When
Paths Cross
Author: Carrie
Rating: Pg-13 for
violence
Summary: My take on how our favorite elf prince and
ranger met. Young Aragorn and Prince
Legolas are both having problems at home.
When they both decide to run away, they encounter more than they
bargained for…
Feedback: Yes,
please! I can be contacted at lionesscrs@yahoo.com
Thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not own Middle Earth or any of its characters. I’m just borrowing them for a bit!
Additional Disclaimer: As in Cassia and Sio’s stories, I have left out Gilraen because I’m unsure of her character and also because she would get in the way. She and Arathorn were both killed by orcs, and Aragorn was brought to Rivendell when he was young. For those of you who call my portrayal of Elladan slightly mean, I don’t think he’s being mean, he’s just being protective. He doesn’t want his “little brother” to get hurt. That is how I see him—he will change, don’t worry—so please don’t send me any flames telling me you don’t agree. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions! :o) Another thing—I have taken a bit of freedom with the geography and the amount of time it takes to get from place to place. This fact is due mainly to lack of research on the author’s part, and I hope it does not affect the plot of the story.
--I don’t need you to
worry for me ’cause I’m alright
I don’t want you to
tell me it’s time to come home
I don’t care what you
say anymore, this is my life
Go ahead with your own
life and leave me alone.
-- Billy Joel, “My
Life”
The Lord Elrond regretted
the appearance of the Elven messenger from Mirkwood with every breath of his
being. Tension had been hanging high in
the air ever since his arrival and departure several days past, and Elrond knew
he owed nothing less to the Lord Thranduil than to comply to his request.
Elrond sighed heavily,
wishing that things could have been different.
Relations between the Noldor and Silvan elves had been tight for quite
some time now, and the Lord of Imladris hated to admit to the rather hostile
attitude that he and Thranduil had taken to each other. Now it seemed that the Mirkwood king wished
to make amends, and was simply using the change in season as an excuse to hold
some celebration that would require his presence. The winter had been bad, but not bad enough to justify a festive
gathering.
No, this had to be another
reason all together. But Thranduil’s
pride was great, and Elrond knew this decision had probably been hard for him
to make. While Elrond knew this would
ultimately be for the best, it was causing more problems at home than he wished
to admit. The Noldor Elves were using
every opportunity they could find to poke some sort of fun at their Silvan
brethren in Mirkwood, and Elrond dreaded that that would only get worse once
they arrived in Thranduil’s realm.
A door slammed somewhere
down the hall and angry voices floated down the passageway, reaching into the
Elven Lord’s closed study, and breaking into his troubled thoughts.
“Do you want me to say it
in a thousand different languages? You
are not to come!”
Elrond sighed
heavily. The strained relationship
between Aragorn and Elladan had reached its breaking point it seemed. The bickering had been constant between the
two—they could not even be in the same room without a fight taking place. It appeared that Aragorn was finally
resisting Elladan’s over protective nature.
“I do not understand! Many Nolder elves will be going. I don’t see why…”
“You are a human, not an
elf. You are still a child, and you
would get in the way. It will be
dangerous!”
“Everything that I want to
do outside of father’s palace is dangerous,” Aragorn retorted,
exasperated. “I have just turned
twenty, and in case you did not realize it, I am now considered a man among my
own race!”
“I refuse to spend my
whole time looking after you! I have
better things to do,” Elladan shot back hotly.
“How many times do I have
to remind you that I’m not a child anymore!
You won’t be able to look after me all the time.”
Elrond slammed his fist
down on this table angrily. It was time
for this nonsense to come to an end.
“As long as you live under
this roof you are under my care. Ever
since you were brought here, I vowed to protect you, and you will listen to
what I say. You. Are.
Not. Coming. And that is final.”
“No,” Aragorn
returned. “I don’t have to listen to
you anymore.”
“Why you impudent little…”
“Silence! Both of you!”
The two brothers were
equally startled as Elrond’s voice drifted towards them. Before they regained their composure, the
Elven Lord continued, “I have just about reached my wits’ end with each one of
you. If you could only hear the way you
talk, you would be just as sick of it as everyone else in this House is. Elladan—” the human’s older foster brother
cringed as his father’s stern gaze fell upon him—“go to your room, I will have
a word with you later. And Estel, while
I understand how you feel, I would think it best if you were not to come to
Thranduil’s celebration.”
Aragorn’s mouth dropped
open and he failed to notice the triumphant look Elladan shot him as he began
to protest the ruling of his father.
Before the young human could manage any words, Elrond continued, “I will
not disclose the reason for this decision, but it is a different one from your
brother. Please understand that I am
doing this for your benefit, my son.”
The human was unable to
feel any gratefulness towards Elrond at the moment. He was getting sick and tired of always being excluded from
everything just because he was a human.
He was angry, and upset, and spots of blind rage danced in his
eyes. He did not think about the words
he spoke, and they were laced with hatred towards his father and his brother.
“It’s not fair! I never get to do anything! I hate you, both of you!”
Blinking back tears,
Aragorn ran down the hallway to his bedroom.
If he had glanced back, he would have seen the pained look that was
adorning Elrond’s features.
It was the day of the Lord
Thranduil’s grand celebration. Prince
Legolas lay on his bed staring without his gaze straying from the ceiling. His hands were folded behind his head and
his blond hair rested a top his shoulders.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to calm the raging
river that was now flowing constantly through him. What he would not give right now if he could just be some one
else, so he could break the chains that bound him.
His father had been eying him
with piercing calculating and scrutinizing gazes for days before the
celebration. It seemed to Legolas that
no matter how hard he tried, he could not please him. His back was never straight enough, his aim was never accurate
enough, and whenever he smiled or laughed longer and harder than usual, he was
not behaving and acting mature enough.
He hated celebrations and festivities with a passion, and he dreaded
them with every breath of his being. It
did not help matters that their Noldor brethren would also be joining the
festivities, whom they had not seen for many years past. The anticipation of guests only made his
father worse and more overbearing, not to mention the fact that memories from
the last times they had been here were not happy ones.
Things might not have been so bad
had he not been so afraid of his father’s reaction, and he might have actually
enjoyed it. He also had a sense that
they would not have happened to begin with if only his father did not force him
to act so proper all the time. The last
thing he wanted to be seen as was stuck up, especially to those who were not
used to his father’s ways and views.
Legolas shuddered as he
remembered the last incident that had occurred when Lord Elrond and a select
few of the Noldor elves had visited.
The look of horror on his father’s face when he had just about walked
into him soaked to the bone with Elrond’s sons not far behind was still
imbedded sharply in the prince’s mind.
