Roots
Dwimordene
dwimmer_laik@yahoo.com



Chapter One -   Meeting in Mirkwood

Legolas, son of Thranduil and prince of Mirkwood, lay flat on his stomach high 
above the ground, and he gazed down from his perch amid the branches of a great 
pine with no small curiosity. From this lofty vantage point, he had a clear view 
of the road that cut through the forest, but his attention was not upon it. 
Rather, it was upon the pair of figures that moved through the trees, and more 
precisely, upon the taller of the two. For he glided along with an almost elvish 
grace, clearly quite at home in a wood though Legolas knew him not at all nor 
what his errand might be. As for the other, the stooped, crawling figure on a 
halter seemed more beast than being, and Legolas grimaced in distaste, wondering 
what it was. The boundaries of Thranduil's realm lay still some miles north of 
this point, and it was sheer chance that had brought him to this place, for he 
had been tracking Wargs all the night before without success. Today's hunt had 
been equally profitless, until now. Instead of Wargs, I find a pair of 
vagabonds! But what are they and whence come they? Now, he lifted his gaze to 
the tall figure crouched at his side and asked softly, "What make you of these 
two, Aradhil?"

Aradhil, a forest warden experienced in the hunt, frowned and raised a hand, 
palm upward. "I know not, my prince. And after the appearance of thirteen 
Dwarves and one hobbit nigh upon eighty years ago, I thought I had seen all that 
the forest had to offer by way of oddity!" The other paused, considering the 
apparitions, and then added, "Do they think to hide from us, by risking the 
trees rather than taking the road?"

"Nay," Legolas replied, turning his attention back to the wanderers. "Nay, I 
think not. See, the one knows well how to move in a forest, but he makes no 
effort to keep to cover. And so for all that he goes quietly, it seems to me 
clear that he does not mean to conceal himself. You are certain you have not 
seen him before?"

"He is no Lakeman, and certainly no hobbit!" The other responded. "And though I 
cannot be certain from here, I think he is not an Elf, either. As for the other, 
I cannot hazard a guess, my prince."

"Well, we shall soon discover the truth," Legolas said, feeling automatically 
for the knife at his belt as he gave Aradhil a mischievous smile. "Hold your 
place here, and I shall flush our quarry, as it were!"

"Carefully, your highness! I would not want to explain myself to your father 
should anything happen to you!" Aradhil cautioned. But he obeyed, and even gave 
a slight smile as he watched the younger Elf drop silently to the earth and 
disappear amid the trees, for he had hunted with Legolas before and knew well 
that the other could never resist a mystery. Fortunately, Thranduil's youngest 
son was also handy with a blade and well-able to take care of himself. And if it 
should prove otherwise this time, still he will be safe enough, for I have not 
missed a shot since the fall of Eregion! Aradhil thought with a predator's 
complacent confidence as he bent his bow and took aim.

***

Waiting in the deep shadows for which Mirkwood was justly famous, Legolas held 
himself perfectly still. For though he was now nearly certain that the other was 
not an Elf, the very fact that he could doubt his own judgment in such a matter 
argued for the utmost respect for the other's abilities. It would not do, after 
all, for a Wood-Elf and a prince to betray himself through sheer carelessness, 
particularly not against an unwitting opponent. So he crouched and waited 
eagerly for the other's approach to bring him near enough for Legolas to judge 
better with what and whom he dealt. Already, his sharp ears had detected a low, 
steady stream of whimpering, interspersed with muttered, thickly-accented words, 
and an occasional sound that seemed to him as a sick frog croaking. As for the 
other, over that mumbling litany, even Legolas could hear nothing of his 
soft-footed movements, which was on the one hand frustrating but on the other 
quite intriguing. The pair drew nearer, almost even with the prince, and the Elf 
grimaced. Cautiously, Legolas began to creep along a parallel track, following 
by sound alone. Not that that is any great feat! he thought, wrinkling his nose 
at the disgusting and pervasive noises. What is that creature? I would stop them 
here and prevent this stranger from bringing that… thing… into my father's 
realm, but that I know naught of his motives. And, the Elf admitted silently, 
with a slight smile, I enjoy this too much! 'Tis a change, and a novelty, and 
that is saying much, even for one so young as I! Of course, at some point, 
pleasure would have to submit to necessity, and he and Aradhil would reveal 
themselves, but for the moment, Legolas was more than willing to be entertained.

Through the clinging brush and the concealing trees, he slipped in secret, 
unremarked by his quarry, and he knew that Aradhil followed circumspectly 
through the branches of the trees. Once in a while, he would even catch a stray 
glimpse of the warden, but Aradhil had many more years on the hunt than had he, 
and could elude even a prince if he so desired. In any case, Legolas paid him 
little heed, still intent upon guessing the other's identity. And it seemed to 
him that though the other was certainly a stranger, he seemed to have some idea 
of his path, for at intervals, he would pause a moment, take his bearings, and 
then continue on in a more or less north-westerly direction, heading straight 
for the heart of Thranduil's realm. So he must know someone who has been here 
before, for his path cannot be an accident! But whom? Though not unacquainted 
with some of the Men of Laketown and Dale, Legolas yet knew that the Bardings 
would not dare the woods. If their business brought them into the forest to deal 
with Elves, they went ever to the Signpost that Thranduil's folk had built nigh 
upon eighty years ago, after the dragon had been slain. It was no more than a 
simple, rune-etched stone around which grew plants not native to the forest but 
blessed by the Elves to flourish nonetheless… and it gave no information as to 
the location of the halls of the king of Mirkwood. Legolas could think of no 
others outside of hidden Imladris who would know the way through the perilous 
woods, yet this wanderer did not carry himself like a herald, and there was 
still the question of his race.

Just then, a bird chirped in the west, and Legolas froze, recognizing that call. 
Not Aradhil, but another group of hunters sweeping eastward. The coded message 
contained in that bit of mimicry alerted other members of the hunting party of 
something unusual in the woods, and Legolas grimaced, for clearly the newcomers 
knew nothing of their comrades' intentions. Aradhil had obviously reached the 
same conclusion, for from behind and above the prince came a second call as the 
forest warden warned the others off. Legolas, meanwhile, realized that the 
stranger had ceased to move upon hearing the signals, and as the Elf cautiously 
peered up through the brush, he saw that the other was staring up towards 
Aradhil's last position. Slowly, he turned westward again, towards the first set 
of calls, and then made a complete circuit of the area, turning in place, grey 
eyes seeking intently after the source of the false voices. Thranduil's youngest 
son narrowed his eyes at that, surprised to have been given away by signals that 
regularly fooled orcs. Or perhaps he truly is an Elf, to be able to tell the 
difference! But then would he not …?

He had no time even to complete the question in his own mind, for at that 
moment, his quarry spoke, sounding weary beyond measure but amused nonetheless: 
"Greetings from Mithrandir, who assured me of the good will of the Elves of 
Mirkwood!"

Mithrandir! Legolas turned to where he knew Aradhil remained hidden, but short 
of revealing themselves, neither could ask the question that burned now in their 
minds. And Aradhil would not come forth until Legolas did, for the decision was 
properly his to make. After a moment's further consideration, curiosity won over 
caution, and Legolas unfolded from his hiding place and stepped lightly into the 
open. And since the stranger had at least a courteous tongue in his head, the 
prince spread his arms and bowed slightly, in a manner that bespoke politeness 
while expressing also uncertainty as to the other's station. Certainly, the 
other looked the part of the vagabond: his clothes were quite travel stained, 
his beard unkempt, and he had pulled his hair back into a queue simply to keep 
it out of his face. Mud caked his boots, a blood-stained bandage was wrapped 
about one hand, and he evinced a profound weariness such as comes only to those 
who have journeyed far and hard. And yet despite his rather rough and bedraggled 
appearance, there was in his eyes and manner an aura that whispered of nobility, 
and of a shrewd heart. And there is something… familiar… about him. Aloud, he 
said, "'Tis a rare stranger who speaks the tongue of the Elves. And he who 
speaks the name of Mithrandir with reverence is always welcome in the kingdom of 
Thranduil." Legolas spoke casually, with a hint of amusement in his voice, but 
his gaze rested intently upon the other, who endured his stare with an 
equanimity that the Elf found quite astonishing. No Man had ever willingly met 
his eyes for more than a few brief moments, and the prince wondered at that 
poise. For now that he had heard the other speak, it was certain that he was 
human, though his was a voice that had many more layers to it than an Elf would 
expect of a Man. "Tell me, what are these greetings? For we had not expected any 
messengers."

"And I had not expected to be one," the other replied with a slight smile. 
"Nevertheless, if you have not heard, Mithrandir has gone away upon some errand 
in the south, to Minas Tirith in Gondor, I believe. In coming here, I do but 
fulfill our agreement in the matter of one Gollum," at which name, the creature 
hissed menacingly, and Legolas grimaced slightly, "and I was told King Thranduil 
had no objections to my presence or his."

"Who are you?" Legolas asked, scrutinizing the other's face. "The king did 
indeed send word to all who protect this forest that one might come bearing a 
prisoner to be held in our dungeons, but that was eight years ago and I was 
given no name."

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn and chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North am I," 
replied the Man, and tired grey eyes flicked over Legolas' person with quiet 
intensity. "No name were you given, for Mithrandir and I had not planned to make 
our separate ways here when we began our hunt. And since then, neither of us has 
had the time to journey north to Mirkwood when business called southwards or 
westwards. But that is a tale that may wait for a time. For the moment, I ask 
only your leave to pass through this realm to Thranduil's halls."

"That at least I may grant you," Legolas responded, raising a hand to beckon 
Aradhil from the trees. A moment later, the warden appeared at their side, 
having dropped easily from the branches above. "Go ahead of us, and take the 
message to the king. Return as swiftly as you may, and I shall accompany our… 
guests." The prince glanced down at Gollum with some distaste ere he raised his 
eyes once more to Aragorn's exhausted face.

"As you wish, my prince!" Sketching a bow, the other hurried away, though not 
without a backwards glance at the Man.

"'My prince?'" Aragorn echoed, raising a dark brow and clearing his throat when 
his voice cracked hoarsely from exhaustion.

"I am Legolas, Thranduil's son," said the Elf. "Forgive me, I forget myself 
sometimes, for guests are uncommon and the day has been full of surprises, which 
has not happened for some time." He felt compelled to explain the lapse in his 
manners, then motioned that they should continue walking. At his invitation, the 
Ranger fell in at his side, dragging the muttering Gollum along with them.

"Granted of course, if you will excuse me as well, for I knew not with whom I 
spoke, and the road has been difficult such that I did not think to ask," said 
the other, shaking his head in mild self-reproval. "But come, tell me, if you 
will, what brings you so far? Admittedly, it has been some years—more than I 
care to acknowledge!—since last I heard of the dealings of the Elves of 
Mirkwood, but if I am not mistaken, we have not yet crossed the southern borders 
of Thranduil's realm."

"You are correct," Legolas informed him. "We have some miles ere we come to the 
edge of my father's kingdom. Aradhil and I came hunting a small pack of Wargs 
some two days ago. Alas, we have thus far met with no success, though at least 
our enemies are once more beyond the pale, as it were."

Aragorn gave a soft grunt at that, and murmured, "As are many others who deserve 
them not! Ah well! 'Tis ever so, and we all have our limits."

"And you seem to have reached yours, son of Arathorn," Legolas said, steadying 
the other as he stumbled a bit.

"Truly, I have!" the Ranger replied, pressing a hand over his eyes for a moment 
ere he shook his head and proffered a weary smile at the Elf. "And I relish the 
notion that for a time it matters not." At that moment, Gollum hissed softly and 
gave a rather skittish hop to one side and then crouched there, staring as he 
sniffed suspiciously. That caused Aragorn to scowl at him an instant ere he 
turned his attention to the surrounding trees. "Did you hear aught?" he asked 
after a moment.

"Nay, nothing!" Legolas replied, pausing to listen more carefully. All about, 
the woods were silent, and there were no other creatures to be seen…. As one, 
Elf and Man drew their blades, suspicious of the preternatural stillness that 
had fallen.

"You said you hunted Wargs?" the Ranger inquired, and in an instant he seemed to 
have left exhaustion behind. His voice hardened and grew sharper, but with that 
edge of polite inquiry that bespoke a man unaccustomed to panic.

"We did. Is this Gollum friendly with such creatures?"

"I think he is friendly with nothing, but he may take the opportunity to run," 
the Man replied, resheathing his dagger. In a sudden and unexpected move, the 
Ranger lunged, grabbed the miserable prisoner by the scruff of the neck and fell 
upon him. But Sméagol writhed like a snake, squirming out of the other's grasp 
more than once, and the elven prince danced aside as their flailing battle 
rolled his way. Were it not for the sheer ferocity of the fight, it might have 
been comic, but Legolas found himself amazed by Gollum's slithering resistance. 
It was almost two minutes ere Aragorn was finally able to bind his legs, and by 
then both he and Gollum were thoroughly mussed and dusty, and the Ranger had a 
new set of scratches along his left temple. Despite the danger, Legolas could 
not quite suppress his vast amusement at the sight of the other's dishevelment, 
but under Aragorn's disgruntled glare, he gave a slight shrug and offered a hand 
up by way of apology.

