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”

Chapter One

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.

Chapter Two

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.

Chapter Three

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.

Chapter Four

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…

Chapter Five

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.

Chapter Six

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.