The very fact that the Lord Elrond’s sons would act like that brought
shock almost to Legolas himself. Did
the great Lord of Imladris not teach them proper behavior as well? They would not survive even a day under
Thranduil’s roof.
A loud knock sounded upon
Legolas’s bedroom door, sending him out of his thoughts with a jerk. The prince groaned, already having a good
idea of who it would be.
Well, Legolas
thought grimly, now is the perfect time to give him a piece of my mind, even
if I have to do something drastic to do it…
~*~*~
“Estel, please come out, I would
like to have a word with you.”
Lord Elrond waited by the door of
his foster son’s room, his patience nearly at an end. It was almost time to depart for Mirkwood, and the boy had not
emerged from his room since their last confrontation in the hallway. The Elven Lord heaved a sigh of exasperation
as silence met his call.
“Aragorn, son of Arathorn, hope
of men and heir to the throne of Gondor, if you do not open this door…”
“Father?”
Elrond turned only somewhat
startled as Elrohir rounded the corner.
“Yes, my son?” he asked, a
resigned look in his eyes.
Elrohir answered, “The horses are
all ready to go and we can leave at any time, preferably sooner than
later.” Glancing at his brother’s
closed door, he continued sighing, “He’s not coming out, is he?”
“Apparently not,” Elrond
returned, slight aggravation creeping into his tone.
“I wish they would not do that,”
Elrohir mumbled absently. “If only he
really knew how much…”
“Where is Elladan?” Elrond
interrupted, momentarily changing the subject.
He had been rather quiet at breakfast, and Elrond sensed that his unnatural
silence was caused by more than just the anticipation of the celebration.
“He is at the stables, making
sure we have everything. You know
Elladan, father. He always acts like
that before we go anywhere. That is why
I had to get away and protect my sanity.
If I heard one more ‘do we have this, are you positive that we have
that,’ I would have thrown a fit to be sure.
I only looked over the supplies multiple times each,” Elrohir grinned,
trying to lighten the gloomy atmosphere.
A smile touched the Elven Lord’s
lips, although his eyes were sad.
“He does not know how much his
words hurt me,” he murmured, “nor his brother.
I am sure that they affect him even more than he himself knows.”
Sighing heavily, Elrohir
responded, “Elladan does feel guilty for how he acts, I know. He has only spoken of it to me on rare
occasions, for when I inquire he only becomes defensive. I do not know what will happen to those two. They will figure something out.”
He glared at his brother’s door
briefly before a smile spread across his face.
He continued, “But let us not allow their stubbornness to ruin
everything. We can still have a grand
time.”
He took hold of his father’s hand
and led him away from Aragorn’s door, from whence not a single sound had come. As he was being taken away, Elrond did not
fail to notice the sparkle of mischief that danced in Elrohir’s eyes.
Looking at him sternly, the Elven
Lord told him sharply, “And please do remember what I said to you yesterday
evening. You will leave Prince Legolas
alone.”
“Oh, come father, we did not even
touch him,” Elrohir replied, his eyes huge.
“You think you are fooling me
with your acts of innocence?” Elrond returned, although he too was beginning to
smile wider.
“Those Silvan elves are so
prissy, he needed to just be shaken up a bit.
That was the only time I have not seen him sit or stand with his back as
straight as an arrow,” Elrohir confirmed.
“Only because his horse threw him
into the lake,” Elrond reminded him.
“He had the nerve to insult Elladan’s
and my aim, and he was also foolish enough to say how his horse was not afraid
of anything. He was asking for it,”
Elrohir protested, defending his act.
“And besides, it was Elladan who
shrieked like the orc, not me. He can
do a better impression than I,” he continued, now trying to lay full blame upon
his twin brother, who was not even present to defend his own self.
Now laughing lightly, Elrond
answered, “All right son, I was never blaming you for anything.”
Sobering up immediately, he continued,
“Just please for the sake of this visit and for the relationship between
Thranduil and I, leave the prince alone.”
Sighing, Elrohir responded, “Yes,
father.”
But no guarantees, he
thought silently to himself.
Aragorn didn’t cry.
The tears that clouded his
vision refused to fall. They had
threatened to spill over when he heard his father knock upon his door, but
somehow he managed to hold them back. He
stared stonily at the ceiling, his face emotionless and slightly haggard due to
lack of sleep. He had not let his eyes
close to allow him to sink into the realm of it. He had too much to think about.
There was no time to sleep.
There was too much to do, too much to plan. There was very little time, especially if he wanted to do things
right.
He’d never been to
Mirkwood. He hadn’t even been outside
of Rivendell, except for the rare time that he was allowed to go hunting with
his brothers. Life wasn’t fair. They weren’t fair. And it was only because he was a human.
Only a human.
The words returned,
mocking him. He’d lived with that ever
since he was brought to Rivendell when he was younger. He was constantly being reminded that he was
different—clumsier, weaker, and less able to take care of himself. He was always being reminded that he was not
an elf, and therefore not as good at everything as everyone else was. He was never even given chances to prove
that this was not necessarily so. It was
just assumed.
Well, Aragorn was getting
sick of that, and it was time for that to end.
He would be going to Lord Thranduil’s celebration, and he would not
allow them to stop him this time.
He’d heard the faint
voices of his foster father and brother outside his door, and he had stilled
his breathing and tried not to make a sound.
The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to them. He waited until he heard the sound of their
footsteps receding, and new determination surged through Aragorn as he got up
out of bed. He knew now what he was
going to do.
He strode over to a corner
of his room where he picked up his pack that was lying there. In it, he placed a couple changes of clothes
just in case he would need them. He
would put some food and medical supplies in there later. But there was something else missing.
The young human walked
over to his chest next to his bed. He
pulled open the drawer where a small sized sword rested. It was of elvish make, for it had been a
present to him from his brothers when he had turned twenty. Estel, the name his foster father gave to him
when he had just been brought to Rivendell, was carved lightly on the
hilt. The weapon was light and it felt
comfortable and natural in his hands.
Funny, Aragorn
thought. I’ve never had to use this
before now. But maybe my brothers had
never intended to give me any opportunity to use it. Maybe it had been presented to me just to instill a false hope in
my heart, the hope that I would finally be treated as one of them.
Hope.
It was also rather ironic
to Aragorn that he had had nothing of the name he had been given. He had lost both of his parents when he had
been incredibly young. He had been too
young to remember them fully, and their deaths had extinguished the flame of
youth and innocence from his body.
Being brought to Rivendell had given him a new chance to begin again,
but here he was only sheltered and protected, and treated unfairly and
unequally.
But the fact that his
foster father had kept his heritage from him hurt most of all. His whole life had been full of lies.
