-Remember How to Smile-

By: Cassia and Siobhan





Remember How to Smile Picture by Cassia



Rating: PG-13

 

Feedback:
cassia_a@hotmail.com and siobhancl2@aol.com


Disclaimer: 
We own nothing of Middle Earth or any of Tolkien’s worlds or characters. Everything recognizable belongs to JRR Tolkien; anything else belongs to us. We have no permission to use these characters and are receiving no money for this story. This story was written for enjoyment only.  Please do not use our original characters or situations without asking first.  Thank you. 

 

 

Summary:
Aragorn takes Legolas to Rivendell hoping that the warmth of friends and memories can help the Prince balance the sea-longing that’s tearing him apart.  While they gather with family and friends they share stories of the past and try to figure out the future.  But can you only appreciate what you had once it’s gone? 

 

Series:
Part of the sprawling Mellon Chronicles Universe, which includes:
“Tears Like Rain”, “Captive of Darkness”, “Hope”,
“Father’s Love”, “Never Alone”, “First Meetings”,
“Change of Heart, Change of Mind”, “Exile”,
“Return”, “Mistaken Identity”, “Vilya”,
“Black Breath”, “Sickness”, “The Seventh Stone”,
“Betrayal”, “Legolas’ No Good, Rotten Day”,
“Priceless Treasure”, “The Stars of Harad”, “Dark Visions”,
“Traitor”, “Escape from Mordor”, “Curse of Angmar”,
“Siege of Dread”, “Between Darkness and Dawn”, “Only the Beginning”, “Trouble Follows”, “It had to be Caves”, “It had to be Stairs”,
“Cell Number Eight”, & “And So The End”
This story will make much more sense if you have read those first, but if you want to be adventurous and give it a whirl by itself, go right ahead!


Time Frame:
Post-LOTR, Sequel to “Cell Number Eight”.

 

 

Additional Notes and Disclaimers:
This story is slightly AU on several points from several different things.  It’s a little AU from the ROTK-EE on a few small issues since a lot of it was written before the extended edition came out.  Nothing major, but just little things like we let Aragorn keep the Evenstar even though in the EE it apparently shattered.  But after all, in Arwen’s vision, Dari was wearing it around his neck, soo... we figure it wasn’t really a big deal and could be taken symbolically with a little stretch of the imagination.
It’s indirectly AU in spirit from the appendixes to the ROTK book because it falls in line with the premise of our alternate ending to LOTR: “And So the End”
And finally it’s actually also a little AU from “And So the End” because at this point Legolas does *not* realize yet that Aragorn will be able to go over the sea as well.  “And So the End” will eventually be updated and revised to fit with this story, since we have changed our vision of these events slightly since way back when that story was written. 

 

On some issues we follow movie-verse and on some issues we follow book-verse.  They are too numerous to list here, so if you have a question about it, just write and ask.  :o)

 

Please note that this story is much mellower than many of our previous ones and contains little physical torture, although there is quite a great deal of angst and some serious physical problems/issues/illnesses that our dear boys have to deal with.  There are also very few, if any cliffies, so the Surgeon General is very pleased and has decided to take the month off.  ;)

 

Be advised though, that this story is somewhat different than any of our other stories because it tells a large number of stories within the story itself.  So you have the main story, and then you have all the smaller stories that the characters tell one another, or remember throughout the course of the main story.  We have tried very hard to not let this get confusing.  We have tried very hard to not lose the envelope story amidst the host of smaller stories.  We have tried very hard to not let the envelope story lag unbearably since a lot of the ‘action’ taking place is actually in the smaller stories.  We have tried very hard not to let it get to feeling disjointed or episodic.  However, I do not claim that we have succeeded on any of those goals, only that we tried.  So, my apologies if it’s not as clear or straightforward as our stories usually are, but I hope you can enjoy it for what it is anyway.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

An Important Note to Our Readers: 

Siobhan and I want to thank everyone for sharing over three years of fun and adventure with us.  Writing the Mellon Chronicles series has probably been one of the best things that ever happened to us.  But all good things do eventually come to an end.  To paraphrase Bilbo slightly, we need a holiday. A very long holiday. And we don't expect we shall return. In fact, we mean not to. 

We’re not entirely disappearing off the face of the planet mind you, but we won’t be writing anymore stories for a while.  Inspiration is a fickle creature, and once it has fled, there is no recapturing it, it’s best to just move on. 

This story will be the last Mellon Chronicles tale that we tell.  Therefore, we’ve tried to include as many little ‘stories with in the story’ as we could without becoming wearisome.  We had difficulty getting this story done and were very close to deciding not to keep trying to finish it at all, but we stuck it out so it could be our farewell gift to all of you.  In many ways, the theme of the story is an appropriate one.  One of remembering, and looking back on all the good times shared.  One of endings and beginnings.  One that shows us that all things change, but some things are eternal.  And now, before I totally get off sounding like an annoying poetically philosophical elf or a wizard, I shall shut up and just leave you with Sio’s and my very warmest regards.  I hope you all enjoy the story.  Thank you for a marvelous couple of years. 

 

--Cassia & Siobhan

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

 

-Remember How to Smile-

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART ONE*~
~Homeward Bound~

 

~~~~~~~~~
I hear the wind across the plain
A sound so strong - that calls my name
It's wild like the river - it's warm like the sun
It's here - this is where I belong.

Under the starry skies - where eagles have flown
This place is paradise - it's the place I call home
The moon on the mountains
The whisper through the trees
The waves on the water
Let nothing come between this and me...

’Cause everything I want - is everything that's here
And when we're all together - there's nothing to fear
And wherever I wander - the one thing I've learned
It's to here - I will always.... always return

--Brian Adams
~~~~~~~~~

 

 

The mornings were crisp and cool now that autumn was settling across the mid-northern regions of Middle Earth.  The trees on the west side of the Misty Mountains were aflame with the wild colors of the seasonal change.  The riotous colors cascaded in rivers of red and yellow down the slopes leading to the Bruinen, which ran its course far below.

 

Rivendell lay nestled on the far side of the valley, cloaked in the warm tones of afternoon light.  The small party that traveled to the Last Homely House began their descent down the western face of the mountains following a nearly overgrown, rarely used trail that led to Imladris.  The trail was too steep for their horses to safely make the passage while bearing riders, so the company dismounted and lead their horses down on foot. 

 

Legolas glanced at Aragorn out of the corner of his eyes.  The King had withdrawn, becoming quiet and distant the last few leagues.

 

The elf stumbled slightly, pulling Aragorn from his reverie.  Quickly he stepped nearer the prince and wrapped his right arm around Legolas’ waist, ignoring the elf’s protest. 

 

When Legolas had quieted, the king spoke softly, “We are nearly there, and I can’t have you tearing those stitches so close to home.  You really do need to walk in under your power you know,” he chided quietly.  The small smile that touched his lips was not mirrored in his eyes.

 

The fact that Legolas was healing so slowly troubled the man.  He hoped Rivendell would hold the answers they both sought. He feared what would befall them if it didn’t.

 

With a shout, Eldarion brushed past both adults and ran ahead, followed closely by Draecyn who had been given charge of the child.

 

“Well, at least someone is happy.” Legolas laughed.  He watched as the Gondorian soldier gave chase to the small boy.  His serious attempts at capturing the child turned quickly into a game as Dari did his best to avoid being caught.

 

It had taken them longer than normal to the reach the valley of Imladris.  Aragorn had insisted on frequent stops and rests as Legolas’ injuries tired the elf out more quickly than usual.  Draecyn had caught up with them near the gap of Rohan, having ridden hard the whole way.  He reported that Trelan and Raniean had indeed been awaiting word in Minas Tirith along with Arwen.  They had very nearly gone out looking for Legolas and Aragorn both after Arwen had recounted the tragedy of losing Eldarion.  However, Draecyn had gotten to Minas Tirith first.  Now, they were journeying with the queen, also headed for Rivendell, as per Aragorn’s request, but moving slower than Draecyn’s hectic pace had carried him.  They were probably not very far behind at all now.  Secretly, Aragorn wished to reach Rivendell before they did.  It was going to be different, seeing the house empty... and he wanted to be able to confront that alone, before he had to confront it in Arwen’s eyes as well as his own heart.   

 

The years had done little to dim Rivendell’s light.  Although the gardens and pathways reflected the lack of attention they had once received, the house stood as it had for years, a haven of quiet and peace, a place of rest and tranquility.  It was as Legolas had said; the valley was not dead, it merely slept.

 

The flagstone steps rang underneath the King’s boot heels just as they had when he had returned home so many times, then only a ranger.  A strong feeling of familiarity tugged at Aragorn’s heart and for a moment it was easy to forget that this homecoming was different than any other time.  It was easy for the years to slip away in an instant... before the quiet, stillness of reality intruded once more.  No one waited for them on the porch and the doors were not thrown open at their arrival.  The deep voice that Aragorn longed to hear did not welcome him home and his steps faltered.

 

“Estel?” Legolas whispered softly.  He glanced at his friend, following the path of the human’s gaze. 

 

Aragorn was staring at the empty servants’ quarters.  The home Celboril had occupied for centuries stood dark and quiet.  The door was slightly ajar and cobwebs decorated the eaves.  Swallowing hard, Aragorn tried to calm his emotions and force them down.  He knew that the staff had left with his father years ago when the elf lord had sailed to the undying lands.  It had been hard to let them go then, but the emotions had been easier to repress.  There was a fractioned kingdom to reunite, he had a family to look after, affairs of state crowded his desk and his council was constantly being demanded.  There had been little time given to grieving and he had been glad then for the distractions.  But now...

 

When Aragorn finally turned and met his friend’s gaze, Legolas was startled by how very young and vulnerable the human looked at that moment.  Despite all his years and his position, the King of Gondor did not stand in Rivendell’s courtyard.  Here, it was Estel, the adopted son of an elven lord who had returned home.  Regret tugged at the elf’s heart for a moment.  He had known this might not be easy for Aragorn, but the look in the King’s eyes was all too familiar.  

 

“He is not here,” Aragorn whispered, his voice thick with emotions.

 

“I know.”  Legolas read the man’s thoughts easily; they mirrored so much of his own grief.  “You knew he would not be, Estel.”  Legolas stepped closer as Aragorn broke the contact and glanced out across the untended gardens.

 

“I may have known it...” Silver eyes locked onto the blue ones, watching him closely as his own sense of loss betrayed him. “But I was unprepared for it.”

 

“The door is open, my lord.”  Jonath called down to his liege.  The palm of his right rested against the ornate wood.  Barely pressing, he waited for orders. 

 

Dari, under no such constraints, leaned against the heavy wooden portals and squeezed into the darkened house, racing inside ahead of everyone else and squealing delightedly as Draecyn called after him to wait.

 

“It was rarely locked.”  Aragorn replied.  He glanced quickly at his second in command before dropping his gaze and walking slowly around the house and into the gardens.

 

“Legolas?”  Jonath questioned the elf, unsure of what to do now. 

 

The elf gave the soldier a wan smile and a shrug.  He nodded at the doorway. “Go on in and see if Elrond’s sons are about.  Look after Dari.  We will follow in a moment.”

 

With a nod that was part salute, Jonath opened the doors and led the small party into the interior.  Rivendell itself seemed to lighten as the sounds of life returned to its halls and the squeals of childish laughter rang from the stairwells.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~
I'm walking down your street again and past your door
But you don't live there any more
It's years since you've been there
But now you've disappeared somewhere... like outer space
You've found some better place.


And I miss you - like the deserts miss the rain...
And I miss you - like the deserts miss the rain...

--Missing
~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Aragorn walked slowly through the overgrown gardens, assaulted by memories of the past.  Leaves fell like colored snow through the boughs of the thick canopy, coating the pathways in a fiery brilliance of chaotic colors.  The archways and benches were covered in creeping mosses and greenery as the wilds began to reclaim what was theirs.  The elves had built their homes for permanence and yet with the realization in mind that they would not be in Middle Earth forever.  And so it was with great artistry and skill that elvish residences had been created to one day be reclaimed by nature and so eventually disappear completely from the world of men.  It seemed that Rivendell had come to the conclusion that that time was drawing nigh.  Now that the power of the elves no longer hid and maintained the dwellings, nature had begun to take over its role.

 

Brushing the dirt and vines away from the bench before him, Aragorn ran his fingers gently over the face of the cool granite archway that overshadowed the small niche.  “It was here that I stood with father when the earth shook and nearly destroyed Rivendell.”  He spoke quietly as Legolas stopped next to him, explaining why this certain arbor held such cherished memories.

 

“Father and I rebuilt this archway, the very one that had fallen on him.  We built it together just the two of us...” His voice faltered, “And we talked...a lot.”

 

Legolas didn’t answer; there was nothing to say.  He joined his friend on the stone bench when the human sat down.  He knew what Aragorn was feeling.  It echoed like the ache in his own heart. 

 

“I tried not to think about it.”  Aragorn spoke softly.

 

The elf glanced at his hands in his lap, not pushing, not commenting.  Aragorn needed this time...no he corrected himself, *Estel* needed this time.

 

“It hurt so badly when he left and there was no time to even think about what that meant.  Arwen was distraught enough for us both and the pressures of the new kingdom were intense.  As soon as we returned there were the mountain men to deal with in the north and uprisings to the south and the council demanded so much of my energy that I pushed it out of my mind.”  Aragorn stopped and swiped at the tears that traced down his cheeks.  He didn’t meet Legolas’ gaze when the elf turned to watch him, he couldn’t.  The man kept his eyes riveted straight ahead fixed on the corner of the grand house, willing his father to turn that corner any minute and ease the ache that crushed his chest.  “I always knew the time would come when he would go.  I never wanted to accept it though and I suppose until I now I never really have.”

 

Dropping his gaze, Aragorn swallowed hard and glanced at the elf.  He had brought Legolas here in the desire to help the elf rediscover joy in life.  He had not expected to be confronted with so much hidden pain of his own.  He felt guilty for even bringing it up, but Legolas’ compassionate gaze was encouraging. 

 

“Go on, Estel,” the elf whispered softly.  “The world... it moves us so quickly sometimes and entire lifetimes change at a moment’s notice.  Everyone must find their time to grieve.”

 

Aragorn looked down at his hands.  Maybe Legolas was right.  How could he try to help his friend if he could not acknowledge his own heartaches and sorrows? 

 

“Arwen and I did not go with him to the Havens.  It would have been too hard... especially for her, to see the other elves sailing where she has chosen never to go.  We said goodbye here, in Rivendell and left for Gondor the same day he left for Mithlond.  I could almost pretend that I was just going away again, on another journey, and that nothing had changed, that home would always be the same, always waiting the way I remembered it... I never returned after that.  I don’t think I allowed myself to fully believe that he was never coming back again until today.”  He sniffed softly, trying not to let the embarrassing tears fall. “I miss him, Legolas.”

 

“I know.”  Legolas answered softly, resting his hand on the man’s shoulder.  “I remember the first time I returned home to Mirkwood after Ada left... I never went back again.”

 

A small nod was all the answer the prince received.  Aragorn sighed deeply and buried his face in his hands.

 

Legolas watched him quietly.  He did not apologize for asking to come here, even though for the moment it seemed to cause his friend heartache.  He knew it was something they all had to face one day.  Time held still for no one and even elves were bound to its inexorable tide eventually.  It was sad, to see Rivendell and know that it was not as it had always been, yet it did not strike Legolas’ heart the same, painful way that Mirkwood had struck him.  There was still a lingering peace in the valley that seemed to blanket the grief they brought here.  It covered their sorrow with beauty like snow covered battle-torn earth, hiding, if not erasing, the scars.  Being here seemed to have the therapeutic effect of shedding a river of tears.  They might ache, but the peace and release that followed was strangely comforting. 

 

The sounds of soft footfalls alerted the prince that they were not alone.  Aragorn glanced up when Legolas’ hand left his shoulder and he turned, looking behind them as the elf stood to his feet. 

 

The intruder, surprised to find others in the normally vacant garden, stopped up short and stared back at the elf and the human.

 

“Legolas?  Estel?”  The newcomer asked hesitantly as he stared hard at the tear-stained face of the man that stood slowly next to the elf.

 

“Mora?” Aragorn whispered disbelievingly.  He shook his head and frowned. “How can this be, I saw you leave with Ada.”  His voice was rough and his breathing hitched as he questioned the elf that approached them.

 

“Estel, it is you, isn’t it?” The elf questioned further a wide smile breaking across his face.  ”What are you doing here?”

 

Before he could process what was happening Aragorn found himself crushed against the dark haired elf and held tightly in the other’s arms.  “By the Valar, Estel, I have missed you.  I went to the White City looking for you, but the first time you were not there and the second time I was told you were not available.”

 

“What?  You were there, and I wasn’t told?!” Aragorn could not believe his ears. 

 

Mora seemed slightly puzzled at Aragorn’s reaction.  “They said you were told, but made it very clear to me that you could not be bothered.  I did not wish to trouble you.”

 

“WHAT?!” the King repeated, nearly exploding this time.  “I was NEVER told that you were there, I swear it, my friend.  I would never have brushed you aside like that.  Who told you such a thing?!” Aragorn’s ire rose faster than he could register as he grasped the elf’s arms tightly.  “I thought you were gone.  All these years I thought you were gone.  Mora, I swear I saw you leave with Ada.  I did not know... I...I would have visited sooner, I...”

 

The King was silenced as the dark haired elf simply shook his head.  He stepped back slightly but did not release the man as though fearful that Estel would disappear. “I had begun to fear that such might be the case.  I’m sorry, Estel, I should have known better and returned again.  But it matters little now that you are here now!”  Moranuen pulled the man back against him and hugged him once more before releasing the King and greeting Legolas warmly, talking all the while.

 

“I did in fact leave with your father.”  The elf laughed softly as he recounted the tale.  “I had not wanted to, my heart desired nothing more than to stay with Elrond’s sons but...well your brothers worried so for your father when they informed him they would remain behind with you.  So I went at their behest but my heart was not in it.”  Moranuen pushed Aragorn back down on the bench and sat across from the elf and the man on an adjacent seat enjoying the cool of the approaching evening.  “I did leave.  I even started to sail, although I could not find the joy in it that everyone else was experiencing.  One of Gwaihir’s children accompanied us for a time, seeing us off.  We were two days out when I knew I had made a serious mistake I could not now call back.  I did not know what to do.  Elrond knew that my heart was sick, for although the sea called to me, I felt as if my time in Middle Earth was not completed.  Your father asked the great eagle to bring me back and he complied before returning to escort the ship.”  Moranuen laughed at the incredulous look on Aragorn’s face. “So, I have been tending the gardens and keeping the grounds ever since, although I admit that I am not as good at it as Celboril was.”

 

“I still can’t believe I was never even told.” Aragorn’s ire had mostly bled away in the face of his happiness at this totally unexpected reunion.  He leaned forward, mirroring the elf’s smile.

 

“I meant to make the long journey to see you again, once the Kingdom was stable.  I had assumed that your brothers at least would have told you, but I suppose Elladan and Elrohir probably thought I had told you myself when I went out there.  I didn’t tell them that your councilors turned me away.  I was afraid they would do something rash and make more trouble for you.  I am sorry, Estel.  Given the state of affairs at the time, ‘twas easy to believe you were busy.  With the kingdom weighing so heavily on your shoulders I didn’t want to bother you.”  He responded quietly.  The man before him had changed much and the piercing gaze the former ranger laid on him was so filled with emotion and intensity that he shifted nervously.  It had been a long time in human years since the young man named Estel had been home.

 

Seeing the hesitancy, Aragorn dropped to his knees in front of the elf and took his long time friend’s hands in his own. “Moranuen, you must believe me.  I was never informed that you came to Minas Tirith.  I did not know that you had returned.  I would never have turned you away so coldly, or refused you time, my friend.  My brothers have been in and out of the White City and so I never would have thought that not all who came to see me would be admitted.  It is a situation I shall rectify at once upon my return to Minas Tirith.  Please, forgive me.”

 

The silver eyes that glanced up at the elf held none of the distance they had moments before and Moranuen recognized the young man he had known hidden inside in the King that was now before him.  The smile brightened on Moranuen’s face, mingled with relief.  Estel had not change so much as he had feared.  Leaning forward he kissed Aragorn gently on the forehead. “I’m so glad you are here, Estel.” 

 

It suddenly occurred to the Noldo that the presence of the King in Rivendell was not just an unplanned event.  “Wait a minute...” Suspicion crept into Moranuen’s voice. “Why *are* you here, you two?”  He eyed the friends over carefully.  “You are both walking, but I sense there is more to this visit, you did not expect to find anyone home did you?  What’s going on?”

 

It was Legolas’ turn to drop his gaze and fight the urge to fidget.  He glanced at Aragorn who was staring at him.  The ranger’s gaze asked an unspoken question.  Just how much did Legolas want Moranuen to know? 

 

“That would be my doing,” Legolas whispered quietly.

 

Aragorn returned to his seat by the prince and gently laid his hand on the elf’s shoulder.  “We came to rest.”  He answered the question softly.

 

“Then you have come to the right place.” Mora was on his feet in an instant.  It had not been so long to his elven perception of time that he did not remember the look that passed between the two friends.  Whether the wounds were physical or merely emotional, they did need rest.  “Let us go into the house.  The fire still burns in the Great Hall and your rooms are as you left them.”

 

A soft smile spread across Legolas face as Mora easily changed the subject and led them back towards the house.

 

“Tell me, Mora, how did you enjoy your ride on the great eagle?”  Aragorn grinned conspiratorially at Legolas, recalling their own ride years ago when both had been flown to Imladris by Gwaihir and one of his kin. 

 

“It was something I will never forget, that is certain!”  Mora glanced over his shoulder as he walked up the stone steps to the doors.  “Oh, and, Estel, you will be glad to know that the eagles have started their great migrations just as was foretold.  They are wintering in the Grey Havens and will return in the spring.  They too are preparing to go over the sea.  Your brothers have sent letters to your father and mother via some that have already left.  Tomorrow Gwinhain, grandchild of Gwaihir will be the last one to make the journey.  He is stopping by the valley on his way.  If you would like to pen your father a letter I am sure he would take it for you. 

 

Aragorn smiled and nodded.  He would like that very much. 

 

Moranuen stepped into the house before them, holding the door open.  Aragorn brought up the rear, walking slowly inside and glancing around the entryway.  He stopped on the threshold.  Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply.  It was a small gesture, a simple act he had grown accustomed to doing when he had been away from home for long periods of time.  The scents that wafted to him through the house still carried the smells he associated so closely with his father – the lingering sweetness of athelas, the musky scents of herbs and the heady smell of burning wood from the Hall of Fire.

 

Moranuen, unaware that his guests had lingered, walked further in to the house, talking quietly to the two.  Sounds of laughter and tiny running feet could be heard in the guest quarters on the lower levels.  Jonath’s deep voice interrupted the mild melee, calling out for Draecyn’s position.  If it weren’t for the fact that he could feel Elrond’s absence - that quiet dark void that should be filled with light - Estel knew he was home.

 

“Your brothers should be back later today.  They went out hunting, trying to fill the cellar for the winter.  There are fewer hunters now, but fewer of us to eat it as well.  However, with guests we may need to...” Mora stopped and turned back a wide smile spreading on his face as he watched Aragorn open his eyes. 

 

“Welcome home, Estel,” he spoke softly as the man’s gaze lighted on him.

 

“It’s good to be back.”  Aragorn nodded his acceptance.  “Did you say my brothers were returning?”

 

“Yes, they said they would return today.”  Mora watched as Legolas slowly began to make his way up the steps.  Aragorn was by his side in an instant, helping him climb the flight of stairs.  He knew the thought of an empty Rivendell was distressing to the former ranger. 

 

“Don’t worry Estel, the house does not stand empty at all times.  Taradin and Garith’s kin still visit often and they bring with them the townsfolk in need of healing.  Your brothers have taken up where your father left off.  Not to mention that Beoma’s grandchildren are always making trips through the pass, keeping the twins stocked in honeycakes.  They love to stay and dote on your brothers now that the household staff is gone and often we have a few of them wintering with us.”

 

Aragorn stopped on the first landing and smiled down at his friend.  “It does sound just like home.  Father would be happy that the townsfolk come here still.”

 

“He would be.”  Legolas agreed quietly.

 

“My Lord?” Jonath’s voice boomed down the hallway.

 

“Here, Jonath.”  Aragorn called.

 

“Have you need of anything, my King?”  The tall warrior stepped into the hallway surprised to see a strange elf in the entry.

 

“No, we are well.  We are going to see to the rooms and will be down shortly.”  Aragorn watched as Legolas cautiously resumed climbing the stairs.  The elf’s body still ached and he was more tired than he wanted to admit.  His only desire now was to find a bed in one piece and fall into it.

 

“Jonath, meet my very good friend, Moranuen.”  Aragorn turned back to the two beings. “Moranuen, my second in command of the troops, Jonath.”

 

“Have we met?” Jonath asked cautiously.

 

“Perhaps you were in Minas Tirith when I came through.”  Mora answered, accepting the outstretched hand and bowing slightly.

 

“Jonath?” Aragorn questioned, his countenance turning suddenly dark. “Where you there when Mora requested to see me?  Did you tell him I could not see him?”

 

“No, my liege, I would not do that unless you bid me.  But I vaguely recall seeing an elf at the gates bearing his resemblance, though it was years ago.  I was called away and assumed he had been admitted.”

 

“He was not.”  Aragorn’s answer was curt.  “I would not see that happen again.”

 

“My apologies, my lords, it will not.  When we return I will inform the gate keepers as well.” Jonath glanced between the elf and his king.

 

A smile replaced the King’s frown.  His personal guard was a good man.  “Thank you Jonath, we’ll be down shortly.”

 

Mora easily accepted the humans and led the warrior into main hall, striking up a conversation with the man and setting him instantly at ease.  The peace of Rivendell took over and soon all beneath the rafters were contentedly gathered in the Hall of Fire, save for Aragorn and Legolas.

 

Legolas had made his way into the room that had always been reserved for him.  It was the one closest to Estel’s and to his surprise it still held an extra set of his clothing.  Carefully he pulled the dust cloths from the furniture, wadding them up and shifting the coverings into a corner of the room.  Wood was stacked in the hearth and he quickly kindled a small fire.  Sitting gingerly down on the bed he laid back on the soft mattress and sighed deeply, closing his eyes.  Yes, this place was comfortably familiar.  A place he was used to coming back to when the world outside had been too harsh and life had taken its toll on him.  He supposed it was strange really, that he should feel more at home here in this place than in Mirkwood, even now when the shadow was finally lifted... but it didn’t *feel* strange, so Legolas decided he did not care.

 

Aragorn followed the elf into the room and stood in the doorway, leaning against the door frame.  “This was a good idea, mellon-nín.”  He said softly smiling as the elf opened one eye to gaze at him.

 

“It was.”  Legolas stated simply letting his head fall back against the pillows.

 

Aragorn pushed away from the door and headed to his own room, his voice calling back down the hallway and setting the elf to laughing. “Don’t you dare fall asleep with your boots on, Celboril would come all the way back over the sea just to have your head if he found out you were disrespecting the furniture.”

 

Gently, Estel pushed the door to his room open and glanced inside.  Night had fallen and the chambers were dark.  Blindly, he groped for the small table that sat next to his bed.  Behind him, down the hallway, Mora was lighting the glow globes.  With the twins gone, he hadn’t been prepared for company.  Aragorn’s fingers fumbled across the tabletop and wrapped around the small shell night light that sat like a sentinel next to the bed.  He deftly struck the tiny flat of flint and lit the lamp, his hands remembering as if by rote what his nightly routine had been so many years ago.

 

The soft glow of the light illuminated the room.  It was just as he had left it, save for the dust cloths that Celboril had carefully draped over everything.  Those were quickly wadded up and discarded as the man walked around the room, reacquainting himself with his surroundings.

 

Pulling the dusty sheets from the bed, Aragorn threw them atop the pile in the corner.  His gaze landed lastly on the night table and his old wooden oliphaunt carved by another man he once called father, a man whose descendants now carried on his name and memory.

 

“Cabed.”  He was surprised he had spoken the name out loud and he jumped slightly when a voice behind him interrupted his reverie.

 

“Ah yes, I remember that old Haradrim.”

 

Legolas eased down onto Estel’s bed, tucking his feet underneath him.  Aragorn noticed with a smile that the elf wore no shoes.

 

“This place holds many memories and all of them are good.” Legolas continued quietly.  “I believe this may be the only place in Arda I can say that about.  Thank you, mellon-nín, for returning here with me.”

 

Aragorn started to answer his friend when a tiny shout interrupted them and Eldarion burst through the partially open door.

 

“Ada! Ada!!”  The little boy flung himself at the man.  He wrapped his arms around Aragorn’s neck and excitedly began talking to his father as Aragorn stooped to pick him up.

 

“Elladan and El’hir are back! They said I could sleep in El’hir’s bed tonight! Can I? Can I please?”

 

Legolas stifled his laughter as Estel pulled his face slightly away from the eager boy who was inches from him and pressing closer.  Dari was such a different child now that he was back with the people he knew and loved.  The little boy was far less quiet and reserved then he had been when Legolas met him in the slave cages, and the elf was glad.  For the most part, Dari was also no longer shadowed by the pain and fear he had carried far too long.  The young bounced back so fast sometimes.  It was wonderful to see. 

 

“Please, Ada?”  Eldarion gently touched Aragorn’s face; pushing the king’s hair out of his eyes like his father was so fond of doing with him.  His tiny fingers traced down the strong chin and played over the Evenstar where it lay glittering in the hollow of Aragorn’s throat.  “Please?” He begged one last time.

 

“Estel?  Estel!” The twins’ voices could be heard as the elves pounded up the stairwell.

 

“El’hir! In here!!”  Dari called back.

 

With a kiss, Aragorn set the little boy down and pushed him towards the door.  “Yes, you can stay in El’s room tonight as long as he has agreed.” He consented easily to the child’s wishes.

 

The door to the room was thrown wide, ricocheting off the wall behind it as the two brothers outside vied to enter first.

 

With a shout of joy the King was enveloped by the two elves that were talking and laughing all at once.  It had only been a matter of months since they had last seen each other, but this was different, being together in Rivendell once more.

 

Extricating himself enough to turn and face Legolas, Estel found the elf still sitting contentedly on his bed, watching the family reunion.

 

“Legolas! It’s good to see you again!  How goes the rebuilding of Ithilien?”  Elladan questioned cheerfully as he released his younger brother.  “We have heard good things, but news the past few months has been sparse.”

 

The shadow that chased through the prince’s eyes was not lost on the elves nor the king and the twins quickly sobered.  “Do things not go well?” Elrohir asked quietly.