"Will that hold him?" the Elf queried, returning his attention to the forest.

"It had better!" the other muttered threateningly, and the dagger reappeared in 
his hand.

Minutes passed in a wholly unnatural silence, and Elf and Man stood back to back 
with Gollum huddled pathetically between them for safe-keeping. And slowly, the 
feeling of another, malign presence grew upon them as they waited. Eyes ranging 
over the greenery in careful search, Legolas said in a low voice, "They are all 
around us."

"I feel it," the other replied grimly.

"Then good luck, son of Arathorn, for I have never before hunted Wargs with a 
human," the prince replied, wishing suddenly that he had. For scarcely had he 
ended his thought when the trees exploded in snarling, bristling fury and the 
shadows disgorged large wolf-shapes that rushed in unerringly for the trio. 
Gollum gave a high-pitched squeal of terror, which neither of his captors heeded 
having no time to spare from their desperate fight to survive. Legolas met the 
first Warg head on, for he dared not duck lest its trajectory carry it straight 
into Aragorn from behind. A quick slash took the creature's eyes out, and he 
thrust it aside in time to turn to the next pair of opponents who rushed in, one 
from the side, the other head on. The Elf ducked low, sweeping his blade outward 
to force the one to swerve and then thrust upward, catching the second in the 
belly in mid-leap. The Warg's momentum did the rest, and the Elf grimaced as hot 
blood and entrails splashed him. A second shadow passed over him and then 
another Warg tumbled to the earth to lie motionless. A howl caught his 
attention, and as the Elf rolled out of his crouch, he reached unerringly for 
bow and arrow, pressed, aimed, and released all in a heartbeat. Something 
glittered in the air, and the last Warg gave a choking, gargling roar as it 
fell, the impact dislodging the blade that had sunk into its throat a good inch, 
though the barbed arrowhead remained embedded in its chest.

Legolas turned in a half-circle, scanning the trees, seeking to make certain 
that the danger had passed ere he lowered his bow. Pulling his blade from the 
earth where he had left it, he wiped it on a wolf's pelt and sheathed it. Then 
he raised his eyes to the Ranger who was retrieving his dagger from the last 
Warg's throat, and the Elf raised a pale brow as Aragorn drew first one dagger 
and then another along the hem of his already stained cloak. "Whence came that?" 
the Elf asked, motioning to the second blade, whose intricate metalwork bore the 
distinctive signature of elvish handiwork.

"A gift from my brothers," the Ranger replied, tucking the etched dagger away 
into a sheathe at the small of his back. Then, with a sigh, he sat heavily upon 
the ground, slumping back against a convenient tree trunk, and he gave the other 
a slight smile. "Fortunately for us both, I have hunted with Elves before and 
know somewhat of their style of combat." He surveyed the carnage, counting the 
bodies, and asked, "Seven. Is that all of them?"

"Indeed, I believe so," Legolas affirmed, making his own count as he wiped blood 
from his face. Gore-smeared strands of golden hair clung still to his cheeks and 
brow, and the prince sighed softly. "Aradhil will not be best pleased, I fear, 
to learn of this incident!" A pause, then: "Does your wound give you pain?"

For the Ranger was cradling his left wrist and flexing the fingers of his 
injured hand as if in some discomfort. But at Legolas' frowning inquiry, he 
shook his head and the Elf got the impression that the other was somewhat 
embarrassed. "It is not serious, only troublesome."

"How came you by that?" The Elf asked, gliding over to see for himself.

"Sheer carelessness!" Aragorn responded disgustedly, and arched a severe brow at 
Gollum. "I thought him tame enough to take the gag off, and he promptly bit me! 
For a creature so decrepit and nearly toothless, he uses what he has to great 
advantage!" And Legolas, gazing at the deeply stained bandage, was quite willing 
to believe it.

"You were fortunate, then, that he did not sever the tendons or break any 
bones!"

"Well do I know it, though for a moment, I thought he had," the Ranger replied. 
Then, letting fall his arm, he took one last look at the crumpled forms that 
littered the clearing, and murmured, "They grow bolder with the years. An attack 
in full daylight on the edge of a land guarded by Elves—who in former times 
would have believed such audacity?"

"Ah, but 'tis never full day beneath these trees, not since Dol Guldûr rose. Not 
since the Dark Lord reclaimed his title," the prince replied regretfully. Then 
he shook himself, throwing off the mood as only an Elf could, and said, "But 
come, if you are now rested! We have still some miles to walk, and then you may 
rest for as long as you like. In the meanwhile, I shall see to Gollum for a 
time, if you will."

"May he well become you!" Aragorn snorted, though he was only too glad to let 
another have the care of the foul creature for a time. And as he spoke, he 
climbed wearily to his feet once more though his back and legs ached. But he 
refused to complain, recognizing in Legolas that peculiar charm that comes of 
elvish youthful irrepressibility which knows little indeed of mortal 
limitations. "Fifty days have I borne his company, and glad would I be if I 
never set eyes on him again." At which Gollum gave a threatening hiss and 
resumed his muttering. And Legolas, eyeing the wretch warily, said:

"I think he feels likewise." Stooping, he untied the other enough so that he 
could walk. "This way, then!" With that, he plunged into the forest, and the 
three of them began the long walk back to the halls of the king. The Dúnadan 
followed, and for a time they walked without speaking, though Legolas kept a 
careful if circumspect watch on him, noting the way the other moved. Very like 
to an Elf indeed, and yet at the same time quite different, now that I have a 
clearer view. Who taught him his forest craft, I wonder ? If Aragorn noticed the 
Elf's discreet observation, he said nothing, seeming lost in his own thoughts, 
and the Elf did not disturb him.

At length, though, as they passed the unmarked southern border of his father's 
kingdom, Legolas said casually, "You said that dagger was a gift from your 
brothers." And when Aragorn gave a curt nod, he continued, "I fear that I know 
few of those who call Elrond lord, and most of them but by reputation for there 
is little traffic among our peoples these days. Yet perhaps I know of them. What 
are their names?"

"You may indeed know of them," the other replied with a slight smile. "For they 
are Elrond's sons, Elrohir and Elladan. We came here once when I was still quite 
young, though it was but a brief visit and I spoke very little."

But Legolas, upon hearing that, uttered a low oath of astonishment. Turning 
bright, intense eyes on the other, he stared, recalling that visit, and the very 
young lad who had remained quietly in the background. "You were Estel of 
Imladris!"

Aragorn, for his part, turned a bemused look upon the Elf, and said, "You have a 
better memory than I, for I fear I do not recall you at all."

"You would have had little reason to remember me, for a fourth son has little 
standing when his brothers are present. I stood with the wardens of the forest 
that day, rather than at my father's side." Legolas shook his head, amazed and 
delighted by the coincidence. "I knew not then that you were aught else but an 
Elf, for you said not a word before the court proper, and I went away late that 
night, to return only after you and the others had left. Nevertheless, I recall 
the name, for Tharinsal found it unusual and mentioned it later."

"And is Tharinsal still your father's heir?" Aragorn inquired cautiously, 
hearing in the other's voice a certain melancholy note that he had learned quite 
young to respect.

"Nay, for he forsook Middle-earth some sixty-five years ago, shortly after the 
Battle of Erebor, which the Bardings call the Battle of Five Armies," Legolas 
said softly, and not without chagrin. "It needed not even the sea to call him: 
the sight of Esgaroth was enough!"

"A pity indeed," Aragorn replied, risking a brief, comforting touch upon the 
other's shoulder, knowing too well himself the sense of loss that came of being 
left ever behind. For each year in Imladris, there were fewer Elves, and there 
were days when he could not remember all of those who had left for the havens 
even within the relatively short span of his own life. Yet those of Imladris are 
mostly Noldor, by descent at the least, and many recall the waves upon the 
shores. For a wood Elf to be lured away from the forest by a lake bespeaks a 
strong desire indeed, or else a particularly weak attachment to Middle-earth. 
And since Legolas seemed still mournful, he added, "For long, I feared that one 
day I would wake to find that Elladan and Elrohir had left. For a child who lost 
his father ere ever he knew him, and who grew up away from other children, that 
was a terrifying thought. But there are some friendships and ties that may not 
be abandoned while they last, not for any sea-longing, however powerful."

"Alas, I fear then that Tharinsal had no such ties!"

"Perhaps not, but that is not a measure of your heart, and you have still time 
to forge such for yourself," Aragorn replied, which earned him that peculiarly 
elvish scrutiny that seemed likely to strip a man to the bones. But he did not 
flinch, having learned to endure such looks early on, and after a long, silent 
moment, Legolas gave a soft grunt and said:

"I have never known a mortal who knew aught of an Elf's desire for the sea! Or 
who would dare to mention it, even." A pause, and then the Elf asked, in a tone 
that bespoke at once youthful hesitancy and a genuine curiosity, "Are all of 
your people so wise?"

"Most are wise enough not to speak of such things!" Aragorn replied with a 
slight smile, and Legolas laughed softly.

"Well answered! You could have been an Elf indeed!" Legolas paused. "And what of 
you, Aragorn? Does a Ranger grow weary of Middle-earth?"

"Weary of fighting, yes. But weary of Arda," Aragorn considered that for a few 
moments ere he said slowly, "All mortal creatures tire of her, if what I have 
been taught is true. But the sea cures nothing, for in the end, it is still of 
Middle-earth, and it shall never take us beyond her."

After that, they fell silent, and for a long while, the only sound to be heard, 
other than the noises of the daytime forest, were the muttered imprecations of 
Gollum, who wandered, lost, in the miserable world of his own crafting. But Man 
and Elf alike ignored him, preoccupied with their own concerns and thoughts. The 
measure of my heart, Legolas thought, feeling the notion resonate within him. It 
seems odd to say that I know it not, but in truth, I do not! I would not have 
expected such a revelation to come at the hands of a Man, but then, I would not 
have expected today to be so fruitful in terms of surprises either! Five hundred 
and seventeen years weighed suddenly heavy on the soul of a young Elf—a feeling 
of age that jarred him, as if he had suddenly been torn from the slow cycle of 
elvish growth and made forcibly aware of the swift wearing of the years by 
Aragorn's presence and words. For an Elf, such disruptions are never without 
cost, but then, maturity, too, must be paid for and comes not without pain. 
Legolas let his eyes drift almost shut, 'til the world assumed a golden cast as 
he gazed out from beneath his lashes and let settle the stirred sediments of his 
soul. As the shifting of the earth, that feeling seemed to him, and though he 
knew not yet whither it would lead, he welcomed the bone-deep certainty that 
something new had begun within him. Yes… there will be time for such friendships 
as he speaks of, for how shall I leave when I have been just now reborn? "Will 
you stay in Mirkwood long?" he asked hopefully of a sudden, and Aragorn shrugged 
slightly.

"With your father's permission, I would stay for awhile, for the journey has 
been a hard one. And I hope that perhaps Mithrandir shall hear of my passage and 
come hither," Aragorn replied, somewhat surprised by how quickly the other 
seemed to have taken to him, for it might take many years for an Elf so young to 
begin to take an interest in a Man. Perhaps it was simply an intimation of the 
climax towards which the Third Age rushed—an ending that would destroy the 
slow-lived dream time of the Elves—that let Legolas mature more swiftly than was 
elvish wont. For the young of all our races grow up swiftly in the face of 
troubled times, the Ranger thought with a certain regret. But then again, there 
is about Legolas something that hints of the unexpected… of the extraordinary, 
even!

"Good," Legolas replied softly just then. "For I would learn more of you, ere 
you leave again for the wide lands beyond." For of a sudden, Mirkwood feels 
constricted, bounded, and though I love this forest, I would learn to see beyond 
it! And Aragorn, sensing the other's thoughts, smiled and chuckled softly.

"The world is wide indeed, my friend, and if you would learn of me, then you may 
have to go far beyond your father's halls!" He met the Elf's bright green eyes 
once again, but this time it was he whose gaze was measuring, and Legolas cocked 
his head, as if uncertain what to make of the other's weighty stare. But he did 
not look away, and when Aragorn asked, "What say you?" the Elf replied:

"That when the time comes, I shall go."

"Are you certain of that? Time effaces the ties that we have to Middle-earth, 
and one who has not roots deep within his native soil will swiftly be lost!"

"Fear not for me, then," Legolas replied with a slight, yet serious, smile. 
Aragorn was silent awhile, once more considering the Elf, but finally, he, too, 
grinned and shook his head.

"Then may the road be long, my friend! May it be long and profitable indeed!"