Even in his own race, he
would be seen as an outcast and an outsider.
He would never fit in anywhere.
He felt the tears coming again but quickly brushed them
away. He would not allow himself to
succumb to this form of self-pity. That
would get him nowhere. It was a sign of
weakness.
Maybe that’s what his
foster father was so afraid of, and that was why he was so sheltered and
protected. He feared that he, Aragorn,
would display signs of weakness, the quality that the Elven Lord despised more
than any other. It was a reminder of
the past, when weakness had prevailed.
It was a reminder of his lineage, and the blood that flowed through his
veins.
It was his heritage, which
did not give any hope to Aragorn at all.
Well, Aragorn was
determined to prove to his father that he wasn’t weak, and being a human did
not make him so automatically, no matter what his past was. He would show them. All of them.
He could not leave now,
since everyone would, most likely, still be making last minute preparations to
get ready. He would depart several
hours after everyone left, when he would be assured that a good distance would
be put between them.
Now all Aragorn had to do
was wait.
~*~*~
Legolas flew down the
hallway, his blonde hair whipping around his face and tears stinging his
eyes. He had left his father standing
there by his bedroom door, and he had not even looked back once. The prince ignored the curious and slightly
worried gazes that the elves who were wandering around in the passageways gave
him. He did not care, and right now he
did not even care if he saw his father ever again. The conversation came back again, causing the bitter tears to
burn anew.
Legolas’s
eyes flashed angrily.
“Why
can’t I just be your son?”
“You are
more than that,” Thranduil replied, testily.
“Am I?”
Legolas demanded. “Why can’t you just
love me for who I am, not who I’m supposed to be?”
“I do
love you,” Thranduil responded.
“Then how
come nothing I do is ever good enough for you?”
“You will
not speak to me in that tone,” the Elven king of Mirkwood demanded.
“Then you
will treat me like your son,” Legolas responded.
Clearly
aggravated, Thranduil answered with a sigh of annoyance, “I do not have the
time to deal with this. I have guests
coming.”
That was
unwise.
“Oh, so
they are more important to you than I?” Legolas inquired, silent rage flowing
through his veins.
“We will
talk about this later,” Thranduil replied, fire dancing in his eyes.
“There
will be no later,” Legolas informed him.
“I am leaving. Now.”
“You will
not, we have company coming.”
“You
watch me,” Legolas answered coolly, and before his father had time to react,
the prince had already turned and was running down the hallway.
“Legolas!”
Legolas closed his eyes
and shuddered as he remembered the way in which his father had called his
name. He would go back home, but he did
not intend to for some while. He needed
his own space, his own time to think things over. He would leave Mirkwood, where he would not be encased and
suffocated with the memories of his father’s face, and the daggers that had
pierced his gaze.
There would be no point in
going down to the stables to get a horse ready. It would be faster for him to walk. He would save time that way, and he could always go through the
trees.
Yes, he would come
back. But he needed the distance, at
least for now.
~*~*~
Night had fallen, and
Aragorn had made incredible time, considering that he did not know the forests
of Rivendell as thoroughly as his brothers.
He had just left the safety of the woods, and was now crossing the open
plains. He remembered his foster father
and brothers talking amongst themselves about the direction they would need to
take in order to get to Mirkwood, and he had heard them talk of the Misty
Mountains. So he had to find the
mountain range. He did not imagine that
it would be very difficult to follow their trail, since there were a great many
elves that would be journeying to Mirkwood.
He was right in this, and he was able to follow their path quickly
through the forest. He considered
camping for the night, but decided that would be unwise. He would simply put more distance between
them than there was already, and it would be even harder to follow them.
He sighed and continued
on. The moon was full and it provided a
good light to see by. Everything was
still.
Should it
be this still? Aragorn
wondered silently. Everything suddenly
seemed quiet. Too quiet. In fact, he didn’t hear anything.
But suddenly he felt the ground begin to vibrate beneath him,
causing the human to freeze in his tracks.
And then he did hear something.
A loud, piercing shriek
filled the air, and Aragorn shuddered visibly.
A cold fear had begun to creep down his spine, and his breath caught in
his throat.
That was a sound that had
plagued his dreams for many nights since he had been brought to Rivendell. It was a sound that had signaled the end of
his blissful, innocent childhood. It
was a sound that he had never wanted to hear again in his entire life.
It was nothing else but
the horrible scream of orcs.
Elrond and the other
Noldor elves accompanying him were situated in the Misty Mountains where they
had decided to camp for the night. A
fire burned, illuminating the surrounding area and giving a warmth to those around
it. Many of the elves were already
slumbering deeply, but sleep had found neither Elrond nor his sons. The faint cries of orcs could be heard. They were distant but they could be detected
by the elves’ acute hearing. Those
sounds kept them awake by causing painful memories to return once again to
them.
Sighing heavily, Elladan
murmured, “I miss mother.”
Elrohir enveloped
Elladan’s hand in his own and squeezed it to give his support and his own
silent agreement.
“As do we all, my son,”
Elrond responded, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret.
“Let us hope that the orcs
have not found some new victim to prey upon,” Elrohir mumbled, shuddering
slightly at the image his mind conjured up for him.
~*~*~
Metal clashed upon metal
as Aragorn brought his sword up to block an orc scimitar. He’d already killed several of the beats,
but that didn’t seem to make the slightest bit of difference. More just came to take their places, filling
the briefly emptied ranks and causing the situation to appear more hopeless for
Aragorn than it already was.
Where do
they all come from? Aragorn
wondered frantically. Iluvitar, help
me.
His skills were limited,
and the dark did not offer any extra aid.
He squinted, trying to make out the shapes that were quickly
approaching. It was becoming hard to
keep up with them all. He raised his
sword blindly to where he believed an orc blade was, but the searing pain that
shot up his arm told him that he’d missed.
That was a fatal mistake.
He gasped, and in his
moment of surprise and distraction, a similar pain surged through his leg and
caused him to stagger. Spots danced in
front of his vision, and the world was beginning to spin dangerously fast.
An orc fist slammed
harshly into his chest, ripping into his shirt and flesh. Aragorn fell to his knees, remarkably
finding the strength to hold onto his sword.
He was able to bring it up weakly to protect an orc blade from slicing
through his neck, but the movement was enough to cause the pain to flow even
fiercer through his arm. He was barely
able to stifle a cry and his weapon fell to the ground, almost in a gesture of
defeat. The enemy swarmed around him,
and the orc blade that suddenly slammed into the back of his head was all it
took to send Aragorn into complete darkness.
As his eyes were closing and his breathing stilled, Aragorn murmured, “I
am sorry, father.”
The orcs, confident that
their victim was passing into the shadow of eternal darkness, left him there to
die.