 

“Things have gone well with the rebuilding,” Aragorn answered for his friend, seating himself next to the golden haired elf.  “There were raiders in Ithilien a few months ago and Legolas had an undesirable run in with them.  We have come here to recover and spend time healing.”  Estel spoke for them both.

 

“That is not all, is it?  You are not telling us everything, are you?” Elrohir pressed for more as he watched his younger brother.  The human evaded his gaze. 

 

Eldarion who had been watching quietly from the doorway spoke up softly; he was holding Aragorn’s wooden oliphaunt, turning the toy over and over in his small hands.  “Het’spa was mean to us both.”

 

“Aragorn?” Elladan questioned softly, but his tone held an underlying intensity.  They were used to Aragorn and Legolas getting themselves into trouble, but Dari?  What could possibly have befallen their little nephew? 

 

Stooping over, the human scooped his son up in his arms and reseated himself, holding the little boy closely.  “There is more, but we should discuss it later.”  He held his brothers’ gaze asking for leniency and warning them that now was not the time.  He tried to avoid talking about Dari’s kidnapping in front of the child.  It was best to let the young mind forget and not dwell on the horrors he had witnessed. 

 

“Leg’las was hurt bad.”  Dari reached out and petted the elf gently with one hand, showing much more concern for his former guardian’s state of being than his own.  “But he’s better now!” The little boy brightened, the dark memories quickly given up for the questions that their new situation placed in his young mind. 

 

“Look, Ada, it’s like the big Mum-mums in the South!  Can I have it?”  Dari turned his attention to his father and held up the wooden toy.  The child could not say ‘Mûmaskil’ yet, but had been enormously fascinated with the giant beasts when he visited the peace talks in Harad. 

 

Aragorn touched the oliphaunt fondly and nodded. “That was mine when I was younger.  I think Kidrin would want you to have it.”

 

“Kid’in?” Eldarion mimicked.  “Who’s that?”

 

“*That* is a tale for another time.”  Aragorn smiled widely and put the child down, “Now go on with you, find Draecyn.  I need to talk to Elrohir and Elladan, and Legolas needs to accompany me to the apothecary.”

 

“Oh no, I don’t.” The Silvan elf balked as the ranger eased him off the bed and steered him out of the room.  The sounds of Eldarion’s swiftly padding feet could be heard as he raced down the steps, happily clutching his new toy and searching out the soldiers.

 

“I believe your men are in the kitchen with Mora trying to make something for dinner.”  Elladan commented wryly as the foursome made their way to the apothecary.  They all pointedly ignored Legolas’ protests, so he presently gave up protesting and let them have their way.

 

“Jonath wasn’t in there was he?” Aragorn stopped and glanced sharply at the twins, “He can’t cook to save his life.  His food is terrible, we have to stop him!”

 

With a laugh Elladan pushed his brother forward, walking with them down the stairwell and into their father’s pantry.

 

“Not to worry, Mora is a horrible cook as well.  But we have gotten used to what he throws together and calls food.”  Elladan laughed at the grimace on his human brother’s face.  “He has picked up some of Beoma’s children’s habits when cooking and it’s not wise to meddle.”

 

“As long as it’s hot and we don’t have to cook it, we don’t complain!” Elrohir added cheerfully.  He cleaned off a spot on the long wooden table that took up the center of the small room.

 

With a pained sigh, Legolas eased gingerly up onto the waist high counter and sat facing Estel.  He knew what his friend wanted of him; he didn’t even have to be asked after all these years.  The truth was that he didn’t really mind that much either.  He trusted Aragorn’s care and as much as he would have liked to deny it, he probably needed it.  He was far too weary lately, tiring easily and given to a listless restlessness.  The prince did not like it at all.

 

Aragorn smiled gently up at the exhausted elf.  The healer ignored his brothers for the moment as they moved about the room, teasing one another and the two friends.

 

“You are tired and you did not let me know,” he accused the wood-elf quietly, but without any serious reproach. 

 

Legolas returned his friend’s smile.  There was no denying it, he was sleepy, but he was not about to retire for the evening now.  Rivendell was bringing some unknown part of him back to life.  For the first time in many days some sense of peace had returned to his soul.  A peace that had been slipping away from him for some time now, but had been utterly missing since Rahzon.

 

“I am fine.”  The elf answered with a small laugh at the look of frank disbelief that Aragorn laid on him.  “No, honestly I am, Estel.  It is this place and the company.”  Legolas rested his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. 

 

“I imagine you want to look at the stitches again?”  When Estel nodded, the prince began slowly unfastening his tunic.  “Then, I will need help, because I really am tired,” he admitted.  The elf’s fingers tugged somewhat wearily and ineffectually at the intricate fastenings of his tunic for a moment without much real effort.  Sometimes it was just so hard to move it hardly seemed worth the effort.  Most of the time this was a cause of consternation, but he had almost gotten used to it over the past few weeks.  Anyway, he wasn’t going to let it disturb him right now when everything else was so nice.  The elf’s smile mirrored the one on the King’s face as Aragorn gently brushed his friend’s hands aside and worked the fasteners open for him as Legolas had known he would. 

 

Easing the shirt off the elf’s shoulders, Aragorn exposed the still healing wound.  Legolas pulled his breath in with a sharp hiss as the man gently moved his arm up and out of the way.  Seeing his friend’s discomfort, Estel stepped closer to the table.  Leaning in near, he allowed the elf to rest his arm atop the King’s head as he worked.

 

The twins returned with supplies and Elladan started a small, contained flame licking the bottom of a fresh pot of athelas.  The sweet smell flooded the room, calming the prince’s labored breathing.  It had been weeks since they rescued the elf from Rahzon, and still the deep wound had not quite healed.  That was not at all usual and it worried Aragorn.

 

Leaning across the table from behind Legolas, Elrohir gently inspected the stitches, gingerly prodding the cut.  The elf prince closed his eyes and swallowed hard, allowing the two healers to have their way with him.  The injury was still painfully tender.

 

“It does not look as if it is healing properly, Estel.  How long has it been like this?”  Elrohir whispered, his voice soft, not to hide the situation but because of the proximity of those around them.  His little brother had become a renowned healer.  If the injury was not healing promptly under his care, then there was more to this wound than met the eye.

 

“Several weeks,” Aragorn hedged slightly.  “Perhaps a month.”  His voice was a little tense.  He knew what kind of reaction that would garner. 

 

“A *month*...” Elladan checked himself sharply, not allowing any further outward display of the shock he felt at such information.  He and Elrohir exchanged a look. 

 

Elrohir seemed to be trying to think of some non-alarming way to respond to that revelation.  “That’s... that’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?” he said at last, knowing perfectly well how unusual it was. 

 

“I know it is.  I do not know why this is happening.  I didn’t have the herbs I needed in Rhazon, but Legolas usually heals much better than this even on his own.”  Carefully the man washed the wound with warmed water.  He slowed his ministrations when Legolas’ free hand grasped his shoulder and tightened painfully on his collarbone.  “Easy, mellon-nín, we will numb it again, give me a moment.” He spoke softly in the grey tongue as Elrohir turned and began rifling through a cupboard behind him.  He knew Legolas hated the regular ritual of having his wound cleaned and redressed. 

 

Elrohir did not let his brother see the worried frown that creased his face.  He didn’t think Aragorn quite realized what he might be dealing with here, but did not yet know enough about the situation to feel comfortable saying anything.

 

Sounds of loud crashing and raised voices could be heard coming from the kitchen, startling the three elves and their human companion.

 

With a quiet laugh Elladan eased around Elrohir and headed for the door.  “I’ll go see what they’ve done now.  There are days I miss Celboril.”  He heard his human brother call out to him as he walked away down the hall.

 

“If Dari is in the way send him on back here!”  Aragorn leaned out, trying to see down the hall as much as his position would allow.

 

“Eldarion is sleeping in the great hall, my lord.”  Jonath answered, walking into the pantry.  He was wiping his hands on a towel tucked into the strings that tied a full-length apron about his waist.  The warrior’s face flushed as Aragorn appraised his attire with a raised eyebrow. 

 

“Moranuen insisted I wear this,” the soldier defended himself.  He dropped the rag to his side and crossed his arms, glaring at the King.  He was far too polite and respectful to point out how many times he had seen his liege wearing things he considered to be far more disreputable or ridiculous.  The King’s favorite overcoat was an excellent example. 

 

Stifling his laughter, Aragorn tried to replace his skeptical look with something akin to seriousness.  He failed miserably.  Legolas made no such attempt; the elf’s musical laughter caught at the king and lifted his spirits.  Legolas hadn’t laughed in days.

 

“My dear Jonath, did you say Eldarion has fallen asleep in the Hall of Fire?”  Aragorn finally composed himself enough to ask. 

 

“I did, my lord.” The warrior scowled. 

 

“He still has nightmares and this house is yet foreign to him...” Aragorn worried aloud.

 

“I will bring him in here.  He may sleep in the corner while we finish.” Elrohir quieted his brother’s anxiety.  He handed the King a small jar of lotion and stepped around the Gondorian that blocked his path.

 

“That color suits you,” the younger twin commented, looking the man up and down before darting into the hallway.  The laughter from the king and prince chased after him.

 

With a shake of his head, Jonath turned and stalked back to the kitchen muttering under his breath about elves and their strange sense of humor. 

 

Legolas’ soft laughter was disrupted as a sharp pain lanced through his side.  With Aragorn’s head holding his arm up he was unable to curl in on himself.  Estel quickly turned his attention back to the injured elf.  Talking quietly to Legolas in his native tongue, he hurriedly unscrewed the lid to the jar Elrohir had given him.

 

“Just a minute, give me a minute, the pain will lessen.”  Dipping his fingers into the thick ointment, Aragorn lathed the healing lotion over the stitches and the slightly inflamed edges of the ragged cut they sutured.  The concoction was something his father had created.  The oils of the plants numbed the pain on contact and began to draw any infection out of the wound, countering it with its natural healing powers.  In seconds Aragorn was rewarded with a soft sigh from Legolas.

 

“It is better.” The elf whispered.  His breathing eased and he relaxed, leaning more heavily against his friend.

 

Elrohir re-entered, carrying Eldarion wrapped in a blanket.  The child was asleep and clutching the small wooden toy he had acquired earlier.  Aragorn glanced up quickly and smiled as he watched his older brother with his son.

 

The elf laid the little boy down, whispering quietly to him in elvish before joining Aragorn and helping to tend to Legolas.

 

“You used that horrible sleeping trick on him didn’t you?” Estel half accused, half questioned. “The one Ada used to use on me all the time?”

 

“Works wonders once you perfect it.”  Elrohir smiled. “He will not wake now until morning, I assure you.”  The elf took the jar from his little brother’s hand and attended to a slowly healing cut across Legolas’ back. 

 

“You took quite a beating.”  The Noldo commented softly, gently rubbing the lotion across the Silvan elf’s lower back as Aragorn continued carefully prodding Legolas’ ribs, testing the bones that were nearly healed.  Elrohir wondered if all these injures were as old as Aragorn had indicated before.  He decided they probably were, although if he had not known he would have thought them much more recent.  Skilled fingers lathed the ointment over the cuts and bruises on the prince’s back a second time.  Elrohir was more disturbed than he wanted to admit.  These marks did not have the look of old wounds, yet neither did they appear to be fresh.  To the first-time observer it looked as if the prince’s body had simply wearied of trying to repair the damage and was trying to accept the injuries as part of its natural state of being.  There was no apparent infection, but they were obviously still painful.   

 

With a weary sigh, Legolas laid his head down on the arm that rested on Aragorn’s head.  He was so tired of this particular ritual and longed to be whole again.  He couldn’t understand why his body simply refused to heal, why he had to keep enduring this pain.  Closing his eyes he rested against his friend.  Beneath him, Estel stilled his movements and gave the elf a bit of respite.

 

“He did at that.  I thought he was not long for this world when I found him in Rahzon.  They were forcing him to participate in the pit fights.  That he lived as long as he did in that captivity says a lot for his spirit.”  The man explained simply, knowing his brother was curious.  Slowly Aragorn picked his ministrations back up again as he quietly told the entire tale to Elrohir.  He did not like keeping secrets from his family and Legolas gave no indication that he was uncomfortable with the telling.

 

When they had finally finished dressing and re-bandaging his wounds and the tale had been told, Aragorn tried to stand up, thinking to help Legolas back into his tunic.  He found however that the elf was not complying.

 

Elrohir’s hand on his arm stopped the man’s movements.  “Estel, he sleeps.”

 

Aragorn stilled and glanced up at the elf that rested against him.  Legolas’ breathing was deep and slow, his weariness had finally gotten the better of him.  Slowly, Estel wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist and braced the prince against him.

 

“Elrohir, clear a space and help me ease him down.  He should rest while he can.  We can wake him later.” The human whispered softly as Legolas settled in his arms.  He knew that Legolas found sleeping difficult lately.  If he was actually resting without aid, that was a good sign. 

 

Quickly, the Noldo elf complied, spreading out Legolas’ tunic and wading up a towel for a makeshift pillow.  He cradled Legolas’ head in his hands as Aragorn laid the prince down.

 

Removing his own outer tunic, the King laid it over the sleeping elf, tucking it in around him, forgetting for the moment that Legolas would not feel the cold as he might.  The prince shifted slightly and Estel lay his hand on the elf’s chest, speaking softly to him.

 

“Rest, mellon-nín, sleep... just sleep,” he whispered, invoking the elvish command as best he could.  Legolas stilled beneath his touch as his sleep deepened.

 

A soft smile spread across the king’s face as he watched his friend, “I nearly lost him, Elrohir, and I wouldn’t even have known.  None of us might ever have known what happened to him... or Dari.”

 

“But you didn’t lose either of them.”  Elrohir pointed out reassuringly, pushing Aragorn towards the door. “You will all be better after some rest.”  He glanced to where Eldarion lay sleeping contentedly. “They can both stay in here for now.  No one will disturb them.”

 

Reluctantly, Aragorn followed his older brother into the hallway.

 

Once they were out of the room, Elrohir pulled his brother aside.  His grey eyes were deeply concerned, although he had hidden his feelings from Legolas.  “Estel, what else is wrong with Legolas, truthfully?  It’s the sea-longing, isn’t it?”

 

The human sighed and nodded.  He was surprised his brother had picked up on it so swiftly.  “It is, but he doesn’t want to go.  I – I don’t’ really understand it, but apparently it’s leaving him no peace.  And after everything else that’s happened...” the human shrugged helplessly.  Did it all connect somehow?  He didn’t know.  “I’m really worried El, he’s so tired all the time and that wound... even on a human it should have healed weeks ago!”

 

Elrohir closed his eyes tightly for a moment, before opening them again with a sigh.  “I feared as much.  It... it was like that for Nana when the sea longing took her.  She didn’t want to leave us, but she could not bear to stay.  There was a cut on her back from the orc attack that never healed.  It did not become infected or fester, it simply did not mend.  Ada said it was because her body had lost the will to live on this side of the sea and that only in Valinor could she be whole again...” the twin’s voice was wistful and sad.  He could see his pain mirrored in his younger brother’s eyes and desperately hoped that this would not be the way of things with Legolas as well, for Estel’s sake if nothing else. 

 

“Are you saying there is no hope that he can truly recover now?” Aragorn’s voice was hoarse with sudden disbelief and anguish.  He had not considered this.  He supposed he had been hoping, however foolishly, that if they could only get Legolas to Rivendell, then somehow everything would work out all right one way or another.  Yet if even Elrond had not been able to heal this kind of malady, what hope did he have?  His heart ached fiercely.  Had he brought Legolas here only to say goodbye?

 

“I did not say that,” Elrohir said quickly, trying to ease his brother’s fear a little.  “Legolas’ spirit is strong, it always has been.  He has already survived things in his life that many elves would have crumbled under.  Their fates do not have to be the same.  But we must help him, Estel.  We must help him find a balance between his sea longing and his desire to remain.  I feel in my heart that only then will his spirit be able to find peace, and his body be able to mend.”

 

Aragorn sighed.  “I know.  But how do we do that?  I wish father were here, I am so inadequate in these matters.”

 

“That is not true.  Ada would be proud of you.  You have become quite a healer, Estel.”  Elrohir smiled proudly at the human. 

 

“I still wish he were here, I would not worry so over Legolas and Eldarion with him near.  He always had such a calming effect on those in his care.”

 

“I do not think you realize that you have that same aura about you as well, Estel...” Elrohir’s words were cut short as the two rounded the corner leading into the kitchen. 

 

Draecyn was seated on the countertop, wearing one of Celboril’s aprons and laughing uproariously.  Jonath standing in front of a large pot, spun on his heels and pointed the spoon he was stirring with at the soldier, threatening the underling with the severest of punishments.  Red sauce dripped from the ladle and nearly spilled onto the floor before Mora noticed and caught the wayward sauce with his fingers tasting the consistency of the paste.

 

Ignoring the two humans’ banter, he encouraged the older soldier. “That’s perfect!  No, quickly over, keep stirring it or it will burn.  Don’t listen to him, you are good at this.”

 

“I am *not* good at this.” Jonath muttered darkly, “I am good at the handling of arms and commanding soldiers and keeping watch over my wayward liege, but I am *not* good at this, nor do I enjoy it.”

 

“But you look nice in that apron.” Elladan commented from the far side of the kitchen where he was busy cutting a loaf of warm bread.

 

The argument sent Draecyn further into half-stifled hysterics, much to Elladan’s amusement and Jonath’s displeasure.  To his credit, the young soldier really was trying very hard to reign himself in, but it seemed too monumental a task for him to manage.  Draecyn wiped a few strands of curly dark hair out of his face.  Elrohir silently gauged the young soldier’s age to be somewhere around twenty years, or perhaps a little younger, but he wasn’t too good with human ages. 

 

“So help me, when we get out of this place and are headed back to Gondor, do not think I will let this go forgotten, Draecyn.  If you think your life is hard now, chasing after Eldarion, just wait until you have to do it with my...” The angry tirade was cut off as Aragorn cleared his throat causing both men to stumble to attention.  In his haste the younger soldier nearly tripped over himself as he jumped to the floor, giving a hasty salute.

 

The antics of his men caused Aragorn to loose all control and he joined the elves, laughing deeply.

 

Seeing his lord at ease and enjoying himself took the edge off of Jonath’s anger.  He smiled at Draecyn before commenting darkly, “I’m glad you find this amusing, my king.”

 

Draecyn quickly took the hint and sobered up as much as was possible.  Jonath was a remarkably understanding commanding officer most of the time.  But you absolutely did not cross him or disrespect him in the presence of the King.

 

“I think Elrohir and I will retire to the dinning room and stay out of your way, call us if you have need of help.  Elladan when you are free would you join us please?” Aragorn requested quietly, hoping for a private moment alone with his brothers.  Had it been any other night than his first night back, Mora would have insisted on making them all help.  It was the way things were now and although he did the majority of the cooking, the times they spent in the kitchen preparing food together were some of Mora’s favorites. 

 

He nodded at Elladan and smiled warmly, “Go.  The three of us will be fine here.”

 

They had barely reached the study when the doors to Imladris were thrown wide and a commotion of colors and sounds burst through the entry.  Arwen and her entourage swarmed into the Last Homely House, calling for her husband and child.

 

“Estel!”  She hurried to her husband as her maids filed in behind her, followed closely by Raniean, Trelan and a small company of soldiers.

 

Aragorn looked up with delighted surprise.  He had not expected them to arrive so soon.  They must have either made incredibly good time or pushed themselves rather hard.

 

The instant Arwen turned the corner and saw him, Aragorn realized it must have been the latter.  The Queen of Gondor was as beautiful as ever, but her riding cloak was stained with dust and her face was lined with worry.  The look she fixed on him was half joy, half irritation. 

 

“Where is he?  Where is Eldarion?  The messenger only said that he was well and you had found him.  Where has he been, what happened?  Why didn’t you come home, why didn’t you wait for me?”  The worried questions fell from her lips in a torrent as Aragorn pulled her close and held her against him, shushing her urgent inquiries.

 

Arwen allowed her husband to hold her, although she was not about to let him out of answering each and every one of her questions.  Still, his presence calmed her and she felt her frenzied rush of emotions slowly bleeding away to something more manageable.  Turning against his chest so she could look up at him with concern in her lovely, ageless eyes, she fixed her husband with a searching gaze.  She had been surprised when the messenger reported where Aragorn was going and more than a little puzzled and hurt at the mysterious actions.  He knew how much she worried about Dari, why had he not waited for her?  Now, she wondered suddenly if there was more going on here than she knew.

 

“Estel...are *you* all right?”

 

“Dari is fine my love.  He is sleeping.”  Aragorn tried to sort out and answer her questions one at a time as he stepped back, holding her face in his hands and giving her a small kiss on the forehead.  “Don’t worry.  He is all right and so am I.”  Taking her trembling hands in his own he pressed them gently to his lips.  “I’m sorry we didn’t wait for you, my love.  I... I will explain later, all right?” his eyes begged her forgiveness and patience.  He wanted to talk to her about his concern over Legolas’ condition and his sluggish healing, but not here, not in front of everyone else. 

 

Arwen squeezed his hands.  She did forgive him and she trusted him, she would wait and hear his reasons when they could talk privately.  *After* she had seen for herself that Eldarion was all right and held the child in her own arms again. 

 

Raniean and Trelan had made their way around the women and intercepted Elladan and the Gondorians who had come to find out the source of the disturbance. 

 

All around him, people were talking and asking questions at once. Aragorn stepped back out of the way, leaning against an intersecting corner as he watched the melee. 

 

Elrohir entered carrying a sleeping Eldarion and quickly garnered the Queen’s undivided attention.  The younger twin had heard Arwen’s frantic questions and desired to put his sister at ease.  Arwen rushed to his side, taking the child from his arms and kissing the little boy.  Dari woke slowly, his face eagerly mirroring his mother’s delight as soon as he registered who was now holding him.

 

“Nana!” he hugged her neck tightly.  “Nana, look what I found.  Ada says I may keep it.”  He held up the small wooden oliphaunt excitedly, explaining all that had happened in his own simple terms. 

 

Elladan was talking with Trelan and Raniean, settling their anxieties about Legolas. 

 

Draecyn led the Queen’s entourage off towards the guest quarters while Jonath, who had abandoned Mora for the moment, redirected Lady Arwen’s body guards out to Celboril’s old quarters where he and Draecyn were staying.  Drawn by the commotion, Mora exited the kitchen moments later.

 

Laughter, tears and greetings were exchanged as everyone talked at once.  In the excitement of all that was happening, the ranger in Aragorn took over and he quietly removed himself, simply watching from the corner, a soft smile decorating his face.

 

The gentle touch on his back startled the King and he turned, glancing into the blue eyes of the elf that had crept up behind him.

 

“It is still the same, is it not?”  Legolas asked, his eyes taking in the scene before them.  He was fiddling with the catches on his tunic, slowly buttoning them up.

 

Aragorn didn’t answer right away.  He glanced back out on the unfolding scene.  He could feel Legolas behind him as the elf leaned tiredly against him. The warm scents of the evening meal seeped into the entry hall beckoning the guests to stay, inviting them in further.  It seemed as though the very house its self breathed deeply of the joy of its inhabitants lulling the visitors into a peace and calmness that could be felt nowhere else on Middle Earth.  Aragorn almost thought he could hear his father’s laughter amidst the talking of the others as he let his senses be assaulted by the familiarity of his home.

 

“Yes.”

 

The simple word startled the elf and he stepped back as Aragorn turned towards him, giving the prince his full attention.

 

“Yes, it is still the same.  I would swear I even heard my father’s laughter.” Aragorn repeated his answer.

 

“As did I.” Legolas smiled back at his friend knowingly.  Rivendell had begun working its spell on them all.  Elrond may be gone, but the magic of Rivendell lived on in their hearts.  It always would.

 

The soft conversation broke into the orchestrated chaos and in moments the small family had joined the two friends, joyfully pushing one another down the hallway toward the dining hall and the meal Mora had prepared.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART TWO*~
~Consequences of a Drinking Game~

 

 

The dinner dishes had been cleaned and the dinging room emptied for hours now.  The guests that were still awake had retired to the Hall of Fire and were lounging in a semi-circle near the great fireplace.

 

Leaning back against a stack of pillows, Aragorn was lazily blowing smoke rings towards the ceiling, his head tipped at an awkward angle against the cushions.  Legolas rested to his left, sprawled on the floor, his shirt unbuttoned to ease the discomfort caused by the stitches in his side constantly rubbing against the silk.  One of the large throw blankets was partly wrapped around him upon Aragorn’s insistence. 

 

The Prince gazed into the fire, watching the flames play along the ridges of wood that Elladan had just stacked on the nearly dying embers. He absently fingered the small milky stone that hung against his chest, remembering how many nights he had lain on a very different floor, watching stars flicker between bars and thinking he would never see this place and these people again.  He smiled softly and his fingers drifted down to brush the soft downy head that lay against his chest.  Dari had fallen asleep a long time ago. 

 

Arwen stooped in front of Legolas, gently scooping the little sleeping prince up into her arms.  She looked greatly improved now that she had bathed and changed out of her road-worn clothing, but she still appeared a bit tired from her long journey.  The only thing visible on her face when she gazed at her son, however, was pure contentment and joy. 

 

Dari stirred sleepily and refused to let go the small hand that was tangled in the open edge of Legolas’ tunic for a moment until he realized it was his mother picking him up.

 

“We’re here, Leg’las,” Dari murmured in a sleepy, contented voice as he finally allowed his mother to lift him out of the blond elf’s arms.  “Just like you said.  My new favorite place,” he murmured contentedly before drifting back to sleep as Arwen carried him out, her handmaids in tow. 

 

Legolas smiled after their retreating backs. 

 

It was getting late.  Jonath, Draecyn and the other soldiers excused themselves as well, leaving the elves, who needed little sleep, and the Numenorean who had grown up among them, alone as night crept more deeply across the valley.

 

Peaceful silence hung over them for sometime as the stars winked in through the windows.  The fire popped and shifted, the logs settling more firmly on themselves as they burned down.  Aragorn blew one of his smoke rings so that it fell down to crown Legolas’ head before it dissipated. 

 

Legolas wrinkled his nose and batted his hand in front of his face, his glare telling his human friend to keep his smelly habits to himself. 

 

Aragorn smiled.

 

“We need some music.”  Mora lamented quietly after a time.

 

“No one here is a bard and I would *not* have Raniean try again, thank you.”  Trelan muttered darkly.  His comments earned him a playful smack from the insulted elf.

 

“Well, how about a story?” Elrohir encouraged glancing around the group.  He was seated near Elladan, propped up on a stack of cushions.  His twin lay on his side, playing with the last bit of wine that swirled in the bottom of his cup.  A full flagon rested within reach, ready to refill at a moments notice.

 

“Surely, amongst us all there should be a few tales left untold?” Elladan finished his brothers’ thought.

 

“And *not* the one about how I shot my father in the foot trellep hunting when I was *THREE*!” Legolas glared at Trelan, cutting off the Silvan elf before he could speak.  He knew exactly what the look on his friend’s face had meant. 

 

The smaller elf began to laugh helplessly.  “But it’s a good one...”

 

“...that we’ve all heard, Trelan.”  Aragorn replied listlessly, watching the two Silvan elves laugh amongst themselves.

 

“Yes, we have.” Raniean agreed trying to get his breathing under control.  “But my prince, I do believe you were more around the age of seventy-five at the time.”

 

“Seventy-five?!?!” Aragorn choked on the lungful of smoke he had just inhaled.

 

“It’s not that old for an elf Strider.”  Legolas defended himself.  He glared at his friend in mock indignation. Leaning over Legolas pounded the man a little harder than necessary on the back.  Aragorn had curled into himself trying to catch his breath as he alternated between coughing and laughing.

 

“Yes, but it’s certainly not that young either.  Oh very well,” Trelan relented. “No trellep stories, even if they are hilarious.”

 

“What about the two of you?”  Elladan questioned, rolling over and glancing at Aragorn and Legolas, “We *know* you’ve got stories you’ve never told.  Come on, part with some of them.”

 

“I remember eons ago, when you returned from Harad, Legolas said something about mûmaskil.  Seeing Dari play with that toy all evening has reminded me.  We never could get that story out of you...”  Elrohir encouraged.

 

“Or the blackmail you have on Legolas from the celebration at Edoras!” Elladan continued. “His face turns ten shades of red whenever you mention it.”

 

“Or no!  Better yet, whatever secret you have between the two of you that you did at Council the first year of your reign that *neither* of you will admit to.  You never would tell us what fully happened!” Elrohir and Elladan kept up the banter, recalling snatches of stories that they could never pry out of the two friends.

 

“How about whatever it was that they did to Glorfindel so that he would never turn his back on them again or leave them alone in his room?” At this point the two twins were giggling helplessly. “I don’t think Ada ever did find that one out.  And I know there are more!!  Like why Thranduil wouldn’t allow you into the throne room in Mirkwood unattended even at your ages?”

 

“What?!” Aragorn glanced at Legolas, his gaze questioning the prince who turned an innocent surprised look on the man. “I can’t believe you told them that!”

 

“Me?!” the prince pointed at himself. “Why, in heaven’s name, would *I* tell them about that?”

 

Both friends turned towards the twins who were now guiltily glancing back and forth at each other.

 

“Who told you?” Aragorn demanded, leaning forward.

 

“Well actually, it was Gimli.  But he wouldn’t tell us anything save that you were banned from the throne room and that only after we got him drunk.”  Elladan admitted sheepishly. “Although I would love to know more!”

 

“That dwarf.” Legolas cursed softly. “I knew telling him too much would come back to haunt me.”

 

“You told *him*?!” Aragorn stared incredulously at the elf.  That he really couldn’t believe. 

 

Legolas shrugged innocently. “It seemed a good idea at the time.  I didn’t think he would repeat it to anyone I actually knew.”

 

“Well obviously he did!”

 

“Oh come on, part with them, you have a lifetime of tales.  Entertain us in our old age.” Elladan teased gently.

 

“Well...” Aragorn stalled, glancing at Legolas to make sure the elf approved.  “I suppose I could tell you what happened at Edoras, if Legolas doesn’t mind.”

 

“Oh, go ahead.”  The prince relented.  “Tell them.  It’s not as if everyone else there didn’t know what happened.”  He shook his head, but his reticence was sabotaged by the smile he could not quite repress.

 

Aragorn pressed himself back against the cushions once more, setting his pipe aside and watching his friend as he began to remember a night very long ago when he was still a ranger and had not quite taken up his heritage yet.