As, indeed, it was, for it was not the sea that separated at last Elessar of 
Gondor from Legolas of Ithilien, but the tides of time alone defined the long 
and wandering path of their friendship.


~~~


Chapter Two - Old, New, Borrowed, True


A/N for the curious: No, Tharinsal is not a "real" elvish name, nor are the 
names of any of Legolas' brothers legitimate. I'm a dedicated fan, but not THAT 
dedicated. All I wanted were names convincing enough to pass muster. =)

**********

The Halls of Thranduil were abuzz with rumor, and had been since the youngest 
prince of the realm had walked out of the woods with blood smeared in his hair 
and clothes, bringing with him an exhausted Ranger and a prisoner of unknown 
race. Aradhil, who had met the two perhaps four miles from the gates, had given 
his prince a long stare, and Aragorn an even longer one, clearly disapproving of 
the fact that Legolas had gone into battle with naught but a human to guard his 
back. "Your highness, I trust you are both well?" And the warden's eyes had 
strayed quickly to Aragorn's bandaged left hand.

"Quite well," Legolas had replied in a deliberately light tone, irked and 
somewhat offended by the notion that Aradhil did not quite trust him to handle 
the matter properly, no matter who his companion might be. And Aragorn is hardly 
a liability in combat! But clearly, naught but the chance to observe the 
Ranger's virtues would change the warden's opinion, and Legolas rather doubted 
that Aragorn would live long enough to supply Aradhil with the necessary 
examples. It might take a century of study for the warden to accept the other's 
worth, and by then, time would have taken Aragorn on to his separate and final 
fate. In any case, the walk home had been more silent than usual, and once 
Gollum had been safely stowed in the dungeons and the necessary courtesies 
observed, the princes, human and elven alike, had retired in search of a bath 
and a change of clothes.

And sleep, Legolas thought, smiling as he sat upon the railing and gazed down at 
the slopes below. Although the city of the Elves of Mirkwood had been carved out 
below and within a mountain, the slopes were riddled throughout with balconies 
and walkways that went among the trees that grew there, for no Wood-Elf could 
live in a closed cave. Other than those labyrinthine outlets and the main gates, 
naught of the city was visible above ground, allowing the forest so beloved of 
the Elves to grow unhindered by their presence. Legolas was intimately familiar 
with all the routes in and out of the city, of course, and he knew with 
precision which balcony led to the Ranger's guest quarters. Second to the left, 
just fifteen feet below. Aragorn had politely declined an invitation to supper 
that first day, and he had been so scarce ever since that rumor had it that the 
Ranger had slept two days straight, so tired was he. Legolas could well believe 
it at least, recalling how very weary the other had been. But sooner or later, 
the Dúnadan would emerge, and Legolas meant to catch him when he did. Thus far, 
three days had come and gone without the Man showing so much as his shadow. 
Still, the elven prince was not discouraged, although Aradhil naturally found 
this latest pursuit of his frivolous, and Thranduil had that air about him that 
told Legolas that his father was vastly amused by his preoccupation with a 
human.

But Legolas paid neither any heed, for other than the Warg pack that he had 
destroyed with the Ranger, there were no traces of the Dark Lord's creatures 
within their borders. That meant that Legolas' time was his own to spend for 
awhile, and if father and mentor were amused or irritated with his chosen sport, 
he was also old enough to stand against their judgment. But as of yet, neither 
Aradhil nor Thranduil had said overmuch about this newest pastime, and so, as he 
waited, the prince, like any good hunter tracking worthy prey, had kept careful 
watch upon Aragorn's quarters. And as he watched, Legolas patiently combed 
through his impressions of his twice-over quarry in the hopes of discerning some 
inclination or habit that might dictate the daily pattern of the Ranger's life. 
Given the vagabond ways of the Arnorian Dúnedain, the Elf had come early to 
watch for the other, and left after sunset, for even a Ranger might hesitate to 
explore an unknown landscape by night. Otherwise, there was naught to narrow the 
hours of watching, but an Elf cares little for fleeting days and Legolas used 
the time to his profit. For he could feel the shifting of his world, and he had 
much to gain through silent reflection upon what that might mean for him.

One never knows where the future shall lead, not with precision, but the time is 
nearly come for me to leave these woods. That much I do know, though I know not 
the hour. Legolas sighed softly, staring at the trees. Elvish eyes traced the 
most minute differences of light and shade upon their trunks, the different 
patterns of bark striation, the placement of knots and the new growth of 
leaves–details realized so fully in the Elf's mind that he could well nigh feel 
them. He knew these trees so well! Each was to him wholly different from its 
neighbors, an individual being that he greeted as a familiar, a companion. Such 
an attitude might be incomprehensible to a mortal, but to an elven prince, 
essentially peerless and with all the long ages of the world before him, trees 
were perhaps the only beings that he could rely upon to grow with him. Certainly 
a mortal could not provide the sort of companionship that comes of centuries of 
association, and yet Legolas waited now for a Man to rouse himself to the new 
day. Folly indeed, I should say, the Prince of Mirkwood thought with a slight 
smile for his own seeming whimsy. Yet this is not any mortal, and whatever 
Aradhil might think, Aragorn has a place in the ending of this Age, and many 
destinies hang upon him. I think it is time that I learned the swift way of 
friendship, rather than relying upon the old and tried ways of the Elves.

For elvish ways had not sufficed to hold Tharinsal in Arda, not though his 
brother had been a thousand years his senior, a thousand years deeper into the 
fabric of Middle-earth. To fade away or to set sail was the fate of the Elves, 
but those of the woodland realm knew little of Valinor, save the tales. Arda was 
their first love, and Legolas, like all of his brethren, looked ahead to the day 
of departure with heartache and a peculiar sense of dread. To hear the Noldor 
speak of it, the sea-longing was the natural end of an Elf, and naught to be 
feared: rather, it was to be embraced, for it would lead the Eldar–whether 
Sindarin or Noldorin–home. But to leave Arda behind, to leave the trees of his 
homeland behind forever…? The promise of a new love could not soothe the fear of 
the loss of his first, and Legolas willed to remain in Middle-earth for awhile 
at least. For a long while, as long as possible, he thought, and knew not 
whether such words as 'long' had any meaning for one who looked upon the next 
five hundred years in the same way that an adult human might view the next five. 
The Age might end ere I do, taking with it all that I hold dear. And then where 
would I go? What would we do, who have dwelt here so long? Would enough of us 
remain to rebuild? Or would we have then only a choice between a faded existence 
and an exiled one?

Legolas knew not the answers to such questions, but for the moment, all 
inquiries were set to one side as the young prince tensed. For below him, a tall 
form had emerged and stood leaning against the railing, surveying the day. The 
Elf smiled, a mischievous, rather predatory smile laden with anticipation, and 
he stood upon the slender stone rail. He had gauged the distance two days ago, 
and knew with precision how far he must leap; he waited now only for Aragorn to 
move slightly to the left, so that he would not risk hitting him. The Dúnadan, 
however, seemed content to remain where he was, and Legolas pursed his lips, 
considering his next move. Perhaps it was childish to pursue the other thus, for 
it would be far simpler to knock on his door, but Legolas had invested two and a 
half days in this endeavor already and he intended to see it through. And I 
suppose I need not land beside him…! The Elf made his decision, took two steps 
and leapt, tucking into a smooth somersault. He made no sound as he landed, yet 
he could not control the ripple of air: Aragorn, feeling a sudden, slight draft, 
as of someone breathing lightly down the back of his neck, turned swiftly, 
laying a hand to the hilt of his dagger. At the sight of Legolas standing there, 
looking quite nonchalant about his unexpected arrival, the Ranger released his 
weapon, but his eyes narrowed. Glancing past the Elf, he quickly spotted several 
places whence the Elf might have come, and sighed softly. "Will you tell me at 
least whether it was a balcony or a tree?" he asked, arching a brow at the 
prince.

"Two balconies to your right, and one above," Legolas admitted easily. "You 
seems much improved! Have you used the days to your advantage?"

"By which you mean to ask where I have been, do you not?" Aragorn responded 
wryly, and chuckled when the Elf nodded.

"There are those who hold that you have slept through a few days," Legolas 
prodded.

"'Days' is quite accurate," the Ranger admitted. "I have traveled by night since 
the first of February. Only when I reached Mirkwood's eaves did I press on by 
daylight as well as darkness, and only to hasten the journey. One needs time to 
accustom oneself to rise at dawn, rather than in the afternoon."

"What is this creature, Gollum, so desired by Mithrandir, that brings you hither 
with such speed?" Legolas asked, curious. But rather than answer, the Man folded 
his arms across his chest as he gazed considerately at the Elf, seeming to weigh 
some matter in his mind.

At last, Aragorn replied, "Without intending any disrespect, your highness, I 
know not what Mithrandir may have revealed to your father, and would count 
myself bound to silence for a time at least. One does not discuss the business 
of a wizard lightly, even with friends and allies of long standing." A pause, 
then, "Indeed, there are days when I wish I knew not as much as I do of 
Gandalf's affairs, and particularly this one!"

"Ah?" Legolas murmured, intrigued in spite of his disappointment at being left 
in the dark. "You have known Mithrandir long then?" he asked instead, willing to 
change the subject somewhat.

"Longer than have many, though in truth, I know not what such a word means in 
the mouth of an Elf." Aragorn chuckled again. "Some sixty years ago we met first 
as allies. Before that, he was a sometime guest of Elrond's, and so I knew a 
little of him as a child. But that is still a short while for one of the Eldar."

"Short indeed," Legolas replied. "But most Men do not think in such terms."

"I have been accused of an elvish affectation before," Aragorn said, though he 
seemed untroubled and even vaguely amused by that fact. "And what shall I think 
of you, Legolas, who would befriend a mortal so swiftly? In these late days, 
that is unusual in an Elf."

"Naught ill, I should hope!"

"I said not so, only that I, too, am curious, for I have known many Elves, and 
few will to invest in so short-lived a relationship. Not when they may hasten 
its end themselves by taking the seaward roads."

"You were raised in Imladris," Legolas replied. "There dwell still many of the 
Noldor, and strange are their ways. We who are Nandorin* are not so eager to 
leave this world, and would seek ways to remain in it for as long as we may. But 
doubtless you speak truly otherwise, for we, too, do not seek Men out. Ever we 
turn inward, seeking only to preserve what is ours, rather than extend our 
reach. It is perhaps a fault in the elvish temperament that we often love the 
land more than those creatures that go upon it!"

"But you would learn better?"

"I would learn, yes. Whether for better or for worse, though," the Elf added, 
with a bright gleam in his eyes, "that I know not!"

"Such insinuations tilt the balance in favor of 'worse,' young prince," Aragorn 
retorted.

"'Tis said that the instructor must take first blame for the fault of his 
students!"

"Most instructors have not elvish pupils!"

"All of those here do!"

Aragorn shook his head and laughed softly. "Lesson the first: you must make 
allowances for the shortcomings of the merely mortal!" The words were spoken in 
jest and utterly without rancor, but the Elf felt his mood shift instantly.

"So say many, and less kindly at that," Legolas admitted, feeling somewhat 
ashamed. The Ranger gave a minute shrug at that.

"I know. But it is not my place or purpose to change that, nor do I believe that 
I would be successful if I did try. The ties of friendship that once bound our 
races together are now nearly severed, and soon they shall be little more than a 
legend, I fear," Aragorn replied. Both were silent then, regretting already that 
inevitability, but soon Isildur's Heir shook himself and changed subjects with 
all the suddenness of an Elf. "But come, let us not speak of that! Rather, I 
would learn more of this place, for as I said before, it has been many long 
years since I entered Thranduil's realm. Tell me how fare the Elves of Mirkwood 
forest."

"As do many others, I suspect: we look anxiously east, and fight to hold our 
borders and folk secure against the incursions of the Dark Lord's minions," 
Legolas replied. "And between battles, we continue our lives. Trade with the 
Bardings is somewhat more bountiful this year, strangely enough. Though perhaps 
it is not so very difficult to understand, for they stand in good stead with 
both the Elves and the dwarven realm of Erebor. Against the shadow of the east, 
three such kingdoms would do well to make overtures of alliance among 
themselves… though I know not what to think of the prospect of having the 
Dwarves as allies! Let the Bardings deal with them, for they are already at the 
fulcrum in all such dealings."

"The King Under the Mountain would make a powerful ally, and a certain one," 
Aragorn mused, by way of counterpoint to the Elf's obvious dislike for the 
Children of Aulë. "Were it my decision, I would not so lightly consign them to a 
distant truce, whatever bad blood might remain between my people and theirs."

Legolas grunted, but he did not take up the other's gambit, preferring to 
continue the business of answering Aragorn's original question. "We must deal 
also with the Beornings. They are not numerous, but they are well-respected and 
fierce, and they at least keep a part of the road under watch, so it is not 
solely our duty to see hapless travelers through the forest."

"I see," Aragorn said, accepting the other's refusal to discuss the dwarvish 
situation as almost inevitable. "In such times as these, I would count that good 
fortune indeed!"

"What of the North, where your people wander?"

"Things are not so well there, I fear, though there are many who know naught of 
the troubles that plague their land. Out of the Misty Mountains come many fell 
creatures, and they are grown quite bold. Spies infest the region, and I have 
lost more men this year than in years prior. Already, we know of three places 
where our enemies have begun to gather in some strength, and each raid upon them 
loses more lives in a battle that does naught but buy both sides time to 
rebuild. We are too few, spread too thinly over too wide a land! And we have 
still our own to think of: women and children, the aged and the men who are 
warriors only at need. Few are they this year, for need ever beckons, it seems."

"I did not know that Eriador's plight was so evil," Legolas said softly, cocking 
his head at the Ranger as he gazed searchingly at the other. Aragorn gazed back 
unflinchingly, and the Elf made a decision. "I would show you a thing, though 
the way is not free of danger. Will you come?"

"If you wish it," Aragorn replied, intrigued though a part of him sighed wearily 
at the notion of challenging fate once again. One can dance at the edge of a 
fire only so many times ere one is burned. How many times shall I dare the 
flames? And as ever, the greater part of his mind and heart replied firmly: As 
often as need be, and unto death if I must! But if he did not precisely look 
forward to a perilous journey, he was glad to have Legolas with him. And 
whatever it is that he would have me see, it has some great significance to him, 
clearly. I wonder what it is?

"Come then!" the Elf said, and beckoned him once more into the underground 
halls. Between stone pillars carved to seem as pale trees, down the long and 
echoing corridors they went, until they reached a door. Legolas opened it and 
went in, and Aragorn followed, uncertain what to expect. Someone's private 
quarters opened before him–Legolas' chambers, he realized, and the Ranger 
glanced about, noting the various objects therein. An airy space, as one would 
expect, draped in various abstract tapestries that managed somehow to 
convincingly imitate sun upon the treetops. The Elf seemed to have a fondness 
for glass sculpture, which struck him as not out of place in a Wood Elf, and 
particularly in a younger one. There was something about the other's personality 
that glittered transparently, and as sunlight refracts through glass, so did 
conversation through the Elf's mind: a chance remark might elicit a number of 
different responses, until the Elf had exhausted the scope of the idea. That, at 
least, was Aragorn's impression of the other, and he smiled slightly at his 
attempt to gain some insight into Legolas through the objects that the Elf 
possessed. Elves being quite particular about their surroundings, I may even be 
close to right in this case, he thought, waiting for the Elf to emerge from the 
set of rooms that lay beyond the further door. Which was why he took care not to 
disturb anything by so much as an inch, for having grown up in an elvish 
household, he knew quite well how that would affect the prince's temper. For 
nothing was ever left to chance, and an Elf knew with precision the arrangement 
of his or her home; let anything fail to conform to the exacting standards of 
elvish memory, and it would be immediately corrected. And although Aragorn 
recognized in his own habits the stamp of that upbringing, the level of 
aesthetic perfection that characterized the elvish mind was beyond his 
aspirations, even had it not been beyond his reach.

Just then, Legolas returned, bearing with him a sheathed sword and his bow and 
quiver. The Elf tossed the scabbard to the Ranger, who caught it easily, and 
slid the blade a good ten inches out of its sheath for inspection. "That was 
Tharinsal's ere he departed for the havens, so you need not fear! Its edge has 
not dulled, and you are of a height with him so it should suit you well. Will a 
borrowed sword bother you?"

"Any sword I use is borrowed," Aragorn replied.

"Understand, I do not slight your skill with a dagger after our skirmish, but 
one feels the need of something more than knives where we are going!" Legolas 
added quickly.

That did little to encourage the Ranger, but he only nodded ere he slung the 
baldric over one shoulder and across his chest, settling the sword comfortably 
at his side. "Then you have my thanks for the loan," he replied simply. "Lead 
the way!"

***

Three hours after Elf and Man had set out, Legolas paused at the base of a great 
tree. All that morning as they had journeyed, the southward path had grown 
narrower, gradually fading away entirely; and although the noon time sun shone 
bright, the trees grew so thick and close that beneath their eaves lay a 
perpetual twilight. "Follow me carefully!" Legolas said, and began to climb 
swiftly up the tree. The Ranger for his part gazed up with some misgiving, 
doubting whether he would be able to follow the Elf. I think me he has already 
forgotten the first lesson! But with a soft sigh, Aragorn leapt and caught hold 
of the lowest branch, grimacing somewhat as the puncture wounds to his left hand 
ached under the strain, and he swung a leg over to pull himself up into the 
tree. From there he very carefully rose and began to pick his way through the 
branches, doing his best to keep to the 'path' that Legolas had taken. At 
length, the Elf came to a halt, much to the Ranger's relief. Legolas caught his 
arm tightly and pointed below them, to the treetops that showed there. For 
Mirkwood lay in a basin, so that the trees grew at different heights, and from 
certain points, one willing to risk the upper branches could see clear to Erebor 
above the forest.

"Behold Mirkwood," Legolas said, gesturing to the trees. "And behold also the 
reason for its naming!" The Elf pointed across a valley of trees to a dark and 
terrible shape that rose up out of the forest.

"Dol Guldur," Aragorn murmured, recognizing the tower almost immediately. He had 
seen it before, though never at so close a range. As a spike of black rock it 
seemed, but shading his eyes with his hand, the Ranger could discern carved 
walkways and crenels. The air about it seemed thick and hazy, as if a mist clung 
to it. Or as if it is but a mirage, as one sees in the deserts of Harad, he 
thought uneasily.

"Sometimes it stands clear against the sky, like a knife; at other times, it is 
scarce able to be seen. And it changes," Legolas said softly. "It has not one 
face but many, and all of them horrible! Since the year of the dragon, a new 
menace has dwelt there, one subservient, but the Dark Lord's aura is imbued in 
the very stones. There pulses sickly a concordance of evil will, and the shadow 
lies upon all our hearts. I fear that Rhovanion will never be free of the taint, 
even if, by some unforeseen grace, Mordor is cast down. And so that which we 
love best is maimed, and we bear the hurt within ourselves as a mirror image of 
the injury done our home." The Elf sighed, glancing at the Ranger at his side. 
"Is it thus with Men? Know they whereof I speak?"

Aragorn did not answer immediately, still absorbed by the dreadful view and with 
thoughts of Gollum preying upon his mind. That tower was many things to him: 
more evidence of the spread of the cancer of malice; a mocking reminder of the 
years that the Dark Lord had dwelt in their midst without their knowledge; but 
before all else, it was Sauron's–Barad-dûr as seen through a broken mirror, 
perhaps. And in spite of himself, the Ranger felt the pull of fascination–of 
desire to know more intimately his enemy's mind through his work. Have I not 
seen enough examples of Sauron's 'craft'? Orcs and Wargs, trolls and ruined Men, 
carrion birds bent to his will and creatures more foul than they and older in 
evil! He shook himself and darted a glance at the Elf, who waited expectantly, 
watching him with something akin to worry. "Men are not insensitive to the land, 
but neither are we bound so very tightly to it. We suffer differently the same 
ills, Legolas, but our sorrow is no less true for being briefer, or less 
consistent."

"Then perhaps you are fortunate," the Elf replied. "No Elf is born without the 
knowledge of sorrow firmly enmeshed in blood and bone. To learn it… to remember 
a time without it… that must be a gift!"

"A dangerous one," Aragorn said in response, "as are all gifts. For we stray 
easily in our ignorance, and once stung by sorrow, we learn swiftly to fear it 
as well. Of more changeable stuff are we made, and so we are more susceptible to 
corruption, I fear. Perhaps that gives a certain nobility to those who resist 
such changes and their own nature, but often do Men long for the stability of 
the Eldar races. If you have not learned envy, then you soon shall, if you would 
truly learn the ways of mortal creatures." Legolas pursed his lips, seeming to 
consider all of Aragorn's words, and for awhile longer, Man and Elf stared out 
at the menace of the tower. "Do you come here often?" the Ranger asked after a 
time, and there was an edge of concern in his voice.

"More than I ought," Legolas admitted. "I know what you fear: that such 
fascination is the first step into the snare. But one must know what one fights, 
and however deep and permanent an Elf's grief, there is much that is beautiful 
that causes us to forget it for a time. Why else does the Forest River** send 
all creatures who touch it into oblivion? It is laden with our will to forget 
the pain of waning Arda!" He sighed softly, then, with a final, defiant look at 
the tower, said, "Let us go down now, for I at least have seen enough!"

"Gladly," Aragorn replied, and let the Elf lead the way back down to the earth.

"You do not climb badly," Legolas observed, watching as the Ranger dropped from 
the last branch to land solidly on his feet. "I hope your hand does not trouble 
you unduly."

"I have had worse before," the other replied, adjusting the baldric to settle 
the sword more comfortably. That was not really an answer, but Legolas accepted 
it, unwilling to embarrass the Ranger. Instead, he turned once more to the 
matter of the wizard and Gollum.

"Think you that Mithrandir will come soon to see this… creature?"

"I know not, in truth. When last we spoke, he purposed to go to Minas Tirith, as 
I told you upon our meeting. Whether he remains there, or has already returned 
to Eriador by some other route, I know not. Messages I have left for him with 
bearers that I trust, but I cannot be certain of his movements."

"Would you stay until he came?"

"I may not," Aragorn replied, and not without regret. "If he comes not within 
two weeks, then I shall take my leave, for I have other tasks to see to, and I 
have been too long away from those whom I love."

"Your wife?" Legolas queried, guessing blindly. But the Ranger shook his head.

"Nay, no wife waits for me," the other said, and though he kept his gaze focused 
upon the ground, the Elf perceived an oddly tender note in his voice. "Cousins 
and friends have I in the North, and who knows now how many remain? Not every 
return is a glad one."

"I know that well," Legolas responded, deciding to let fall questions of 
marriage, for it seemed that the Dúnadan did not wish to speak of them. 
"Tharinsal is gone, and though I have two other brothers left now, Nindarth 
speaks now of departing, and he is but a few centuries older than I. Father and 
Thirisul urge him to consider carefully, but our sisters say naught, and have 
lately begun to look west as well!" The Elf shook his head and sighed, "I fear 
that he shall not remain here long. And who knows but that with his departure, 
our sisters may go as well! The shadow is everywhere, as I said, and I blame 
that tower for the fear and anguish that drive my brother and sisters from their 
native shores."

"The Dark Lord has much to answer for," Aragorn replied grimly, casting a 
sidelong glance at his companion, noting the taut expression of pain on the 
other's face. "Mourn not overmuch in advance, my friend, and take what comfort 
you can from the knowledge that the day of reckoning approaches. Too swiftly, I 
deem, but even if we fail, we may yet take our revenge. But since we left our 
perch to forget Dol Guldur and its master, let us leave such thoughts for now. 
Show me Mirkwood, if you will, for I would not learn only of the forest's pain!"

"Gladly will I show you," Legolas said with a smile. "And perhaps afterward, you 
shall understand our pain better, and yet feel it as bittersweet rather than 
sour!"

 

**********

*Nandorin: Thanks to Arynetrek for bringing this up. I originally thought 
Legolas was a Sindarin Elf, since that is what he speaks, and most Elves seem to 
be referred to as Sindarin in the Third Age. Two things made me waver and go 
with Nandorin: Legolas' and Thranduil's names just sound a lot different (to me) 
from other Sindarin names, i.e. Elrond, Galadriel, Haldir, Celeborn, even 
Aragorn. So I wandered over to Ardalambion again and looked up Nandorin just to 
see if there were any listings. Not much, but Mirkwood was described as being 
originally a linguisitc stronghold of Nandorin, though the language was 
eventually superseded and supplanted by Sindarin as refugees came out of 
Beleriand and other such places. That piqued my interest enough to try an 
experiment with Legolas' ancestry. It may change in subsequent tales, but for 
consistency's sake, I thought I'd tack on my motives behind this switch.

*Forest River: Thanks to all who have read the Sil thoroughly enough to tell me 
whence came the name "Esgalduin."