~*~*~
The new freedom that
Legolas had acquired brought a sense of awe and wonderment to the elf. There was so much to see and do that his
father had kept from him. Now that he
had been exposed to only a fragment of it, he wanted to see it all, and Legolas
intended to cross the Misty Mountains and explore far beyond the boundaries of
his father’s realm. His heart longed
for adventure and a break from the normal and demanding routine that royalty
placed upon him.
Thinking of royalty caused
Legolas’s thoughts to drift back to his father. He had never really loved him, and it saddened the prince when he
thought of the close relationship that they could have had. Maybe that was where his dislike for
Elrond’s sons arose. Could he have
feelings of jealously emanating towards them?
As Legolas searched deep
within himself, he discovered that there were slight traces of envy floating
around in his heart. He desired the
close bond they shared with their father, and the freedom that they were
allowed to posses on a daily basis. How
he wished that things could have been different for him…
But wishing for what he
would have liked to be would not get him anywhere, and the elf prince knew
it. He had to focus and work with what
was, and his duty was to figure out the best ways to deal with his present situation.
Legolas knew that he
should be feeling guilt. But what guilt
was there for him to give? He’d spent
all his life trying to please him, but it didn’t seem to matter. Maybe he should be feeling guilt for never
being able to do anything properly to satisfy him. He’d already thought about that before and decided that he had no
reason to feel that way. He was his
father’s son, and as Legolas had already pointed out to him earlier, that
should be enough reason for his father to find enough love for him.
No, he didn’t feel guilt,
although there was something else tugging at his heart. They were feelings he’d already
identified—feelings of regret, and a strong sense of longing.
But Legolas really didn’t
want to think about any of those things now.
For the moment, he was free, and he intended to savor this time that he
was alone.
~*~*~
It was the pain that
eventually pulled him back into the realm of consciousness. It was difficult to pinpoint; it seemed to
be emanating from every spot in his body.
He wondered how seriously he’d been injured. He’d heard from his father and brothers that orcs had a tendency
to poison the tips of their blades and arrows.
He figured that he had probably been poisoned. Even though his eyes were partly opened, the scenery was blurry
and out of focus. The sky looked dark,
and Aragorn wondered vaguely if it was still night. If it was, it was beginning to feel awfully long. He was starting to wish that the orcs had
just finished him off quickly. There
was no way he would be able to move, and he doubted that help would come to
him. His only option was to lie here in
this desolate plain and suffer a long painful death, for he couldn’t see any
other way out of it. Some destiny. And the thing that bothered him the most was
that there was nothing he could do about it.
He had never felt so helpless in his entire life.
~*~*~
Legolas found the journey
through the Misty Mountains to be long and, for the most part, uneventful. Once he heard the sounds of movement and
many voices ahead of him, and he discovered shortly that they belonged to the
Noldor elves who were heading over to Mirkwood for the celebration. He had quickly hid himself, for he had not
wanted to be found. That was the only
form of excitement that Legolas encountered, but that was fine with him. He had too many other things to worry about
to deal with other antagonists in his life.
He had to use his entire time think and to gaze about at his
surroundings. What he loved most was
seeing the sunrise. Nothing gave the
elf prince more pleasure than greeting the day.
And so Legolas continued
on. It was when he realized that his
surroundings were familiar that he stopped and looked about, scrutinizing them
and trying to remember where he’d seen them before.
Of course.
This was the way to get to
Rivendell, possibly the only place he’d been outside of his father’s
halls. And now that he’d come to a stop
to gaze about, he had the strange sense that something was wrong. He did not know why. It was something about the air. It felt wrong. He could not sense any great threat approaching. It was of a danger that had already passed. The danger had not been in this area—he was
still in the woods surrounding the base of the Misty Mountains, and nothing
seemed glaringly out of place. He tried
to shake off the feeling.
It was when he broke the
cover of the woods that he saw the cause for his feelings of alarm. Several bodies of orcs lay scattered about
the plain, showing signs that a battle had taken place recently. How recently he did not know. It could have been days. He squinted, looking for signs of anyone
else.
And then, in the midst of
the orc bodies, Legolas saw a man. He
was unmoving, and still as death.
The elf rushed forward and
fell to the human’s side. His eyes were
closed and he didn’t appear to be breathing.
Legolas ran his hands lightly over his body, feeling for signs of
injury. He found them soon enough. There was an orc blade lodged deeply into
his arm, and there was an arrow embedded into his leg. A nasty gash that still bled lightly adorned
the back of the man’s head, causing Legolas to wince. The human had fallen in an awkward position, and the elf knew
that he would have to move him gently in order to see if he had any other
injuries.
Legolas had not expected
the human to wake as he adjusted his position, and so when he turned him over
he was extremely surprised and startled to hear the human gasp in pain and find
his eyes struggling to open…
The renewed burning pain
that suddenly shot through him was enough to bring Aragorn out of the blackness
that had covered him. His head pounded,
and everything ached. He tried to push
his eyes open, but they stubbornly refused, despite his efforts. His chest burned, and it hurt to breathe.
He felt something upon him
then, and he gasped. It was a mixture
of pain and fear. The surprise caused
his eyes to flicker open, and the world spun as he tried to get it into
focus. He thought he saw an elf leaning
over him, but it couldn’t be. He wasn’t
at home, and his father and brothers were probably very far away by now. But if this was an elf…
Or maybe it was just some
awful hallucination, and his eyes were playing tricks on him. He squinted in an attempt to adjust to the
light he was now seeing. The elf’s
mouth was moving, and Aragorn found that he could just make out the words.
“Don’t be afraid… I just
want to help you.”
Funny, Aragorn
thought. I didn’t know
hallucinations could talk. Maybe this is
real…
The human wondered how he
was able to even think at all. It was
amazing that his mind could even process information considering the state he
was in. The elf extended his hand
towards him, and when he began to try and move Aragorn’s body, the human gasped
in pain and tried to curl up into a ball.
The elf gave a sigh that
was tinged with the faintest trace of annoyance and frustration.
“I have to turn you over
in order to see what other injuries you have sustained. Just relax.
I promise that I’ll try and be careful.”
Aragorn didn’t see why he
should resist. He was feeling enough
pain already. What was a little
more? He couldn’t help but cringe as
the elf gently turned him over until his back was lying on the ground.
~*~*~
Legolas tried to move him
as carefully as he could. He could see
the human’s eyes squeeze tightly shut as he tried to fight off the pain, and
the elf felt a stream of sympathy emanating from himself towards the
human. He had never really felt pain
before, for he was an elf. Any pain he
had known had passed quickly. He also
hadn’t had much interaction with humans, since his father rarely dealt with
them because he called them corrupt and evil.