 

“I remember that day, that night.”  He smiled softly at the elf. “We had finally reached Edoras after the battle at Helm’s Deep.  Everyone was weary but the excitement from having won that single conflict was contagious and the women had prepared this victory feast.” Aragorn’s voice drew in his listeners and as he recounted the story it was as if they were there in the very room he described, seeing what he saw and hearing what he heard...

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

The air in the crowded room was filled with loud sounds of laughter and song.  Everyone was celebrating and they had good reason to do so.  Rohan had only barely escaped complete obliteration at the hands of Saruman’s Uruk-Hai armies.  Their victory against all odds at Helms Deep was one to be cherished, especially since even darker days were still ahead. 

 

Merry and Pippin were completely at home.  Up on a table they danced and sang their favorite drinking songs.  The Rohirrim warriors urged them on, accepting the hobbits much easier than many big people did.

 

Legolas was another matter.  He simply did not fit in with the humans around him.  Even so, he was surprisingly not particularly ill at ease.  He had been in the middle of such goings on before and at least this party felt a whole lot safer than some of the nasty little backwater pubs that Aragorn had dragged him into in their younger days together.  However, that was not to say that some of the customs being practiced by these people were not a little strange and unfamiliar to him. 

 

“So, it’s called a drinking game,” he looked to the dwarf at his side for clarification.  Gimli seemed to be right at home here and had been involved in some kind of sport with one of the Rohirrim, and was now trying to get the elf to join him.  Legolas had begun to like the irritating little dwarf more than he wanted to admit.  But he rarely passed up the opportunity of a challenge in the face of their never-ending elves vs. dwarves debate.  He would later wish this were one contest he had skipped.

 

“And what, exactly, is the point?” the elf looked skeptical. 

 

Gimli grinned widely.  “Last one standing wins!” he said cheerfully.

 

Legolas accepted this information, looking down at the mug Éomer placed before him.  Well that didn’t sound too hard.  His father was a connoisseur of fine wines and the young prince had been raised on vintages far stronger than most humans could handle... Legolas had found that out when he was still getting to know Strider.  The young human had erroneously thought that the wine at Thranduil’s table would be no different than what he was accustomed to drinking with his family in Rivendell.  Two large goblets put the twenty-year-old mortal under the table with amazing speed, much to the amusement of all the elves present. 

 

Raising the mug to his lips Legolas wondered for a moment what he was getting himself into as he accepted the challenge, taking a cautious swill of the heavy amber liquid.  The Rohirrim’s grog was heady and unfamiliar, different from the ales and meads he had come across in Bree or other human cities.  It was even more vastly different from what his people called mead.  The elven prince was not sure he really liked the deep, woody flavor and almost made a face.  But he dare not show any hint of squeamishness with Gimli looking on, so he took another deep swallow before lowering the cup again.  The smiling gaze he fixed on his dwarven companion said that the challenge had been accepted. 

 

Gimli laughed at the dainty way Legolas sampled his drink.  The dwarf threw his mug back and emptied it in several swallows.  He wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he slammed his mug back on the table and demanded another.

 

Gimli grinned at the elf.  “Better hurry up laddie, I’m two ahead of you already.”

 

With a resolute expression, Legolas drained his mug and set it down, accepting the next one the Rohirrim handed him.  The prince’s competitive spirit was up and rankled after having somehow managed to lose their impromptu numbers game on the walls of Helms Deep.  If the dwarf wanted a contest, he would get one. 

 

In another corner of the room, Aragorn stood by Gandalf.  They were only half-watching Merry and Pippin dance and sing.  Most of their attention had turned inward to their own conversation which had wandered down darker and more uncertain paths than was entirely fit for the festive air of the party. 

 

Gandalf was worried... no, maybe not worried, perhaps just hurting.  Hurting for what he knew he had sent Frodo into.  Hurting because it was the only way and yet he feared that it would claim not only his dear little friend’s life but also his soul.

 

Aragorn didn’t know how to try to offer comfort or hope in the face of something like that. He believed Frodo was stronger than they gave him credit for sometimes and he knew that Gandalf would be the first to tell that to anyone who might doubt. 

 

“What does your heart tell you?” the ranger asked quietly. 

 

“That he is alive...” Gandalf’s eyes were strangely hopeful and yet filled with rending sorrow at the same time.  He turned away from Aragorn, looking out at nothing with that heartbreakingly fond and mournful look on his face.

 

Gandalf turned back with a still sad, yet hopeful smile.  “Yes, Frodo is alive.”  //but under what circumstances... who can tell?//

 

Aragorn ached for the weight of the world that seemed to be hanging on the wizard’s shoulders, but he sensed that Gandalf had said all he was going to say.  The wizard gave the ranger’s shoulder a squeeze and moved away, heading away from the festivities.  Aragorn let him go.  He could see the signs of someone who wanted to be alone.

 

The human’s roving gaze flitted across the room, taking stock of where his other friends were.  When he found Legolas and Gimli his eyebrows quirked up. 

 

The tall elf and short dwarf were standing near a row of kegs and had apparently just refilled their mugs.  At more or less the same time, they both tipped their heads back, draining the tumblers completely in one long draught before being handed fresh mugs.  A few of the Rohirrim gathered round, cheering the contestants on jovially. 

 

Aragorn would have more than expected a scene like this involving Gimli from what he had come to know of the stout-hearted dwarf over the months since they started out as a fellowship.  What surprised him about the current situation was Legolas.  The man knew the elf could very probably drink him under the table, but he also knew that Legolas strongly favored wine and was not much enamored by the liquors and ales of the human world. 

 

All the explanation Aragorn needed, however, was that the elf and dwarf were involved in the activity together.  The ranger smiled and shook his head.  He had had to put up with the constant bickering between those two since they left Rivendell.  Although to be fair, it had changed from true mistrust to a friendlier sort of rivalry after their time in Lothlórien.  Still, those two could be almost as bad as Elladan and Elrohir when they got into it, and that was saying a lot.

 

Aragorn watched with unbridled amusement as Legolas tossed back another glass, the dancing look in his eyes daring Gimli to keep up with him.  The dwarf was slowing, but would not be outdone.  The ranger chuckled.  Their pride was going to be the death of them both. 

 

The Rohirrim gathered around the contest were all several glasses over their limits themselves, and having a grand time.  They cheered and chanted and kept the grog flowing freely for the two friends as the elf and the dwarf stubbornly kept head-to-head in the game. 

 

“Hey, bring another barrel, this one’s almost empty!” came the call and one of the humans hurried over with another large tankard. 

 

The men could not believe either contestant was still on their feet.  No human could have hoped to imbibe a quarter as much as the elf and dwarf had already downed and remain awake. 

 

Legolas’ body had warned him some time ago that now would be a good time to stop, but he was not about to concede another contest to the dwarf.  His pride kept him going, and presently the warm, buzzing haze that enveloped his senses helped drown out any rational objections.  The thick drink did not even taste bad anymore... in fact he really wasn’t tasting it at all.  He felt more than a little giddy and everything became extremely amusing, including the way part of Gimli’s drink would inevitably roll down his facial hair. 

 

“It’s not fair you know,” he remarked when he and Gimli took a mutual momentary break to breathe.  “You lose half of everything down your beard, you should be drinking double.”

 

“Oh?  Well in that case you’re so big you’ve got more place to put it so *you* should be taking double.”  Gimli shot right back, although his brogue was slurring a bit more than usual. 

 

They both laughed and refilled their mugs.  It wasn’t actually very funny, but at the moment it seemed hilariously so to them.

 

“I feel something in my fingers,” Legolas commented distractedly.  He rubbed the fingers of his left hand together wondering at the odd sensation.  He looked at them with a slightly puzzled expression.  “I think it’s affecting me.”  The statement was part observation, part taunt because Gimli was obviously wavering on his feet. 

 

Éomer glanced up at the elf, amazed.  The amount of alcohol the elf had consumed would have put any of his men under the table.  But it had just barely begun to affect the prince.  He questioned the stories he had heard about the fair race as he handed both the dwarf and Legolas new mugs.  Perhaps the tales of old were true!

 

Gimli was deteriorating quickly now, but he was no more ready to concede the contest than the elf.  He kept up a steady stream of conversation, most of which was incoherent.  And what Eomer could make out he wished he hadn’t.  This was the strangest drinking game he had ever officiated.

 

He shuddered involuntarily as the dwarf, merrily intoxicated, bounced in seat, muttering something about hairy little females.  Dwarves were odd. 

 

With a laugh at his own musings Gimli drained his mug.  He remarked that elves obviously couldn’t hold their liquor... and then fell backward to the floor. 

 

Legolas glanced at his friend and set his mug back down with an air of finality.

 

“I think the game is finished,” he informed Éomer, before stooping to check on the dwarf.  The Rohirrim captain stared dumbfounded at the elf for a few seconds.  He shook his head in disbelief and filled a mug that was shoved his way by another soldier.  Life never ceased to amaze him.

 

“Gimli?  Gimli?”  Legolas was concerned at first, and knelt quickly by his short friend’s side, checking the dwarf’s vitals.  The elf’s fingers fumbled over the task with far less grace than usual and Legolas couldn’t figure out why his hands weren’t working right. 

 

Gimli was perfectly fine.  Merely sleeping deep and soundly, and not likely to wake for some time.  Once Legolas assured himself of this fact, he straightened up.  Giving a laughing, mock-bow to the Rohirrim who were cheering for him, the elf made his way out of the hall and away from the celebrating.

 

The Rohirrim were shocked that someone could walk away from a competition like that so steady and collected, but Aragorn, having caught this final scene from across the room, knew the truth.  Legolas seemed to be steady, but anyone who *really* knew the elf could see that he was off-balance.  The elf was weaving slightly and had to stop for a moment, holding onto the doorpost before he launched himself on into the dark embrace of night beyond. 

 

With a small, sympathetic smile, Aragorn graciously excused himself from the conversation he had been engaged in with Gamling.  He first checked Gimli, and then made his way towards the exit where Legolas had disappeared. 

 

“You are worried about the elf?” Éomer inquired with a wry grin, guessing Aragorn’s true intentions when he saw the other man’s actions.  He was still at his post filling mugs full of the heady mead.  It was his place of preference.  Drinking did not mix well with the duties of a captain.  He knew the painful after affects of having spent a night with his men celebrating.  Once had been enough.  So he remained at the tap watching over his soldiers.

 

“Not worried,” the ranger answered, shaking his head.  Legolas was certainly capable of taking care of himself.  “But... he is my friend.”

 

The Third Marshal of the Riddemark nodded in understanding.  “Aye, and he’s had a drop more than is good for anyone I think, even folk as curious as you three.” 

 

Aragorn smiled and shrugged slightly at Éomer’s somewhat backward compliment. 

 

The horse lord turned and gave some orders to the men standing near.  “Do not worry about Gimli, we will see he is taken back to his lodgings,” he assured Aragorn.

 

Aragorn gave a thankful nod to Éomer before taking his leave.  He did not search Legolas out at once, but stopped first by his own sleeping quarters to gather up a few things.  Passing through what he thought was an empty hall, he halted upon seeing a lone figure lying on a low couch, attempting to get some sleep.  It was the Lady Éowyn who must have taken her leave from the festivities earlier.  Aragorn hadn’t noticed when she left, but she looked chilled and a little drawn.  His caretaker nature drew him forward to adjust her slipping blanket for her. 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

When Legolas left the celebration it took him a few moments to realize he didn’t really know where he was going.  He supposed he should go to his quarters and rest until he felt more like himself, but that was across the compound through a throng of milling people and he didn’t want to have to talk to anyone at the moment.  He felt oddly and did not want to shame himself.  Besides, his sleeping pallet was right next to Gimli’s and he didn’t want to run into the dwarf again until he had better control of himself. 

 

Wandering away from the main lodges a bit, the wood-elf was drawn with uncanny direction to one of the few knots of trees in the grassy, windswept landscape of the Mark.  He felt better here, under the low branches of the elms than he did in the crowded city or even in the open, rolling plains. 

 

Legolas unbuttoned the first few catches on his silver tunic, leaning against the tree.  He was hot and dizzy.  The pleasant buzz he had had earlier was wearing away and being replaced by a building nausea as his body began to rebel at what he had done to it tonight.  His temples throbbed.  His hands were slow to respond to his commands and starting to tremble. 

 

With his back against the tree, he slid slowly down to the ground until he was sitting, holding his head in his hands and wondering what in Arda was wrong with him.

 

The elf moaned inwardly when he felt his stomach start heaving and he had to scramble quickly to his hands and knees to oblige his body’s need to purge some of the copious amounts of alcohol he had so rashly forced it to consume. 

 

Legolas’ insides were churning and he knew it wasn’t over yet, so he stayed on his hands and knees, retching miserably.  He had been sick like this before once or twice when he was poisoned.  The feeling was not foreign, but definitely unwelcome. 

 

The prince’s golden hair hung down around his face, clinging to the perspiration on his cheeks.  His arms trembled slightly under him as he panted for air around his heaving stomach and diaphragm.  The elf was dimly aware of what a disgraceful sight he must be and felt his cheeks flush even more hotly. 

 

When his keen hearing picked up someone approaching, his first reaction was to flee rather than be seen like this, even though every inch of his woozy body protested against taking any sudden actions.  A moment later however Legolas’ somewhat sluggish mind registered that he recognized the tread of the human drawing near and he gave up thoughts of flight.  He felt his whole body burn with shame, but he did not run.  Aragorn was probably the only being he would grudgingly suffer to see him at a moment like this.  In fact, as odd as it seemed, he was a little glad he had come. 

 

Legolas felt Aragorn’s cool, gentle hands on his heaving shoulders, soothing him as they always did when the prince was injured or ill.  The human gently brushed the elf’s limp golden hair away from Legolas’ face, pulling it back over the prince’s shoulders. 

 

Legolas felt another convulsion seize him and heaved painfully.  His stomach was already empty however and nothing came up.  Aragorn’s hands tightened reassuringly on his shoulders, massaging his back in small, soothing circles.  Rubbing gently on either side of the elf’s spine right where Legolas’ shoulder blades ended, Aragorn loosened the knotted muscles that had been tensed up by Legolas’ spasms and were now contributing to making them worse. 

 

Legolas relaxed slightly into his friend’s healing hands.  He still felt worse than miserable, but somehow Estel’s touch always helped. 

 

The elf started retching again, and nearly cried at his own weakness and helplessness to control his body.  His arms were shaking so bad he couldn’t hold himself up anymore and he crumpled to his elbows.  Aragorn caught him in one fluid motion.  Sliding around behind the prince and wrapping one arm around his friend’s chest, Aragorn hugged Legolas’ back to his own chest; supporting the very ill elf prince as he suffered through the after-effects of his little competition.

 

“Aragorn...” Legolas murmured around convulsions.  “S-something is wrong.  I-I think I’ve been poisoned.”

 

Aragorn smiled with sympathetic amusement.  “No mellon-nín, you’re not poisoned.  Trust me.  This will pass and leave no lasting harm.  You, my dear friend, are merely facing the consequences of having had too much to drink too quickly.” 

 

“I am not drunk,” Legolas’ voice was indignant.  But the very way his usually precise speech slurred slightly when he said it belayed his own argument.  The elf moaned in despair as he felt another spasm seize him, leaving him breathless again with a churning stomach.  “Oh Valar, I am, aren’t I?”

 

Aragorn patiently smoothed Legolas’ hair back again and settled the miserable elf more comfortably in his arms. 

 

“Yes Legolas, I’m afraid you are.  That’s what you get for drinking like a dwarf.”  He couldn’t help chuckling.  He was sorry that his friend was in pain and would do anything to help, but really, it was just a little amusing.  Legolas had certainly brought this one upon himself. 

 

“Wood-elves do not *get* drunk,” Legolas lamented in self recrimination, glad no one from his home could see him right now.

 

Aragorn chuckled again, wiping his friend’s face gently with a damp cloth.  “Legolas, please, spare me the invulnerable elf line.  Wood-elves can get drunk just like anyone else given the right circumstances.  That was *not* your father’s Dorwinion you were drinking in there.  I daresay that your body does not particularly care for the Rohirrim’s favored brew.”

 

Legolas had to agree as his empty stomach continued to heave at random intervals, although under Aragorn’s calming ministrations it was starting to slow a little.  

 

“Here,” Aragorn placed a water skin to Legolas’ lips.  “Drink this, it will help.”

 

Legolas accepted without question and drank some of the herbal water that Aragorn had mixed up before coming to find him.  At first the elf’s stomach could not hold even that down and it came right back up again much to Legolas’ chagrin.  But Aragorn was a patient physician and coaxed Legolas to try again.  The elf did and managed to keep it down a little longer this time, before his stomach revolted again and he was quickly doubled over his knees once more, violently ill.

 

Aragorn’s heart ached for his friend.  Even if this were hardly a life threatening situation, Legolas was still in pain and Aragorn knew all to well exactly how the prince was feeling. 

 

“Sorry,” Legolas murmured, ashamed of himself. 

 

“Shh, it’s all right, it’s not your fault,” Aragorn shook his head, his short beard brushing Legolas’ tangled gold hair where it lay rumpled against him.  “Just keep trying, eventually you will have gotten enough down to help.  It just takes time, trust me.”

 

“H-happened to you before?” Legolas asked softly and Aragorn knew the elf wanted to know he wasn’t alone.  The ranger smiled with painful fondness.  Legolas always supposed any normal, fallible weakness in himself to be some horrendous flaw borne by him alone.  He was far too exacting with himself, he always had been. 

 

“Yes, mellon-nín, oh yes.  It has happened to me, more than once,” Aragorn chuckled.  “My brothers also... or Elrohir anyway.  Do not think you are the first person to have suffered through the effects of a drinking game.  The twins were... very creative and not very considerate of the different tolerances held by humans and elves.  I of course found a way to turn the tables the next time, but...” Aragorn shook his head with a wry grin. “That is enough about that.  Suffice it to say that you are definitely not alone Legolas, and there is nothing wrong with you.” 

 

A memory from long ago came back to Aragorn and he chuckled yet again.  “I seem to remember being dog sick after a certain new moon festival in Mirkwood during which NO ONE thought to warn me that your father did not serve normal wine.”

 

Legolas smiled at the memory, but then his face clouded.  “You were sick?  I know you passed out, but I did not know you were ill afterwards, Aragorn.”

 

The human laughed.  “Legolas, you don’t think I stayed in my room the whole next day just because I was bored of your company do you?”

 

Legolas turned in Aragorn’s arms so he could see his friend’s face.  “I’m sorry,” the elf said quietly.  “I did not know.  There was so much about humans... about life even, that I did not understand then.” 

 

The elf’s eyes reflected remorse as he remembered how mercilessly he and his friends had tormented the human about that incident.  Aragorn had borne their friendly ridicule with patience and good humor, but Legolas realized now how it must have made the ranger feel.  Especially when Sarcaulien and Sarcayul’s taunts had *not* been delivered with friendly intent. 

 

“I teased you about it because I did not understand our differences, but even then I would not have if I had known it hurt you like this.  I’m sorry, mellon-nín.  I should have been there for you,” Legolas whispered quietly. 

 

Aragorn smiled gently.  Legolas’ honestly caring and remorseful heart touched him, even though it surprised him that he prince should be so worried about something that happened so very many years ago.  Then he remembered that for Legolas those years were not so long and it was not such ancient history as it was for the human. 

 

“Legolas, I never held you any ill will over that.  ‘twas my own fault for not being more careful in the first place.  You did not know because I did not *want* you to know.  Legolas... we were almost different people then, not close then as we are now.  I was unsure of my place in your regard and would not risk showing any kind of weakness that might make you think me unworthy.”

 

Aragorn gently slipped the neck of the water skin to Legolas’ lips and the elf reluctantly, but obediently tried again to drink.

 

Legolas pondered what Aragorn had said for a moment while he struggled to keep his stomach calm.  In some ways that did seem a very long time ago to him, even though by elven standards it was but a small season of his life.  Yet he could not now really remember the time before Aragorn had been as close to him as a brother.  It was so hard to imagine how they had ever *not* felt that way or how they had gotten through that rough, uncertain time at the beginning of their relationship. 

 

The elf prince’s stomach was calming down and to his relief he was able to keep the medicine down.  He relaxed a little against Aragorn’s grasp.  “I’m glad we are where we are now, mellon-nín,” he murmured quietly wrapping his hand over Aragorn’s where the human was holding his shoulder. 

 

Aragorn nodded in the dark.  “So am I Legolas.  So am I.”

 

Legolas’ breathing slowly returned to normal and his body stopped trembling so much.  He let out a small, relieved sigh as the nausea finally retreated to tolerable levels. 

 

Helping the elf lean back up into an almost sitting position, Aragorn passed him the water skin and Legolas rinsed his mouth out wearily.  The prince’s eyes locked with those of the ranger. 

 

“Don’t tell the dwarf,” Legolas’ plea was both commanding and imploring. 

 

Aragorn tried very hard not to smile, but failed.  “Not a word,” he shook his head solemnly.  He reflected with no small amusement that he seemed to be accumulating enough blackmail on both the elf and the dwarf to keep them in his debt for quite a long time. 

 

Both of them heard the approaching footsteps at the same time.  With speed that showed his reflexes weren’t suffering too badly, Legolas was up the nearest tree in a flash, disappearing into the darkened branches. 

 

Several very drunk Rohirrim staggered past, nodding good night to Aragorn, who returned the courtesy.  The ranger waited until they were gone, then stood and walked to the base of the tree Legolas had disappeared into. 

 

“They’re gone.  Legolas, you can come down.”

 

A soft, muffled moan from overhead was his only answer.

 

Aragorn waited a few more moments before grabbing a low-hanging branch and following his friend up the tree with a sigh.  “Legolas, you and your pride, I swear it will be the death of us both...” he muttered as he picked his way up the tree with less ease than the elf had exhibited even dead drunk. 

 

Aragorn found the prince high up, sitting in the V between two intersecting branches.  Legolas’ arms were wrapped tightly around the branch near his chest as if seeking strength from the tree. 

 

Slightly irritated with his friend a moment before, Aragorn’s heart melted again when he saw the lost, bewildered look on his Legolas’ fair face.  The human settled down carefully near his friend.  “Is everything all right?”

 

Legolas shook his head, still holding the branch tightly.  “No,” he murmured, looking almost frightened.  “The tree... it’s moving, but I know it’s not.  It’s trying to comfort me, but I-I don’t feel safe... I always feel safe in the trees Estel...” 

 

Aragorn pried the elf’s arms free carefully and pulled him back against him once more.  “Your balance is off my friend, your equilibrium disturbed.  Give it a little time, it will come back.  I know it must feel like it, but Legolas, trust me, this truly is not the end of the world.”  His smiling voice was gentle.

 

“I know,” Legolas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his temples.  “I’m sorry.  I do not mean to act like such a child.  You must be sick of me.  Go, enjoy the rest of your evening Aragorn.  I will be fine, honestly.”

 

Aragorn could tell that the elf truly did wish to be alone now.  “All right, but let’s get you back to your quarters first...”

 

“No!” Legolas protested quickly, resisting Aragorn’s attempts to move him. “I... I would rather stay here.  I will be all right.”

 

Aragorn guessed immediately why Legolas did not want to go back into the city. 

 

“Legolas, no one is going to notice anything, half the men are already much too far gone themselves to be paying attention to anyone else and Gimli is not going to wake up for a very long time, not ‘til morning probably.  See if you can’t bend that elvish pride a little so you can get some good rest, hm?”  There was a dancing, mirthful light in the ranger’s eyes that the elf did not appreciate just at the moment. 

 

Legolas gave Aragorn a disgruntled, yet slightly playful shove away from him.  “I can get good rest right here human.  This land is so flat and open; it is good to be in the trees again.”

 

Aragorn shook his head, but held up his hands in defeat.  He was not going to argue the point.  “As long as you don’t fall out of it.  *That* I think would be something you would not live down mellon-nín.”

 

Legolas snorted in derision at the very idea, casting a wry glare in the human’s direction.  “Not this day my friend.  Now go away and let me rest, I’m certain you can find someone else to pester.  Like that pretty maiden who follows you around with hero worship in her every glance... Éowyn isn’t it?” 

 

It was Aragorn’s turn to glare.  Éowyn’s feelings for him were becoming increasingly apparent and he didn’t know what to do about the situation.  He liked her; she was noble, she was brave and of the highest quality.  The kind of person he would treasure as a friend... but he did not love her.  His heart had been given away long ago and he knew that although it meant he would probably be alone for the rest of his life, he could give it to no other no matter how worthy.

 

“It’s not me you know,” he shook his head, trying to explain it away and chagrined that the elf had already seen so clearly what it had taken him this long to begin figuring out.  “She’s young, and in love with an idea, a legend of great deeds and the promise of an exciting future.”

 

“Mmm,” Legolas nodded, leaning his aching head sideways against the tree, feeling the cool bark suck some of the annoying heat out of his body as he began slipping towards a healing trance.  “*I* know that mellon-nín, but I think she may have a harder time separating the idea from the dashing and charismatic package it comes bound up with.”  His tired grin was wicked.  Aragorn was having fun at his expense, turnabout was fair play.

 

Aragorn would have whacked the elf if he was not afraid that in Legolas’ current state he might actually fall out of the tree if suddenly unbalanced.  It wasn’t a far distance, but Aragorn knew if he caused a wood elf to fall out of a tree, he had better be sure that he was nowhere near that said wood elf for the next few days... or possibly months...

 

Instead, the human settled for an irritated growl.  “Legolas, you hallucinate when you’re drunk.”

 

Legolas closed his eyes with a placid smile.  “I’m not drunk.”

 

Aragorn rolled his eyes.  “Nooo, of course you’re not.  Perish the thought.  Well then I will just leave you to sleep off the affliction you *don’t* have.  But I will not be held responsible if you wake up at the bottom of this tree instead of the top.”

 

Legolas just smiled, his consciousness already fading.  

 

Aragorn hesitated before climbing down, gently touching his friend’s temple.  “Legolas... you really will be all right up here?”

 

The elf nodded slightly and murmured yes.  Aragorn could tell that Legolas was letting himself be pulled into a sort of healing trance.  Given elves’ accelerated rates of regeneration and recovery the prince would likely be completely back to normal in a few hours. 

 

Satisfied, Aragorn climbed down the tree as carefully as he could, trying not to shake it too much for his friend’s sake.  When he had almost reached the ground he heard Legolas’ soft voice float down to him on the cool night air.  “Thank you... for coming after me.”

 

Aragorn grinned in the darkness.  “Always mellon-nín.”

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Everyone was at rest now as the hours marched on from the late watches of the night to the early watches of the morning.  Festivities had long ago died down and now it seemed that only the sentries were awake. 

 

This was proved not entirely true when a lone, dark figure stepped out onto the roof of the long hall that was currently acting as resting place of many of the soldiers and guests.

 

Most were sleeping quietly below; even Gandalf had finally retired for the night.  But Aragorn was still wakeful.  He wasn’t sure why, but a vague unease was gnawing at him so he had come up here for a view of the stars.  The ranger smiled slightly as he lit his pipe.  He supposed that was the elvish touch that had been reared into him, his fondness for starlit nights. 

 

Speaking of elves... Aragorn quickly realized he was not alone on the roof.  A hooded figure stood on the very edge of the roof, staring off into the east.  Although the figure had his back to the ranger, Aragorn knew at once who it was.  He knew Legolas well enough to recognize his stance anywhere. 

 

The human made his way to the elf’s side, not really surprised that Legolas was already up and about again.  Elrohir had recovered nearly as fast, although he had made a much larger fuss about it. 

 

Legolas’ gaze was intent and his attention seemingly far away so Aragorn was silent for a few moments until the elf turned and acknowledged his presence. 

 

“The stars are veiled. Something stirs in the east. A sleepless malice,” Legolas warned quietly.  It was obvious to the human that the elf was sensing something that he could not.

 

Aragorn could see Legolas’ eyes now, shaded by the hood he wore.  The elf was worried.  Something was happening; forces were at work of which the man was unaware.

 

“The Eye of the enemy is moving,” Legolas continued.  The evil in the air around him was palatable to his every sense.  The light of the stars dimmed.  The winds held the touches of evil voices on their way up the hill.  Even the night air seemed fouled about them as the Dark Lord’s attention stirred their way.

 

The words that the prince spoke chilled Aragorn to the bone.  What did it mean?  Did Sauron know that he was here?  Had he given himself away at Helm’s Deep, or was there a spy among them now?  Had Frodo been captured and the Ring of Power retaken?  Were their plans foiled already?

 

Aragorn didn’t interrupt or question the elf.  He knew better by now.  When Legolas was reading the very earth around them as he was tonight it was in their best interest to let him concentrate.

 

A sudden blank look of horror crossed Legolas’ fair features, before solidifying into terrible recognition. 

 

“He is here!” the elf gasped in alarm.  He turned sharply as though he thought to find the enemy standing right behind them.

 

Only the dark of night and the shadows from the building met their gaze.

 

But it seemed even to Aragorn’s untrained eyes as though the shadows deepened and drew all light out of the sky.  A dark fist enclosed them. 

 

A panicked shouting from below grabbed their attention.  Coming at the moment it did, neither of them thought to put it down to mere chance.  The two friends sprinted for the rooftop hatch.  Pelting down the stairway Aragorn wondered what could have happened.  There was no reason to believe anything had happened, save Legolas’ premonition, but he had come to trust in the elf too much to shrug it off.

 

Bursting through the doorway, Aragorn quickly looked around the sleeping chambers.  His heart was pounding, but he didn’t know what he expected.  Orcs, Nazgûl, something worse?  Legolas had been so sure that Sauron was aware of their location.  The elf was rarely wrong.

 

The room was in a state of chaos, but no enemies seemed to be in evidence.  Gandalf, sleeping in the corner, had just woken and was throwing off his blankets.

 

In the middle of the room Pippin was writhing on the floor, his mouth frozen open in a silent scream of agony.  He was obviously in pain and locked in an internal struggle with the flaming palantir in his grasp. 

 

And the palantir was winning.  Or rather the force behind it was.

 

How Pippin had gotten his hands on the palantir barely brushed through Aragorn’s mind as he took in the situation.  How didn’t matter.  The important thing here was that Pippin’s mind was being savaged and that had to be stopped before it killed him.  Without a second thought for what might happen to him, Strider grabbed the stone from Pippin’s hands, ripping away the connection that Sauron had on the hobbit’s mind.

 

Pippin slumped to the floor as though dead, frightening his kinsman.  His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling while Merry desperately called his name.

