas has never been one to support that sort of thing. 'Why damage an already damaged body?' is what he is known to live by. 

They follow the rest of the pathway in relative silence, except both sets of breathing. 

Soon enough Aragorn realises where his friend is taking them.

The dim atmosphere brightens considerably as dawn launches its first rays of sunlight. The gleaming blood around them sparkles and stands out prominently amidst the charcoal flesh of the enemy and the dilapidated architecture littering the underground palace. 

As they come upon the site, Aragorn's eyes widened almost comically. But...this just isn't funny and light anymore. His breath hitches ungracefully and he knows he cannot hold back the bile rising up in his burning throat. He pinches his stinging eyes shut, and has to clamp his wobbling mouth tightly with a grimy palm to to stop himself from violently convulsing. His shoulders shake so much that he thinks he is going to fall over. His eyes continue to prickle painfully as tears spill down his feverish face. It is too much. His eyes immediately pick out Legolas. Is he alright? Why is he so far away?

"Legolas?" he weakly calls out, suppressing another gut-churning gag. A wet cough leaves his constricting throat as he calls out louder, "Legolas!"

A whimpered gasp comes from behind him. When and how did his friend get there? What's happening to the world? It is too blurry and tilted. What is happening? Legolas. Where is Legolas?

Turning in a painfully slow manner he is able to see his friend. He wishes he never turned around. He wishes this was one of his all-too-real nightmares and that his father was here to tell him all would be well and that he was okay. 

The elf is hunched forward, skin looking sickly grey and ashen. Aragorn feels himself fall to the ground and land roughly on his knees. With a slight grunt he reaches out for his friend. Their eyes meet - this time they speak of nothing but anguish and pain and...how is this real?

The scene before him flickers to life behind his eyelids, eyes crinkling as they shut so tightly that he sees stars. With a strangled whine he lets a sting of curses slide from his grief stricken tongue.

Legolas has yet to move or react. The elf's eyes are still boring into his and it helps lessen the hot panic shivering up and down his spine. They stare into the depths of each other; taking small comfort from their shared emotions. The elf's eyes are growing redder and more strained.

"They suffered so much," the simple sentence halts Aragorn's mindless, raw mumbling and cursing. "Why? They were---all of them, h-hard working and and l-loyal. Ai. I knew them. I knew them Estel. They did not deserve a death...a death so---" Legolas' voice cracks, eyes betraying such deep emotion that Aragorn almost looks away. His arms and calves ache from crouching, muscles still tender from battle.

Aragorn rolls his head back to look upwards, sniffing as he finally turns away from Legolas. "Nay, they did not." Anger coats his words, giving them a dangerous edge - which mildly terrifies him. But he is too grief stricken to worry about that. His bloodshot eyes rake the elven and mannish bodies a final time. 

And then a thought comes to him, snaking past all the grief and terror.

"Ada, King Thranduil, Elladan, Elrohir... Ai Valar, we must find them," his sudden wail pulls Legolas away from his own dark thoughts. The two friends snap up, almost stumbling in their desperate haste to find their close relations, praying to Eru that all is well and they are safe.