Legolas had been taught to hate them and to not trust them. But he couldn’t just leave this one lying
here, not when there was something he could do to help him. A low groan came from the man and the elf
glanced down at him.
“What is it?” Legolas
questioned, worry knitting his brows.
“Hurts,” the human moaned.
“Where?” the elf inquired.
“Everywhere,” Aragorn
moaned.
Legolas sighed. That really was not much help.
“There appears to be a
scimitar lodged in your arm and you have an orc arrow in your leg,” the elf
confirmed. He might as well tell the
human where his injuries were. “There is
a nasty gash in the back of your head too.
I will have to go off and get some supplies in order to treat them…”
His voice trailed off as
he was interrupted.
“Bag,” the human gasped.
“Pardon me?” Legolas
asked.
“Have…supplies. In my… bag,” Aragorn managed, trying to get
his breathing under control. It felt as
thought he was going to pass out again at any moment. The small amount of talking and moving that he had had to do in
the past couple minutes had not helped his condition at all, and the world was
beginning to spin dangerously fast again.
Legolas quickly found the
bag that the human had been referring to.
It had fallen under him and had gotten a few rips itself in the
battle. The elf opened it and looked
inside, hoping that not much had been lost.
There were a couple changes of clothes, some food, and… medical
supplies. Just what he had been looking
for.
He turned his attention
back to the human, whose eyes had closed.
It appeared as though he was unconscious again. That was probably for the best. Legolas was not looking forward to cleaning
his wounds.
~*~*~
Legolas was
exhausted. The night had been a long
one, and almost the human’s last. The
man had woken several times crying out in pain as the elf had gently pulled the
dagger from his arm and the arrow from his leg. He had cleaned the wounds carefully in order to prevent
infection. Legolas glanced over at him
to find the human now sleeping fitfully.
He turned from side to side, and his mouth was moving. It appeared that he was having some sort of
nightmare.
Legolas knew from
experience that elvish words tended to have a calming effect on him. He didn’t know how the human would react,
but it couldn’t hurt to try.
“Do not be afraid. I am here,” Legolas murmured soothingly
again and again in the grey tongue.
To his complete surprise,
the human seemed to still, and his mouth eventually stopped moving.
The
effect was almost instantaneous, Legolas wondered, amazed. Who is this man?
It was then that he saw
something on the ground that he had not noticed before. It was a sword, and Legolas realized with a
start that it was of elvish make.
Odd, the elf
thought.
He picked it up and he
noticed that something was carved upon the hilt. It appeared to be a name of some sort. It was Estel.
That was an elvish
name. Surely it did not belong to this
man?
Now I am
only curious to find out more about this stranger, Legolas
mused silently to himself. But there
will always be time to ask him. We will
not be moving from this place until he can walk at least.
It was only after the elf
tried to stifle a few yawns when he realized how tired he really was and how
little sleep he had gotten. Glancing
down at the human once more, it seemed that he was finally out of harm’s reach
and would be all right. This satisfied
the elf’s conscious enough to allow him to settle into the realm of sleep.
It was not until he had
begun to drift off when a sudden thought struck him that he had not picked up
before.
The sparse conversation
that he had had with the human during the day had all been in the grey tongue.
Aragorn was dreaming.
These dreams hadn’t
haunted him for many years, but now they returned, more vivid and intense than
before. He was able to see everything
so clearly, and it was as if he was reliving the nightmare that he had
experienced those long years ago. He
wanted to wake up, but he could not. He
was being forced to remember, no matter how hard he had tried to forget. As the gruesome pictures played before him
not leaving out any details, he found his voice and cried out the words he had
actually spoken during the incident long ago.
“Father! Mother!
NO!”
~*~*~
Something had awoken
him. Legolas blinked his eyes and
squinted as the sun blazed down upon him.
Sun? The elf
thought, momentarily confused. Did I
really sleep that long?
But something else besides
the sun had brought him out of slumber.
He sat up and gazed about his surroundings, his eyes falling eventually
onto the human, who was tossing and turning.
Legolas frowned. That frantic
movement could not be doing anything good for the wounds he had recently
cleansed, and the elf wondered briefly if the pain of his injuries had caused
his fitful sleep.
“No! Stop!”
The words startled the
elf, and he looked around to see who they had come from.
“Father.”
They had died down to a
whisper now, and as Legolas looked over again at the human, the elf realized
that they had come from him. The human
had stopped moving, and Legolas scooted over to his side as he stilled. He placed his hand on the human’s forehead,
feeling for a fever. It was hot, but it
had not broken yet.
Then the man gasped
suddenly, and as his eyes flew open, Legolas was struck with a sudden feeling
of déjà vu.
~*~*~
Aragorn frowned as he saw
the elf once again leaning over him.
His mouth was moving, and he tried to concentrate on the words that were
coming out of it.
“It looked as though you
were having a nightmare.”
Aragorn closed his
eyes. The orc attack had brought back
painful memories, and he felt instantly foolish and embarrassed as he thought
about what might have come out of his mouth during the dreams.
“What—what was I saying?”
he inquired softly, opening his eyes and looking up at the elf.
“I don’t quite rightly
know. I was sleeping, and your words
woke me up. I woke up at the end
though, and so I missed what was said.”
Aragorn doubted that the
elf was telling the full truth, but he was grateful that he had been spared the
embarrassment and torment of having to explain everything to this stranger.
“Who… are you?” Aragorn
questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him as he wanted to know who it
was who had saved his life. There was
no reason for this elf to be a stranger to him anymore.
“My name is Legolas. I come from Mirkwood.”
It took a moment for the
meaning of his words to sink into the human.
When they did, his eyes widened in shock.
“Legolas?” he gasped. “Prince Legolas?”
A small sigh escaped from
the elf’s mouth that Aragorn failed to notice.
“Yes, that is I.”
Aragorn closed his
eyes. He wanted to die, and he couldn’t
help but wish again that the orcs had just finished him off.
Ever since he was a young
one when he was first brought to the House of Elrond, Aragorn had been
imagining the time that he and the elf prince would meet. He had quickly become his idol for he had
heard the rumor that the prince was the best shot in the land. Aragorn, always looking for ways to improve
his aim, had always envisioned the day of how they would meet and the archery
lessons they would have.
And this was not what
he had had in mind.
It would have been all
right if this elf were someone else.
But the fact that this was Legolas—Prince Legolas—sent renewed shame
burning through Aragorn. He had just
displayed the very thing he had been trying to hide from everyone. He had showed this elf his weakness and
vulnerability.