 

Sauron was incensed.  He was not finished with the hobbit.  He was sure this was the one he was looking for.  It had to be, why else would he be looking into Saruman’s seeing-stone if the wizard had not forced him to do so for his torment and Sauron’s pleasure?  If he only had a few seconds longer he could have pried the young being’s mind open and secured all the information he wanted.  Saruman should know better than to trifle with the Dark Lord’s fancies like this.  If he had made the hobbit look into the stone, then he should have waited until his Lord gave permission for him to be released.  Of course, if Saruman had the Halfling, and the Ring, in his possession now, it could be that the wizard was getting unhealthy ideas in his head.  That would have to be stopped.

 

Angrily, he lashed out, sweeping the mind of the one who now held the palantir with a storm fire of electricity.  His intent was to harm or even destroy this one that interrupted him.  Saruman wouldn’t be stupid enough to do it himself, but a dead servant could be a very valuable object lesson on the Dark Lord’s displeasure.  What Sauron didn’t expect was the severe rebound of his mental energies when his attack was rebuffed by the well-shielded mind he had seized upon.

 

Unprepared for the onslaught, all conscious thought was stolen from Aragorn the moment his hands clasped the coldly flaming stone ball.  He sucked in his breath in a sharp gasp as Sauron struck at him.  It felt like every thought in his mind had misfired and he was no longer capable of controlling his body.  His vision wavered and hazed out of focus until only the great eye ringed by fire consumed his sight.

 

With sheer will alone, Aragorn closed off every part of his mind, blanking out all thought and simply focused on breathing as the force of Sauron tried to tear his mind apart.  It was not a new sensation.  This was something he recognized, albeit it in a fairly diminished capacity.

 

It was the same thing the Nazgûl had tried on him many years ago when he and Legolas were prisoners in Angmar.  That memory alone ripped a black thread of fear through his thoughts.

 

He felt Legolas’ hands grabbing his shoulders and trying to hold him up.  He couldn’t help as all the strength in his body fled and his knees buckled limply.  All his strength turned inward, concentrating on shielding his mind from the fierce onslaught.

 

It felt like fingers of fire wrapped around his brain, searching for that weak spot - prying to find anyway in.

 

This new mind intrigued the Dark Lord.  There was a feel to it, a touch in it that he knew he should remember.  A sense of something long ago forgotten, or someone from the far distant past that had ‘felt’ the same way. 

 

Familiar...

 

But who?  Before he could get inside the well constructed shields of the new mind the connection was cut once more.   The Dark Lord growled in frustration.  His voiceless anger was easily heard by all in the room as Aragorn dropped the palantir from his unresponsive fingers and crashed to the floor of the room.  It rolled with mock innocence across the floorboards. 

 

It seemed to the ranger that he had held the stone for ages, fighting back that disembodied voice for days as it demanded entrance to his thoughts.  Time had ceased when his mind had been grasped by the Dark Lord.  The entire world had faded down to mere seconds and the simple act of breathing – survival.

 

Legolas felt the immense struggle, the evil, as soon as he had touched his friend’s body.  He drew his breath in sharply and gripped the man’s shoulders tighter, trying to support his friend in more ways than just physically.  It took mere seconds for Aragorn to slump limply to the floor in his arms, but those moments seemed to pass very slowly.  When the Palantir rolled out of reach, it was like an electric connection being severed.  Aragorn’s limp body jerked and shuddered once in his grasp and the elf’s realized his heart was pounding hard in his throat.  Fear for his friend made the area between the elf’s temples throb in a way that told him he hadn’t quite left all reminders of his earlier misadventure completely behind him yet.

 

A blackness descended over the palantir and Sauron withdrew.  Gandalf’s blanket fell on top of the rolling orb stopping its path and preventing anyone else from touching the device.

 

Ignoring the human after briefly noting that Legolas was seeing to him, the Istari raced to the hobbit’s side.  Aragorn was resilient and he could see at a glance that the man would be all right.  He had no such assurances about Pippin, however.  The hobbit was shrouded in shadow and completely catatonic. 

 

Behind the wizard, Legolas was holding Aragorn’s limp body.  It took the man a few seconds before anything but the burning aftereffects of the rampage registered on his senses.

 

The elf knelt behind him and slowly eased Aragorn up into a sitting position.  Legolas’ soft voice in the ranger’s ear could be heard by no one else save the man.

 

Nausea roiled through Aragorn’s senses, threatening to overthrow him.  He was dizzy and finding it difficult to stay upright.  The man leaned heavily against the elf for support.  He glanced over the Istari’s shoulder to make sure Pippin was coherent.

 

“I need to...”  Aragorn tried to form words as he regained control of his senses.

 

“What is it?” Legolas bent nearer trying to hear what his friend was saying.

 

“Outside,” Aragorn ground out between ragged breaths.

 

Quickly, Legolas pulled the human to his feet and led him outside.  Aragorn was slowly regaining his ability to walk but leaned heavily against the elf.  It was all he could do to concentrate on keeping the contents of his dinner.

 

Once outside, Legolas walked them both to the back of the building and lowered the man to the ground.  Aragorn knelt in the dirt and rested his hands on the grass, collecting himself.  The nausea passed slowly and he was able to fight it back.  Taking deep breaths, he calmed the roiling inside his body and sat up slowly.  Legolas was kneeling next to him worriedly, watching the man.

 

“Are you all right?” Legolas queried.

 

Aragorn didn’t answer for a moment.  The truth was he wasn’t all right, and it wasn’t just because he was still hovering on the brink of wanting to throw up. 

 

“It was the same,” the man whispered.  “It felt like when the Nazgûl tried to pry into my mind, only worse.  Legolas, it was as if a firestorm had set off inside my head.  It... it was the same.”

 

The elf said nothing, simply seating himself in the long grasses next to his friend.  There was nothing he could say.  Gently he rubbed Aragorn’s back as the man’s breathing calmed.

 

“There you two are,” A voice behind spoke, startling them both.

 

The sudden movement cause Aragorn’s head to spin and he groaned softly as he focused on Gandalf.

 

“How do you feel?” the wizard questioned as he crouched down in front of the man.

 

“Like I lost the drinking game tonight and not Gimli,” Aragorn whispered.  Sounds were exaggerated to his hearing and his words were slightly slurred.

 

“Did he learn anything from you?” Gandalf pressed.

 

“No, nothing.  I did not let him in,” the ranger answered wearily.

 

Touching the man’s forehead with his hand the Istari judged the human’s state of being for himself.  He nodded slowly and stood to his feet.

 

“Good.  We cannot risk him knowing you are so close to him just yet,” Gandalf spoke softly.  He knew the effects of attempting communication with a palantir for the first time... especially considering who was on the other end.  And Aragorn’s first experience had come suddenly without any preparation.  He was surprised the human had handled it so well.

 

“How is Pippin?” Legolas queried.

 

“He will be fine.  He is suffering from the contact but he divulged nothing of our plans,” Gandalf’s answered.  His scowl deepened when Aragorn took a slow breath and closed his eyes.  “We were lucky this time.  You should probably come in, Aragorn, it is warmer inside.”

 

“I would stay out here for a bit, Mithrandir, if you don’t mind.  The cool is helping to clear my head and I do not feel well just yet,” Aragorn responded softly.  He slowly directed his gaze at the wizard, fearful of moving too fast just yet.

 

“As you wish.  I am just inside should you need me.”  The last statement was directed at Legolas who simply nodded in compliance.

 

Legolas wrapped his arm around Aragorn’s shoulders and let the man lean on him.

 

“It wasn’t him,” The elf whispered softly.  It was understood by both of them just what ‘him’ Legolas was referring to - the Witch King.  Admittedly, it had actually been someone far worse, but as twisted as it was the unfamiliar evil was in a way better than the all too familiar. 

 

“I know...”

 

With a nod the prince let the subject drop until Aragorn wished to talk about it further.

 

A small laugh from the human surprised the elf and he glanced at the man.

 

“I think I can fully sympathize with how you felt earlier,” Aragorn answered the unasked question.  “This is definitely how it feels to wake up after having too much to drink.”  Gingerly he held his head in hands and waited for the feelings to pass.  They would.  He knew from experience.

 

For now, he was content to sit outside, away from the others and enjoy the quiet peacefulness of the night.  Slowly the ringing in his ears abated and the odd buzzing in his head quieted.  Turning to his friend he quietly asked how the elf fared.

 

The soft conversation of the two friends was the only sound that could be heard as the stars were unveiled and the grip of evil fled from the hills of Edoras.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART THREE*~
~Nursemaid to a Mûmaskil~

 

 

“I remember that night like it was yesterday.  That was awful *and* it was the last time I was ever that sick from drinking again!  I think everyone was sick that night.” Legolas commented, pushing himself up on his elbows.  “That little hobbit though, nearly got us in more trouble than even you are capable of, my dear Estel.”

 

“Whatever happened to him?” Elrohir questioned.  They were fond of the Hobbits, but had little contact with the Shire now that Bilbo, Frodo and their father had gone over the sea. 

 

“I heard he is Thain of Hobbiton now.”  Aragorn shook his head, trying to remember, “We haven’t received word from the Shire of late, I’ll have to look into that when we get back and make sure they are well.”

 

“Let it go for now,” Legolas warned the king off of his pondering, “This is not the time for work.  Here you are not King.” He taunted the human lightly.  He shifted and something poked him in the ribs.  He fished around in the blankets to discover what it was. 

 

“Certainly not!” Elladan exclaimed with a derisive snort.  “Here are you are simply Estel, human, Dùnadan, brother, little brother at that!”

 

Legolas found out that the hard item he had rolled on was the wooden Oliphant that Dari must have accidentally left behind in the blankets when he fell asleep. 

 

“You forgot nursemaid to Mûmaskil!”  The prince put in, brandishing the little carving and laughing at the scowl the man laid on him.  “Elrohir did beg for that tale you know.”

 

“Oh, do tell, dear friend, but don’t think for a moment that I will leave out *your* part of the tale.” Aragorn threatened, much to his companions’ amusement.

 

Legolas’ eyes went wide at the threat as he burst out laughing.  “Now that had nothing to do with your side of it!  In fact it wouldn’t have happened at all if it weren’t for you!”

 

“Tell us! Enough of the cryptic twin-talk between the two of you.”  Elrohir reprimanded. “I have been waiting years to hear this story.”

 

“Well, perhaps we should make you wait a few more!  I thought elves didn’t measure time like we humans do.” Aragorn teased.  He laughed as the twin’s frustration peaked.   The man was stalling and Legolas knew it.  It wasn’t a story that he or the prince recounted often.  Their time in Harad had been difficult and the extended separation from his family was still painful for Aragorn to remember.

 

Legolas eyed the human carefully.  He could tell that Aragorn was weighing whether or not he actually wanted the story retold.

 

“Come on, Strider,” Raniean prodded quietly, using the human’s old nickname.  “Save us from Trelan telling more stories of trelleps.”  The elf smiled softly when both Legolas and Aragorn glanced his way.

 

“There’s so much of that tale that we never heard,” Trelan continued the argument.  “Legolas was distinctly tight-lipped about the whole affair.”

 

With a small nod, Aragorn relented to the cheers of the elves sitting about him.  Glasses were quickly refilled with wine and Moranuen hurried to stoke the fire before they all settled down once more.

 

“I can’t quite remember how it was that it came to be,” Aragorn spoke quietly, trying to recall how the exact events had taken place.  His frown deepened as he sifted through memories.

 

“I remember,” Legolas’ voice broke into his thoughts. “Rhuddryn had purchased extra stock that day and the herd he had cut from was wild and mistreated.  Some of the older mûmaks were hostile and a few were cowed.  The new oliphaunts were not mixing well with the common herd and there was an orphan.”

 

The elf smiled impishly at the man that reclined next to him.

 

“That’s right.  The orphan.  That’s what happened.  The wild mûmaks were keeping the herd from settling down.”  Aragorn’s voice was soft as he picked up the retelling.  “Rhuddryn had wanted to increase his wealth and status and so he had acquired more stock.  But the new animals were unsettled and fearful and the scent of the taergs kept them restless.”

 

“I think that was the longest day we ever worked out in the fields,” Legolas added.  “Wasn’t it nearing the first watch of night before we headed back to camp?”

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

“I don’t think we’ve worked a longer day since I’ve been here,” Aragorn whispered quietly to the Haradrim slave that walked next to him.  He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and tucked the edges of his bandana back in on themselves, holding the white swatch of fabric in place.

 

“It was the longest, and the hardest as well,” Sircyn answered softly.  He was the son of the tribal head that had adopted Aragorn into their family.

 

The ranger’s gaze was riveted to the ground, trying to watch out for any pitfalls that may trip him up.  The sun had set long ago and only the moon lighted the path of the weary slaves.  The soft glow of his other companion helped steady the man’s feet as they trudged wearily homeward.

 

The ranger and the Haradrim were accompanied by a third slave.  The elf’s blonde hair and fair features made him stand out starkly against the dark skinned peoples of the southern regions.  Even Aragorn’s skin had tanned a deeper brown and his dark hair had lightened by shades after the months of labor on the oliphaunt farm.  The Olybryn.  That was what the mûmak herders were called.  Now, willing or no, both the elf and the ranger had become part of them.  The elf walked in silence next to the ranger.  His body still ached from the severe beating he had taken earlier last week when his true identity had been discovered.  In all his immortal years Legolas could not remember being so tired.  He was recovering well.  Miraculously, as far as the other Olybryn were concerned, who had never seen someone that injured survive before.  It frightened them a little and their natural instinct was to avoid the elf and give him a wide-berth.  Fortunately, Aragorn was able to help dispel some of their apprehension. 

 

“I am not sure that they will bed down very well tonight,” Sircyn commented.  “Their surroundings are new and the younger ones aren’t adapting well.”

 

The slaves’ quiet conversation was interrupted when Talft waded into the group, shoving the elf out of the way much more roughly than was necessary and smacking Sircyn hard with his spine of his bow. “Silence!” the guard roared. “Your slowness has cost us dinner.  We are late because of the lot of you.  Now walk faster and keep your tongues.”

 

Talft and Lur were the two guards that had been assigned to protect the Olybryn.  Half the time however, the Olybryn needed more protection from their guards than they did from the wild beasts.  Talft and Lur weren’t the brightest of Rhuddryn’s men, nor were they the best.  The only thing the two thugs were good at was harassing the slaves, which they did with exceptional joy.  Keeping the taergs from stalking the herd during the daylight hours was only their only truly useful purpose.  Beyond that the two were worthless as far as the Olybryn were concerned.

 

It did no one any good to cross them, however, especially when their moods were dark.  Doing so would only invite unnecessary pain.

 

Stepping back near Lur, Talft reached out and smacked Legolas hard on the back of his head just out of spite.  The blow caused the elf to stumble forward into the slave in front of him.  Reacting quickly, Aragorn grabbed his friend around the waist and righted the prince carefully before he could fall.

 

The two soldiers thought this was incredibly funny and began to take turns shoving any of the Olybryn within reach as they vented their frustration.

 

“Some elf you are, Tyndel.  Has to have the help of the half-wit just to walk!” Talft taunted. 

 

Legolas bit back his frustration and anger and focused his emotions instead on the darkly humorous fact that these two imbeciles acted as if they knew anything at all about elves. 

 

The teasing had nearly provoked Aragorn too far when the sleeping tents mercifully came into view.  Ignoring their escorts, the slaves broke away from the guards and quickly filed into the canvas shelters that served as home.  Mambre, Syna and several other women had returned earlier to prepare the evening meal and light the fires that warmed the sleeping quarters.  The sight of the gently glowing tents brought a sense of peace and safety to Aragorn’s heart.  He shrugged off the senseless cruelty of the guards and found himself smiling as he followed Legolas in through the tent flap.

 

The meal was simple and hot.  The familial closeness was warm and satisfying.  It was a routine the human had fallen into easily.  Moments after laying his head down on his pallet, Aragorn was fast asleep.

 

The workers were so exhausted no one noticed at first when, hours later, the tent flap was thrown back and Talft and Lur barged in on the sleeping occupants.

 

It seemed like only moments before that he had lain down when Aragorn was roughly woken.  Strong hands were pulling him up out of his slumber and dragging him to the tent opening.  People were yelling and Cabed was asking for an explanation.  Legolas leapt to his feet, but Sircyn pulled him back and held the elf fast to the ground, trying to keep the prince safe from the melee.

 

Aragorn stumbled and pitched forward, unable to gain his footing.  He slammed hard into Talft.  The guard grabbed him by the hair and jerked him upright.

 

Behind him, he barely registered the sounds of scuffing as it took all of Sicryn’s power to physically restrain Legolas, weakened though the elf still was.  The prince was obviously alarmed that his friend had been singled out in this unexpected, brusque manner.  It was all the Haradrim could do to keep the prince from gaining the ranger’s side.  If he quarreled with the guards, it would bring pain not only to the elf, but to the whole group with which he was associated.   The Simbani clan did not wish to be placed on punishment duty if it could be helped.

 

Dropping to his knees, Aragorn lowered his head and sat still at Lur’s feet.  He had learned quickly how to diffuse the two guards’ tempers.  The last thing he wanted was to endanger his adoptive family through his actions. 

 

“What have I done wrong?” he asked simply.  Keeping his voice soft and his eyes lowered, the ranger played the part of the simpleton they believed he was.

 

Silence fell in the tent.

 

Aragorn was rocked sideways as the guard slapped at his head.  “You haven’t done anything wrong, half wit,” Lur spat at the northerner.  “The boss is unhappy because he can’t sleep.  That means we can’t sleep, so neither can you.  That orphaned mûmak won’t keep quiet and Rhuddryn says if you can’t get it to stop making noise he’ll put it down.  He wants you to see what you can do since the brutes seem to listen to you.  Now get up.”  Lur growled at the ranger.

 

Hauling Aragorn to his feet, the guards shoved him out the tent flap.  The ranger glanced back over his shoulder into the sleeping quarters before Talft dragged him away towards the open fields where the oliphaunts were kept.

 

No one ventured to the fields at night.  It meant sure death.  The mûmaks were safe in the nighttime hours.  They had been dealing with the threat of the predators in the wild for long before the humans domesticated them.  The huge beasts slept in a tight circle, their young kept inside the protective ring.  Their massive size and numbers created a protective barrier that even the taergs knew better than to cross.  But it did not mean that the taergs didn’t hunt in the dark hours.  Other creatures were susceptible to the carnivores at night and more than once they had killed slaves who were out too late.  It was understood that the night was the predator’s time, and the slaves wisely stayed well within their own protected encampments... usually.  Tonight, obviously, things were different. 

 

Cabed pulled the tent flap back and watched as the guards manhandled Aragorn down the path past the great house.  The ranger didn’t fight back and didn’t resist.  The soldiers had not yet caught on to the fact that the man’s mind was whole once more and Aragorn wanted to keep it that way.

 

“You must let me go,” Legolas struggled against Sircyn and the other Olybryn who held him back.  He broke the hold the Haradrim had on him and rushed to the doorway.  Cabed casually drew the tent flap closed and stood in front of the portal.  The elf could have pushed past the elder slave, but he restrained himself.  Cabed had been good to him, allowing him to stay with Aragorn when he could have just as easily disposed of the elf.  And more than that the elderly Haradrim had been good to Aragorn and for that Legolas respected him.

 

“Wait,” Cabed commanded simply.  He took the elf’s arm and led Legolas back to the dying fire ring.  “Wait for a few moments.  Talft and Lur will not stay to guard Adrar.  They will set him to his tasks and leave.  They are cowards and think only of themselves,” Cabed’s weathered eyes were dark with contempt.  “Give them a few moments and then you may go.  I cannot risk having you discovered outside the tent.  If you are caught out at night the whole clan will have to pay.”

 

“I will not be caught,” Legolas defended his actions fiercely.  He greatly feared Aragorn being left in the fields alone.  This was not a safe place.  He had guarded the Olybryn with Talft and Lur until his secret was discovered and he knew the dangers that lurked here. 

 

“No, of course not.  You will do as I say and wait,” Cabed’s gentle rebuke was softened by his smile.  “Sit,” he commanded, seating himself next to Mambre who was stoking the fire back to life.

 

“Adrar will be fine,” Sircyn added as he sat down cross-legged by the elf and threw bits of wood and kindling into the fledgling flames.  “Lur was right about one thing, Adrar is good with the animals.”

 

Legolas frowned slightly as he allowed himself to be detained.  They had all been so tired from the work of the day that none of them had heard the crying of the lonely mûmak.  Now that he was awake, the elf could hear the oliphant’s bawling, grating on his sensitive hearing like a flock of crebain permanently caught and wailing in a whirl-wind.  He wondered how Rhuddryn had tolerated the constant mewling so long.

 

Aragorn stumbled out into the pasture, falling hard to his knees.  Talft was laughing as the simple-minded slave slowly picked himself up.  He kicked the northerner hard, just for good measure, dropping the slave back down onto the hard packed dirt.

 

“Now quiet it up before we do!” he hollered at the slave.

 

Schooling his face free of the anger he felt, Aragorn slowly rose to his feet.  The baby mûmaskil had silenced its forlorn crying when the men had come in sight.  It was fearful of the humans and shied away from the loud guards.  The weapons they carried brought back bad memories for the little creature and it trembled slightly as Aragorn walked closer to it.

 

There was little feed left over from the day.  The troughs were nearly empty as Aragorn walked next to them.  He grabbed what bits of straw and hay lay at the bottom of the stone bins until he had a good handful of the feed.  Glancing out of the corner of his eyes at the oliphaunt he judged the small pack animal to be no more than six or seven months old.  The mûmak was old enough to be eating on its own but still young enough to be attached to its mother.

 

“What happened to its parent?”  Aragorn questioned softly as he slowly approached the forlorn creature.

 

“Its mother wouldn’t cooperate when the herd was culled and she was killed,” Lur responded dispassionately.  “Can you keep it quiet or not?”

 

Aragorn sighed deeply; it was no wonder the little beast was so upset.  Now the creature’s crying made sense, as well as the fearful agitation it was exhibiting towards Talft and Lur.  Just the sight of them seemed to be enough to upset it so much that Aragorn wasn’t having any luck even getting close.  He had initially wondered why the poor creature hadn’t followed the herd out to safer pastures and stayed with the other adults.  Now he understood, it was waiting for its mother to return.

 

Turning back towards the guards, Aragorn stopped and addressed them more harshly than he had intended. “If you will lower your weapons and leave I might have better chance.”

 

The two overseers glared for a moment, but were too tired and fearful of the night to fuss much at the moment.  They wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.  The half-wit could fend for himself. 

 

“Whatever you want, Adrar.  Have fun with the taergs,” Lur taunted as he pulled Talft with him and walked away towards the safety of the guard’s bunkhouse.

 

“What if the taergs do find them?” Talft questioned as he followed his friend back to the safety of their hut.

 

“Well then the master will sleep very well,” Lur laughed at his own joke.  “Who cares?  It’s only an orphan calf and a half-wit.  There isn’t anyone who would miss either of them, let alone the master.”  The guard’s coarse laughter floated out across the plains.

 

Sighing once more, Aragorn wiped the sleep out of his eyes and took in a deep breath.  The cool air helped clear his head and wake him fully.  He realized that his lip had split in the ruckus at the tent and he swiped at the blood with his free hand.  He glanced about the fields, sizing up the surrounding area and scanning the hillocks for signs of taergs.

 

So far he and the distraught mûmak seemed safe.

 

Looking back up, he noted that the young oliphaunt was shifting its weight from one foot to the other, nervously eyeing him.  He was just glad that it had stopped bawling for the moment.  Licking his split lip, Aragorn thought back to his training with the horses that his father kept.  His brothers were excellent with the animals that were brought to their stables.  Often if an injured ranger was brought to the house his horse was kept in the elven stables.  Aragorn had found that the horses sometimes needed as much attention as their riders did.  So, he had found himself in the stables often, helping with the frightened stallions that were brought to them. 

 

The baby mûmak wasn’t much taller than a horse and right now it was acting just like some of the steeds he had dealt with at home.  He tried to remember all that his brothers had taught him.  Lowering his eyes he walked slowly towards the oliphaunt.  He stretched out his hand that held the fistful of hay and spoke softly in elvish.

 

“Easy,” he whispered.  “You’re fine.  They are gone and I’m here now.  We are safe.”  He held the hay closer to the creature so the mûmak could smell it.  He couldn’t remember seeing the youngster eating earlier.  The oliphaunt shied sideways, stopping when the human stood still.

 

“That’s it,” Aragorn continued talking.   Reaching out he stroked the young animal’s rough hide, constantly moving slowly closer.  “You’ll like it here.  The food is good; the people are nice, well except for Talft and Lur.  They are idiots, although they think I am.  Just don’t believe anything they say.”  He kept his voice low and soft as he moved closer and closer.  The fingers of his right hand strayed to the oliphaunt’s ear, rubbing gently behind it as he offered the feed with his left hand.

 

The baby mûmak watched him closely.  The youth’s trunk slowly snaked up and touched the man’s hand, smelling the hay and passing it up as he explored the human that stood next to him.

 

The warm breath of the animal brushed through his hair as Aragorn allowed the youngster to explore the way he smelled.  He stayed calm when the strong trunk wrapped around his arm and pulled him closer to the animal’s head.  The oliphaunt eyed him for several minutes as the human softly spoke to it, continually offering the hay.  A soft, plaintive cry shook the small mûmak and Aragorn was momentarily afraid it would begin calling for its mother again.  Without thinking about it the human pushed the hay into the gaping mouth and gently pressed it shut.

 

With a start the oliphaunt jerked back, surprised at the sudden movement.  A second later the youngster realized just how hungry it truly was.  After the first mouthful it was all Aragorn could do to find enough leftovers to feed the hungry oliphaunt.

 

It took him several more attempts to fetch the beast water.  As quickly as he filled the water trough the mûmak emptied it out again.

 

Leaning against the low fence, Aragorn gazed at the young oliphaunt.  It contentedly slurped up the last of the water he had just poured into the trough.   He realized how tired he was after the long day he had put in with no chance for rest.  The baby hadn’t made a noise the whole time he had been with it and now that it seemed to be settling down he intended to lead the mûmak out to the herd and leave it there for the night. 

 

Before he could formulate how exactly he was going to get out there and back safely, he was startled by the touch of a hand on his arm.

 

Aragorn jumped back from the touch, stumbling out into the field and scaring the oliphaunt with his fast movement.  The mûmak trumpeted and jumped backwards as well.

 

Legolas stifled his laughter when he saw the weary, frightened look Aragorn laid on him.

 

“Don’t *DO* that!” Aragorn practically yelled at his friend, “Do you want to make my heart fail?  You nearly did!  I’m not that awake right now.”

 

“Forgive me, my friend,” Legolas apologized with a smile.  “I merely meant to check on you.  I feared for you being out here by yourself.”  The elf held out his hand towards the orphaned mûmak and beckoned it to come closer in elvish. 

 

“How are things with your new friend?”  Legolas questioned.  He couldn’t help laughing when the mûmak stepped behind Aragorn, grabbing the man around the waist with its trunk and pulling the human back against the side of his face as though for protection.

 

Aragorn gently patted the animal, glancing up into the small, black eye that watched him so closely.

 

“I think we are doing better.  He’s eaten and had his fill of water.  I was going to walk him out to the herd and then head back to the tents.  You want to come with us?” Aragorn asked as he started to turn the animal out toward the open pasture.  “I’d love the company and need the help.”  The man’s soft laughter caused the oliphaunt to jump slightly, so Aragorn wrapped his arms around the mûmak’s trunk as he began to walk slowly away from the feed troughs.

 

Reluctantly at first, the youngster followed.  As the two friends walked and talked between themselves, the creature settled down and loosened his grip on Aragorn, allowing the man to walk freely beside him.  The ranger gently grabbed the animal’s large ear, knowing the youngster needed the touch.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Legolas apologized.  “I wanted to, but Talft and Lur came back to make sure that none of us would.  They didn’t want to get in trouble for letting any of the other slaves possibly be lost to the taergs.  They didn’t seem to care about what happened to you and the young one.  Cabed would not risk the clan and asked me to wait until we were sure they were truly gone.”

 

“That was wise,” Aragorn replied with a soft laugh.  “The funny thing is there haven’t been any taergs.”  He glanced skyward watching the full moon that tracked over head.  “I don’t know why.  The night is well lit, they should be out.”

 

“They are,” Legolas responded softly, pointing to the cresting hills on their left.  Long, sleek bodies stalked them, pacing their progress and hiding in the tall grasses.  “We have been noticed, my friend.”

 

“We are close enough to the herd that they won’t attack,” Aragorn assured, hoping he was correct.  He picked up their pace, not wanting to tempt fate.

 

“How did you get it to quiet down?” Legolas asked, switching the subject.  He glanced back at Aragorn before returning his gaze to the bracketing knolls.  The moonlight painted the grasses in silver tones that changed colors as the wind swept through the fields.  Ahead of them the hills were dark and mottled and they shifted from time to time – the herd slept tightly packed together.

 

“My brothers,” Aragorn answered simply.

 

When Legolas looked back at him, the ranger was smiling softly.  The baby mûmak’s trunk was draped over his head and the youngster had a fistful of hair grasped in the end of its appendage breathing in the ranger’s scent.  It seemed not to bother the human at all.

 

“They taught me how to work with the wounded horses that are brought to Rivendell,” Aragorn continued knowing that Legolas was confused by his cryptic answer.  “And sometimes they played practical jokes at my expense as well.”  He laughed as he remembered a certain prank his brother’s had pulled.

 

“Father had this one horse.  It was a magnificent beast, but the most ill-tempered, unruly creature Ilúvatar ever deigned to create.”  Aragorn stumbled slightly as they walked.  He brushed against the oliphaunt, righting himself quickly.  The creature compensated for the man’s clumsiness and moved its trunk from his head to his shoulders.

 

Legolas couldn’t help laughing as the baby mûmak fondly pulled the human closer.

 

“I think you have become its mother,” Legolas teased.

 

“Not a chance,” Aragorn growled softly.  “I fully intend to sleep tonight.  There are plenty of mothers for it in the herd.”

 

A long, low growl trembled the still night air.  Man, elf, and mûmak all tensed and rechecked their immediate surroundings.  Aragorn could see the dark shadows of the taergs pacing them, slightly closer now.  Legolas could clearly see the creatures themselves, with their fur rippling silently and their dark eyes reflecting the moonlight hungrily.  The mûmak couldn’t see them at all, but he could smell them and was obviously getting nervous.  If it panicked, the taergs would see the fear as a weakness to exploit and most certainly attack them.  Just a little further.  They just had to make it a little further. 

 

Aragorn patted the creature’s head and haunches reassuringly, still eyeing the shadows on the ridge warily himself.