 ~~~

 Chapter Three -  Conflicted



  The old moon lay cradled in the new, riding high above the trees as dawn drew 
nearer, and Aragorn breathed in the scent of wet earth and pine as he gazed up 
at the night sky. He stood once more upon the balcony outside of his chambers, 
leaning against the railing and indulging in the luxury of having naught to do 
but star-watch and let his thoughts flow freely. Two days he had been in 
Mirkwood—well, four, if one counted the two days that he had slept through—and 
both had been passed in Legolas' company. Indeed, after their viewing of Dol 
Guldur, Legolas had acceded to Aragorn's request to see Mirkwood with such 
enthusiasm that the pair had not returned to the palace that evening.

"Mirkwood by night is not to be missed!" Legolas had replied when Aragorn had 
hinted that perhaps they ought to return. "And I have no duty for a time, so 
there is no need to hurry. We could not see all of Mirkwood even in a week, but 
a winter's eve in the forest is worth the time. Tomorrow we shall return." And 
Aragorn, having likewise no duty, had bowed to the other's high spirits—not to 
mention his own whim—and spent the night following Legolas about eastern 
Mirkwood. "I prefer the north, myself," the elven prince had confided, "But 
perhaps you would prefer it here." He had said nothing more on the subject, and 
the Ranger had had to smother a laugh at the implied reasoning: Legolas, 
concerned to keep his guest in good spirits, thought he might feel safer in a 
more or less familiar region of the forest. And that is true enough, but I have 
spent many a night in unfamiliar surroundings and learned to appreciate their 
beauty anyway! But Aragorn had not commented upon the other's unspoken 
rationale, for that consideration bespoke a sensitivity to another's limitations 
that would serve him well when he eventually left Mirkwood.