So miserable and strong
were his thoughts that the reason why Legolas would be out alone when his
father was holding a celebration never even crossed his mind.
Spoken words brought
Aragorn out of his troubled thoughts, and he realized that the elf was asking
him a question.
“And what is your name,
human?”
Aragorn did not respond
right away, for he was trying to figure out the right way to answer this
question. He had been told ever since
his heritage had been revealed to him to not give his real name out to
others. At this point, he really did
not want to. But he figured that this elf
would find out sooner or later. There
was no point in hiding his true identity from the prince.
“Aragorn.”
The response was so soft
that Legolas almost missed it. But he
heard it, and his own shock was enough to match the human’s after he had found
out who he was. So this was the son of
Elrond and the heir to the throne of Gondor.
This was Estel, the one who he had heard so much about, and the one who
had caused the breaking point between his father and Elrond to break. The elf prince gazed down at him
curiously. That would also explain the
words he had heard him shout out in his sleep, and the sparse conversation they
had had in Elvish the day before.
A new wave of sympathy
flowed through the prince towards the human.
He had had to lose everything so young.
But none of those things
gave a reason for why he was out here alone.
Legolas knew that the Lord of Imladris had already left for the
celebration, for he had passed them secretly during the trek through the Misty
Mountains.
Legolas opened his mouth
to speak, but he was interrupted by the human.
“I really do not feel like answering anymore questions.”
His eyes shone playfully
and Legolas responded, “How dare you interrupt the prince of Mirkwood? I might have had something important to
say.”
Aragorn smiled slyly.
“You are not in Mirkwood
now, elf.”
“I would like a little
respect shown to me by you, human,” Legolas responded, eyes sparkling.
“And I would like a little
respect shown to me by you, prince,” Aragorn replied, stressing his
title intentionally.
“Are you mocking me?” the
elf asked.
“Mock the prince of Mirkwood? Never,” Aragorn responded, grinning.
Legolas thought this whole
situation was really rather ironic.
Here they had just met for the first time and they were now acting like
old friends who had just been reunited.
The more he thought about it, the more he saw the whole hilarity of
it. He began to laugh.
Similar thoughts flowed
through Aragorn’s mind, and for a moment, he forgot the pain he had gone
through and the internal injuries that the battle had opened. He began to laugh along with the elf.
His laughter however
turned quickly to coughs, and it seemed as though his body was resisting the
small strain that the conversation had caused.
Legolas turned somber and gazed worriedly down at the human. Perhaps he had overdone it.
“Are you alright?” Legolas
asked, frowning.
It took Aragorn a little
while to gain control of himself again.
“Y-yes, I think so,” the
human managed.
“Just rest,” Legolas told
him, ”we will not be moving from this place for a few days. I want you to regain most of your strength;
we have a hard journey ahead of us.
Since your foster father will be at Mirkwood, we must go there. He has greater healing skills than my
father, myself, and many of the Mirkwood elves.”
Aragorn felt a touch of
pride at hearing this, especially coming from the Mirkwood prince. But he knew he had to see if he could
rest. His wounds were beginning to give
him trouble, and it was becoming difficult to breathe. Pushing thoughts of the dreams away, Aragorn
closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into the realm of darkness once
more.
~*~*~
Aragorn stumbled, and he
would have fallen had Legolas not been right behind him.
They had been traveling
for three days, and they had probably been three of the longest days of
Aragorn’s life. Due to his injuries,
they had had to make frequent stops. He
would not have stopped on his own, but his pained and labored breathing almost
always gave his condition away, and Legolas would always order a halt when he
heard it worsen.
It was his leg wound that
was beginning to give the human more problems than anything else. He wondered if the arrow had been in there
too long and if an infection that Legolas had not been able to prevent had
begun to spread throughout his body.
The thought caused him to cringe, and so he tried not to think about
it. But his stumbles were becoming more
common, and he had to stop sometimes to prevent the world from spinning
uncontrollably.
These pauses were not lost
on Legolas, and he too began to wonder if there had been something he had
missed. Maybe something had been
poisoned. Legolas had heard tales that
orcs would put some kind of poison on their weapons that might not become
noticeable for a few days, and when signs of it did surface, it was too late to
cure it.
Legolas did not know the
symptoms, or even if such a thing did exist.
He had only heard, and he knew that even if he did know that such a
poison raged through Aragorn’s body, he would not be able to cure it. His skills were not that good.
He only hoped that it was
not as serious as that, and that they would make it to Mirkwood in time in case
it was something that serious.
~*~*~
In three more days they
managed to cross the Misty Mountains, and the Elven King’s realm was now
near. Aragorn felt extremely tired, and
their pace had slowed considerably. The
sun was beginning to set, and Legolas knew it was time for them to rest.
“Come, Aragon, it is time
we stopped for the day.”
“But it is not much longer
now,” Aragorn protested.
“You need your sleep, and
now. I don’t want to have to drag you
the rest of the way.”
“But I’m fine,” the human
pressed, even though his body disagreed.
Legolas shook his head.
“Are all humans this
stubborn?” the elf inquired, sighing in frustration.
Smiling slyly, Aragorn
responded, “Are all Silvan elves so prissy?”
This statement brought
memories back to Legolas of his father.
During the past few days he had almost forgotten about his own personal
problems. He hadn’t imagined that his time
of freedom would turn out this way, but he was glad that it had. He had made a new friend in all of this, and
their friendship may be what was needed to sew the broken hem of the two Elven
kingdoms back together again.
But he pushed those
thoughts aside.
Staring at the human
intently, Legolas demanded, “Where did you hear that?”
A mischievous grin adorned
Aragorn’s features as he replied, “I have my ways.”
Giving him a mock glare,
Legolas answered, “Well, you have a lot to learn, Master Human.”
“As do you, Master Elf,”
Aragorn responded.
Legolas studied him. The human’s voice had a playful spark to it,
but his eyes and everything else about him looked dead tired. Without giving any warning, Legolas gripped
Aragorn’s shoulders and pushed him down to the ground. Aragorn cried out in surprise as his wounded
leg nearly gave way beneath him, causing him to lurch forward and topple to the
floor.
Ignoring the human’s
glare, Legolas told him, “We are going to stop for the night. Your whole body betrays your words,
human. You have to learn how to hide it
better. Rest now. I am going to look for firewood.”
Aragorn sighed, but he
knew his friend was right. He needed to
rest. He allowed his body to relax and
his eyes to close. Nodding in satisfaction,
the elf went out to scout the area for firewood.
He had not gotten very far
when he suddenly felt the coldness of a blade being pressed to his neck. Cursing his carelessness, the elf closed his
eyes as softly spoken words met his ears.