 

“So, tell me of this horse,” Legolas prompted with a carefully calm voice.  He was counting on the mûmak to take its cue from its two companions.

 

Aragorn understood and tried to release the tension from his body as much as he could.  He nodded.  “Oh yes... the horse.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

“Wait a minute!  Just one minute!” Elladan interrupted the retelling of the story.  He leaned forward and pierced his little brother with a hard stare.  “You didn’t tell us you were going to include *that* story.”

 

“Yes, that’s not fair,” Elrohir continued the protest.  “No stories inside stories!”

 

“Do you want to hear the tale of the mûmak or not?!” Aragorn chuckled.  He knew the response his elder brothers would have when they discovered he had told Legolas about one of their most badly failed pranks.

 

“Oooh, I remember this,” Moranuen spoke up helpfully.  His memory dredged up the time the twins had ventured to ‘teach’ Estel how to work with horses.  “That was nasty, but do tell it.  They deserve it.”  The elf laughed and scooted away from the twins as they protested loudly.

 

“If you’re going to insist on it being told then I should tell it,” Elladan shouted down all the others.

 

“Nay, dear brother,” Aragorn disagreed with a laugh, “If anyone should tell it, it must certainly be me for I was the one that it happened to.”

 

“Let him tell the story!” Trelan begged.  “I want to hear more about the mûmaks.  Did the taerg get to you before you made it to the herd?  Did it stay with the others?  Finish already!!!”

 

Raniean smacked the smaller elf upside the head as he nearly fell over laughing.  “You nift!  If the taergs had gotten them they wouldn’t be here to tell the story!”

 

“You don’t know that!” Trelan argued.

 

Legolas stood to his feet and called for silence.  Spreading his hands out away from his sides he slowly turned in a circle, shushing the elves that were talking all at one time.

 

“This is Estel’s story,” Legolas commented glancing at the human out of the corner of his eyes.  “And you two asked for it.  Therefore you must be silent and listen.  Everything he has told you so far has happened including the retelling of your horrid attempt to trick him,” Legolas continued turning his attention to the twins.  “Now sit there and do not interrupt again!”  His reprimand was softened by the smile that spread across his face. 

 

Legolas knew full well how to command an audience.  He also had deftly learned from his father how to put just the right inflection in his voice to silence any arguments.  So it was with great surprise and satisfaction that Aragorn watched his twin brothers stop speaking and rest back against their cushions in sullen silence.  When the room had quieted, the Silvan elf turned the man behind him and bowed slightly.

 

“Now, please, dear friend, continue,” he instructed as he sat down next to Aragorn.

 

Leaning back, Estel stalled for a few minutes, re-collecting his thoughts.  “Legolas wanted to know how I had learned how to work with horses.  So, needing a distraction from our situation, I told him of the time that my two *dear* brothers introduced me to father’s favorite steed, Brêgalos.  It means Wildwind and he lived up to his name.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

“So, tell me of this horse,” Legolas prompted with a carefully calm voice.  He was uneasy with their pace.  The taergs that hunted them were completely silent even to his ears.  They had ducked down where the deeper grasses hid them completely and it was difficult to keep their positions tracked.

 

“His name was Brêgalos - Wildwind. My father thought it suited him and it really did.  That horse could run for leagues and not tire.  Not to mention that he had a temper that could go off at the slightest upset,” Aragorn readily spilled the tale for his friend.  “The only one that had ever ridden Brêgalos was my father.  That horse seemed to hate everyone else, well except for me in the end.”  He smiled softly as recollections of his childhood flooded back into his mind.  It felt good to remember so much after so long of having nothing to remember. 

 

The memories held a touch of sorrow though that he could not escape.  He feared the fondness between he and his adoptive family had been ruined forever and that left a deep dread in heart.  Choosing to ignore that fruitless train of thought for the moment, he concentrated on retelling the story.

 

“Well, one day I was in the stables pestering the twins,” Aragorn continued, laughing at the recollection.  “I think that Elladan got tired of all the questions and whining about when would I be able to work with the horses more than they were letting me.”

 

“I can only imagine you as a child. You were probably most annoying,” Legolas teased.

 

“I’m sure the twins would agree!”  Aragorn laughed and gave the young oliphaunt beside him a gentle pat.  They could see the herd more clearly now and he was glad.

 

“Anyhow, they finally relented and told me that I could brush down father’s horse.  I had no clue which one it was. I wasn’t very good at distinguishing between them just yet.  One brown horse looked much like the next to me,” He shook his head as he recalled the events.  “I was never sure that the twins had actually intended for me to be with Brêgalos or if they had meant for me to work with a different horse but I ended up with that whirlwind of a steed.”

 

Aragorn stepped closer to Legolas, pulling the mûmak with him when some night predator off to their right broke the stillness of the night with a keening cry.

 

Trying to ignore the oliphaunt’s nervousness and discount his own, Aragorn continued the tale.  “Brêgalos didn’t move when I first entered his stall.  In fact I bet that dratted horse was just waiting for someone to come close enough. I had a brush in one hand and a little footstool in the other so I could reach his shoulders and hindquarters.  The moment I set the step down, Brêgalos reared up and started such a racket that even Celboril came running.  By the time by brothers got me out of there and Ada had entered the scene the horse had kicked me into a corner of the stall and I was curled into a ball, unconscious.  I don’t even remember what happened.  The only thing I could recall was trying to get away from him and then waking in my room.  Elladan and Elrohir were getting the worst lecture I can remember Ada giving anyone.  It almost made it worthwhile, almost - except for the fact that I broke my wrist somehow and had this nasty knot on the back of my head.”

 

Legolas was laughing helplessly at the images that his friend’s tale invoked.

 

“I can only imagine the looks on your brothers’ faces.  I missed so much not having siblings.”

 

“Oh right, like getting kicked in the head by a cantankerous horse, or dropped in the pond in the middle of winter or locked in the supply house overnight,” Aragorn agreed sarcastically.  “Yes, you really missed a lot.”

 

They had reached the herd and the adult animals shifted restlessly.  Their eyesight was at its worst at night.  Aragorn held out his hands, speaking in the Haradrim language as they drew closer.  The large bull mûmak that had taken a liking to the northerner moved forward, trumpeting inquiringly.

 

Softly, the ranger addressed the upset oliphaunt.  He walked towards the creature until the mûmak recognized him and settled down.  Swinging its head back and forth in agitation it approached the olybryn.  The herders were never with the animals at night and so this new development disturbed them.  The scent of taergs drifted to the pack on the slight winds and the outer ring of oliphaunts stirred, grumbling sleepily amongst themselves.

 

Aragorn pressed the bull mûmak aside and entered the inside ring pulling the orphaned oliphaunt with him.  It took some coaxing for the juvenile to accept the fact that he was part of this herd.  The newer animals were skitterish, still shying from the olybryn and breaking the outer ring as the three newcomers entered their domain.

 

It took a few moments for the pack animals to settle down and relax.  Legolas and Aragorn walked slowly around the interior of the ring, speaking to the younger mûmaks and getting them to rest once more.  Their own young charge collapsed in an open patch near the large bull.  Its trunk snaked around Aragorn’s ankle when the ranger passed by.  Bending down the human stroked the soft skin around the baby’s eyes and forehead, calming it with soothing words.

 

“Aragorn,” Legolas called softly to his friend, garnering the ranger’s attention.

 

When the man glanced up he noted that the ring of oliphaunts had reformed.  His first thought was that this was good, the creatures were settling down again and all would be well.  As he followed Legolas’ line of sight he saw the old bull mûmak wriggle its way into formation and sink back to the ground, sealing off the circle from any avenue of entry or escape.  As one, the oliphaunts settled back to the ground and proceeded to go back to sleep. 

 

“Hela!  No!” Aragorn commanded in Haradrim.  He jumped to his feet, only to trip forward because his leg was still held fast by the baby mûmak.  “Legolas, we have to get one of them up and out of the way or we’re stuck here all night!”  Aragorn pried at the trunk wrapped around his ankle but the result only made the youngster cry out and tighten his grip on the man.

 

“Satahe,” Aragorn called out to the bull oliphaunt.  He reached out and smacked the creature’s rump, commanding it again to move while still trying to detach himself from the orphan.  “Satahe eha!  Come on, move!”  He rose only to have his footing yanked out from under him again.  This was getting old fast. 

 

Ignoring the Olybryn much as they would one of their own restless calves, the big animals forming the outer circle simply shifted slumbered on.  It seemed the adults had decided that their caretakers were safer inside the ring than out because none of them obeyed or acknowledged the elf and the ranger at all.

 

Glancing up at his friend, Aragorn found Legolas doubled over, laughing as quietly as he possibly could.

 

“This is not funny!” Aragorn shouted at him.  He was completely irritated with the entire situation and extremely tired – a dangerous combination for the human.

 

Legolas realized immediately that his friend had been pushed too far beyond his ability to cope with the situation or see any hilarity in it at all.  Sobering quickly, the elf seated himself next to his friend and helped the human sit up.

 

One of the adult mûmaks shifted agitatedly and the distinct sounds of taergs growling beyond the protective wall of animals could be heard.  The old bull grunted warningly and dug furrows into the ground with his tusks warning the predators off.

 

“Estel, I don’t believe this is necessarily a bad situation.  The taergs have our scent now.  To go back out there, unarmed as we are, would be folly.  It’s too far and too dangerous to make it back to the tents.  It seems the herd has seen to our safety as we have seen to theirs.  I believe we are sleeping with the oliphaunts tonight.  Besides your orphan is not letting you go that easily,” Legolas soothed his companion’s frayed nerves.  “The night is not so cold and the mûmaks shelter us from the winds.  We can sleep here.  We’ll join the other olybryn in the morning when they call the oliphaunts to feed.”

 

Aragorn slumped back against the side of the orphan behind him.  Slowly the baby’s trunk released its death grip on the ranger.  The young animal was watching the human carefully, its small black eye tracking every move.

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured the creature grumpily.  “I don’t seem to have a choice.”  Scooting down, he made himself comfortable against the mûmak’s belly and rested his head on the tough hide.

 

“Seeing as we are going nowhere, how about finishing that story?” Legolas encouraged.  He smiled gently when the human turned a scowl in his direction.  “Come on, Strider, entertain me.”

 

With a snort of derision the man relaxed and shook his head.  There was no use fighting.  They could not get out of the circle of mûmaskil and the orphan was not content to release his shepherd.

 

“Very well,” Aragorn sighed.  “Where was I?”

 

“You never did explain how you learned to work with animals.  Certainly it wasn’t from your brothers’ first teachings, but how did Brêgalos fit into your training?  I’m assuming he did, am I correct?”

 

Aragorn nodded slowly.  “It was he and my father actually.  You see Ada realized what had happened and he knew that I would just be underfoot again as soon as I was well.” 

 

The ranger was interrupted by the elf once more.  “You can be very stubborn when you set your mind to it,” Legolas taunted.  The fact that the elf was actually smiling and laughing in the middle of an oliphaunt field, forgetting for the moment that they were slaves, warmed Aragorn’s heart.

 

He pulled up a clump of grass and threw it at the laughing elf.  “Do you want to hear this story or not?!”

 

“I do, I do!  Please continue,” Legolas deferred, trying to stifle his mirth.  Something about the sheer ludicrousness of their situation here seemed to put him in a humorous mood. 

 

“Well as soon as I healed, Ada came one night and took me out to the stables – just he and I.”  Aragorn’s voice dropped slowly as he retold what had happened. His thoughts searched back to that day, remembering an older elf that was pleased with his adopted son, remembering a time when strife and estrangement did not mar the family.  “He said that he wanted to teach me how to heal not only people, but animals as well.  I remember him saying that the line between the two was not as dissimilar as I thought.  He believed I would be good at it one day.”

 

The ranger plucked at the coarse grass beneath them.

 

“You are,” Legolas whispered softly.  When the human glanced up at him perplexed, he smiled and explained himself further.  “You are good at it, healing people and animals.  Look at the oliphaunts.  The difficult ones no one can touch or console, you can.  Look at the olybryn even now you heal their souls and unite them.  Your father was right.”

 

Aragorn was watching the elf closely, weighing what his friend was saying against the contrary voices in his heart.

 

“He taught me how to soften my voice, how to sense what the animal was feeling, how to move slowly yet with enough confidence to assure the horse that it was safe.  He was right about it being not so different with people.  They also need to know they are safe, that someone is there to take care of them and they need that person to be calm and calming.  Those are things he taught me that night.  The next morning when I went out to the stables and begged my brothers to let me brush the horses again I strode right into Brêgalos stall.  I think I gave my brothers heart failure for a moment.”

 

Aragorn glanced back up to meet his friend’s gaze once more.  “Do you know, that horse didn’t move the entire time I was in there with it?  In fact after that night Brêgalos let two people ride him and touch him, Ada and myself.”

 

The smile that touched the elf’s face reflected on his Aragorn’s.

 

“I suggest you get some sleep,” Legolas commented with a soft sigh.  “Morning is not coming so soon that you cannot rest.  You are insufferable when you are tired.”  He ducked as the ranger threw another wad of grass at his head.

 

With a snort of derision, the man lay back against the animal behind him and closed his eyes.  “You aren’t that swift when you’ve been up too long yourself,” the man retorted, much to the elf’s amusement.

 

A soft snuffling sound was the only warning the ranger had before the mûmak’s trunk wrapped around his waist and held him fast.  Smiling to himself, Aragorn let the animal content itself with his nearness and was asleep in minutes.

 

When the sun finally touched the grasses of the plains of Harad, it found the two friends asleep against the belly of the orphaned mûmak.  Aragorn lay nestled in the crook of the animal’s trunk, slumbering soundly.

 

Legolas heard the rustle of the adults as they anticipated the olybryn’s presence.  It wasn’t long before he heard Sircyn calling the herd.  The larger mammals responded slowly, heaving their bodies up from the grass and shaking off the nights slumber.

 

Startled by the movements, the orphan mûmak rolled up onto its stubby legs, dislodging Aragorn and dumping the ranger unceremoniously onto the ground.

 

With a grunt the man picked himself up off the floor and glanced sleepily around them.  He squinted in the early morning light, watching the older oliphaunts begin to lumber off in response to Sicryn’s call.  The human stumbled back slightly as the baby mûmak took hold of his leg and pulled Aragorn along with them.  The confused, half-awake look on the ranger’s face caused the elf to break out laughing.

 

It took Aragorn a few attempts before he could remove his leg from the orphan’s death grip so he could walk properly without being half dragged by the animal. 

 

“Cabed and his family have called the oliphaunts.  I suggest we accompany them,” Legolas informed his sleepy companion.  In the distance they could hear Sircyn calling for them, his deep voice reverberating across the open plains.

 

“Adrar!  Tyndel!”

 

“He sounds worried,” Aragorn observed.  He brushed himself off and ran his fingers quickly through his hair to dislodge the pieces of grass that had wedged in there overnight.

 

“Wouldn’t you be?” Legolas quipped sarcastically as the walked alongside the animals, accompanying the herd back to the feed troughs.  The elf’s sharp eyes noted the tracks of the large predators that had stalked the outskirts of the herd the night before.  Elbowing the ranger, he quietly pointed them out.

 

Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly as he stepped past the large paw print.  The imprint was nearly as long as his own boot print.  He decided that spending the night with the herd hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. 

 

The animals in front of them gave way as the olybryn pushed them aside, looking fearfully for their adopted kinsmen.

 

The ranger’s attention was quickly redirected as Sircyn wrapped him in a tight hug.  Pushing the man back just as quickly the slave glared at the northerner.

 

“You did not return, either of you,” Sircyn accused, glancing between Aragorn and Legolas.  “We feared you had not survived the night.”

 

The baby mûmak pushed its way into the reunion, shoving the ranger aside in its exuberance to find out what was happening.

 

“No, Adrar was playing nursemaid to your youngest mûmaskil,” Legolas laughed lightly.

 

“Ah, I see!  Well you *all* survived the night!  This is good.”  The haradrim turned a huge smile on Legolas as the elf helped Aragorn keep his feet.

 

The northerner patted the mûmak fondly, scratching the baggy skin around the infant’s eyes.

 

“I am *no* nursemaid and, yes, we all survived.  Even Talft and Lur,” Aragorn laughed.

 

“Unfortunately,” Legolas muttered in response to his friends observations.  He smiled broadly as Cabed approached them. The old weathered haradrim was nodding sagely.

 

“I see you have helped the young one to accept the herd,” Cabed observed.  He watched as the orphan raced to the feeding troughs ahead of the men.

 

“I’m hoping so,” Aragorn answered as he walked slowly alongside Legolas.  His ribs were aching from where he had been kicked the night before and he was moving more slowly than normal.

 

“You are hurt,” his adoptive father noted after a moment.  “What else did they do to you?”

 

Grabbing a pail and heading for the well Aragorn cast a small smile at the older slave, “Nothing.  They just thought it sport to kick me around a bit.”

 

“I see you survived, Adrar,” Talft called out tauntingly, “Too bad for you but good for us.  We’d miss not having your simple mind around to entertain us.”

 

Aragorn, his back still to the guards, grimaced and rolled his eyes as Legolas came alongside him.

 

“The Valar spared no intelligence on them did they?” the elf commented dryly in elvish.

 

The comment earned him a soft chuckle from the ranger who was doing his best to appear innocent and busy.

 

When no retorts were forthcoming and it was apparent that the olybryn where simply concentrating on their jobs, Talft and Lur quickly lost interest and set off to find shade.

 

As soon as the animals were sufficiently fed the men began to lead the mûmaskil off to the watering hole.  It was a routine to which they were accustomed and took little thought on the olybryn’s parts.  Ointment was handed out and rake-like brushes were collected from storage bins and passed among the slaves who trailed the oliphaunts across the fields to the north. 

 

This time of year the watering hole was little more than a mud hole, but the mûmaks enjoyed it all the same.  It gave the large creatures great pleasure to roll in the cool mud and coat their hides with the wet earth.  As the watering hole dried up the olybryn changed their methods of cleaning and washing the animals.  They allowed the great beasts to wallow in the dirt and then lie on the edges of the pond until the sun baked the mud dry.  With their brushes they cleaned the animals of the fine layer of dirt and spread ointment on the soft skin around their eyes and ears.

 

The larger animals waded out into the middle of the dying pond, stirring up the dirt on the bottom and effectively creating a muddy mess.  The younger oliphaunts kept to the edges, content to wallow in the shallow waves their elders kicked up.

 

Aragorn watched as the orphan ran towards the mud hole with the rest of the herd.  Content that the little one would be fine, he turned back to talk with Sircyn and Legolas.  A loud trumpeting startled them all and before he realized what was happening the ranger was lifted off his feet.  The sickening feeling of weightlessness and falling nearly caused Aragorn to panic.  He only had seconds to comprehend that a strong trunk was wrapped around his waist before he was submerged under the muddy water.

 

Sputtering and gasping for air, Aragorn fought to sit upright in the shallow water.  A heavy weight lay across his lap restricting him from standing to his feet – an oliphaunt’s trunk.

 

Laughter from the edges of the pond reached his ears.  Glancing back at his friends, the ranger realized that the orphan mûmak had picked him up and pulled him into the pond.  He half turned to his left to find the juvenile lying on its side.  One black eye watched him hesitantly.  To Aragorn it seemed even the mûmak was smiling.

 

“You couldn’t bathe by yourself?” he reprimanded the smaller creature, flinging a fistful of mud at the mûmak.  Delighted by the human’s response, the oliphaunt released the man and rolled onto its back trumpeting happily.

 

Aragorn was a mess.  His clothes were filthy.  His hair was matted and dripping with dirty water.  It stuck out at odd angles around the edges.  He stood from the water and tried to shake as much of the mud off of him as possible.  The scene was so ridiculously funny that most of the olybryn were laughing at the northerner. 

 

“You think this is funny?” Aragorn asked.  His voice was dark and low.  Legolas could not mistake that edge to it.  It was the same tone the human took with his brother’s right before he exacted retribution.  “You think it’s funny.” It was a statement not a question the second time he spoke.

 

Holding up his hands in a placating gesture, Legolas tried to calm his friend.  “Now, Estel, it’s not personal.  But you have to admit...” The elf pointed at the man’s attire.  “You look every inch a ranger of the north,” he continued barely containing his mirth.

 

With a nod and a step toward the shore, Aragorn grabbed the ear of the large bull mûmak that was making its way out of the watering hole.

 

“Hanta se,” the northerner commanded the animal. “Hanta se.  Banar tu.  Fetch that. Bring here.”

 

Sircyn knew exactly what the ranger had said and quickly ran back from the edge of the pond.  Retreating with the rest of the slaves out of reach of the mûmak, the olybryn left the elf standing on the shore alone.  Legolas on the other hand did not understand the haradrim language.  The few seconds that it took the elf to catch on, were just enough to put him at risk.

 

The cantankerous mûmak easily snatched the elf up before the prince realized what had been said.  Turning around with greater speed than one would think possible for a creature of its wide girth, the mûmak tossed the elf behind Aragorn into the deeper part of the mud hole. 

 

When Legolas surfaced, his look was nothing less than lethal.  He stalked ungracefully towards his friend.  The muddy water and the milling oliphaunts impeded his speed but not his progress.

 

“You...” he sputtered the word with as much venom as he could.  The prince’s golden hair had turned entirely brown from the dirty water and was plastered to his face and shoulders with mud.

 

Aragorn, for his part, was swiftly backing up, trying to escape his friend.

 

“What?! Now you look like a ranger of the north yourself, Prince of Mirkwood. Oh for Ran and Trey to see you now,” Aragorn laughed as he backed into the bull mûmak. 

 

The oliphaunts had shifted from the interior of the pond to the edges, soaking their feet in the soft sandy shoals.  As a result Aragorn was trapped inside with a highly infuriated elf.

 

Legolas grabbed the ranger by the sodden collar of his tunic and jerked the man forward.  His piercing blue eyes were aflame with a temper Aragorn had rarely seen and never endured.

 

“You, human, will never live to tell them about this.  I’m going to bury you in this water hole with these insufferable creatures,” Legolas growled.  He shook his head, flinging dirt and water everywhere. 

 

Aragorn’s eyes were huge as he watched his friend but he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips.  Slowly, he reached up and brushed mud from the dirty braid that hung against Legolas’ chest.

 

The action only caused the elf to growl dangerously.  The words forming in the prince’s mind were unacceptable and he bit his tongue, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

 

“Legolas?” Aragorn whispered.  It occurred to him that perhaps he had pushed his friend too far.

 

One blue eye opened and glared at the human.

 

“I’m sorry,” the ranger offered tentatively.

 

The smile that gently turned the prince’s lips up at the corner could not be denied, although the elf fought it. 

 

“I’m forgiven?” Aragorn asked sheepishly.  When Legolas looked away for a moment the man pulled the elf against him and hugged him fiercely.  “We can be nursemaids together,” he taunted.

 

Legolas shoved the ranger back against the mûmak behind him, causing the old oliphaunt to stir and move out of the mud hole.

 

“I will never be a nursemaid to these creatures,” Legolas countered.  In moments however the elf was laughing as much as the olybryn at the edges of the pond.  He and Aragorn were hauled out of the muddy water and sent aside to shed their outer clothes and dry off.

 

Sitting on the small knoll, the two friends watched the olybryn work with the mûmaks.  Legolas reached out and smacked the ranger on the back of the head for good measure, eliciting a snicker from the human.

 

“You are forbidden to tell anyone about this, especially Ran and Trey,” the elf warned the man.  The smile on his face overrode any hostility that might have bled through.  “You filthy human,” he teased.  “I cannot believe you did that.”  He nudged the ranger with his shoulder before lying back in the long grasses.

 

With a laugh Aragorn laid back next to his friend.  “You should have seen your face, Legolas,” he commented with a chuckle before closing his eyes and relaxing.

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART FOUR*~
~The Trouble with Ketrals~

 

 

“The look on your face *was* priceless Legolas.  I don’t think I have ever seen you that mad, well except for maybe Moria...”  Aragorn flinched as Legolas lunged at him. 

 

“Do not speak another word on that, mellon-nín.  Stitches or not I will not allow you to finish *that* particular story.”  He smiled wickedly at the human as Estel inched farther back.  Their stay in Rivendell was already having the desired effect on the wounded elf and Legolas’ smile was enough to rest Aragorn’s heart at ease.

 

“Very well, I did promise to take that one to the grave with me, did I not?  But you can bet I will tell every soul in Mandos!”  Aragorn moved back next to his friend, smiling widely at the elf.

 

“Then I suppose I shall simply have to follow you there as well.”  Legolas smirked, glancing at the man out of the corner of his eye.  It was a running joke between the two friends and if it were up to Legolas, it would simply remain that way.

 

“You know, Legolas, that was a pretty good imitation of your father there you just pulled,” Raniean murmured.  He drained his wine glass and glanced at his friend.  He lay stretched out on his left side amidst a pile of pillows and throws.  Elladan leaned over and refilled the crystal flute with a knowing smile.

 

Nodding in agreement, Trelan laughed, flicking the stem from his cherries at the elf prince.  “Oh, I don’t know, I think the worst time I ever saw Thranduil lose his temper was when he banned you and Strider from re-entering the throne room unattended for the rest of your lives.”

 

Elladan and Elrohir leaned in at the mention of the infamous tale.  They had been waiting years now for the right time to pry it out of one of the two friends.

 

Raniean sputtered, nearly choking on the mouthful of liquid he had just sipped and causing Trelan to break out laughing.  “You agree then, I take it?”

 

“Oh! I had nearly forgotten all about that until the twins brought it up earlier,” Raniean gasped.  He tried to find an easy balance between coughing and swallowing. 

 

“You were *both* supposed to have forgotten that one,” Legolas muttered darkly, casting a glare at the man on his right who could hardly stop laughing.

 

“I thought we were going to end up in the dungeon,” Aragorn blurted out, much to his brothers’ shock and amusement.

 

“Tell us!”

 

“You must tell!” Elladan and Elrohir spoke at nearly the same time, leaning in and encouraging the Silvan elves to speak up.

 

“No!  NO!”  Legolas threw the pit from his nectarine squarely at Trelan, hitting the smaller elf in the chest.  “You cannot tell that one, it’s embarrassing!  It’s bad enough the dwarf knows.  I can’t believe I actually told him.”

 

“You?  It was embarrassing for *me*!” Aragorn muttered, not willing to meet the twins’ inquisitive gaze.

 

“Oh come on,” begged Elrohir.  “Except for us, everyone else involved is probably gone over the sea already.  What’s left to be embarrassed about?  You know all our best stories.  We never get to hear what went on in the great Mirkwood.”

 

“Do tell, you must or I shall withhold the wine from you,” Elladan taunted Raniean with the half full carafe he held.

 

Trelan gazed questioningly at his liege.  Legolas was his friend but he was first and foremost his leader and the King of the Silvan elves since Thranduil’s departure.  Legolas may shun the formal title, preferring to remain forever a prince in name, but that did not change his station.  Neither Trelan nor Raniean would ever tell a confidence if Legolas bade them to be silent.

 

It crossed the prince’s mind to actually deny his friend’s request, but his heart felt lighter than it had in months and the warmth of friendship eased his mind and worries.  Elrohir was right, who was left to worry about, really?  It was like sitting at the end of time and obsessing over childhood secrets.  What was the point?  Why not let everyone continue to enjoy themselves?  Even if it was partly at his expense, he didn’t care.  Turning a brilliant smile on Aragorn, he nodded slowly before answering.  “Go ahead, Trelan you can tell this one, but I have to start it because you weren’t there in the beginning, you only saw the end result.”

 

Mock bowing as best he could from his prone position, the short elf chuckled and glanced around the room as everyone scooted in closer to hear.

 

Once started, it was hard for Legolas to tell the story without laughing.  Tiring of his friend’s attempts at re-telling the debacle, Aragorn elbowed the elf prince and interrupted.

 

“It began when I decide to take Legolas’ pets, Trasta and Lalaith out for a walk in the palace. I didn’t know that the ketrals had been banned from practically everywhere except Legolas’ room.”  Aragorn shrugged and continued when his brother nodded enthusiastically, settling in for another story.

 

“It was the year after Legolas and I had been prisoners of the Witch King up in Angmar.  You remember, I didn’t really want to leave Rivendell for a long time after that.”  Aragorn’s eyes momentarily clouded in memory, before quickly clearing again.  “Until I got an invitation from King Thranduil to attend a Cuil celebration for Legolas.  I have to admit I didn’t even know what that was until I asked Ada.”  Aragorn chuckled.  “But then elves don’t often mark the passing of time or celebrate it, so my ignorance could perhaps be forgiven.”

 

Legolas shrugged.  “It was an old custom in Mirkwood, since before my father and grandfather came there,” he explained quickly for the benefit of the twins just in case they did not already know.  “It comes up every millennia or so,” he said vaguely, not really sure how to relate the event to human years at all.  It wasn’t necessary, the twins were perfectly aware what they were talking about and nodded their understanding quickly. 

 

“Good,” Legolas was glad their audience was with them.  “Well, we hadn’t really kept with the tradition much in my family, but I think father was feeling a bit sentimental after everything that had happened over the previous few years or some such thing,” the elf said dismissively. 

 

Aragorn snorted.  “Well I, for one, was not really surprised.  Remember, this was after you’d been taken for a traitor in Gondor, sold as a slave in Mordor, nearly died in his arms after the wargs got through with you and then disappeared for almost a year only to return having played guest to a Nazgûl most of that time.”

 

“Thank you for reminding me of all that, I’d almost forgotten,” Legolas muttered dryly, but his eyes were smiling.

 

The former ranger chuckled.  “Well, given the circumstances I’d say your father had a right to be celebrating the fact that you were alive right about then.” 

 

“I suppose,” the elf conceded with a grin.  “At any rate, he decided he wanted to make a huge deal over it.”  The prince chuckled wryly.  “He didn’t tell me he had invited Aragorn to come stay with us.  That was probably the best surprise in the whole matter.”  The elf nodded his head towards Estel, indicating that he wanted his friend to pick the thread of the story back up again. 

 

“Ah yes... so, my dear father and brothers finally kicked me out of the house and wisely let me make the familiar journey to Mirkwood alone so I would start getting over my hesitations.  The trip was uneventful... but I can’t say the same about the visit!” Aragorn smiled softly as he recalled those long ago days.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Morning light edged through the arched windows of Mirkwood.  Here the trees and the elves sounded differently than they did in Rivendell and Aragorn lay contentedly in the huge bed, simply listening.  He rested with his eyes only half open.  He had arrived in Mirkwood late last night, a surprise Lord Thranduil had masterminded for Legolas as part of his celebration gift.