If only he learns to be somewhat less clumsy in the attempt, that is, Arathorn's 
son smiled slightly, thinking of Imladris and his brothers. Elladan and Elrohir 
had seen thirteen generations of his ancestors through their earliest and most 
vulnerable years, and they went often with the Rangers upon forays into orc dens 
and upon other, more hazardous missions. They had each of them more experience 
with humans than almost any other Elf born in the Third Age, and yet Aragorn 
clearly remembered a number of instances in which the inborn confidence of the 
Elves in their own strength (and the corresponding lack of faith in the strength 
of others) had strained their relationship. Of course, many of those times 
occurred after I developed into a head-strong thirteen year-old! the Ranger 
conceded with a slight smile for the eager child he had been. But though he 
readily admitted that he bore a measure of responsibility for those relatively 
few periods of real resentment, he knew that the twins were not blameless. For 
there were other Elves in Rivendell who, despite millennia of existence, had 
never learned to see men as anything but a weaker race, which in their minds 
meant that humans were less worthwhile. That attitude was not meant to be 
insulting, but that singularly elvish arrogance was the more difficult to 
overcome precisely because it was in many ways justified. For we are weaker, and 
more prone to lose our way in times of difficulty, Aragorn thought, tearing his 
eyes from the sky to gaze out into the dark depths of the forest. And confronted 
with an Elf, there are few men who know enough now to treat with them without 
either fear or worship. Ah well! At least I seem to have made an impression on 
Legolas, and that is something.

It was more than 'something' in fact, for while Aragorn knew a few of the 
younger Elves of Imladris, he had never had much opportunity to interact with 
them. For although he had been drawn to them when he was a boy, feeling often 
out of his depth among Elrond's intimate associates, they were not concerned 
with a human child; and by the time he had reached his majority at twenty, 
Aragorn was somewhat too worldly to be overly eager to join those who seemed 
utterly disinterested in the lands that lay outside of Imladris. I remember 
watching them after my first campaign, Aragorn thought. I was fifteen, and still 
in shock, I think, over the fact of my survival. As we crossed Bruinen, one of 
them… Lindir, I believe it was… called down to us from the trees and laughed at 
how weary and downcast we seemed. And in that moment, he was so utterly alien to 
me that I was disgusted. How could anyone laugh after what I had seen and done? 
It had taken decades of pain and struggle for him to begin to appreciate anew 
the ability to be wholly content with but one patch of land, or a passing 
season, or even a single leaf. Thus Legolas was not the only one who found their 
relationship novel, for the Ranger had never managed to befriend so young an Elf 
before; and it woke in him an oddly paternal tenderness to watch the prince go 
through the slow process of waking to the world that he had gone through more 
than three score years ago.

Of course, being elvish, Legolas' wakening did not follow the same course that 
Aragorn's had, but that very difference was part of what made their burgeoning 
friendship satisfying to the Ranger. Among his own people, Aragorn could easily 
sit for hours in silence if only because the Dúnedain, and the Rangers in 
particular, were accustomed to value it, knowing that their lives depended upon 
remaining hidden. Conversation tended to be sparse in the wild, and much was 
conveyed by gesture, expression, and the other myriad clues of body language and 
sympathetic reaction. But although camaraderie and even good humor were hardly 
foreign to such wordless interaction, he had never had a companion who could, 
without moving a muscle or smiling overtly, evince such a profound joy in the 
simple act of sitting together in silence. Nor have I spent so much time in a 
tree since I was ten! He and Legolas had climbed up an ancient fir whose broad 
branches were ideal for star-gazers; and while the still hour after midnight had 
trickled slowly away, they had sat there, alternately watching the sky, the 
forest, or each other. Not a word, no audible hint of their feelings had passed 
between them, and yet Aragorn had rarely been so content as an adult. As Legolas 
shifted his gaze from stars to trees to the Ranger, the moonlight would 
occasionally flash in those green eyes, or touch upon his hair, and Aragorn had 
wondered how he seemed to the other. As an anomaly, doubtless— or rather, an 
enigma. He has not yet the gravity of other Elves, and I can endure his long 
looks more easily, but his curiosity is the more aggressive for that. His gaze 
is interested and disinterested at once, a combination of passion and science 
that I have never felt before in an Elf. To be the sole object of such active 
attention, even if only for a little while, was at once wearing and strangely 
exhilarating, and Aragorn gave a soft sigh as he watched an owl glide gracefully 
amid the branches of the trees, calling out its mournful cry as it went. We all 
of us search for another to trust in this night!

So deep was he in his own thoughts that instinct was somewhat slow to make 
itself felt, but at length it came to him that he was not alone. And though 
Legolas was his first suspect, something spoke against the obvious conclusion. 
Whoever it was made no effort to alert Aragorn of his or her presence, though 
upon second thought, the Ranger dismissed the possibility of a female visitor. 
This might be a common balcony, but so far as he could tell, he was the only 
guest housed near it, and it seemed to be a lesser walkway, dead-ending rather 
than curving around to burrow back into the mountainside again. After waiting 
some moments longer to give the other a more than reasonable chance to declare 
himself, the Ranger straightened up and turned very deliberately, letting his 
visitor know that he was quite well aware of his existence. Before him stood an 
Elf, and after a moment's scrutiny in the dim light of the lanterns, Aragorn 
bowed gracefully. "Your majesty," he said respectfully, and watched as Thranduil 
acknowledged his salute with a slight smile and an inclination of his head.

"Aragorn of Arnor," the other replied, watching him closely. The king of the 
Elves of Mirkwood glided forward, placing his hands lightly upon the thin stone 
rail as he gazed out into the forest-clad slopes. "It has been many years since 
your last visit to my halls."

"It has indeed," the Ranger said, uncertain of the other's purpose.

"They have wrought many changes in the boy that I recall, if I may say so," 
Thranduil said, and if there were a touch of amusement in his voice, there was 
also an edge as of foreboding disapproval and melancholy that Aragorn's sharp 
ears did not miss.

"The world flows swiftly by outside of Mirkwood and Imladris," Aragorn replied 
neutrally. "And I am not an Elf, to resist the current of time for even a 
decade, your majesty."

"True enough, and I fear that nothing that is remains untouched by the waning of 
the Third Age, Mirkwood least of all, alas!" Thranduil said, and the melancholy 
grew stronger in his voice. "Your coming shall not be without effect upon this 
realm, for sooner or later, all that moves in this forest is known to the 
watcher in Dol Guldur."

"Mithrandir warned me of that, and I would expect no less. How much time have 
we, your majesty?" Aragorn asked, welcoming the chance to turn to business 
rather than continue along a half-guessed path, though he would still need to 
keep his guard up. For if it comes to the matter of Gollum, I may not speak of 
it!

"I cannot say with certainty. It may be that your coming is already known to 
those of the tower. Or it may be that your own actions have bought us all some 
time, for the destruction of the Wargs has silenced at least some of the enemy's 
spies. And once you crossed our borders, the power of Dol Guldur to discern your 
purpose and dealings was greatly reduced. I hope only for a period of respite 
and that Mithrandir shall arrive soon and during that lull."

"As do I, but I fear I cannot hazard a guess as to when he may come. I know his 
errand, but whether it will be successful is another matter," Aragorn admitted, 
thinking to himself that Thranduil's words notwithstanding, Dol Guldur knew of 
his presence. Or rather of Gollum's. The presence of the Elves might hamper 
their enemy's ability to sense the miserable wretch, but then again, it might 
not. Though the king of Mirkwood stood still gazing outward at the night, the 
Dúnadan could feel the quality of the other's attention and knew that Thranduil 
listened now to his silences, seeking to discern, perhaps, the state of 
Aragorn's knowledge and whether it was greater than his own. But Aragorn could 
say nothing of such matters, and continued to speak of Gandalf as if blithely 
ignorant of Thranduil's attentiveness. "I fear I know not even what would 
constitute a success or failure."

"A pity," Thranduil responded, turning from the forest to face the Man again. 
And this time the contest was more pointed, as each strove to evaluate how much 
had been left unsaid. At length, though, the elven king continued softly, "With 
the loss of the latest wolf-packs—you found but one, and many other hunting 
bands reported kills!—the master of Dol Guldur is wroth. I can feel his hatred 
pulse through the earth and surge against our borders. The very trees are bowed 
before it! He will strike again soon, and as his attacks grow more frequent, the 
risk of discovery grows."

"Has anyone yet unmasked the commander of the tower, your majesty?"

"We still know not what sort of being governs there, but we think that it must 
be a Man of some sort," Thranduil sighed, and then raised a brow at Aragorn, "No 
offense to you, Dúnadan, but what we can discern of him through the rumor of the 
forest feels more human than aught else."

"But we have no name? Nothing to indicate his origins?"

"Nay, but that whatever this evil is, it resists our attempts to discern its 
true nature. Perhaps Dol Guldur itself acts as a barrier, for Sauron hid within 
sight of our realm without rousing suspicion." Thranduil shook his head, 
disgusted and regretful, then said, "Assuming a messenger was sent immediately 
to Mordor, I would guess that we have some few weeks, perhaps a month at best, 
ere the news reaches the Dark Lord. Pray, then, that Mithrandir comes swiftly, 
for else you shall not get this creature, Gollum, out of the forest at all, I 
should think."

"I do pray," Aragorn said softly, and with such quiet fervor, that Thranduil 
gave a soft laugh.

"Indeed, you do. And so do I! For alas, we can do no more, I fear," the elven 
king sighed, seeming to accept that he would learn nothing new from the Ranger. 
Then he fell silent, and the Ranger watched him in the darkness, trying to read 
the other's purpose. For although their speech together had not been without 
merit, now that the Elf had apparently let fall the matter of Gollum, it seemed 
clear to him that Mirkwood's king had other reasons to come alone to speak with 
a mortal Man. Aragorn hesitated a moment, then quickly decided that the direct 
approach was in order.

"I thank you for the warning, and if I may be of any service at all during my 
time here, I would gladly lend my aid wheresoever you deemed it needed," he 
said, and then paused a split second as Thranduil nodded ere he continued, "But 
if you will permit, your majesty, I cannot believe that you would come at so 
late an hour only to speak to me of such matters as may be easily discussed in 
council or at other times during the day." Thranduil cocked his head at him, and 
Aragorn felt the probing regard like a brand, but he said nothing, waiting for 
the king to state his purpose.

"And I perceive from your voice that you know well whereof I would speak," 
Thranduil said at length and wryly. "Very well! Let us then speak of Legolas." 
The Elf paused a moment, considering Aragorn in silence, and then he asked, 
"Know you of Tharinsal?"

"Legolas told me he had departed for Tol Eressëa shortly after my last visit," 
the Ranger replied.

"Then doubtless he also told you that others of my children also look west. 
Before their time, I should say, but that all such words begin to lose meaning. 
The days run short, and our departure draws nearer. But for the moment that 
concerns me less than does Legolas' grief. For he does grieve, and more than 
that, he is afraid. Can you understand that?"

There was a certain sharpness to the other's question, an edge to his voice, 
that made Aragorn stiffen slightly. Legolas is not the only one who grieves or 
fears! he thought, and so chose his words with great care. "Not as an Elf could, 
for the sea-longing is not in me. But I suffer its consequences as well, for 
many whom I love and account as friends are subject to the call of the ocean. 
And I fear to lose them, though I know well that I must in the end."

"Then you know more than most Men, and that I say is good, for I would not see 
Legolas suffer from mortal ignorance as well!" Thranduil shook his head and 
grimaced. "Through his mother, he has much Nandorin blood in him, as do many of 
my people, though we are now all accounted Sindarin, so mixed are we become. But 
of all of my children, he was ever the most bound to this forest, and I doubt 
not that he shall be the last to leave these shores. He has his mother's heart, 
and I would not see him suffer as she did!" the elven king said in a low tone, 
his voice taut and grim. For his part, Aragorn did not miss the significance of 
the simple past, and his lips tightened in a thin line, for he had not known the 
fate of Mirkwood's queen. He still could not be certain whether she had departed 
Middle-earth or life itself, and discretion being the better part of valor, he 
did not ask. Clearly, Thranduil had yet to recover from their sundering, and a 
stranger would have to be very foolish indeed to intrude upon his mourning. 
After a time, Thranduil looked up, and he caught Aragorn's eyes with his as he 
continued, in a low, intense voice, "Arda is in Nandorin blood so deeply that 
the call of the sea is as a tearing pain until it is drowned. I know not what 
Legolas intends in his pursuit of you, but if he bonds to you, it will sink but 
another hook into his soul, and make the prospect of his departure the harder to 
endure. More, he will be tainted with the fear of mortality, and that I would 
not see."

Aragorn had spent many years learning the fine art of dissembling, and six 
decades of practice came into play in an instant to cover the anger that flared 
in him. Of the three elvish strongholds in Middle-earth, Thranduil's was the 
only one with regular contacts with humans. As such, and in spite of Legolas' 
words earlier, logic would conclude that such obvious prejudice ought to be less 
deep-rooted here than elsewhere. That one of Thranduil's standing apparently 
felt no shame in bluntly ordering a mortal to leave off a friendship already 
begun was in some sense deeply incomprehensible to Aragorn, and the Ranger 
fought his disappointment but also his indignant anger for the slur. Calmly, 
Aragorn! You did not come here to change the hearts of fading Elves—did you not 
say just that? Drawing a deep breath, the Ranger cast about for some harmless 
response—something innocuous and reassuring. But whatever Thranduil's opinion of 
mortals in general and men in particular, he was still an Elf, and though 
Aragorn was quite tempted, he could not lie while snared still by the other's 
gaze. And perhaps I do not wish to in any case. Mortal ignorance, is it? Then 
let us at least do without elvish blindness! "Your son's heart is not mine to 
order, your majesty. If he would hold with me for a season of his life, then I 
shall not hinder him, for only a fool would lightly refuse such companionship as 
he offers. And though a father seeks always to protect his children, you cannot 
spare him this pain: for he has already chosen, and any rebuff that I might make 
would wound him. If he must suffer hurt for my sake, I would rather he suffer 
from a friendship lost to time than from one refused."