“Ah ah. And just where do you think you are going,
Master Elf?”
The shock passed quickly.
Legolas opened his eyes
and let out his breath as he realized whom it was that had snuck up behind
him. The elf prince knew he would never
be allowed to forget this.
“Isindil,” he exclaimed,
slightly exasperated that he had let his guard down, “what are you doing here?”
“I would be asking the
same thing of you,” the prince’s friend replied, “if it were not for the fact
that your father sent us out after you.”
“Us?” Legolas inquired,
frowning.
“Yes,” Isindil
answered. “Elulith and Raeuwyn wanted
to come along for the ride.”
“Well met, Legolas,”
Elulith and Raeuwyn quipped in unison as they appeared from the trees.
The prince chuckled dryly.
“You will never let me
forget this, will you?” he asked.
“Well, it is not every day
that the prince lowers his guard. This
is something worth remembering,” Elulith remarked, grinning. He sobered up immediately. “But you are not hurt, are you my prince?”
Legolas sighed. “No, I am not. I was going to get firewood.”
Isindil let out a sigh.
“Well, that certainly is a
relief, if I do say,” he told the prince.
“Yes, I am fine. But my companion is not,” Legolas informed
them.
Raeuwyn frowned. “Your companion? I did not know you took anyone else along with you.”
Legolas forced a small
smile.
“Come, let us go finish collecting the firewood. I will explain everything to you as we go.”
~*~*~
Aragorn wondered what was
taking Legolas. He would have gotten up
to go look for him if it weren’t for the fact that he did not think he could
walk. Now that he had finally been
forced to lie down, it seemed that the weariness along with his injuries had
caught up with him. His leg throbbed
and everything ached. His head pounded
and he felt ill. He closed his eyes to
fight off the sickness and the poison that was working its way slowly and
painfully through his system.
They were
both lying motionless on the ground when he finally approached them. He picked his way carefully through the dead
bodies that were scattered all over the ground, tears nearly blinding his
vision. They were gone. Both of them…gone. And there had been nothing he could do. He neared his father first, and to his surprise his eyes
fluttered open and he coughed weakly, struggling for a last breath of life.
“Father,”
he murmured. “I was so afraid that you
were…”
“My…son.”
“There
were so many. I…” he managed, but he
was interrupted again.
“You…are
a disgrace.” The words were barely
audible, but they were just loud enough to be heard. He stared down at his father, unable to believe what he was
saying. “You have failed me…us.”
He
resisted the urge to let his tears fall.
Surely his father was not thinking?
“I
couldn’t have done anything. Please,
father…”
“No… that
is just it… you did nothing. Nothing
for us…and now…Middle Earth will suffer because of it…because of you.”
His voice
died away and his eyes closed. His time
had ended, along with his wife’s, who was lying a short distance away from him.
Tears
streaked down his son’s face as he stared down at his father, letting his head
finally rest in his knees as the hopelessness of the situation sank into him.
“Father,
I am so sorry, please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean anything…father,
please! Come back!”
~*~*~
Legolas knelt down beside
the human, his friends stopping hesitantly behind him, looking down at the man
uneasily.
“Legolas, be careful. He could be possessed by something dark and
evil,” Isindil warned as the human shifted from side to side.
Had the situation not been
so serious, Legolas would have laughed.
“Nonsense, Isindil, he is
just having a nightmare. Nothing
serious.”
Legolas moved closer to
his troubled friend and leaned closer to his ear, murmuring soothing words in
Elvish.
The three elves shifted
their feet uncomfortably, not liking what was happening. They had had little to no contact with
humans, for their corrupt and evil ways had been expressed to them many times.
“What’s…wrong with him?”
Elulith asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.
Legolas sighed and looked
up at them, worry evident in his eyes.
“He got beaten up by a
band of orcs,” the prince spoke slowly and carefully to his friends. “I did the best I could with his injuries,
but…I think there was some hidden poison that I missed.”
Elulith moved tentatively
forward, only to stop as Aragorn cried out.
They all had heard the obvious distress in Legolas’s voice, and they
knew, although they didn’t understand how, that he had become friends with this
human. They could not yet understand
how Legolas had even bothered to try and save him. What did one less human matter?
But he mattered to their
prince, and they would try to save him because of that.
“We must get him to
Thranduil’s palace,” Raeuwyn remarked.
“I do not understand why you would want to help any human, but we will
do our best to get him to your father’s place before it is too late.”
Legolas sighed with
relief.
“Thank you.”
If only
they knew just who this human was, Legolas thought to himself as
they shook Aragorn awake and proceeded to drag him to Thranduil’s palace, the
firewood now lying forgotten on the ground.
~*~*~
Thranduil paced down the
hallway, hands behind his back. His
face was worn and the darkness under his eyes showed that he had gotten no
sleep in the past few days. The feast
had been delayed, and to his utter relief, it seemed as though everyone was
cooperating. The Wood and Silvan Elves
appeared to have put their hostile attitude aside and were now working together
in silent understanding of the other’s problems.
Elrond worried about
Thranduil. He knew that the Elven king
cared about his son and that he just had a hard time showing it. He approached him and rested a hand lightly
upon the troubled king’s shoulder.
Thranduil stopped, startled, and turned to face Elrond. The fact that he had not heard him come up
from behind was proof to the Lord of Imladris that Thranduil suffered greatly
from lack of sleep.
“My friend, I think it is
time that you got some rest. Pacing
back and forth constantly like this will not cause your son to come home any
faster. I am sure that Isindil,
Raeuwyn, and Elulith will do all they can to fine him. Depriving yourself of sleep can only do
harmful things to you, and so I will not have it. You will go to bed, and if you don’t, I will force you.”
Thranduil smiled weakly at
the Elven Lord.
“I do not know how I have
managed to spend these many years without your friendship, Elrond. Your wisdom is far greater than mine.”
Elrond was just about to
speak when Lebenon, one of Thranduil’s most trusted advisors, ran up to them.
“I don’t mean to
interrupt, but I just wanted to inform you that we have some very unexpected
guests.”
Thranduil and Elrond both
became concerned.
“Come quickly and
see. They have asked for you, Lord
Elrond,” Lebenon informed.
As the elf turned to go
back the way he had come, Elrond and Thranduil followed quickly behind him
until the three of them arrived at the front doors to the palace. Lebenon pushed them open, and on the steps
stood a band of men, all of them looking weary and disheveled.
Elrond could feel
Thranduil tense beside him, and it took all he had to suppress a groan.
Splendid,
he thought sarcastically to himself.
And just when it seemed that things were beginning to mend between
us…
Elrond frowned down at the
men. They all looked familiar somehow,
as if he’d seen them sometime before.