 

It had been a year since the elf and ranger had been together and they had spent most of that first night simply catching up on the goings on of each others lives.  Aragorn occupied the large guest room that adjoined Legolas’ quarters.  The door that joined their accommodations had been left open through the night when the ranger retired to his own room.  Legolas had missed the human’s soft snoring and although Aragorn would never admit to it, he had grown used to sleeping next to a living night light for the three and one half years they had been traveling together since Gondor.

 

Tilting his head slightly, Aragorn could tell that Legolas no longer occupied his room.  The sheets were thrown aside and spilled off the bed as though the prince had woken in a hurry and left without notice.  The rumpled blankets moved oddly, shifting in erratic patterns where they lay in discarded mounds on the floor.

 

Squinting away the sleep, Aragorn pushed himself up on his elbows and watched the strange movements.  He wondered idly if he had had too little sleep.

 

A tiny black nose adorned with long white whiskers poked out from under the soft sheets and twin black eyes blinked in surprise at the ranger.  A soft bark alerted the second twisting mound beneath the blanket and soon another small furry face was intently watching the human being.

 

The two creatures talked quietly to one another through a series of soft whistles and clicks.  Short, sharp barks interrupted their conversations as though they were deciding on whether or not the large being in the other room needed investigating.

 

Aragorn raised one eyebrow as the sleek animals darted forward, heading straight for his room in an erratic, crisscross pattern.  Their long, soft fur rippled as they raced quickly towards the bed.  Their tiny feet pattered softly on the thick carpet.  Slightly startled, the ranger jumped as one of the creatures pressed underneath the coverlet and climbed up onto the bed inside the sheets.  The small animal’s claws tickled his leg as it crept up his body.  Aragorn barely resisted the urge to shrug the creature off.  It padded slowly up his midriff and glanced out at him inches from his face, balanced on his chest.  The second feline launched itself from the foot of the bed.  Landing squarely on the covers atop of the ranger’s stomach, it caused the man to grimace and catch his breath. 

 

When he opened his eyes and focused on the small mammals again, he was surprised to not only hear, but also feel them purring as their long bodies rested against his chest and abdomen.

 

“You are Trasta and Lalaith, are you not?” He asked softly, his voice still deep from sleep.  The ketrals flinched skitterishly, as though considering fleeing.  Keeping very still, the ranger continued to speak, switching deftly to the elvish tongue.

 

“It’s all right.  I didn’t mean to scare you.  Legolas has told me all about the two of you.”  He smiled slightly as the ketral under the covers stretched out across his tunic, scooting its silky body around until it was comfortable.  The thrumming of their purring caused him to relax back against the sheets.  He could understand why Legolas favored the creatures.  There was a certain sense of affection that exuded from the ketrals’ close contact.  A kind of easy acceptance and love that Legolas seemed to have found so difficult to find in other areas of his life at times. 

 

Legolas had told the ranger about his ketrals on many occasions.  In fact, the man had even been in the palace when the ancestors of these small creatures had broken one of Thranduil’s huge, intricately painted, decorative platters that had been on display in the foyer downstairs.  But the prince’s pets were generally very wary of anyone other than the prince himself and had never openly approached Aragorn or made their whereabouts known to him until now.  They were also extremely protective of their young.  The human knew that these two had a litter of young kits around somewhere, but had yet to catch a glimpse of them. 

 

For the moment at least, the two adult creature’s curiosity seemed to have won out over caution.  Lalaith and Trasta were, in fact, much bolder than any of Legolas’ other ketrals had ever been. 

 

The ketral that stood on Aragorn’s abdomen moved forward, its nose twitching as it inched closer and closer to his face.  He was half afraid the animal would bite him and closed his eyes as the ketrals’ long whiskers brushed into his beard and mustache.  They were quite similar to the domesticated cats that several of the families living with Taradin kept, although in the end their differences were greater than their similarities.

 

The ketrals were long and sleek.  Their small, powerful legs were half the height of a normal feline’s, giving them the uncanny ability to squeeze into the smallest possible places.  Their faces were slender and pointed.  Tufts of hair extended from their ears at the tips.  Their whiskers were twice the length of any cat Aragorn had ever seen and their fur felt like silk under his fingers.  He gently reached up to pet the inquisitive creature that was exploring his face with tiny paws.  Long tails balanced out their thin bodies and complimented their acrobatic tendencies. 

 

He had seen cats in all sorts of varieties and colors, but never the shade of brown that these two creatures sported.  It seemed that their fur caught and held the light, almost changing color as the sun played over their bodies.  At first glanced they looked to be a dark velvety brown but as they moved their fur rippled, shifting through the spectrum, undulating from deep brown to a golden tan.  As he paid closer attention, the ranger could see that they also sported markings.  Faint bands of darker hues wrapped their small dainty feet and spiraled upward, disappearing into their underbellies where they became hidden by longer hair.  Their faces were intricately striped masks of shades of color from deep red to umber, not unlike the colors of the fall leaves outside.

 

He smiled as the ketral who had been so interested in his beard and mustache dropped back onto all fours and barked quietly at him.  The small animal seemed puzzled by facial hair and appeared to be trying to figure out what new bread of creature this being was.

 

“You must be Lalaith.”  Aragorn whispered softly, causing the small creature to tilt its head as though trying to understand his words.  “Lalaith?”  The repeated name was rewarded with a nudge.  “Yes, I thought so.  Legolas said you were the inquisitive one.”  Aragorn glanced down at the ketral curled up on his chest, “So that would make you Trasta, right?”

 

Twisting lazily where he lay, the second animal glanced up at the human and yawned, exposing a mouthful of tiny, sharp teeth.  With a soft laugh the ranger ran his fingers over the long bodied creatures, eliciting contented purrs from his friend’s pets.

 

The sun had crept higher into the sky, shifting the shadows that fell off his bed and onto the floor.  With a deep sigh, Aragorn displaced the two mammals who had decided he made a perfect mattress.

 

“I should be up.  Legolas will wonder where I am.”

 

Trasta rolled off his chest, stretching out upside down.  He closed his eyes and relaxed as the ranger rubbed his belly.  Lalaith had had enough of resting and jumped off the bed, rummaging about in the human’s knapsack that lay on the floor. 

 

“Hey!”  Aragorn leaned over, grasping the bag by its handle and pulling it away from the ketral who was intent on playing with the paper wrapped around his last package of athelas.  “That is *not* for you.”  He stashed the pack safely away in the wardrobe, making sure the door was firmly closed before shrugging out of his nightclothes.

 

They dropped unceremoniously on top of Trasta who had slid slowly off the bed to join his mate.  His startled squeak set the human to laughing as he laced up his tunic. “You two get into everything, don’t you?” 

 

Aragorn shivered sharply.  Winter was settling across the land and the palace, although heated by the thermal vents below, was quite chilly.  The elves, relatively unaffected by temperature, seemed to have not yet noticed that it was high time to start letting more of the trapped heat into the living areas.  The ranger rubbed his hands together and repressed a shiver.  The truth was it might not have been as terribly cold as it felt to him and he knew that.  He chilled easily ever since his time in Angmar, as if it was hard to keep warmth inside his body.  It was an irritating malady that was slowly fading, but he didn’t like to trouble anyone with his problems and oddities, so he had as of yet, said nothing to Legolas about the temperature of his rooms. 

 

Aragorn snatched his overcoat from where it lay on the overstuffed chair, glancing about him for the whereabouts of the second ketral.  She was nowhere to be seen. 

 

Shrugging into the coat he stuffed his hand into the right pocket to retrieve his family brooch and jumped when he touched a ball of fur.  Lalaith sat up in the handy hiding place, the ornate pin held between her two paws.  The glittering thing she held was too much for her curiosity to resist.  Aragorn quickly snatched the brooch away before she could damage it, pinning it to his tunic.  He pressed Lalaith back into the pocket when she decided to pursue the shiny bright object.

 

A light impact on his left side warned the ranger that Trasta had joined the party.  The ketral’s tail was all that could be seen of the furry creature as he burrowed into Aragorn’s left pocket.  Seeing that her mate had joined them, Lalaith leaned out and chattered at the other.  His soft clicks could barely be heard as he righted himself.

 

Frowning slightly and not sure what to do now, Aragorn tried to remove Legolas’ pets from his pockets.  Thinking it was a new game, the ketrals ducked into the dark expanses, curling their agile bodies in on themselves.  Aragorn no sooner pulled them out than they scrambled right back in, their sharp claws catching and hooking in the leather surface of his coat and refusing to be dislodged.  Lalaith nipped the ranger’s fingers in a playful warning.

 

“Ouch!”  Aragorn jumped slightly.  Holding his arms out to the sides, he glanced into the now bulging pockets he spoke to the two creatures. “All right then, fine! You’re just going to have to come where I go and I’ll let your master take you out of there!”  With that, the human headed for the door, intending to find Legolas and enlist his help with the unruly creatures.

 

It was quite a sight as Aragorn walked down the hallway, his coat bulging and moving in odd ways as he sought out his friend.  His running tirade to the two stowaways brought sidelong glances and confused looks from the elves that passed him.  They were used to the human being in their midst by now, and even used to his sometimes odd ways, but his mannerisms that morning were more unusual than normal.  Word slipped to Raniean that he might want come check out the ranger and make sure the Dùnadan was safe to be wandering the halls alone.

 

“Strider?”  Raniean’s voice broke through Aragorn’s one-sided conversation.  “What on earth are you doing?”  He asked as the man stepped sideways, looking into his pocket and talking.

 

A small black face poked out from the fold of leather and whistled at the warrior before ducking back down. 

 

“Aragorn!  You brought the ketrals out here with you?”  Raniean whispered fiercely as he dragged the man aside, out of the main path.  “They are not to be in the palace anywhere where Thranduil can see them!  They are not supposed to leave Legolas’ chambers.”  A sharp bark from the left hand pocket of the man’s coat answered him.

 

“Well, you get them out then, because they won’t let me!”  Aragorn laughed as Trasta nipped at the warrior when he tried to pry the animal out.  Raniean got a sharp warning scratch on the back of his hand for the trouble and scowled. 

 

“See!” The ranger defended himself, throwing his hands up in defeat.  “Tell me where Legolas is and maybe we can get them out before Thranduil finds us.” He glanced into the right pocket, smiling at the tiny face that stared up at him.  “Besides they should be able to get out once in a while.”

 

“Do not get caught.  You have no idea how much Lord Thranduil despises those ketrals.”  Raniean released the man and motioned up the hallway towards the staircase. “You can find Legolas in the throne room, but I’d hurry if I were you.”

 

“And stop talking to them,” Raniean called out as Aragorn hurried towards the stairs.  “People are beginning to wonder about you!”

 

With a small laugh Aragorn nodded and raced down the steps, searching out his friend.

 

The throne room was empty save for the prince.  Legolas walked around the expanse of the hall.  A small smile curled the edges of his lips upward as he gazed at the banners and pennants that draped the hall.  His fingers gently brushed the silk that trailed down, edging the frame of the great doors.  His father had spared no expense to decorate for his only son’s celebration.  The life celebration was a gathering of peoples, usually family, but in this case the entire kingdom, to commemorate the existence of one person.  According to local custom, the date of said celebration usually coincided with the conception of the individual in question.  Elves did not put much store in concrete dates to measure their limitless ages so Legolas was only vaguely aware of how many elvish years he had passed on Middle Earth and even less certain how they measured up to human years.  He was told he had been conceived in late summer, but it was already almost winter, so actual timing seemed to have importance on the festivities being planned.  To be honest, Legolas had never celebrated this event before, but it was obviously important to Thranduil to celebrate family a little right now, and the excuse hardly mattered.  Although Legolas did not like being the center of a lot of fuss, he was more touched by the gesture than he let on.  Besides, the celebration was shaping up to be very enjoyable.  Certainly, Thranduil could get irascible when he was in full planning mode for some event, but Legolas knew it was just because his father wanted everything to be perfect.

 

And so did Legolas, for his father if for nothing else.  Yet he had his own reasons as well. 

 

The years away from home had somehow seemed longer this time than at any other.  He supposed it was all that he had gone through... that he and Aragorn had both gone through.  His smile widened as he thought of his friend, here under the rafters of Mirkwood’s palace for a change.  It was good to have Strider back nearby again.  After the last few years he had gotten used to being around the human and missed him of late.  His father could not have surprised him more than he had when he secretly invited Aragorn to join them for Legolas’ celebration. 

 

The festive atmosphere had been going on for weeks now, but tomorrow night would be the actual commencement of the month-long gala.  It would be a night to remember and Legolas found he was actually looking forward to it.

 

The door opened on the far side of the hall to the left of the throne, allowing a lone figure into the room.  Legolas stood perfectly still, watching silently.  He already knew the person who had entered was Strider, but something was different about the man.  His sharp hearing picked up a nearly silent one-sided conversation from the ranger.

 

Nearly one-sided.

 

A quick sharp chitter reached his ears and he darted forward.

 

“Strider!”  Legolas raced from the shadows, dodging the wooden seats, heading for his friend.  “You didn’t bring...”

 

The elf never had the chance to finish his sentence.

 

The ranger glanced up with a look of relief and a warm smile.  His attention drawn away from the two creatures burrowed into his coat pockets.  He had been talking to Lalaith, gingerly holding the right pocket between his thumb and forefinger.  At the sound of Legolas’ voice the ketral zipped out of her hiding place and raced up the man’s coat sleeve to chatter a cheery greeting.

 

The silk decorations shifted slightly in the gentle breezes that fell down into the room from the high windows above.  It gave the impression that the cloth was alive, seeming to have a life of its own as it breathed in rhythm with the wind.  The colors fascinated the ketral, whose immediate response was to investigate further, her master forgotten in the colorful melee around her. 

 

Before Aragorn knew what was happening, Lalaith had used the human as a ladder.  Scurrying up his arm and crawling through his hair the ketral launched herself from the ranger’s head and landed squarely in the swag of the nearest draping.

 

“NO!” Legolas skidded to a stop near Aragorn, trying to reach up and retrieve his wayward pet.  “Lalaith, come.  Come.  Good girl, come now... Lalaith!”

 

The band of fabric she was twisting in was connected to another and another, each one weaving and moving hypnotically, each one begging to be played with.  Twisting around, the ketral began climbing higher up into the decorations, stressing the points where the fabric had been delicately attached to the wall.

 

“Strider!” Legolas ground out through gritted teeth.  “Why in Arda did you bring them in here?!  You know my father hates them,” the elf prince growled as the ketral in question leapt to a higher point, her actions tearing the fabric she had just been walking on.  It floated to the floor of the hall, hanging limply from where it connected to the other banners.  “We have to get them out of here before they do more damage, or my father returns...” Legolas leapt onto the nearest bench and swiped at the retreating feline.  “...which would be worse.”

 

“It wasn’t my fault!” Aragorn defended distractedly as Trasta, hearing all the noise, decided to investigate.  The male ketral slid out of the leather pocket and raced across the floor to the far wall, dodging underneath the benches and chairs that littered the hall floor.  With less grace than the small animal, the human gave chase, trying to corral the ketral.  He stumbled over the leg of a sturdy bench and fell flat on his face with a groan.  The tipped chair knocked backwards, creating a domino effect in the closely set up seating area.

 

“What are you talking about?”  Legolas yelled across the room at him once the noise died down.  “You simply leave them in my room!”  He grabbed for Lalaith as she skittered down an ornate banner, leaving the elf prince holding a handful of silky hair.  “The arrangement has worked for thousands of years, trust me!” The elf’s voice was dry. 

 

“They got in my coat pockets and I couldn’t get them out!”  Aragorn muttered as he slowly pushed himself up on his hands.  He peered under the seats, looking for Trasta.  A small furry face watched him curiously from the corner of the hall.  Seeing that it had been spotted, the ketral turned and raced up the nearest banner, joining its mate in leaping from swag to swag and basically reducing the bright celebratory bands to shreds of tattered cloth.

 

His boots slid on the polished flooring as Aragorn tried to gain his feet and take up pursuit.

 

“Then why didn’t you just leave your coat in the room?”  Legolas fell back to the floor of the hall with a soft whump.  His graceless drop had landed him squarely on the king’s cushioned throne.  It was a frustrating fact that ketrals were probably some of the few creatures on Arda that could out-maneuver an elf. 

 

Aragorn scrambled over some of the downed chairs, trying to find a way to get up high enough to reach the romping critters.  He clambered up onto a stone buttress, but only succeeded in getting scraped hands and badly banging his knees when he was forced to jump down or fall down.  With mounting frustration at himself and the whole absurd situation, Aragorn turned and answered the question much louder than was necessary. “Because I am a human all right?  It’s freezing in your mound-hill of a palace and no one but me seems to notice!  Fire up the thermal vents once in a blue moon, will you?  AND because I didn’t know any better!  No one told ME they weren’t allowed out of your rooms until it was too late!” 

 

The main doors clanged shut, emphasizing the end of the ranger’s tirade.  Slowly Aragorn turned and glanced fearfully behind him.

 

Trelan and Raniean stood beneath the archway, mouths open in disbelief.  Across the room Lalaith stopped her antics and chirped a greeting before tearing off towards the front of the hall.

 

“Ai! Elbereth!  Strider, did I not warn you?”  Raniean asked finally finding his voice. 

 

In utter disgust, the ranger dropped his hands to his sides and looked down, slowly shaking his head.

 

“Should we help them?” Trelan whispered, moving farther into the room.  But his attempts were cut short as Raniean grabbed the smaller elf and pushed him to the opposite side of the door way.

 

“Legolas, I came to tell you that...” Ran had wanted to warn his friend but the door opened once more cutting off his attempts.

 

Thranduil stepped into the hall and stopped on the threshold.

 

“...that your father was coming,” the warrior whispered swiftly, uselessly stating the obvious now.

 

Legolas turned quickly towards the door, his eyes huge, his mouth open, attempting an explanation... but none was forthcoming as the king strode forward to stand in front of the ranger.

 

Aragorn was frozen in place, one hand stretched upward in an attempt to grasp the ketral that had just escaped.  A soft green banner floated gently down and draped itself across his face, hiding his grimace.

 

“What is going on here?!” The Sinda elf lord roared.  Everywhere he looked the benches were overturned and the beautiful banners that had decorated the hall lay in piles and tatters on the edges of the floor.  He turned his glare on the human that stood paralyzed only a few feet from him.  “I demand an answer!”

 

At the sound of the king’s voice both ketrals loosed squeals of terror and headed for respective places of safety.  For Trasta, who was closest to Aragorn, that meant the ranger’s pockets.  The creature flung itself towards the human; slamming into his chest and knocking the man back a step.  It was just enough to unbalance the totally surprised ranger. 

 

Aragorn tried to right himself quickly, one hand flung out in a failing attempt to grasp anything and the other trying to keep hold of Trasta.  His boot heel scraped backwards, catching the edge of an upturned bench and the ranger went down.  Banging the backs of his knees solidly against the bench’s seat there was no way for him to prevent his backward sprawl.  The edge of the seat caught him squarely in the small of his back and his head impacted the hard marble floor with a sickening thud.  For a moment Aragorn could feel nothing but pain and simply lay still, forcing himself to breathe.

 

Thranduil’s footfalls could barely be heard as the king came to stand over the ranger.  The tip of his boot brushed the man’s hair.  When Aragorn opened his eyes and glanced up, he met the elf lord’s hard gaze.  Never in all his years in Rivendell had the human ever garnered such a look as the one that was laid on him now.  Trasta squeaked in surprise and darted down the front of Aragorn’s vest, squirming his way under the man’s belt.

 

The ranger twitched violently, grimacing as the tiny creature tried valiantly to get away from the elf that it was smart enough to fear.  Aragorn grabbed his midriff, stopping the ketral’s motions and pinning the furry body against his navel.  He smiled weakly up at the elf lord as he slowly sat up and scooted farther away from Thranduil.

 

In the doorway it was all the two onlookers could do to prevent themselves from bursting out laughing.  Trelan had never been so glad in his life that Raniean had stopped him.  Usually he resented it that he could be so easily moved around by his taller kin, but not today.  He was perfectly happy to have been kept out of this mess.  He shifted his gaze to the wooden doors and closed his eyes to block out the sight of the sheepish grin that crept up onto Aragorn’s face.  He actually felt pity for the human.

 

The doors parted slightly as an attendant tried to come to his liege’s aid.  Raniean’s hand on the entry stopped the elf and he simply shook his head, warning the assistant off.  Carefully, he shut the door and slipped the locking pin in place.  This was not something the rest of the castle should be witness to.  It would only make Thranduil more upset and make matters worse. 

 

“Father, I can explain...” Legolas attempted weakly from his position across the hall.  He was still sprawled awkwardly across the throne, his eyes glued to his friend who was trying with great difficulty to scuttle backwards away from the irate king.

 

Thranduil’s gaze shifted to his son.  Slowly he crossed his arms over his chest and waited the elfling out.  

 

Suddenly, Legolas realized that he couldn’t explain at all actually and ended up opening and shutting his mouth rather uselessly a few times. 

 

Tiny scuttling sounds alerted Legolas that Lalaith was making her way swiftly back to his position.  He glanced up just as the ketral leapt from a bright banner and landed on the edge of the family crest.  It was a large ornate carving that hung behind the throne.  Carved of a single piece of wood from the golden trees of Lothlórien, it had been there as long as Legolas could remember and was far older than the prince. 

 

The crest teetered under the small creature’s weight.  Had she been given the time and not frightened by the emotions and tones that filled the room, the ketral probably would have made the jump from the carving to Legolas’ outstretched hands easily and with no problems.

 

However, when Thranduil’s voice rang out and he stepped towards the front of the hall, Lalaith panicked and launched her slim body at the prince in a terrified flurry of unchecked trajectory.

 

Legolas leapt up onto the arm of the royal chair his fingers just barely touching the crest trying to right it as it was twisted off its mooring by abrupt shift of the ketral’s weight.  The wood carving slipped from his fingertips and fell to the floor behind the throne at the same instance that Lalaith hit the prince full in the chest, tipping him backwards. 

 

His booted foot caught under the arm of the throne and tipped the ornate chair backwards with him, bringing the whole lot of them down in a piled jumble.  Lalaith wasted no time hiding within the folds of his tunic as Legolas nimbly leapt to his feet.  He would have righted the chair and seen to the crest but for his father’s ire.

 

“LEGOLAS!!!!!!!!!!  Get those *things* out of my hall!  And take your human with you.  They may never come back in here ever again! Do you hear me?!”  Thranduil bellowed.  It would take hours to fix the carnage his son, two ketrals and one human had produced in only a matter of moments.  It was a nightmare.  “I don’t want to see you OR him,” he pointed at Aragorn “In this room unattended again for the rest of your natural lives!  And if I ever see those creatures of yours anywhere but your rooms again, they are going *back* to the forest where they belong.  Am I understood?!  Now get out!”

 

Aragorn had found his feet and raced to the door that Legolas held open for him.  He quickly followed the prince as they ran through the palace, and pounded back up the stairwell.  They could clearly hear the elf lord shouting out orders in the celebration hall below.

 

“Raniean! Trelan!”  Thranduil snapped, seeing them skulking around the doorway.  “See to it that my son and his friend remain in their rooms until sent for.  If I so much as see either of them the rest of this day I may throw them in a cell!  Maybe then we could actually get something done.  How many times must I tell that boy that his pets are not to have free reign in the castle?  Perhaps I should just outlaw ketrals from being in Mirkwood, period.  Nasty creatures...”  The king muttered the last statement under his breath before turning back to the two elves still in attendance. “And get the decorators back in here, we have less than a day left and there WILL be a celebration in this room tomorrow night!”

 

The tirade was cut off as Legolas slammed the door to his room shut and leaned against it from the inside, breathing heavily.  Aragorn dropped down on the prince’s bed on his back, his arms flung out to the sides.

 

“That was not fun.”  He whispered breathlessly.  “I thought your father was going to kill me.”

 

“I thought he was going to kill you too.” Legolas commented softly before smiling at his friend.  He threw the lock on the inside of the door before seating himself on the edge of the bed with a sigh.  “At least we didn’t have to see the inside of a cell.”

 

“Would your father really do that?” Aragorn raised his head to glance at his friend.

 

“I think he was certainly mad enough... to lock you up anyway.  If we had been anyone else, yes, we would definitely be there right now.” Smiling, he reached into his vest and retrieved a trembling ball of fur.  Two small dark eyes opened and blinked slowly, watching him for his response.  “You, however, are his guest – at his invitation for once I might add, and I am his son.”  Legolas laughed lightly.  “‘Twould be unseemly to lock up the guest of honor for ruining their own party,” he said ironically.  “Besides, father knows how I feel about... those kind of places.” 

 

The elf seemed to be taking everything rather well, all things considered.  He petted the tiny creature in his hands. “Oh, Lalaith, you know you aren’t allowed in the castle proper.  You shouldn’t have given Strider any trouble.  He doesn’t know all the rules yet.”  Legolas chided softly, rubbing his nose against the soft wet black one.  Gently he laid the ketral on the bed.  As though understanding she had been a bad and needed to offer a little contrition, the creature stretched out next to Legolas’ leg, pressing hard against him and settling down immediately.

 

“Where is Trasta?” Legolas asked, redirecting Aragorn’s attention.

 

The ranger patted his chest, then his abdomen and thighs.  The coat pockets were next, but with no trace of the ketral.  Aragorn sat up in alarm and glanced at the locked door.

 

The noise of shouting and commotion from the lower levels drifted through the door.  Legolas jumped up from his seated position and cracked the door open just as the sounds of breaking glass reached their ears accompanied by Thranduil’s shout.  A small dark object streaked through the open door and darted under the bed before Legolas slammed the door shut and locked it once more.  He grimaced as his father ranted on about banning ketrals from Mirkwood. 

 

The whole castle would know what had happened now.  

 

Kneeling down on the floor, Legolas peered under the bed to find two black eyes peeking back out at him.  After some gentle coaxing he retrieved the male ketral from its hiding place and set it on the bed.

 

Aragorn still lay on the bed where he had dropped, Legolas’ pets curled up in the nook of his arm.  He smiled wearily up at his friend who hovered over all three of them.

 

“Fine mess you got me into, all of you.”  Legolas shook his head. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Aragorn apologized, and the remorse was genuine.  “I never wanted to ruin things for you like this...”

 

“Oh, don’t fuss,” Legolas dismissed it wearily.  “What’s done is done.  You haven’t ruined anything.  Don’t listen to father; they’ve got plenty of time to redecorate the throne room.  Father always gets pulled tight as a new bow string before festivals of any kind.  Just as well to let him release and get it over with... although I must admit that was a singularly spectacular way to do it,” the prince said with a rueful sigh. 

 

Aragorn groaned as Legolas shoved him over, making room for himself on the large sleeping couch.  His friends pained movements caught Legolas’ attention and he forced the human to sit up.  A quick examination of the ranger proved that nothing was broken, just as the man had argued, but a nasty knot on the back of his head was forming.  Aragorn winced when Legolas touched it gently.

 

“You’re going to have quite a headache.”  Legolas smiled down at his friend.

 

“Going to?  How about already have,” Aragorn muttered darkly.  He explored the knot tenderly with his own fingers.  “I thought I was going to lose consciousness there for a minute, but I was more afraid of where I would wake up!” He laughed softly, wincing as the dull throbbing in his head turned to a mild hammering.

 

“*Why* didn’t you just leave your coat here?” Legolas questioned quietly as he poured water into a cup, passing it to the ranger.  He still wanted a real answer to that question. 

 

“I told you.  I was cold.”  Aragorn answered honestly.  He took a small sip and sat on the edge of the bed forlornly.  “They bit me every time I tried to take them out, even Raniean couldn’t help me.  I’m sorry Legolas.  I simply never imagined they could cause so much trouble.”

 

When he glanced up, Aragorn was surprised to see the elf smiling down at him.  “You should have seen the look on your face when Trasta tried to get into your pants and you were trying to get away from my father.  Believe me Estel, when he calms down my father will have a good laugh over this.”

 

“Great.”  The ranger muttered.  He rubbed the back of his head gently. “Glad I could entertain the family.”

 

“Don’t forget Ran and Trey.”  Legolas smiled wickedly at the man.  Aragorn just rolled his eyes and flopped back against the bed with a moan.

 

A soft knock on the door stopped further conversation as Legolas went to investigate.

 

True to his father’s request, Trelan and Raniean were standing guard outside the prince’s room.  Elrynd stood just behind the two soldiers peering around them and smiling genuinely at Legolas.

 

“Are you both all right?”  Raniean asked quietly.

 

“Yes, thanks, Ran.”  Legolas stepped out into the hall, leaving the door cracked.  He glanced up and down the hallway to make sure they were alone.  Most of the staff was in the throne room fixing what had been demolished in the ketral’s escapade.

 

Ran glanced in at Aragorn who hadn’t bothered moving from his prone position on the bed.  “Is Strider all right?”

 

Legolas glanced back inside.  Aragorn raised his hand without looking up and waved in the general direction of the door before letting his arm drop back down. With a soft chuckle, Legolas pulled the door a little more shut, blocking the view from the inquisitive elves.

 

“He will be fine.  He hit his head rather hard.  I don’t think he’s eaten anything this morning either, so he’s liable to have a rather upset stomach in a few minutes.”  Legolas tried to keep the mirth from his answer but it was impossible.  “Elrynd, would you please be so kind as to bring us some food and drink and perhaps a roll of bandages as well?  I think it wouldn’t hurt to tend to that bump, it is swelling and it has to be painful.”

 

With a small nod, the servant moved quickly to bring the items requested.  Before he had gone too far, Legolas’ voice called him back.

 

“Oh, and Elrynd,” Legolas called.  He smiled at the elf, feeling slightly silly as he made his last request.  “Can you please have someone go down and release the vents for my room.  We could use a bit more heat up here.”

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

The Hall of Fire erupted in laughter and good natured taunting.  Aragorn’s face turned red under the teasing onslaught that the elves dished out.

 

Elladan quickly poured Trelan another glass of wine as the elf tried to catch his breath in between laughing and choking.

 

“You should have seen his face,” The small elf sputtered.

 

“All right, all right!  That’s enough,” Aragorn shouted down the merry elves around him.  “You’ve had enough fun at my expense. I take my leave of you.  Some of us actually have wives to entertain.”  He smirked as he stood and bowed much to the renewed laughter of those nearest.

 

“Little brother, you are pathetic, you know that don’t you?”  Elladan quipped.  “You never could stand the cold that well.”  He kicked a booted foot at the human when Aragorn stepped over him.

 

“Yes, well, you try freezing to death a few times and I daresay you won’t do as well either, elf or no,” the man retorted only half joking.  Kneeling next to Legolas he peered into the elf’s face. 