Thranduil was silent for a long while, and his displeasure was evident in his 
tight expression and posture. Finally: "Bold words, son of Arathorn!"

"True words, your majesty: the only kind worthy of a king," Aragorn replied 
softly, arching a dark brow at the other, daring him to recognize the 
double-meaning there. Green eyes met grey ones in a contest of wills, and the 
Ranger gazed back steadily, refusing to retreat before the other's pained anger. 
It was hard, though, for in that moment, he was reminded quite strongly of 
Elrond, when Imladris' lord had learned of his daughter's decision. I seem to 
have a talent for coming between fathers and their children. But even forty 
years ago, Aragorn had refused to bear alone Elrond's blame for another's 
choice. And though a dangerous gleam flared in Thranduil's eyes, Aragorn 
remained steadfast in that refusal, for to accept such responsibility deprived 
Legolas of his dignity no less than it would have deprived Arwen. Still, the 
silent match wore on, and the air seemed to grow thick between them as 
Thranduil's pain waxed with the recognition of inevitability. For even were 
Aragorn to leave that very night, Legolas would follow him; that much was clear 
to both father and friend, and though the former might delay the hour, 
eventually, Mirkwood's youngest prince would leave the forest behind.

And so in the end, Thranduil withdrew, looking away quite suddenly, and Aragorn 
for a moment suffered a peculiar disorientation, as if the world had for an 
instant ceased to exist and then begun again. It was the mental equivalent of 
the stagger of an overbalanced swordsman, but he knew well what he felt, and so 
did not let it affect him noticeably. The elven king turned his face up to the 
stars, and to the moon that was now beginning to touch upon the tree tops, as if 
seeking comfort in the sight. Perhaps the stars did speak to him, for though his 
voice remained flat and hard, there was yet none of the contempt or raw anger 
that one might have expected after such a confrontation. "Wisdom comes slowly, 
and even to the Elves it is not granted once and forever, but must be sought!" 
he murmured, then lowered his eyes to recapture the Ranger's gaze. "Have you 
children, Aragorn?" he asked with pointed emphasis on the word.

"No, my lord." That elicited a grunt from the other, who then gave a slight, 
thin smile as he shook his head.

"A pity, as I said before. Learn from this, then, young one: when your time 
comes, and your own children choose another path, do not let your love for them 
bind you to folly!" Thranduil's smile broadened somewhat in the moonlight, 
sensing Aragorn's surprise at the sudden reversal of his mood and manner. "Have 
a care with Legolas, for though you have a wisdom that I do not often find in 
Men, still, he is centuries your senior and head-strong at that, as Aradhil 
would tell you." If Aradhil would deign to speak with you! The unspoken 
qualifier was clearly communicated nonetheless, and Aragorn gave a slight shrug 
for the warden's contempt.

"I hear and obey, your majesty."

"Good." The king paused, seeming to consider some further matter, and to the 
Ranger's trained eye, the Elf seemed suddenly and wickedly amused by something. 
Which might give a wary mortal cause for fear, but in Aragorn the king's shrewd 
consideration woke only a certain well-placed caution and curiosity. Thranduil 
cocked his head at him, and nodded, as if the Ranger's equanimity pleased him, 
and he said briskly, "Tomorrow, Legolas returns to his duties. He shall learn of 
this in the morning, and I would have you go with him since you have offered 
your service. If my son would befriend a human, well that he learns your measure 
in all things. And it will keep him focused," the other admitted wryly. "Will 
you accept this chore?"

"If you wish it, then gladly."

"I do wish it. Aradhil shall also go, for he has been my son's keeper for longer 
than Rohan has had a king. I fear he has little use for Men, but you need not 
fear, for he would not dare to fail in his duty to a comrade, whatever his 
bloodlines."

"I doubt it not. I know somewhat of elvish pride… and human," Aragorn added 
pointedly, and Thranduil now held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement.

"Then I need not keep you. Good night, Dúnadan." And with that, the king of 
Mirkwood strode regally away, disappearing quickly into the darkness of the 
halls. Aragorn watched him go, turning over that tense conversation in his mind, 
and at length he gave a soft bark of laughter for the unexpected way that things 
had turned out. Elves! I shall never cease to be amazed by how changeable an 
immortal can be. With that, he stretched and offered a silent good night to 
Varda's skies. And to you, Prince of Mirkwood: sleep well, or sing well— I know 
not which! But I shall see you on the morrow once more. After a final glance at 
the moon-lit forest, Aragorn went to bed.

 

***

Legolas walked lightly out onto a slender branch, emerging from cover only 
enough to survey his surroundings without obstruction. To his left, Aradhil 
perched, bow at the ready should aught threaten his prince, and the other four 
members of their patrol were spread at staggered intervals and heights behind 
them. There was nothing unusual in such a deployment, but the group felt tense 
nonetheless, and the reason was obvious. "Seven," Aradhil had muttered when the 
Dúnadan was out of earshot, voicing one of several latent concerns. The number 
seemed an inauspicious mark that hovered over the patrol, for six, being half of 
twelve,* was accounted a balanced number, whereas seven was considered in many 
ways to be the first truly "odd" number: the number of imbalance, of 
extraneousness, of superfluity. It was a standing excuse for elvish skepticism 
of the Dwarves that the members of that strange race were of seven houses, 
descended from seven fathers, and many Elves still shook their heads over the 
fact that Celebrimbor had made seven dwarven rings. An unlucky number, and one 
that might have ill consequences for the band indeed!

And of course that Aragorn is mortal has nothing to do with Aradhil's 
displeasure at all, Legolas thought sarcastically, with a slight smile for the 
warden's mood. The fact that I have been at the Dúnadan's side all the long 
hours of the day has done naught to ease him either. For as skilled as the 
Ranger might be, it was impossible for a mortal to track an Elf who did not wish 
to be traced, which had given rise to some discussion ere their departure. 
Legolas had at first held forth that the patrol would simply have to show itself 
from time to time so as not to lose the Ranger. "'Tis an unwarranted risk, my 
prince," Aradhil had flatly refused to entertain the notion.

"Then one of us must remain at his side as a guide," Legolas had replied 
cheerfully, though privately he had been irritated by the amount of reluctance 
that the warden displayed over the prospect of having Aragorn along with them. 
Thranduil it was who asked him to come, and if for no other reason than loyalty, 
he ought not to make so heavy a burden of his duty! But Aradhil was set in his 
ways, and Legolas was willing to take advantage of the other's prejudice to suit 
his own purposes. "I know your reservations well, my friend, and as I would not 
put you in a setting of which you are not certain, I shall play the part of 
pathfinder!" And so he had. All that day, he had led the Ranger on the ground, 
ascending to the heights only at intervals to check their position and to get a 
better look at the land. Aradhil was not well pleased with the solution, and he 
evinced an obvious dissatisfaction whenever his prince joined them in the trees. 
But he could scarcely have it both ways; and as Legolas was the most skilled of 
the group (saving only for the warden himself) and a mortal would obviously need 
all the help that they could spare, Aradhil could not argue with Legolas' 
self-appointed role. And if he had, I have still authority over him, the prince 
thought with a certain grim satisfaction. Besides, even Aradhil should have 
little to complain of, for Aragorn has not slowed us.

Now, as the prince gazed out at the forest, he nodded sharply to himself, 
finding the way clear. He signaled Aradhil to stand easy, and gazed about to 
find Aragorn once more. After a moment, he spotted the other, and using the 
branches of other trees almost as a staircase, he nimbly made his way back to 
the earth. Aragorn did not startle at his appearance, intent upon his own 
observations. Apparently, the Ranger, too, found nothing to alarm him, for he 
glanced at his companion and quirked a brow as if to ask Shall we continue? 
Legolas nodded and led the way forward once more. They were moving south, having 
left behind the Forest Road that marked the formal border between Thranduil's 
realm and the dominion of Dol Guldur. In reality, the Road was merely a 
convenient way of measuring the ebb and flow of the fortunes of the Elves, for 
at times, their influence held even south of that pathway; at others, Dol 
Guldur's shadow lay heavily far north of it. At the moment, even a human could 
not possibly be insensitive to the feeling of malaise that pulsed, beating 
against them and radiating outward with steady insistence. What that might mean, 
none could say with certainty, though all were on edge, expecting attack. And in 
spite of the Ranger's obvious skill and ability to adapt to the methods of 
others, Legolas worried about the prospect of a large skirmish. The others were 
Elves, and they would adapt quickly enough, but there was always room for error: 
if Aragorn misjudged the space in which he could safely maneuver, even elvish 
acumen could not snatch an arrow back once it had been released. Not to think of 
that, Legolas reminded himself sternly. Thus far, we have found naught. And 
should that change, I shall still be here to insure that mistakes do not occur.

The land sloped gently but noticeably the further south one went, and now it 
began to fall away sharply about them. The trees on the incline grew at awkward 
angles, pressed up against each other for support but also in fierce struggle to 
reach the light that their dark-leafed branches blocked. Beneath their tangled 
canopy, the land lay as if in perpetual crepuscular slumber. But the dreams are 
never pleasant, and one feels something creeping in the darkness that even 
elvish eyes pierce but with difficulty, Legolas thought, pausing a moment to let 
his eyes adjust to the gloom. The gnarled shapes of the trees seemed to float in 
the distance, their roots lost in the shadowy, clinging underbrush that blended 
well with the shadows. Nightshade and dull moss, mold and dust populated the 
spaces between the trees, and some bushes gleamed with blood-red berries so sour 
that few could endure them. And we must be wary of the cobwebs! The elven prince 
grimaced fastidiously as he grasped a sticky strand of spider silk and yanked, 
clearing the stuff from his path. It was not the same sort of web that signaled 
the presence of the monstrous creatures that would hunt even Elves, but it was 
best to be cautious for they migrated throughout the forest.

By the time night fell at last, the patrol's spirits were low, and though 
Aradhil and the others joined their companions on the ground at Legolas' 
insistence, the warden was quick to station himself as far from Aragorn as he 
could manage. The rest of the company was not so obvious about its disaffection, 
but there was a tension in the air that did not come solely from their 
surroundings. With a soft sigh, Legolas considered the problem, wondering if 
there was aught he could do to encourage some sort of resolution, but even an 
Elf may falter before a millennium's worth of accumulated grievance. Flicking a 
glance at the lone human in their midst, he noted that Arathorn's son had very 
quietly settled with his back to a tree and seemed not to notice his isolation. 
Except that Legolas would sooner believe that the Man could sprout wings, for a 
Ranger did not live so long as Aragorn without having mastered the art of 
minutely detailed observation. He knows perfectly well what the others think. I 
wonder whether he grew accustomed to such prejudice in Imladris? Legolas shook 
his fair head and dismissed such ponderings. In the end, they mattered less than 
the reality that confronted him for the first time: that the divide between 
Elves and Men was deeper and uglier than he had realized.

Were it not for Aradhil's clear rejection of the Ranger, he suspected that the 
others would have been content to more or less ignore him, and to return 
courtesy for courtesy, though without ever allowing themselves to grow attached 
to him in any way. But the warden had great authority, and was older than the 
prince whom he served, and in this matter at least, the weight of that 
prominence pulled the rest of the patrol towards a more clearly hostile position 
with respect to Aragorn. Legolas could do little to offset that prejudice except 
to make his own views clear by sitting down amiably beside the Ranger. I cannot 
even speak to Aradhil until Aragorn sleeps tonight, for he would understand us! 
There are some things I would not have him hear. It would hurt to strain the 
bond of trust that existed between warden and prince, but Legolas could not let 
the matter lie. Not, and call myself my father's son! He thought, staring at 
Aradhil's back as the other stood and gazed out at the darkness.

Just at that moment, he felt a nudge against his arm, and the prince blinked and 
glanced at the Ranger. Aragorn's eyes flicked to the warden, and he gave the 
barest hint of a smile as he shook his head minutely. Leave off! he seemed to 
say.

I cannot! Legolas thought back, wondering if the other would understand that 
mute appeal. Aragorn met his gaze, and those sea-grey eyes gleamed as if with an 
inner radiance that owed nothing to their small camp fire. No, he mouthed the 
word and at Legolas' raised brow, added, Wait. The Elf's brow knit with 
perplexity, but after a moment's hesitation, the prince bowed to the other's 
will in the matter. If only because I am curious to see how he reacts. It is his 
honor, after all, Legolas thought. And Aragorn, reading the prince's confused 
impatience with the situation, smiled to himself. There was little point in 
pressing the issue at this time, but he did not doubt that the opportunity would 
arise to address it, and soon! Aradhil could hardly take a stronger stance, 
which may help me in the end. For if he is shown to be mistaken about a human's 
worth in one case, it will cast much doubt on his judgment in other areas as 
well. In the mean time, I can wait. He is no worse than Denethor in many ways, 
though I doubt not that the Steward of Gondor would be appalled by the 
comparison! the Ranger thought. And now that he was sure that Legolas would say 
nothing on the subject of elvish arrogance, he let his attention drift back to 
the forest. Mirkwood felt threatening tonight, and he wondered what hunted them. 
Wargs? Orcs? Or something more fell than they? What is this malice that lies 
over the land and troubles our hearts? Whatever the source of the malign power, 
it was only a matter of time ere it showed itself more clearly in the creatures 
that it sent against them. And we shall be waiting for them, Aragorn vowed with 
a certain grim satisfaction.