At this moment, he just couldn’t remember when he had. At the moment, he was more occupied with
what had brought them to Mirkwood, of all places.
“Why have you come here?”
he questioned sharply. “What do you
want?”
One of the men, whom
Elrond assumed was their leader, stepped forward. He stumbled, and one of the men moved to his side quickly to
catch him. After he righted himself, he
looked up at Elrond and as he spoke, he lowered his head quickly in a bow to
show his respect.
“Lord Elrond.” His voice
was hoarse. “Lord Thranduil,” he stated
then, inclining his head towards the Mirkwood king. Thranduil stiffened and did not respond. Elrond pretended not to notice his reaction
as the human returned his gaze to him.
“My name is Texyn, and I
believe we have met several times in the past, my Lord.”
Elrond did his best to
suppress his shock at hearing this, and felt slightly embarrassed that he did
not remember him right away. He was not
going to interrupt the human at this point, and the Elven Lord let him
continue. It was clear, however, that
his surprise had flickered in his eyes.
Texyn noticed, and continued with a saddened smile on is face, “I do
understand if you do not remember, for we come to you in quite a sorry state
indeed.”
Elrond forced a weak and
apologetic smile at Texyn as he went on, “I had hoped we would not have to come
to you at all, but it seems that we have had no choice. Since Arathorn and Gilraen passed from this
world roughly eighteen years ago, the rangers of the North have become
separated and the unity we were known for has become lost. I have been unable to hold them together,
and we have suffered greatly because of it.
I do not have to tell you the hardships we have been through—I’m sure
you can tell that yourself by just looking at us. We are warriors and hunters, yes, but the times have not treated
us all that kindly and the death of our two finest has sent us into a deep,
numb, shock, namely that of hopelessness and despair. We have tried to stay strong and confident, but we are falling
apart, my Lord. We cannot hide from
that fact. All we are asking for now is
help from you to put us back on our feet again.”
Elrond felt weak. This was what had become of the rangers of
the North? The loss of Arathorn and
Gilraen had indeed been a tragedy, but Elrond had had no idea that the lives of
the Dunedain would come to this. They
did not know about Estel—Elrond had made sure that his whereabouts were kept
secret, and he was now treading on dangerous water. Aragorn may really be their only hope—but was it his time yet?
Texyn then turned to
Thranduil, who had remained stony and cold throughout his speech, and told him,
“We know this is your house, Lord. I am
not asking you to accept us, and I understand if you do not want us here.”
Inside, Thranduil felt
torn. Elrond had not yet given his
consent, but he was sure that he would.
The Elven king felt trapped. He
could sense Elrond’s eyes upon him, along with the expectant ones of the six or
seven men on the steps. As Thranduil’s
gaze swept over them, he stopped and stared.
Was there a boy among them?
He sighed heavily. He knew he had a reputation for being cold
and unwelcome to strangers, and he didn’t trust men. But Elrond was his guest, and while he was here, his house was
Elrond’s house. He had called him here
to make amends, and not allowing the men lodgings here would only widen the
rift.
Thranduil’s silence was
sending anxiety through Elrond, but when he spoke, his words surprised him.
“So be it. You may rest here, but do not think that
this means that I trust you. I am sure
you are aware of my reputation that my image has garnered, and I admire you for
coming here at all knowing that fact.
Keep in mind though that I am allowing you here because of Elrond. He is my guest, and whether or not you know
it, I am not as cold as people make me out to be. I would not send away those who are in as dire need of help as
you are, even if you are men.”
Elrond had to suppress a
smile at this. Except for dwarves, he
thought, amused.
Texyn lowered his head in
a gesture of respect, and the other rangers followed suit, causing the faintly
hardened look in Thranduil’s eyes to melt completely. “Now all we need is to hear from you, Lord Elrond,” Texyn stated,
his hopeful eyes falling upon him.
Elrond stepped forward and
gripped Texyn’s shoulders firmly, causing a new strength to flow through the
human’s body. “How could I deny a
friend help? I will do all I can, and
there may even be a young power and strength that I will be able to arm you
with, if the time is ready.”
His words were cryptic,
but at that moment the men forgot about the confusion. Elrond exchanged a grateful look with
Thranduil—who smiled in return—as they led the men into the palace.
~*~*~
“Are all humans this
heavy?” Isindil remarked as he placed Aragorn on the forest floor as they took
another rest.
Legolas smiled and Elulith
and Raeuwyn snickered softly.
“If you mean as heavy as
elves, no, I’m afraid not. But do not
worry, there is not that much longer now.
Look, the lights of my father’s palace can be seen in the distance through
the trees. We will be able to reach it
well before morning,” Legolas assured his friend.
“We had better,” Isindil
sighed.
They sat in silence for a
moment. Aragorn had been drifting in
and out of unconsciousness all day, and Legolas was finding it harder and
harder to hide his concern. Instead of
improving, it seemed that his new friend was just getting worse, confirming
Legolas’s suspicions of poison. What
feared the prince the most was if Aragorn would be strong enough to fight
against it. He was beginning to feel
anxious, and he stood, suddenly wanting to reach his father’s palace with all
haste.
“Are we leaving so soon?”
Elulith questioned, surprised.
“I fear we must. I do not know how much he has in him, or
what he is fighting. That worries me,”
the prince responded. Isindil
groaned. Legolas smiled weakly at him
and told him, “Do not worry, Isindil. I
will carry him this time.”
~*~*~
Elrond stood out on the
balcony, closing his eyes as the gentle wind blew his hair about his face. He had made sure the rangers were all given
comfortable accommodations and a good meal before they retired. He had been correct in assuming that Texyn
was their leader, for he had been the closest to Arathorn and Gilraen among
them. The others in the group were
Leonav, Trynavan, Galamir, Zorolyn, and Rohanin, and he was the youngest among
them. They had all sat in one of
Thranduil’s big living rooms with the fire blazing, where they had exchanged
stories and had a great time. Even
Thranduil had been able to loosen up, and it gladdened Elrond’s heart to see
that.
But something now didn’t
feel right. Elrond opened his eyes, and
down on the path below, he was able to glimpse three figures heading to the
palace. Without giving the matter a
second thought, Elrond turned from the balcony and hurried down to the palace
gates. Thranduil was already there,
dressed in a long, flowing green robe.
They nodded to each other
wordlessly in greeting, and pushed open the doors to see whom the newcomers
were.
Legolas was among them,
and Elrond smiled at him and heard Thranduil give a sigh of relief. It was when the prince moved forward that
enabled Elrond to see that he was holding something in his arms. When he was able to identify who it was, he
paled, and the smile vanished from his face.
It was Aragorn.