 

The prince was completely relaxed, his left arm held gently across his midsection.  His breathing was slowed and even.  His eyes were half lidded in sleep.

 

“Legolas?”  Aragorn called to his friend.  The room quieted around them.  No one had noticed when the prince drifted off to sleep during Trelan’s part of the retelling. 

 

“Is he well?” Raniean sat up quickly and leaned forward.

 

Gently brushing the hair out of his friend’s face, Aragorn smiled softly.

 

“He sleeps.  He pushed himself too hard and too long I am afraid.”  Leaning down, Aragorn carefully moved the elf and shifted Legolas into his arms.  “I should have paid more attention.  He is worn out,” he whispered.

 

Moving slowly and balancing the elf’s weight, Aragorn stood.  He stepped around the occupants of the room as he made for the stairwell.  Trelan pulled his feet out of the way as the man passed by carrying his prince.

 

“Do you need help, little brother?” Elrohir called after him.

 

“Nay,” Aragorn turned and smiled back at the warmly lit room.  Elves were always unnaturally light to carry, but Legolas was even lighter than usual at the moment and it was no great hardship for the human to manage.  “If your teasing and laughter did not wake him, I doubt anything will rouse him now.  We’ll be fine.”

 

As Aragorn reached the stairwell he could hear his brothers begin begging Ran and Trey for the trellep stories that they were not allowed to tell earlier.  They could be so much like children sometimes.  Trelan’s laughter rang through the halls as the ranger made the first landing.

 

“Nifts,” he whispered as he glanced over his shoulder once more.

 

“What are you doing?”  A soft voice startled the human as Legolas’ arms tightened around his neck.  The prince blinked, momentarily disorientated and a bit frightened.  Legolas was usually a very light sleeper and for a moment he couldn’t justify the last thing he remembered with his present location. 

 

“Putting you to bed, your highness, like I would Eldarion,” Aragorn replied, teasing softly as he laid the elf down on the soft sleeping couch.  He didn’t like the insubstantial way Legolas felt in his arms.  He didn’t like that the elf hadn’t immediately demanded to be put down the instant he was awake. 

 

Legolas tried to focus on the human as Estel moved about the room stoking the fire and shifting the blankets away from the elf’s booted feet.  His friend’s shape insisted on blurring and smearing into colors and shadows however and the elf had to give up.  He was a bit embarrassed by all this, but didn’t seem to have the strength or desire to fight or even argue when Aragorn unlaced his boots and set them quietly on the floor.

 

The prince had wanted to stay up and enjoy the company of friends and family so much that Legolas had ignored his body’s clamoring demands for rest.  He couldn’t remember at what point he had even fallen asleep.  The last he knew Aragorn... or was it Trelan?  Was telling of the time Thranduil found them all in the throne room with his ketrals.  Right now he missed his father greatly.  His heart tightened at the thought of his own family so far away from him... across the sea.  He missed his ketrals too.  His last pets had not sired any litters before they passed away and ketrals, always an illusive and rare creature to begin with, could not be found in Mirkwood any more after the great destruction of the last war with Dol Guldur.  The prince had sought any trace of their burrows or nests, but to no avail.  They might still exist somewhere, but if so they had hidden well, as only ketrals could, and it was likely that future generations of Arda would forget entirely that they had even existed.  It seemed to Legolas that the entire world had changed around him and he hadn’t quite found a way to keep up.

 

Estel turned back and watched as a frown creased the fair face of his friend.  He promised silently to be more careful in the future and not allow Legolas to push himself so hard.

 

“Sleep.  Just sleep,” Aragorn whispered as gazed down at his friend.  The elf shouldn’t have been cold, but he shivered slightly as the human drew the thick blankets up over his chest.

 

“And you think that will work on me, Adan?” Legolas teased softly.  He wasn’t fully awake and his words were softly slurred.

 

“Right now, I’d wager on it,” Aragorn answered.  Brushing his fingertips lightly over his friend’s face, he caused the elf to blink and close his eyes.  In that moment Aragorn’s deep soft voice filled the prince’s mind once more bidding him to rest and, to his surprise, Legolas found himself complying.

 

Stepping back towards the door, Aragorn watched his friend sleeping.  Pulling the door partway shut, he headed quietly up the hall.  He stopped to check in on Dari long enough to ensure the child was also sleeping soundly before going to his own room.  The lamps set in the wall were starting to burn down and the house had quieted for the night.  Intending to sneak in unnoticed, Aragorn was surprised to find the fire burning brightly and the bed empty.

 

Arwen stood in front of the large picture window.  The drapes were pulled back and she was gazing out into the starlit expanse above them.

 

“Why are you still awake, my love?”  Aragorn asked softly as he approached his wife.  He shrugged easily out of his outer tunic and threw the clothing on a nearby chair.  Arwen had not acknowledged him.  Stepping closer he moved the long tresses of dark hair away from her right ear and kissed her neck gently.

 

With a small smile she turned and then pierced with him a serious gaze. 

 

“Why? How could I sleep?” She answered by way of her own question.  Her fingers brushed the man’s brow smoothing the lines of worry from his face.  Dropping her hand to her side she turned towards the fireplace, watching the flames distractedly as she sought to express herself.

 

“I keep creeping into Eldarion’s room.  I feel as if... as if I go to sleep he will disappear and it will all have been a dream,” she said, somewhat hollowly.  “I still can’t believe we really got him back.  And... I worry about at what cost.  It took Dari hours to be able to sleep.  The darkness scares him and he tells me tales of people I do not know.  He says things about himself, about Legolas... things children shouldn’t think, shouldn’t know.  How can I sleep?  Even though you are both here, before my eyes, part of me fears that this nightmare is not truly over yet.  Is it?  Please, tell me it is and I will believe you.” Hesitant, shimmering eyes glanced back at her husband, asking his indulgence and assurance.

 

“Oh, my love,” Aragorn was beside her in a moment taking her slender hands in his.  He led her back to the bed and bade her sit.  Mentally, he kicked himself sharply.  He had been so worried about Legolas and Dari that he felt he had missed Arwen’s mental anguish and turmoil.  Valar, he didn’t want to fail her.  He never wanted to fail her. 

 

“It is over and the men Dari speaks of are no more.”  With a sigh Aragorn turned and paced the length of the room.  Words failed him and he realized that his own heart was not yet nearly as settled as he had believed.  “It’s late, meleth-nín, let us rest and I will tell you the whole tale in the morning.”  He had thought this conversation could wait until tomorrow, until after Arwen had rested from her long journey and until he had figured out what exactly he was going to say, but it seemed that would not be the case. 

 

Arwen shook her head.  “No, Estel.  If we continue this silence, it will devour us.  Talk to me,” his wife entreated him softly.  Arwen’s eyes were filled with pain. 

 

“Since Dari disappeared, you’ve shut me out,” she whispered.  “You’ve avoided me.  I thought at first maybe you blamed me, because I couldn’t keep him safe.  Then I knew you blamed yourself because you couldn’t keep him safe.  But now, if he really is safe and the Valar have returned him to us... talk to me.  Let me back into your heart, because it is cold out here on the outside, Estel,” her voice choked off and she looked away, hiding her tears.

 

Turning around to face her Aragorn started to speak but faltered.  He was shocked by her words.  Shut her out?  He would never do that!  He needed her like the very air he breathed, he loved her... how could she not know that?  Yet the pain in her eyes was so real and he couldn’t bear to think he had caused it somehow. 

 

“Arwen... I... I’m sorry if I... I never meant...” He gave up on useless words and pulled her into his arms, embracing her tightly.  “You have always been in my heart, since the day I met you.  Without you I would lose all the best parts of who I am,” he whispered into her hair.  He didn’t know what to do, what to say.  He had lived so much of his life alone; he didn’t always know the best way to incorporate another soul into his method of doing things.  He knew how to be a good friend, but being a good husband was something that he desperately feared still eluded him. 

 

Arwen would disagree with that assessment.  She knew Estel loved her, but the past few months had been very trying for them both.  He was a good man and a loving husband, but she didn’t know if he realized how much she needed him.  She had forsaken everything in her life and made Aragorn her world.  She knew that was not a fair burden for anyone to have to shoulder, but it was a matter beyond either of their individual control.  She needed to be close to him, to know what he was thinking and feeling.  And right now, she really needed to know what had happened since he left her in Minas Tirith, and what had happened to her son.  Dari’s muddled picture of events was frightening and horrible to say the least.  She needed some truth, and she needed it from Aragorn.

 

Aragorn sighed, seeming to sense that she needed answers.  She needed peace.  But it seemed the words he sought were not there.  He had no idea where to begin.  There was so much that had happened in such a short time that he wasn’t even sure if he was clear on it all himself.  So many fears and emotions were heaped upon one another.  Now finally they were in a place of safety and peace and he was at a loss.  He decided he understood his wife’s nameless anxiety.  Perhaps that was why he had wished to put off discussing the recent past.  It felt like he was standing in the eye of a storm just waiting for the second wave of chaos to hit.  He couldn’t give her peace.  He couldn’t give Legolas peace.  He couldn’t give anyone peace because he had none himself and he hated himself for his failings. 

 

“I-I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted finally, looking away again.

 

Arwen could see the confusion and the burden that her husband was carrying around inside of him.  She knew he needed to get it all out in the open as much as she needed to hear it.

 

“One thing at a time,” she prompted softly, touching his face, his hand, grounding him in the one certain reality of their love. “Just tell me the first thing on your heart.”

 

The apology...

 

The apology was first and it broke his heart.

 

“I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry I left without you, that I didn’t wait for you to join us first.  I’m sorry I did not find Dari sooner.  If I had listened to my heart in the first place, if I had questioned Legolas’ silent response to my messages, I might have found out what happened and been able to find Dari and Legolas months ago.  They could both have been spared so much.” Aragorn’s voice grew quieter as he continued.  His guilt was a heavy burden to carry alone.  It was a pity being a King didn’t automatically bestow you with instant wisdom.  He dropped down into the chair adjacent to the bed and buried his face in his hands.  Taking a deep breath he ran fingers back through his hair and stared straight into his wife’s deep blue eyes.  “I found them in Rahzon...”

 

The tale spilled from his lips like water from a flooded dam.  He told her everything.  He spared no details.  He answered every one of her questions.  She would find out anyway and she obviously needed to know.  They had no intentional secrets between them and he did not intend to start now.  Even when her eyes clouded with tears and her breathing hitched with repressed sobs, he kept going.  In the end he found himself seated next to her holding her in his arms.  They sat that way for sometime, both lost in their own world of questions with no answers.

 

Why...?  Why had this happened to them?  Through what chance tricks of fate had their child, the Prince of Gondor, supposedly the safest child on Arda, been taken away and shown such horrors?  Why?  And why Legolas?  Who had decided that he hadn’t suffered enough in his life already and that he should be saddled now with this strange affliction for which even Aragorn could find no cure? 

 

Yes, why?  That was the foremost question on Aragorn’s mind.

He had learned long ago that ‘why’ could often not be sufficiently answered.  Only the Valar knew sometimes.  His father had taught him that.  It was a lesson he would never forget and one he treasured.  Through it he had learned more about his elven father than he had in his younger years.  And he had witnessed the depths of Elrond’s healing touch.

 

Someday he would pass what he had learned on to his son as well, though he hoped the circumstances would be more pleasant.  Arwen rested heavily against him and they just breathed together, quietly, drawing and giving strength between them.  The gentle reminder tugged at Aragorn’s heart that with time all wounds healed and that was the way of the world.  In the soft, peaceful moment, the human’s thoughts turned back to that time in his life when he believed his own hurts could never be healed.  Back before the incident in Mirkwood they had laughed about earlier.  Back when Aragorn was quietly terrified of leaving the valley and broke into a cold sweat in dark, cold rooms.  Gazing off into the fire he remembered how Elrond’s unusual lesson had begun.  It had been in the same Hall of Fire he had so recently left, but many years before...

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART FIVE*~
~Face your Fears~

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~

Dark and nameless demons scream

And I can’t awaken from this dream

Help me up, hold me tight

Let me wake to find the light

 

Fear the darkness, don’t fear the fear

Don’t fear the darkness, there’s nothing there

 

I will follow where I’m led

But I cannot see the path ahead

Face my fears down, one by one

Will they vanish in the sun?

 

If I close my eyes I might see the light

And put to rest at last the night.

 

--Cassia

~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

Bare feet padded silently down the stairwell and crept unnoticed into the Hall of Fire.

 

Or nearly unnoticed.

 

Aragorn glanced around him as he pulled a stack of cushions nearer the fireplace and stretched out on them.  He smoothed out the blanket he had brought with him and draped it over his legs and waist.  Turning towards the fire, he watched the flames dancing on the wood sparkling and shifting across the logs.  His own fireplace had been lit early in the evening but as always it would die out sometime during the night and he would wake to the pitch black quiet of his empty room.  And it would be cold.  It didn’t matter if it was the hottest night of the summer, when he awoke in the dark he was always cold. 

 

It had been months since they had returned from Angmar, since they had escaped the Witch King’s castle and their imprisonment there.  His physical wounds had all but healed.  The scars on his heart and soul, however, remained deeply etched and painful.

 

The first few weeks after Legolas had returned to Mirkwood it was hard for Aragorn.  Elrond had found his youngest asleep in Elrohir’s room, curled up in the over large chair or sharing the twin’s huge bed.  But Estel had begun to feel self conscious about waking his brothers.  Now he simply slipped down into the Hall of Fire when he thought everyone was asleep.  The fires never went out in the Great Hall and he didn’t have to worry about waking up in the dark.

 

The dark.

 

He hated it.  It still bothered him.  And that it bothered him at all was a point of distress to the man.  By human standards he was an adult.  Had he been a normal human and not Numenorean he would have been more than middle aged.  The point was, he was no child and to his mind, grown men were not afraid of the dark, even if they had been confined to it for months on end.  Even if it had once hidden horrors that still made him shudder at the mere memory.

 

He dreaded the quiet, stillness of night.  There were so many things now, normal things, that he couldn’t quite deal with properly.  Night times were just one of them.  Leaving Imladris for extended periods of time was another.

 

Aragorn was incredibly fearful of leaving the safe boundaries of home.  Too much had happened too far from his family or any type of help.  He had feared for so long that ‘home’ was something lost to him, that he now no longer desired to leave the valley.  It was a cowardly thought he supposed, but he felt safe here. 

 

In the silence of the night the Witch King’s voice would come back to him, pointing out the very fears that now ruled him and denouncing his weakness.  Oh yes, he was weak, that had always been true, hadn’t it?  Valar... Aragorn buried his head in his pillows and tried to still the voices in his mind. 

 

He started with a gasp, pulling back as a shadow passed across him, momentarily blocking out the light of the fire.  His thoughts had been so dark that the shifting shadow had frightened him.

 

“I’m sorry, Estel, did I wake you?” Celboril crouched down near the human, gazing into the silver eyes that flew suddenly open.  The servant had come in to stoke the fires and keep them burning.  He knew the human had been sleeping here of late and had been very careful not to wake him in the past.

 

Suddenly at a loss for a decent explanation, Aragorn simply laid back down with a sigh.  Placing his arm across his face he attempted to prevent the older elf from seeing through him.

 

“I wasn’t sleeping yet, Celboril,” he answered hesitantly.  “Don’t tell Ada,” he asked, gazing back at the elf once more.

 

“Estel...” Celboril faltered for words.  There was nothing in the house that he kept from the elf lord and Aragorn’s obvious distress of late was something he felt unwise for the young man to continue to keep secret.

 

“Please,” Aragorn begged softly.  “Just for a few more nights and it will be better.”  A lie and he knew it, but if wishing could make it so...

 

“Very well,” the seneschal acquiesced.  He still wasn’t sure that the information should be kept from Elrond, but he would honor Estel’s wishes for the time being.  Something in the human’s eyes said he had been through hell and was still trying to pull his soul back together.  Celboril knew many things, but he did not know how to deal with that.  “If you need anything, you know where I am.”  The old elf offered as he left.

 

Estel smiled softly and nodded before laying his head back down.  He hadn’t wanted anyone to find out that he had been staying in the Great Hall.  He had always been able to wake before the house and sneak back to his room before being discovered.  With a sigh he closed his eyes.  Surely Celboril would keep his secret until he was better.  It had to be soon.  He needed to be better soon.

 

The claustrophobic, suffocating dreams had only increased since Legolas’ departure.  Every night he closed his eyes, the Nazgûl returned to him, searing his mind with lies and taunts.  Every night he had woken in a panic trying to breathe, trying to remember how to make his lungs inhale.  He couldn’t move when he awakened.  There was nothing physically wrong with him, but for some reason there were always the long, horrible moments right after waking when he had no control over his body and the helplessness was overwhelming and terrifying.  Afterwards it was hard to get back to sleep.  He found that when he stayed in the Hall of Fire he hadn’t had that problem and his sleep had been deep and dreamless.  It couldn’t go on forever though, he knew that.   

 

Celboril walked down the hall, shaking his head.  He hated the fact that the young human wasn’t sleeping well.  He knew little of the abuses he had endured at the hands of the Úlairë, but the servant had seen this type of reaction years ago, in the elf lord that occupied this house and more recently in both of his two sons when they were younger.  It had taken unusual steps then for them to overcome their fears.  He had no doubt that it would require such now...if only Elrond knew.

 

The soft deep sound of the elf lord calling his name stopped Celboril in his tracks.  He grimaced slightly and turned back.

 

Stepping into the study Celboril approached Elrond, trying to keep his face impassive. “Yes, my lord?”

 

Without looking up from the tome he was reading Elrond questioned the servant.  “Is Estel sleeping in the Hall of Fire again tonight?”

 

Wincing slightly, the elf hesitated.  When Elrond glanced up at him it was painfully obvious that Celboril had been asked not to answer just such a question.

 

Nodding thoughtfully, Elrond closed the book and walked to the far side of the study room.  He gazed out into the darkened sky, his hands clasped behind him.  The moon was just beginning its descent; the night was only half over.

 

“The darkness still haunts him.  I though perhaps if he was given time... but he will never be free this way.”  Elrond turned back to the elf that waited behind him. “Will you be so kind as to prepare a horse for Estel and myself?” 

 

“Are you sure, my lord?”  Celboril knew what the elf had in mind but wasn’t convinced that the human was up to it so soon.  “He may not be ready just yet.”

 

With a smile, Elrond approached the servant and pressed him out into the hallway before him.  “I am not sure one ever is, but it will do him good.  He is human, he has not the years to wait this out like we do.  Please,” Elrond entreated once more, “Saddle up a horse for Estel.  We will be out shortly.”

 

With a small nod of compliance, Celboril left for the stables.  He did not see the items that the elf packed away in his bag before heading to the Hall of Fire.

 

Aragorn had easily fallen back asleep.  His rest was deep and dreamless and he simply lost himself in the peace.  Here it was never dark and he could breathe easy.

 

Elrond knelt next to the human and gazed at the sleeping man.  He hated waking him, but it had been several months since Aragorn and Legolas had returned and still the darkness haunted his youngest son.  He remembered a time in the far distant past when it haunted him as well.  He had been helped by an elf older and wiser than he at the time.  It was something he had taught his own sons when the opportunity arose and now he would take his youngest through this lesson as well.  With a sigh he gently shook the ranger, waking Estel.

 

Silver eyes opened slowly and latched onto the blue ones that gazed down at him.  Elrond was dressed in his riding gear and held a saddlebag in one hand.

 

“Where are you going, Ada?”  The human asked him sleepily.  “Is something wrong?” Not quite awake, he hadn’t yet realized that his secret was out.

 

“*We* are going,” Elrond answered, hooking his hands underneath Aragorn’s arms and pulling the man upright.  “Quickly, fetch your coat and boots and come back at once.  You won’t need anything else.  I will wait for you in the stables.”

 

The ranger was puzzled to no end, but obeyed the elf lord without question.  When Aragorn entered the large, open stable Celboril moved away from Elrond and proffered the reigns of a saddled horse towards the human.

 

Taking the reigns cautiously, the ranger glanced between the two elves.  Celboril would not return his gaze but simply bowed and turned to leave.  Elrond swung up onto the back of his horse.  The dark stallion had not been saddled or bridled.  Normally for such a trip, Aragorn’s horse would not have been saddled either but Elrond had felt it best as they would be riding in the dark through terrain with which the human was not familiar.

 

“Come, Estel, let us be off.  We have a bit of a ride ahead of us,” Elrond called to his son as his steed trotted out of the stable.  There was no further explanation and the human knew he would get none until his father was ready.

 

With a deep sigh, Aragorn swung up onto the back of the chestnut horse that waited him and quickly followed the elf lord.  They rode in silence through the forest.  It was easy for the ranger to follow the gently glowing form of the elf in front of him and he kept his eyes riveted to Elrond’s back. 

 

This passage that they were using was unfamiliar to him and he was grateful that Celboril had saddled his steed.  He ducked underneath a low hanging branch, barely avoiding being knocked off.

 

“Ada, where are we going?”  Aragorn finally asked, unable to stand not knowing.

 

“You will see,” was the elf’s cryptic answer, “We are nearly there.”

 

Aragorn contented himself with just following.  He trusted the elf lord implicitly.

 

When they stopped before the gaping maw of a darkened cave his heart dropped.  Elrond dismounted and gently pushed his mount away.  The horse walked a short distance off and began to eat the sweet grasses that grew in the woods.

 

Aragorn hesitated.  He watched as Elrond carried his saddlebag to the threshold of the cave and waited at the entrance.  The elf lord knew that his son had not dismounted and he called back to him.

 

“Estel, come with me.”  His voice was soft but commanding.

 

Swallowing the dread that threatened him, Aragorn dropped lightly to the ground and followed his adopted father into the cavern.  The light disappeared, swallowing them in darkness as he trailed the elf.  Aragorn’s heart raced wildly.  Of all the places he did not want to be surely his father understood that this was one of them.  The ranger suddenly felt a deep, brief surge of understanding compassion for what he had always considered to be Legolas’ rather silly but strong aversion to caves.  For the ranger, however, it was not the cave that made him hesitate, but the complete blackness flowing from it. 

 

Elrond’s insistence was the only reason strong enough to make Aragorn trail him reluctantly into the inky dark.  The elf lord continued walking down the winding path, deeper and deeper underground.  His natural glow was all they had to guide them and Aragorn stayed very close.  The elf lord could sense his son’s growing aprehension but he pressed onward.  The cavern walls tilted inwards, pinching the passage tightly.  Claustrophobia clung to the walls like spider-webs. 

 

Turning sideways, Elrond squeezed through the small opening.  The other side of the walkway angled sharply around a bend and the elf lord stepped behind it, allowing his light to be blocked.  He heard the small gasp that escaped Aragorn’s lips, as the man was plunged into darkness, but forced himself to remain hidden.

 

The ranger had turned sideways, following his father through the constricted passageway when all the light went out.  The wall behind pressed against his back and the stone in front of him pinned his chest painfully.  The darkness crushed in about him and he panicked.  Feelings of claustrophobia compressed his rational thought and froze him in place.

 

“Ada?” He whispered softly.

 

Elrond stepped around the corner, increasing his glow somewhat and took hold of the human’s arm, pulling him gently through.  He patted the man on the shoulder and resumed walking. The slope of the path tipped radically.  They were nearly at the bottom.

 

“Ada, please,” Aragorn barely spoke, “Why are we here?” 

 

The passage leveled out into a huge domed cavern.  Stalagmites rose from the ground, reaching to touch the tips of stalactites that hung from the ceiling.  The far reaches of the cavern were hidden from view in the all encasing darkness.  Only the immediate area around Elrond was visible.

 

Seating himself on the ground, Elrond motioned his son to do the same.  Once the ranger had obeyed, he began to speak softly.

 

“What do you see?” Elrond asked as he dimmed his glow until it was barely perceptible to human’s eyes.

 

Aragorn stifled a gasp and tensed.  He despised his reactions and how this was affecting him.  The very last thing he wanted was for Elrond to see in him what the Witch King had.  He closed his eyes and opened them trying to adjust to the lack of light.  He could not.

 

“What do you see?” The question was repeated.

 

“Nothing,” the human forced out with more calm than he felt.

 

“Darkness?”

 

“Yes,” Aragorn whispered.  He waited for Elrond to speak, strained to hear, strained to see, but it was as though his senses were cut off.  He had the odd, seemingly irrational thought that Elrond was in fact, amplifying this effect somehow. 

 

“You are alone,” the voice of the Nazgûl floated to him, conjured by his mind’s response to the darkness.  It had been ingrained into his thinking over those months of torment.  It had broken him down until he unwittingly still believed the lie.  Panic constricted his throat and he fought to breathe calmly.  It was like waking up from one of his panicked nightmares, but worse because he was already awake and knew he was not dreaming. 

 

Hearing his son’s distress Elrond reached out and gently touched the mithril brooch that Estel wore.  The metal suddenly sparkled and shown brilliantly under his fingers, reflecting the light of the elf’s natural glow that was now focused upon it. 

 

Surprised, Aragorn moved back and glanced down.  Elrond followed him and touched the intricate pin again.  The fire in the metal left after-traces of light dancing in the human’s eyes.

 

“Do you remember the words with which this brooch was given to you?” Elrond questioned as he sat back, allowing his glow to illuminate the two of them once more.

 

“That I would never be alone,” Aragorn answered, touching the brooch experimentally.

 

“And what did the Nazgûl tell you?” Elrond pressed further.

 

“He said I belonged to him and I was alone.  He said I was like him, darkness, weakness...failure.” The words were a guilty whisper.  Before Elrond could respond Aragorn glanced at the elf and asked him the one question he had been thinking on lately.

 

“Why, Ada?  Why did it happen?  Legolas and I weren’t looking for trouble, yet so much has always found us, whether alone or together.  And this...” his fingers rubbed idly at the scar in his palm.  “Why?”

 

Elrond considered the human for a few moments before responding, trying to gauge what the man was really asking him.  “Do you mean to ask me why Ilúvatar would allow it?”

 

When Aragorn nodded, the elf lord smiled sadly.  “I do not know, my son.  We do not always know his ways or his thoughts.  Sometimes it seems there is so much pain and evil in the world that it must be stronger than any good.  Sometimes we cannot imagine why we are here or if there is a reason to our lives.  I do not pretend to know the greater answers.  None of us can, for now.  If there are answers to be found, it will not be in this life.”

 

Elrond sat quietly for a moment, thinking.  He had had much the same questions when he was younger.  “Why?” never got any easier to answer.  He tackled the query from a different point of view.

 

“Sometimes things have a reason you can see, sometimes they do not.  Did anything good come from what happened to you and Legolas in Angmar?  Perhaps, from a certain point of view, there was good.  You rescued those enslaved by the Nazgûl; you helped them win their freedom.  That is a very good and very noble thing.  I do know that Sauron now believes for certain that there is no heir of Isildur alive.  He is under the impression that even the rumors are false because the Wraith was unable to pry anything from your mind.  You have been given many years free from the threat of them searching for you.  So perhaps there was purpose in it.”

 

“How do you know that?” Aragorn questioned leaning forward and listening to all his father had to say.

 

With a laugh Elrond brushed the question off lightly. “There are many things I know and many ways I have of finding them out.  That is not the subject of this discussion.”

 

Aragorn dropped his father’s gaze. “You do not know what it was like.  You do not know what he made me do and say.  You have no idea what it is to be cut off from everything and think you are dying.  To be forced to betray yourself.”

 

“I don’t?” Elrond asked the question softly, a small smile on his face.  “My dear child, I believe I do.”  While he talked he emptied out the contents of his saddlebag, allowing them to fall between them.

 

Aragorn swallowed hard as he saw what his father had brought and he shifted uneasily.

 

“Sîdh, ion-nín,” Elrond reassured. “Let me tell you about the first time I can to this very place, and why it was necessary for me to be brought here as you are now.”

 

As he started speaking, he picked up a length of elven rope and gently coiled it around his son’s wrists, binding the man’s hands together.  Estel did not move or resist his father.  When Elrond released the ranger, Aragorn tested the binds, trying to squirm out from them.  The rope tightened about him, holding him pinned when he fought it.  When he relaxed it released its grip and lay gently against his wrists.  Laying his hands in his lap he returned his focus to the elf before him.

 

Elrond waited until the man stopped fidgeting before he continued.

 

“Your grandfather, Celeborn, has lived longer than I have.  He is a very wise elf and when a headstrong young elf came asking for his daughter’s hand in marriage, he saw through the pride and pretense and recognized the fear.  He was a good friend of mine already; we had fought together in many battles.  He respected me, but he also knew me too well.  He knew my past and knew there were things I had never faced, never conquered.  He would not allow me to take his daughter until he was sure I could face them, and win.”

 

Elrond picked up a length of black cloth and held it in his hands.

 

“You see, Estel, the Eldar have the years to heal or hide should they choose to, like Legolas did for so many years.  You, my dear son, do not.  Your life is much shorter and so your healing must happen more quickly or your scars will own you and in the end cripple you.  Celeborn brought me here years ago and taught me the truth about fear.  Fear is a bully; it is the little death for rational thought.  Its main purpose is to immobilize you so that that which cannot overcome you otherwise is given an advantage.  You can learn to resist it, if you know the truth.”

 

Leaning forward, Elrond wrapped the dark cloth around Aragorn’s eyes, blocking all sight and sending him into a world of complete darkness. The cloth fell down over his face, slightly impeding his breathing but not enough to actually impair it.  The human tensed and fought to remain calm.  Elrond continued speaking, giving the man something to focus on for the present.

 

“You are right in saying that I do not understand how it was with the Nazgûl.  I cannot begin to comprehend what you went through, Estel, and I would not cheapen your pain by pretending to do so.  However, I do understand fear.  Fear of the darkness, of abandonment and pain.  I have never really told you the tale of what happened to Elros and me when our mother was forced to leave us to save the Silmaril.  We were still almost children at the time.  We never saw her or our father again.” Elrond continued speaking as Aragorn calmed down and listened to his father’s tale of enslavement and mistreatment.

 

As he described the abuse and neglect at the hands of fellow elves, Aragorn could see the similarities in his own fears and his father’s circumstances.  The young twins had been imprisoned, beaten frequently, and denied food and water for days at a time.  Kept in a small room barely large enough for the two of them they were not allowed sunlight or moonlight and lived in the darkness.  Silent tears coursed down Aragorn’s face as he listened in horror to the tale.  He had not realized that his father had been treated so badly.  He wondered idly how he had ever been able to get over such memories, such horrors, especially when they occurred at such an early, impressionable age.  His father had always seemed so courageous and fearless.

 

The human easily sympathized with the fear of dark spaces and being bound.  He tested his bonds again experimentally.  The elven rope twined tighter as he fought it so he tried to relax.