Legolas rose then and assigned the watch, and Aragorn listened without surprise 
to the announcement that he would take his shift with the prince at midnight. 
That left him four hours in which to rest, and as those not on duty spread their 
blankets and cloaks, he nestled down as comfortably as he could, drawing his 
cloak close about his body. Soon enough, he felt Legolas join him, settling back 
to back for protection as well as warmth. As the patrol had been quiet all 
evening, one could not say that silence fell, but a sense of stillness pervaded 
their fire-lit circle as one by one, the members of the group fell asleep.

But the night is not still, and there is a menace in this darkness that I have 
not felt before, Aragorn thought drowsily. And even as he told himself to stop 
thinking and go to sleep, his mind fixed upon the feeling of anticipation that 
grew within him, crystallizing in a final warning:

Sleep now, for as it stands, trouble shall come before the dawn!




**********

Awww… yeah, that's it, that's the end of the chapter. Go to sleep and maybe I'll 
write some more. Or not, because now I'm tired and work beckons tomorrow. Thanks 
for all your feedback, and you'll notice I modified the Nandorin bit somewhat. 
Tell me what you think.

*In Appendix D of RotK, pp. 440-441, Tolkien noted that the Eldar preferred to 
reckon in sixes and twelves, and that their basic unit of (useful) time 
measurement was 144 mortal years, or twelve squared. I'm just playing around 
with that idea a bit. Elves may be immortal, but every race has its numerical 
superstitions.