 

When Elrond described his terror at the sounds of Fandril’s footstep Aragorn shuddered visibly.  He could still hear the way it sounded when the Nazgûl came for him.

 

“Ada, I’m sorry,” Estel whispered softly when Elrond stopped speaking.  “I didn’t realize...”

 

With a smile, Elrond shook his head.  Knowing that his son could not see him, he spoke aloud. “It was many years ago, and through the patient wisdom of my elders and time, it no longer troubles me.  I can own the memories, and they do not own me.  That is the way true healing eventually comes, Aragorn, but it does take time.  First though, you have to know the truth about fear.”

 

The small sounds of night animals returning to the cave caused Aragorn to jump.  He turned blindly in the direction of the sounds.  Rocks skittered oddly in darkened corners, creating disturbing echoes.  Elrond knew that morning was coming soon and it was time for Aragorn to face his own fears.  Picking up a length of silk, the elf walked behind the human and leaned down.  He hesitated.  It was hard for him to go through with all this, but he knew it was for the best.

 

“Ada, what are you doing?” Aragorn asked, trying to keep a worried edge out of his voice.  His heart raced and his breathing accelerated as Elrond gently slipped the silk over his mouth and tied it behind his head, effectively gagging the human.

 

Elrond had skillfully chosen to recreate the fears that gripped his son the most.  His gentle restrictions on the human ripped memories and terrors from the man’s heart and brought them flooding to the surface.  He did not intend to torment his son, only cause him to face his fears.  It had worked with Elladan and Elrohir years ago after they had been trapped with him in a cave-in.  It had worked when Celeborn had brought him down here and done to the elf lord much the same as Elrond had to Estel.  He only hoped it would help the human as much as it had the elves before him.  Fear had a tendency to become bigger than the thing being feared.  The first step was facing it and bringing it back down into proportion.  He felt sure that despite what Aragorn might think, the ranger was ready to do that.  Elrond knew that Aragorn was much stronger than he gave himself credit for.   

 

Aragorn could have ripped the gag from his face, he was not restricted from moving in this way at all, but fear froze him in place and the memories of his time with the Nazgûl flooded his thoughts.  He knew full well what the punishment was for resisting – the Wraith had not tolerated disobedience.  For Aragorn submission had become survival, but it was not the trait of a future king and Elrond knew this far too well.  The hopeless submission that had been so torturously beaten into him warred with Aragorn’s nature and kept him unbalanced.  It had to be broken.

 

“Now you must face your fears, Estel.”  Elrond placed his hand gently against his son’s chest. The man was trembling, trying unsuccessfully to calm down.  “Listen to the darkness and what it tells you.  You must face the things that hold you captive.  When you face your fears, move through them.  Look back at them and you will see that there is nothing there.  It is but a vapor.”  His voice trailed off softly as he reseated himself a few feet away from the human and watched his son carefully.

 

Aragorn tried to do as he was told.  He tried to still his breathing and calm his racing heart.  His breath hitched in his throat as he fought the darkness that tried to envelope him.

 

The voice of the Nazgûl crowded his thoughts.  He saw the gag and the bridle held before him.  He felt the bonds wrap around him before he was placed in the box.  The darkness hedged his rational thought and fogged through his mind stifling his ability to relax.  Legolas’ muted cries fought for attention around the Úlairë claims over him.

 

Darkness.

 

Fear.

 

His father’s words cut through the chaos as he recalled them.  Face your fear and walk through it.

 

He tasted the gag in his mouth and slowly reached up to remove it.  Pulling the silk away from his face he breathed in deeply, calmly.  The Nazgûl used fear like a weapon, like a tool.  But in the end he was no different than any captor; he was a bully.  He could have killed Aragorn, but he would have never owned him.  Even if he had followed through on his worst threats and pierced the human’s heart with a Morgul blade, Aragorn would have died, but never been enslaved, the human felt suddenly sure of that. 

 

In his mind, Aragorn walked back through the laboratory and placed the gag on the table.  Turning, he walked away from it and the Nazgûl’s lab, back through the darkening mists and into the light. 

 

Tentatively he reached for the blindfold, but a strong, gentle hand stopped him.

 

“Not yet.  Leave that on until I remove it,” Elrond whispered softly, pressing the human’s hand down.  He was pleased that Aragorn had pulled the gag from his face, knowing that it was a simple but important hurdle for the human.

 

Nodding slowly, Aragorn relaxed and continued thinking through the fears and darkness in his heart.  Silently, hope began to weave through his thinking as he reached the end of the bitter trail of torment he had lived through.  Yes, the Nazgûl could take away his ability to talk but he could not take his spirit.  He could bind him, but not capture his will.  Aragorn could be confined, but his soul was ever free.  He could be blinded but he was never alone.  He fingered the brooch with bound hands.

 

He had been hurt and broken and it *did* matter but it wasn’t his identity.  Sitting here in the dark, surrounded by everything he feared, but in no actual danger, it felt as if he watched the panic inside him shrink.  Like a child who looks at the shadows in the corner of his room until he can finally see the shape of his dresser in them, rather than the nameless terror he supposed to be lurking there. 

 

“I fear being abandoned,” he whispered.  He was surprised when he spoke aloud.

 

“Is that your greatest fear?” Elrond questioned softly.

 

“Yes,” Aragorn answered, “You, my brothers, Arwen, Legolas - I fear loosing you, because of death or my own failings.  To be alone with no one around and all I love lost to me, that is my greatest fear.”

 

“My son, if all the earth should fade and all with it die and you should be left in the darkness of its passing you would still never be alone,” The elf explained gently.  He touched the brooch the man wore once more.  The spark and fire of the mithril was visible even through the blind that Aragorn wore and he smiled slightly.

 

“You see, you were created by Ilúvatar and for him.  No matter who should not be with you, he ever is.  There is no where you can go to escape him or his watchful eye.  Not even the dungeons of a Nazgûl can hide you.  Do you understand?  His love reaches you no matter where you are.  And so does mine.  You just must listen for it.  I can’t walk your path with you, Estel, and I won’t be with you forever, but my love will, that I can promise.”

 

Elrond let Aragorn sit in silence as the man thought through what he had been told.

 

“What did the Nazgûl tell you, Estel?” The elf lord asked after some time.

 

“He told me I belonged to him.  He said that I was alone and that no one could hear me or help me.  He kept saying that I would be owned by him and that my torment would never end,” Aragorn answered, softly recounting the words.

 

“They are lies,” his father stated simply.  “Now tell me the truth.  What do *you* believe?”

 

Aragorn did not answer right away.  He listened to the voice of the Nazgûl, and then forced himself beyond it sorting out his own quiet thoughts that lay below the clamor of the falsehoods.

 

“I do not belong to him and I never shall.  I am the adopted son of Elrond, lord of Rivendell, heir to the throne of Gondor by my sire Arathorn descendant of Isildur.  I am brother to Elladan and Elrohir and friend to Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood.  No matter where I am, Ilúvatar can hear me and I am never hopeless.  I am owned by no creature on Middle Earth.  I am one of the free peoples and I *am* free,” the ranger countered softly.  He was thinking through it slowly and speaking the truths, one for every lie he had been told. “That is what I believe.  I will never be alone.”

 

Elrond could see the human visibly grown stronger and more confident as he faced his fears and walked through them.

 

“And the dark, my son?  What of it?” Elrond pressed him further.

 

“The dark holds no trace of him any longer.  He did not create it.  He can manipulate it but it does not belong to him either.  The dark is simply that which I cannot see through, but it is not evil in itself and does not mean I am alone.”  He reached out and touched Elrond’s hands gently with his bound ones, no longer remembering that they were bound.

 

“Never doubt in the darkness, what you know to be true in the light, Estel,” the elf lord gently instructed.  “The brooch you wear is simply a symbol of the truth you carry in here.”  Elrond touched his hands to the man’s chest causing, Aragorn to smile gently.

 

“Yes, Ada,” he answered softly.

 

Carefully, Elrond removed the blindfold from Aragorn’s face. The man blinked several times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the level of light in the cavern.  He was surprised to see a shaft of sunlight falling from high overhead.  A vent in the rock face allowed the light to spill in turning the frightening cavern into a softly glowing work of art.  The floor and ceilings were covered in glittering bits of crystal and ore.  It held no fear now at all.

 

Unbinding Aragorn’s wrists, Elrond continued speaking.  “This does not mean your nightmares will end today.  Nor does it mean you will never have moments of fear or doubt.  It is simply another step in the journey of healing.  You are well on your way, my son.”

 

“Thank you, Ada,” Aragorn whispered.  He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the elven lord.  Elrond returned the embrace, relieved that the simple exercise had worked with the human so well.

 

“You said you did this with Elladan and Elrohir?”  Estel questioned as Elrond stood to his feet and helped the ranger back up. 

 

“Yes, I did,” his father answered conversationally as he collected the rope and strips of cloth stuffing them back in his pack.  “It was slightly different with them, however, for they feared different things.  It was many years ago now, after we were trapped in a cave-in.  The twins had been severely brutalized by orcs in a ploy to capture me.  They had many fears to confront after that encounter.  I brought them down here like their grandfather did with me and we stepped through those fears together.  It helped them as well.”

 

Aragorn glanced back once more into the cavern before taking the lead as they walked out.  He remembered the passageway and led them easily up the winding walkway, aided by his father’s bright glow.  Everything seemed lighter to him as though the shadows had fled the world.  He knew that the nightmares were bound to return, he knew that it would take time but he also realized he was not alone.  When the terrors came he would seek out his father or Elrohir.  He no longer had to fear the darkness; he could walk through it now. 

 

As they passed the claustrophobic section of the path he had a momentary flare of fear but it quickly receded.  Elrond spoke true.  The fear reactions were not going to vanish overnight, but he could hold onto the memory of the cave, and the way those apprehensions shrunk and vanished when placed under careful scrutiny.  That would help him eventually put them behind him. 

 

Once outside, the ranger breathed in deeply and looked around the forests.  It was painted with splashes of the early morning sun where it peaked through the trees at a low angle.  Their horses were waiting for them lower in the pasture and they quickly mounted up and turned for home.

 

Celboril awaited them in the courtyard, a pensive look on his face.  He had worried on them over the long night but his fears were forgotten when Aragorn greeted him warmly.  The servant smiled widely at the father and son, welcoming them home heartily.  With a small nod Elrond acknowledged that they were indeed well and things had gone just fine.  Smiling to himself, Celboril followed the horses as they made their way slowly back to the stables.  He would see to the animals before returning to the house.

 

Once inside Imladris, Aragorn realized just how weary he was.  He turned to the right and headed for the stairwell.  His father’s voice stopped him on the first landing.

 

“Estel, would you like something to eat?  Celboril has food waiting for us.  Your brothers have gone out already and won’t be home until later,” Elrond walked up the staircase behind the ranger.

 

“I think I should like to sleep for a few hours,” Aragorn answered around a yawn.  “I am very tired.” He laughed softly as the elf lord followed him up to the second level.

 

Elrond stepped around his son and entered the human’s room.  Walking to the large picture window he pulled the curtains closed, sending the room into a mid-morning darkness.  He glanced back at the man to see his reaction but Aragorn simply dropped onto the bed, kicking off his boots lazily and letting them lay where they fell.  He yawned again and smiled up at his father when the elf walked over next to his bed.  Pulling the blankets over him he sleepily gazed at Elrond.

 

“I’m glad you took me to the cave, Ada.  I think it really will help.  I’m just going to sleep for a few hours and I’ll be up.”

 

Elrond gently touched his son’s face, brushing the hair out of his eyes, “It is understandable that you would be tired.  It is not easy to let go of ones fears.  Sleep well, Estel.”  He smiled as the man pulled him into an awkward hug.

 

Rolling over, Aragorn stretched out and was instantly asleep, worn out from the night’s lessons.  And as he slept, his dreams were peaceful and nothing dark troubled his sleep.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Aragorn was pulled from his reverie when Arwen shifted in his arms.  He set his thoughts aside as she sat up and gazed into his eyes.

 

Breaking the silence that had descended on them he finished all that was left to tell of his explanation.

 

“When we left Rahzon we headed straight here.  Legolas requested it and I could not refuse.  I am sorry how our haste must have seemed to you, I... I did not know what else to do.  There is something wrong with him, Arwen, something very wrong and whatever it is seems beyond my skills to diagnose or treat.  I had hoped coming here might be good for Dari, too - to have some new experiences to replace what he has been through.  And... I had hoped it might be good for you and me as well.  Every time I closed my eyes, the visions were there again - death, cruelty and the dying.  That Dari was there in that terrible place...  I still cannot forgive myself for that.  I failed him, and I failed Legolas and I fear... I really fear that I am not going to be able to help Legolas through this time.  His wounds won’t even heal, and if what Elrohir tells me is true, not even Ada could do anything in cases like this.”

 

Standing to his feet, Aragorn paced the carpet once more, his gaze thrown unseeing out into the dark night.  Arwen walked to the fireplace and stoked the fire.  She leaned against the mantle and watched her husband carefully.  So many cares and woes creased his brow and harried his heart.  She crossed her arms and tucked her hands up under the overlong sleeves of her robe.  She did not question the wisdom of coming here, and she could at least begin to forgive him his haste now that she saw the devastated worry and guilt in his eyes. 

 

“Estel.”  Her voice stopped the man in his tracks.  “You are a great healer.  Ada foresaw that in you and he was right.  But perhaps Legolas does not need a healer.  Perhaps he needs time and a friend.  There are wounds that cannot be mended until the wounded is ready.  Legolas is an Eldar, he has time, give him time.”  She would not let him interrupt her but held up her hand and continued.

 

“Dari is safe and Legolas is alive because of what you did.  Coming here was the right thing to do.  Don’t second guess yourself and don’t allow those condemning thoughts to rule your heart.”  Arwen consoled him. 

 

Aragorn shook his head mutely, he had wanted to console her, but somehow the tables had flipped and she was comforting him now.  He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes for a moment.  When he removed them, he met his wife’s gaze.  “Forgive me, then?  For everything?  You know I never want to hurt you.”

 

Arwen leaned forward and kissed him, lightly.  “I will forgive you, if you will forgive me.  I know I place a great deal of weight on your shoulders, my love.  We all need time to heal, even you do.” 

 

Aragorn kissed her back, relieved and yet still troubled at heart.  After a minute he broke away and sighed.  “I know that.  I do.  I just... how much time do you think we have?  I want to stay here forever, but I am constantly reminded that we can’t,” the man said disconsolately.  “If there was just something I could do...”

 

Arwen watched her husband carefully.  Aragorn was fretting again, she knew this expression well.  Her own sadness and anxiety was beginning to fade a bit as their conversation eased the strain of estrangement she had felt or at least feared between herself and her husband over the past few months.  She was actually able to give a somewhat wry smile.  “Estel, Legolas will heal on his own time table, not ours.  Give it time... but be prepared to give it a lot of time.  Elves do not solve everything so quickly as you impetuous humans do.”  Her eyebrows tipped up in slight amusement. 

 

“And I want nothing more than that, but I don’t know how to manage it,” Aragorn admitted with a bit of frustration.  “How long do you think we can shun the duties of Gondor?  There are council meetings, affairs of state and the Winter Fest draws nigh.  We cannot miss it.  Jonath reminds me of that frequently.  What if...” a finger on his lips stopped him. 

 

Moving to stand in front of her husband, Arwen wrapped her arms around the man’s waist and stared up into his eyes.

 

“Yes, Minas Tirith will surely crumble into ruin and all of Gondor will fall into decay without her king,” she teased slightly.  The smile that played at the edge of her lips belayed the man’s frustration as he watched her out of slitted eyes. 

 

“Darling, do not push Legolas as he tries to find his peace again. And do not rush Dari from his nightmares.  They will both heal in their time.”  Her smiled widened and her tone turned coy as she continued.  “As for the kingdom, I discussed everything with Faramir and Éowyn before our departure.  The council is at ease with their steward in your absence.  Remember meleth-nín, that Gondor somehow survived in the hands of the Stewards for countless generations.  Before we left word was received that the Southern Treaty had been fully ratified and accepted in all nine tribes.  Word reached them of the attack.  Those responsible were hunted down by their own people and punished.  The trade routes are open and the waterways have been secured.  We are at peace.  And I dare say that Faramir and Éowyn will be just as able to preside over the Winter Fest as we would be.”

 

Aragorn stared open mouthed at his wife as he processed all she had just said.  She had, apparently, thought of everything.  It was very, *very* good to have a wife who knew so much about running a kingdom, he decided.  He had had no time at all to make arrangements of any kind before he left and the responsibility had been wearing on him considerably. 

 

“Then I suppose I should enjoy our time here?”  He questioned.  A small smile began to wrap itself around the corners of his mouth until his heart found its voice again.

 

“And yet you are not.  Why?”

 

Aragorn stalled for an explanation.  He knew why but his heart still warred within him over so many things.  

 

“Why?”  Arwen repeated.  The gentle touch of her fingertips on his cheek redirected Estel’s attention.

 

“Because *he* is not here,” Aragorn whispered.

 

The answer startled Arwen.  It was the last thing she had expected to hear and yet in her heart she knew she should have thought of it first.

 

Dropping her gaze she answered her husband softly, “I know, my love.  He is not.  But his love is, I can feel it.”

 

Lifting her chin with his fingertips Aragorn gazed down at his wife.  “I’m sorry, I know you must miss him as much, or more than I,” he said softly.

 

“I do,” Arwen admitted slowly.  She didn’t really like to talk about it.  “More so now that we are here, I suppose.  And now that there is Dari.”

 

Perplexed, Aragorn pressed her for an explanation of the last statement. “What do you mean?”

 

Seating herself back on the bed, Arwen waited as Aragorn pulled the armchair closer and sat across from her.

 

“When you left with Frodo for Mordor, my father had a talk with me one night.  I had decided to tell Ada of my decision to choose a mortal life but he was one step ahead of me.  He, of course, tried to dissuade me,” She spoke softly.  Her eyes were riveted to her fingers as she played idly with Aragorn’s hand, caressing the silver ring, Barahir. 

 

“It wasn’t that he was against my marrying you, in that sense.  He simply didn’t want to lose me or leave me behind.  At the time I thought he was being selfish and I didn’t understand his heart in the matter.  He asked me if he had my love and I told him yes.  And it was true, he did.  I loved you both, and one love did not negate the other... I could never choose between the two of you.  In the end, when he finally understood, he did not make me choose.  But now, so many years after he has gone, I wonder if he ever truly believed me when I told him I loved him.”

 

“Of course he believed you,” Aragorn whispered.  He had not heard of any of this and the revelation was new to him.  “Why would you doubt?”

 

“Until Dari came along I did not understand how much a parent could love a child.  Nor did I ever fathom the depths of pain that the loss or separation from that child could bring.  No one tells you these kinds of things.  And now I realize how much I hurt him, unwillingly so, but still...”  When Arwen raised her eyes to meet her husband’s they were filled with tears again.  “Now I know, in part, why it was so hard for him to leave us here – why he wanted so terribly for me to come with him.  If you had not been born human he would have entreated you the same.  Instead we have stayed behind – all of us.  How our choices must have hurt him I am only beginning to understand.”

 

Aragorn swallowed hard, unable to find words to express himself.  He rose from his seat and sat next to Arwen, pulling her head gently to his shoulder.  He listened to the thoughts tearing through his own heart.  He remembered the severe rage that had burned in him, bereft of rationale when he had learned what had befallen his son.  If the slavers had not lain dead in Rahzon he would have killed them all with his bare hands for the injuries they had inflicted on Eldarion.  The fire of possessive love flared in heart at the thought once more and for the first time he understood Elrond more than he thought possible.  Some things you truly could not understand until you had experienced them yourself.  Being a parent was one of them.

 

“Ada knows we love him.  He has to know.  He has our love, he always has.”  Aragorn answered.  “When I returned from Harad after being gone so long and under the circumstances that I left, I was sure that Ada could not love me anymore, not like he did, not like before.  And it came out in our conversation late that night.  I told him my fears and I fully expected him to tell me I was right.  But he didn’t.”  Aragorn looked up and smiled at the memory. 

 

“In fact, when I finally got the courage to ask him, Ada got up out of his chair and strode right over to where I was sitting. I knew I was done for then,” Aragorn continued.  He laughed lightly as he spoke.  “But instead of being angry he pulled me up out of the chair and just hugged me.  I will never forget what he said next.  He told me that I have his love and I always would no matter what happened.  He made me promise to never forget that.  He has told me that many times since, actually.”

 

“And you have kept that promise,” Arwen whispered.  She smiled up at her husband.  She was bone weary.  The trip had been long and the pent up emotions released this evening were almost too much.  Yet, for the first time in the past few months she finally felt safe and at peace.  “I’m glad you and Dari are both back with me again.  Everything else will work itself out in time, I am certain.”

 

Quiet fell gently in the small room and Estel glanced at the dying fire.

 

“Sleepy?” He asked softly, nuzzling her cheek softly and breaking the easy silence.

 

Arwen was, but leaning against her husband, whom she had not seen in far too long, was putting other thoughts in her mind.  “Mmm, are you?” she let the slightly taunting question fell between them.

 

With a laugh Aragorn rose.  He walked to the window, drawing the curtains and blowing out the small shell night light.  As the fire dimmed he returned to the bed and gently kissed his wife’s lips, whispering softly to her and eliciting quiet laughter from the beautiful elf maiden.

 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART SIX*~
~Ghosts, Memories and Visitors~

 

 

Early morning light filtered gently through the window as the semi-sheer fabric of the curtains fluttered slightly.  Wakefulness tugged feebly at Aragorn’s consciousness, but he ignored its call.  Instead he rested in the comfortable, glowing peace of Rivendell at dawn.  Somewhere, birds twittered faintly in the trees.  Arwen, curled up against his chest with her head pillowed on his arm, did not even stir.  Almost two weeks had passed since they had returned to Rivendell and they had finally settled into the comfortable reality of being back here in this place, which held so many memories, both painful and pleasant. 

 

Content to drift comfortably and let his warrior’s instincts relax for once, Aragorn did not hear the closed door slide noiselessly open, nor the swift footsteps that entered the room.

 

He awoke with a jolt and a start.  For a moment he didn’t know why he had awoken and his hand grasped automatically under his pillow.  It found only Arwen’s arm, which brought him quickly back to reality.  The world was shaking... no, just the bed.  The bed was shaking.  It was shaking because something, or rather *someone*, very small, but very full of energy was bouncing up and down on it with great enthusiasm. 

 

“Na-na!  Ad-a!  Wake up.  Waaake up!” Dari sing-songed as he bounced on the bed.  His dark, unruly curls spun around his small head as he jounced up and down, his long white nightshirt fluttering about him like angel wings.  Another bounce landed him atop his mother and father, but he continued to hop up and down anyway, even though it did not engender as much springy motion.  

 

Aragorn caught his son’s wrist in his free hand and pulled the boy down into a sitting position, trying to quell the shaking and avoid unnecessary bruising.  That quickly turned into a hug.

 

“Peace, peace, easy there,” he said with a smile and a yawn. 

 

Dari hugged back before squiggling free and bouncing with only slightly less vigor in the little nitch he created for himself between the bodies of his mother and father.

 

“Elladan an’ Elr’hir gonna take me hunting!  Elladan an’ Elr’hir gonna take me hunting!” the child chanted happily.  “We’re goin’ to go all the places they took you when you were big like me!”

 

Arwen was blinking sleep out of her eyes and smiled up at her son through a graceful tangle of dark brown tresses.  Then she closed her eyes again and burrowed down against Aragorn’s arm.  “Dear, your son is awake,” she murmured.

 

Dari was still going on about all the things he was going to do today with his uncles.  He didn’t really seem to care if his parents were paying attention or not.

 

Aragorn snorted softly.  “Why is he my son when he’s awake, and your son when he’s sleeping?” he murmured. 

 

Arwen gave a muffled sound that was no kind of answer at all and remained right where she was. 

 

Dari was standing up and bouncing again, obviously having decided that his Nana and Ada were not near awake enough yet. 

 

Aragorn caught his leg.  “We’re awake, we’re awake, Dari, all right?” he said fondly.  “But I bet Legolas isn’t... don’t you think you’d better go check?”

 

Dari latched onto the idea immediately and scrambled off the bed on hands and knees.  Dropping to his feet on the floor, he scampered out of the room, leaving the door hanging partially open behind him.

 

Aragorn immediately lay his head back down on the pillow again and nuzzled his face into Arwen’s hair.

 

“You’re horrible,” Arwen murmured contentedly. 

 

“I know,” Aragorn responded with equal apathy. 

 

There was silence for a few moments.  Then Arwen’s brows furrowed.  “Hunting?” she questioned with concern as Dari’s words finally got through her sleepy mind.

 

Aragorn chuckled.  “Don’t worry.  If they intend to take him everywhere they took me, the most dangerous thing they’ll run into is ferocious squirrels.”

 

Arwen seemed content with this answer and relaxed for a few more moments of stolen rest. 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Legolas turned over, trying to find a cool place on his pillow.  A thin sheen of cold sweat made his bare face and arms glisten slightly in the early light flowing in from the window.  The growing radiance touched his closed eyelids and he stirred restlessly, a frown creasing his face.  Rolling over again and pulling the covers over his head, he tried to block out the brightness that was further disturbing his already troubled sleep. 

 

He wasn’t really dreaming because he wasn’t sleeping deep enough to dream, but nameless feelings of sorrow and dread chased themselves around his consciousness as he moved restlessly under the covers.

 

Dari banged the door open, entering the room with far less stealth this time.  His bare feet pattered across the polished wood floor, giving the half-aware elf’s senses a clear warning of his approach. 

 

Yet it still took Legolas several long moments to try to drag his mind to alertness and make sense of what he was hearing.  His eyes snapped open and he shot up onto his elbows when Dari started bouncing on the bed next to him.   He realized he was breathing hard.  It had been a bad night. 

 

Every night lately, was a bad night.

 

Legolas almost dreaded going to bed now because he never really slept, no matter how tired he felt.  Or perhaps more accurately, he slept, but he did not rest.  It was ironic and it was stupid.  He had slept better in the slave cages of Rahzon than he was sleeping now.  What in Arda was wrong with him?!

 

Frozen on his elbows and staring into space with a distressed look on his face, Legolas was momentarily lost in his own thoughts and oblivious to whatever Dari was doing and saying.  The next thing he was aware of was Dari’s small hand pressed against his cheek.  His eyes focused and he found that Dari was staring into his face with a puzzled, almost concerned look on his small features. 

 

“Leg’las?” the boy asked hesitantly, kneeling on the elf’s lap as he looked up at him questioningly.  The white, drawn look on the prince’s face frightened the child.  Dari had seen too many men look like that in the cages.  Sometimes, even though their eyes were open, they couldn’t see him.  They wouldn’t wake up and take the water he brought.  When that happened he was supposed to go tell Hetsupa.  There was always someone new in their cage the next day.  He hadn’t understood at first, but after a while his young mind had gotten a very thorough education in the understanding of death. 

 

“Leg’las!” Dari’s voice was insistent and had lost the bubbly tone of a few moments before.  Unshed tears sparkled in the boy’s eyes.  It was all too close still.  Dari could forget and move on as sometimes only children could, but that didn’t mean it was gone. 

 

Legolas’ gaze darted around the room for a moment as if assuring himself of his real surroundings.  He yanked himself out of his own troubles and wrapped his arms quickly around Eldarion.  He hugged the boy for a moment, before setting him back down in his lap and treating him to a warm smile. 

 

“You’re up bright and early this morning, young one,” the elf prince said cheerfully, trying to make up for his momentary lapse. 

 

Dari seemed hesitant to trust the change in the elf’s mood.  He saw the way the prince’s eyes continued to dart almost automatically around the room.  It was a reaction Dari understood... at least in his own, limited way.

 

“He’s dead, Leg’las,” the boy said quietly and completely out of the blue.  “Ada says so.  He’s not under the bed or in the closet and he’s not goin’ to hurt either of us anymore.  Ada promised.”

 

Legolas blinked in shock.  “You mean Hetsupa, Dari?” he asked softly.  The cage manager was not the worst thing that haunted Legolas’ heart and mind, but obviously for Dari he embodied the whole hellish nightmare the child had endured. 

 

Dari simply nodded.  If he had learned one thing in the cages it was the finality of death.  If you were dead, you didn’t come back.  So when Aragorn told him that Hetsupa was dead, he could take peace in the fact that the big, scary man would never come back for him. 

 

Legolas’ smile widened.  Ah for the simple, trusting mind of a child.  He squeezed Eldarion’s shoulder.  “Well your Ada’s right,” he concurred.  “Besides,” he whispered conspiratorially.  “They seem to have been using these chambers as a storage place the past few years... there is no *room* in the closet for anything larger than a mouse to hide in there.”

 

Dari laughed and quickly forgot all pain and sorrow as he remembered why he had come here in the first place.  “Elladan and Elr’hir are taking me hunting today!” he bubbled. 

 

“Well!” Legolas exclaimed appreciatively.  “That *will* be quite an adventure.  Does your Ada know?”

 

Dari nodded as he flopped stomach down onto the bed, rolling and unrolling himself in the quilt and getting the covers increasingly tangled. 

 

“Uh-huh.  He said I should go tell you, make sure you were awake.”  Eldarion rolled too close to the edge of the bed and tumbled off, taking the quilts with him.  He was so padded and the ground so close there was almost no impact at all and he giggled as he threw off the encumbering mounds of bed-clothes that swathed him. 

 

Legolas smiled wryly.  “Oh, he did, did he?  Perhaps we better go make sure they are really up and moving as well, shall we?” he asked with a wicked glint in his eye.  Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he straightened the ties of his un-dyed sleep shirt, smoothing the wrinkled twists out of the off-white fabric. 

 

He opened and closed his left hand slowly.  It tingled numbly as if he had lain upon it too long.  Rising somewhat stiffly to his feet, Legolas tried to ignore the ache in his side.  Mornings were difficult.  For some reason everything ached more in the morning, making him regret ever having had to go to bed.  Pushing through the discomfort, Legolas plucked Dari out of his nest of rumpled bed-clothes on the floor. 

 

Dari reached his arms up, eager to be lifted.  “Look, I’m an eagle in a nest!” he said, spreading his arms and pretending to fly as he was scooped into the elf’s arms. 

 

Legolas chuckled and spun Dari around in a small circle, giving him the impression of flight.  “Why so you are,” the elf agreed as he settled the boy on his hip, ruffling Eldarion’s downy curls.  “What say we fly over and give your parents a surprise, hm?”

 

Dari nodded enthusiastically at the idea as they passed out into the hall.