** "Now let us cry a plague on the stiff necks of the Elves!"-- Aragorn, FOTR as 
they try to get through Lórien. Chapter content clearly inspired by this, and 
also just because a) I think the story needs it, and b) Thranduil was a major 
a$$hole the first time he let me write him, and I haven't forgiven him, even if 
I did manage to get him to play nice(-r) in the end.



~~~


Chapter Four  - Divided We Stand


 The moment midnight arrived, Legolas blinked and sat up, alerted by the 
changing of his dreams in correlation with the changing of the night sky. Or at 
least, with as much of the sky as was visible through the veil of leaves and 
twisted branches, which was very little. But quite enough for an Elf, Legolas 
thought as he smoothly rose to his feet, automatically glancing about for 
danger. But whereas Elves, even in sleep, knew always where and when they 
stood, Men might not notice the passage of time, being at the mercy of their 
own dreaming minds. Legolas gazed down at Aragorn, who seemed quite soundly 
asleep, and considered how best to rouse him. But just as the prince stooped 
and stretched out a hand to touch the other’s shoulder, the Ranger stirred. 
Grey eyes opened quite suddenly, and the Dúnadan quickly pushed himself to a 
sitting position, reaching out swiftly to grasp the scabbard at his side. 
Glancing up unerringly at Legolas, he nodded a silent good evening as he rose 
quickly to his feet, slipping the baldric on again as he did so. Elf and Man 
then picked their way through sleeping forms to where Faladhros stood watch.

The sentry cast a glance back over his shoulder as they approached, and Legolas 
laid a hand on the other’s back, indicating with that gesture that Faladhros 
should go and rest, that the watch was now well in hand. The other Elf bowed to 
his prince, and then turned to Aragorn. Without fuss or expression, he nodded 
politely and then went off to bed, leaving the two to their duty. Aragorn’s 
brows shot up skeptically, recognizing the other’s perfect neutrality for what 
it was: an attempt to use that legendary elvish disinterest as a shield to hide 
his unwilling acceptance of the Ranger’s presence. For his part, Legolas felt 
frustration threaten to boil over as he watched the other retreat. Frustration! 
Five hundred and seventeen years have I lived, and it takes now but a day to 
frustrate me? The prince shook his head, scarcely able to fathom the notion yet 
unable to deny it. At his side, the Dúnadan gave a soft snort that testified to 
his own annoyance while suggesting a certain wry, sharp-edged amusement, and he 
gripped Legolas’ shoulder firmly. Remember your promise! That touch warned, and 
the elven prince sighed as he glanced sideways at the Man. But it would do no 
good to brood overmuch, or to give Aragorn cause to worry, and so, with a slight 
smile, Legolas turned his full attention to the surrounding forest. Apparently 
satisfied, the Ranger released him and followed suit.

Trees sighed in the light wind, and the chitters and rustling of those creatures 
that roamed Mirkwood by night sounded all around them. Yet if there were a 
somewhat threatening, dark cast to those otherwise common noises, Legolas felt 
nothing that directly threatened the patrol. Yet! But the air seems to throb 
with ill-feeling, and I doubt not that once we are discovered, we shall find 
ourselves the focus of it all! The Elf frowned thoughtfully, fingering the 
smooth wood of his bow. Something comes near, of that I am certain, and yet…. 
Legolas narrowed his eyes, trying to put his finger on what he felt and 
uncharacteristically stumbling in the attempt. After several minutes’ protracted 
silence, the Elf shot a look in Aragorn’s direction. The Ranger had not remained 
still, preferring to prowl along the perimeter of their campsite as he watched, 
but he, too, seemed troubled… restless… on edge. What waits in the darkness? 
Surely not Wargs, I know their ways too well. Orcs perhaps… but there is 
something more to this… something unusually more… ‘mixed,’ I should say. Even in 
his own mind, such a judgment did little to clarify anything, and Legolas’ eyes 
narrowed as he, too, began pacing the edges of the camp as his thoughts took a 
darker turn. How much do the denizens of Dol Guldur know? Legolas wondered 
grimly, wishing that he had a better notion of what precisely he ought to fear. 
What is this Gollum that Mithrandir and Isildur’s Heir should seek him and bring 
him here?

But short of asking Aragorn again, he had no means of answering his own 
question, and this was certainly not the place to make such inquiries. Indeed, 
this was not the time or place to speak at all, and there was not a one of the 
scouting party that had not felt the compulsion to remain silent. The forest has 
ears as well as eyes, but whereas we cannot disappear, we may at least deny 
eavesdroppers insight into our thoughts! Assuming our enemies cannot discern 
them already! Once more, Legolas’ mind fastened on the Ranger’s isolation in the 
elvish company, and he hoped that whatever watched them had not so discerning an 
eye as Aragorn, to notice how very isolated he was. If we show weakness now, it 
may prove our undoing! Perhaps seven is an unbalanced number! At the least, the 
balance in this group is upset, Legolas thought. But after a moment, he grimaced 
slightly and shook his head for his own unwillingness to put a name to the root 
of the trouble. ‘Tis not the number that marks us ill, ‘tis our composition… and 
our arrogance. I trust, though, that when confronted, arrogance shall not 
interfere with business.

Time passed, and Legolas wondered whether the hours seemed long or swift to 
Aragorn. Given the evil that seemed to haunt the woods, the Elf certainly felt 
each moment, investigating every fleeting instant with razor-sharp 
attentiveness, aware of the particularity of each heartbeat. Every tree, every 
bush, every member of the patrol fixed themselves in the prince’s mind, a 
pattern of emptiness and solidity that held itself mostly constant in the 
ceaselessly reiterated now of an Elf’s time sense. All was in readiness, all was 
still, awaiting the catalyst of crisis—it needed but that one, particular and as 
yet unknown event that would break the pattern and precipitate them into 
conflict. And although Legolas felt an implicit trust of Aragorn, he could not 
quite suppress a twinge of anxiety for the uncertainty that he represented. 
Although they had already fought one battle together, the prince worried about 
the way that the Ranger’s presence would affect the group. Would Aradhil and the 
others compromise their own well-established patterns of attack and defense in 
an effort to look after the ‘hapless’ mortal? And if they did, how would Aragorn 
react to that? When the Wargs had attacked, neither Legolas nor Aragorn had had 
the luxury of worrying about each other overly much: each had had to trust the 
other to guard his back and concern himself only with defending his half of the 
circle. This would be different, and Legolas could not decide whether his people 
would err on the side of caution with respect to Aragorn or neglect. That 
uncertainty irritated him, grated on his nerves in a way that even orcs did not, 
and the prince had to suppress the urge to let that irritation attach to the Man 
whose presence unintentionally inspired it. It is not his fault, after all!

A soft noise drifted to the Elf’s sharp ears, and Legolas whirled, bow pressed 
in an instant as he sought its source. An owl hooted, drawing his attention 
upward, and then another rustling sounded as some creature—a squirrel? A 
mouse?—darted along an overhanging branch and thence down a tree’s trunk. 
Movement behind him made him look sharply over his shoulder, but even as he 
turned, he placed the pattern of the sound and breathed easier as Aragorn moved 
a few steps closer, hand on the hilt of his sword. Still, nothing happened, and 
after another few moments, the Elf relaxed. Do I jump now at shadows? He 
wondered. Perhaps he did, and he wondered now whether Aragorn were watching him 
too carefully. And why should I think that? He is capable enough of forming his 
own opinion, surely! I ought not to—

Which was when the Ranger turned suddenly and a blade whistled through the air, 
catching an orc in the face. The harsh scream roused the camp instantly, and 
Legolas’ first two arrows were scarcely away when they were joined by a 
half-dozen others as the Elves spread out and, in two cases, up, climbing 
swiftly into the trees. The prince managed to put a total of six shafts in the 
air before he slung the bow over his shoulder and drew his long knife in a 
slicing motion that ripped an orc open from hip to shoulder. He had to dance 
aside to avoid the reflexive down-stroke as the orc curled about the injury, 
unintentionally bringing its blade back down in a cut that would have dealt a 
serious wound to any standing in its path. Aradhil appeared just then at his 
side, expression fierce, and the warden had his bow in one hand and his knife in 
the other. Both bow and knife were bloodied, and there was some blood on the 
other’s left hand that was too red to be orcish. Aradhil, though, seemed 
untroubled by it as he moved left to take on another assailant that threatened 
his prince. Legolas took in all such details in a heart beat ere he ducked under 
a mid-level thrust and came up to put his shoulder into an orc’s belly. There 
came a rush of foul air as the other exhaled sharply, and Legolas darted 
forward, throwing the orc over his shoulder. He did not stop to look back, 
knowing that Aradhil would kill it ere it could rise, concentrating instead on 
the next orc. He brought his blade up to block another slash, then spun like a 
spider in its web to ram the dagger into his enemy’s side with a back-handed 
thrust. The blade went in up to the hilt, and the Elf snarled as he had to kick 
backward to push the body off his dagger ere he could turn to face the next foe. 
An arrow from on high skewered it before he could take even a step towards it, 
and the prince took advantage of the reprieve to see how the battle went.

Bodies lay strewn all about-- none of them elvish thankfully!-- and a goodly 
number had fallen to arrows. How many more? Legolas wondered, amazed that they 
had come so close before being spotted. Perhaps even more surprisingly, it had 
been Aragorn who had reacted first, which gave the prince cause to 
wonder—briefly, given the circumstances— about his own faculties. And where is 
he now? Legolas’ eyes darted about the clearing and quickly fastened upon the 
Ranger: hard by Faladhros, Arathorn’s son caught a blade on his sword, then 
ducked to impale another orc with his second dagger. Slapping aside the first 
orc’s blade with a flick of his wrist, he pushed upward and stepped into his 
enemy with the knife blade. The orc collapsed, but three more came rushing 
towards him, and Legolas smiled grimly as he bent his bow once more, aiming 
carefully….

Another arrow hurtled forward, past Legolas’ face, and the prince blinked in 
surprise. The missile was aimed for one of the three orcs—the one closest to 
Aragorn—but the angle was tight, and Legolas’ eyes widened as the Ranger jerked 
aside, giving a sharp, short curse as he swung at the next foe. Legolas quickly 
shifted his aim and shot the third orc before it could reach the human, and then 
he darted forward to help as the last of their enemies made a final, desperate 
push forward. Faladhros howled as he brought his daggers down in a slicing arc 
that found a jugular, resulting in an impressive spray of dark blood; Aragorn 
and Legolas were quick to fell two more as the archers in the trees slew another 
three. Aradhil’s final shot whistled between prince and Ranger, so close to 
Aragorn’s face that he felt the wind of its passage. But the arrow struck true, 
between the eyes of the last attacker, and the Ranger watched with almost elvish 
dispassion as the orc fell dead literally at his feet. There was a long silence 
as the defenders waited tensely, unwilling to let fall their guard quite yet 
lest they be unpleasantly surprised. But when it became clear to all that they 
had won the day—or rather, the night—a collective sense of grimly satisfied 
relief pervaded the group. Legolas kicked the orc that had fallen last, turning 
it onto its back, and he stared at the broken shaft that protruded grotesquely 
from its forehead. Aragorn, meanwhile, stalked forward to retrieve his dagger 
from the first orc felled, wiping all three blades clean ere he sheathed them.

"Eighteen," said Aradhil, and Legolas rose, turning to the warden who stood now 
at his shoulder.

"Eighteen and scarcely a mark on any of us," Aragorn said, joining them, and 
this time it was he who glanced pointedly at Aradhil’s hand. "This was too 
easy." Aradhil’s eyes flickered: clearly the allusion was not lost on him, and 
he resented the Man’s intrusion. But he said naught, only stared a moment ere he 
returned his attention to Legolas, ignoring the other so completely that it was 
as if the Ranger had suddenly ceased to exist for him.

"Agreed, but we ought not to let that dictate our movements overmuch. We came to 
investigate the cause of this malice which flows so thick and free in our land," 
the warden replied, and Legolas heard the emphasis on ‘our.’ "We should press on 
in the morning and continue upon our planned path: we sweep south-east and cut 
across the edge of the basin where lies Dol Guldur. If there is aught to be 
seen, we shall surely learn of it. At the least, proximity may teach us more of 
the nature of the watcher."

"What think you, Aragorn?" Legolas asked, deliberately including the Man in 
their discussion and Aradhil’s mouth tightened in displeasure.

"I say only that we should go more carefully than we have, if that is possible. 
These orcs were as naught in comparison with what I expected. Something hunts us 
still, and I should not wish to walk into it too lightly," the Ranger replied, 
glancing from Legolas to Aradhil, and the prince felt the clash of wills as 
their gazes met.

"Then we continue on at first light," Legolas said in a bid to recapture their 
attention ere the sparring match could get out of hand. "But for the moment, I 
think our campsite leaves much to be desired in terms of… scenery, shall we 
say?" He indicated the corpses littering the ground, but neither Ranger nor 
warden followed his gesture, still staring each other down. "Can you sleep in a 
tree, Aragorn?"

"If I must," the other replied with a slight smile, as if daring the warden to 
comment on that. Aradhil did not dignify the statement with a response, only 
waited expectantly for Legolas’ decision.

"See to it, then, warden," Legolas said, and since he had so far failed to break 
the line of tension between the two, he reached out to touch the warden’s 
sleeve, physically commanding the other's attention. Still, Aradhil fairly 
dragged his eyes to Legolas' face, manifestly reluctant to surrender the match 
to a mere mortal, no matter what the circumstances. Legolas felt his expression 
harden as the warden stared at him now, and after a moment's silence added, 
"Yes, see to it. And when we are all removed to the heights, I would stand the 
watch with you, for I have much need of thought." Aradhil heard the edge to 
Legolas' voice, and so he gave a minute nod, acknowledging his prince’s orders, 
spoken and unspoken. "Good." Satisfied that things would hold for the nonce, 
Legolas turned and strode away to see how the others had fared.

Aradhil watched his prince go with a frown, staring for a long moment ere he 
made as if to go about his business. But a hand on his shoulder and the feel of 
another’s body blocking his path stopped him, and the warden glared at Aragorn, 
feeling his wrath rise at the other’s audacity. The Ranger stood with his back 
to the others, so that he and Aradhil faced opposite directions, and his hand on 
the Elf’s shoulder tightened in warning when Aradhil tensed. The Dúnadan did not 
look directly at him, seeming instead to stare at some point just short of the 
forest eaves, and his voice was pitched quite low. Nevertheless, Aradhil gritted 
his teeth, for he doubted not that some of the others heard his words, elvish 
ears being sharp indeed. "You must think me blind, or else stupid, Aradhil, to 
be so brash!"

"And you must be foolish indeed if you think to call me out over naught, 
mortal!" Aradhil replied, eyes narrowing.

"Naught, is it?" Aragorn now turned a piercing gaze on the Elf, and he reached 
across his own body to tug at the tear in the shoulder of his shirt. Blood 
stained the edges of the torn cloth, and Aradhil could see the shallow graze 
that showed dark on pale skin. The Elf lifted his gaze from the cut to stare 
into the other’s hard grey eyes, and Aragorn’s tone was scathing as he 
continued. "Naught indeed, and it troubles me not, but I have known Elves for as 
long as I have lived, save only for two years. For all your long life, I doubt 
that you can say the same of your experience with Men. That shot was deliberate, 
Aradhil. Either that, or your reputation in Mirkwood is unearned!" The warden 
sucked in a breath, but he was given no chance to reply. "I shall not mention 
this incident, for in truth I have cut myself worse before. But such antics are 
not worthy of you: in the future, pay more heed to our enemies than to your 
allies!" With that, Aragorn stepped away, raking him over with his eyes ere he 
gave a brief nod, as of farewell for the evening, and then he turned and walked 
away. Faladhros and Dorothil stepped aside as the Ranger passed, returning his 
polite acknowledgment—"Gentlemen!"—in kind ere they dragged reluctant eyes to 
Aradhil. Furious and embarrassed, the warden glared back at them, and the two 
guards quickly looked away, becoming suddenly absorbed with retrieving the 
arrows they had used and gathering up their now blood-soaked blankets to haul up 
to the tree tops. And still, the humiliation did not end, for Aradhil was 
conscious of another’s watching eyes.

Across the clearing, Legolas stood gazing at him, and Aradhil had no doubt that 
he had heard or guessed all that Aragorn had said. Mirkwood’s youngest prince 
raised his chin slightly, as if to urge him about his duties, and the warden 
managed to nod in response. Returning to the group, he hurried the others along, 
helping to move their gear up into the branches above, and all the while he took 
care not to look at the Ranger. Even when Aragorn handed his pack up along the 
elven chain and then hoisted himself up into the tree, Aradhil ignored him. 
After but a little while, only he and Legolas remained upon the ground, and as 
ever, the warden gestured for his prince to precede him. Legolas did, though not 
without casting a significant look at his protector and counselor of many years. 
With a soft sigh, the warden followed him up into the branches, picking his 
agile way past the others to find a place suitably isolated. Not only had he no 
mind for company at the moment, but it would be easier to avoid disturbing 
anyone when he took his watch. For the moment, Legolas and Aragorn held it 
still, and he glared balefully at the mortal’s back as he stood grasping a 
branch for balance. With a final, disgusted shake of his head, the warden 
settled into the cradle of branches he had chosen and quietly withdrew into 
sleep. But his dreams were populated by orcs and men, all of them screaming 
death upon the plains of Eregion, and in his mind he sighed. Whatever else 
happened tonight, it would be a very unpleasant conversation that he and Legolas 
would have under the thin disguise of guard duty, that was certain.

***

"Are you well?" Legolas asked, drawing near to Aragorn so that their whispers 
would disturb no one.

"I am," the Ranger replied laconically, gazing down through the leaves, keeping 
careful watch on the land.

"Are you certain?" The prince reached out and caught his biceps close to the 
joint of his shoulder, and Aragorn felt a slight sting as the pressure reopened 
the cut. Legolas drew a hand over the injury and his fingers came away bloody. 
The Elf cast a skeptical look at the Man and raised a brow, waiting expectantly 
for a response.

Isildur’s Heir turned a searching gaze on the prince, and after a moment’s 
consideration said mildly, "Do not make more of it than it deserves, Legolas!"

"I would make nothing of it, but that I know well whose arrow made the mark, and 
from your faces, I gather your speech with Aradhil went ill indeed. If you would 
have me make naught of it, then why did you confront him?"

"Because I am not an archery post, my prince, and for all that this is but a 
scratch, I will not tamely let him play with me. That is serious enough when the 
danger is immediate, but not so grave that I would put it to you, who are a 
prince of the realm, without attempting to deal with him myself. For he is an 
Elf, and I do not doubt that he intended no more than this, or I would know it!" 
He shrugged.

Legolas grunted at that, admitting the logic of that response. Alas, I fear that 
even being made a fool of by a ‘mere’ human shall not break Aradhil of this 
habitual disdain. We shall see, I suppose, but if he will play such games in the 
heat of battle, then I cannot let it lie only with Aragorn. "I understand, and I 
doubt not that you have the right of it, but I also saw what he did, and so it 
falls to me to speak to him anyway. You need have nothing further to do with 
him, Aragorn."

"I wish you were right, Legolas, but for so long as we travel together, we 
cannot afford to avoid or ignore each other." A pause, then, "Know you why he 
hates Men so?"

"He has lived long, and seen many things," Legolas replied vaguely, unwilling to 
disclose what was not his to tell. "Much evil has befallen the Elves of this 
region, and as you know, our memories are long." The Ranger gave a soft sigh at 
that, and the prince said quickly, but with a slight edge to his voice, 
"Understand, Aragorn, I do not excuse him his foolishness, nor his treatment of 
you, but there are things that I may not say."

"Fair enough, for there are things I may not speak of to you, either," the other 
allowed. "I ask only because his dislike seems to me personal, as if he bore 
still some outstanding grievance."

"Aradhil is a man of strong passions, and usually one quick-witted. I shall 
speak to him later, but unless some other matter arises between you, say nothing 
to him!"

"As you wish," Aragorn replied, and smiled inwardly for the artful evasion. I 
doubt not that it is something personal, for only orcs and their like hate so 
indiscriminately. Ah well! Aradhil knows that I watch him, and that I judge him. 
That may be enough for the time, especially since Legolas will have words with 
him ere dawn. We shall see! In the mean time, that feeling of ill-will has not 
abated appreciably, yet I think we are safe enough until morning. Which judgment 
might be why the last hour of their watch wore away with glacial slowness, at 
least to Aragorn’s mind. Legolas perched above and beyond him, still as a 
statue, and if he suffered a sense of time dragging by, he gave no sign of it. 
The Dúnadan cast a surreptitious glance at the other form curled up in the far 
branches and grimaced slightly, wondering if Aradhil slept or if he had 
overheard all their words. Whether or not he has, best that I follow his 
example, he thought, for I have no desire to hear what those two say to each 
other! And in this case, it may be an advantage that I have not an Elf’s ears!

When Aragorn at last retired, he and Aradhil passed each other in the darkness 
without a word, but the Ranger shivered, feeling the other’s resentment, and 
could not quite forbear to glance with pity over his shoulder at Legolas’ 
silhouette. I do not envy you, my prince!

***

"Those were your arrows, Aradhil," Legolas murmured. He and the warden had 
perched one behind the other for almost an hour without exchanging a word, 
seemingly awaiting the proper moment, though neither could have predicted when 
it would come. But now that it had, the prince spoke quietly and directly, with 
no preamble, and the weight of his disappointment was apparent. "You always 
fletch them with hawk feathers."

"I would not have hit him but that he moved," Aradhil replied tautly.

"You expect me to believe that you could not have compensated for a human’s 
movements?" Legolas demanded archly, trying to turn the other’s prejudices 
against him. "You could have shot any of three orcs, and yet you chose the one 
that least needed your attention. Aragorn would have killed it in any case 
without your help. If he is so inconveniently unpredictable as you seem to 
believe, my friend, then you ought never to have left so narrow a margin for 
error!"

"Then next time I shall widen it! I know not why you care for him so, for I 
thought you clearer-sighted than that, my prince. Clearly I was wrong!"

"And now you insult my judgment!" Legolas replied, voice hardening.

"My prince, I have doubted your judgment for days now! He is a Man—a mortal 
creature, a lesser child who shall yet usurp your place in Arda. He is not 
worthy of you," Aradhil retorted, and but that he knew that the other was 
sincere in his complaint, the prince would have been disgusted. As it was, he 
was appalled and gazed at the other for a long moment, at a loss for words for 
perhaps the first time in his life.

"You know who and what he is, Aradhil," Legolas finally said. "He took care to 
guard my back once already, and glad was I for his help. He has taught me much 
in a short time, and made no complaints for the treatment he has received at 
your hands and at the hands of the others. Can you stand before me and tell me 
that you do not see his worth?"

"What worth is Isildur’s line to me?" Aradhil demanded in a low voice, ignoring 
all caution to say those words, here, beneath the shadows where too many ears 
might hear. Ignoring the hiss of Legolas’ in-drawn breath, he continued with 
quiet intensity, "What worth, all of Númenor, my prince? As many of them serve 
the enemy as oppose him, and their high lords grow powerful in the South, 
steeped in evil from birth! And those who turn from that path are weak, pathetic 
creatures who cannot preserve their own majesty. What blood they once shared 
with us is long since spent, leaving naught but the memory behind. And even 
memory fades among them!"

"You speak of events long past–"

"‘Long past’ is it?" Aradhil asked softly, and though his tone was clipped and 
angry, there was a real fear in it that surprised Legolas. "Is that an Elf 
speaking, or a Man?" The other shook his head distressedly. "He taints you, 
Legolas, do you not realize that? Already you begin to see things through dimmed 
eyes! ‘Long past’ was Eregion, and yet not so long ago as the breaking of 
Beleriand. A younger son am I, and yet not so young that I do not recall 
watching as Men flocked to Sauron’s banner when it became clear that he would 
win Eregion and leave naught but corpses in his wake. The high kings of Gondor 
and Arnor were slain in a single war, and even Elendil’s teachings could not 
save Isildur from corruption! In the mean time, the Nine were chosen and 
transformed, and they were the best of their kindred. If that is all that Men 
can offer at the height of their power in Arda, of what worth are they now, as 
they enter their decline?"

"You do not know that this is their end! And we who are so mighty, Aradhil, what 
has become of us that we care no longer for the suffering of these pathetic and 
helpless creatures, so frail and in need of guidance, if that is how you see 
them? Or would you see them all to an early grave and so end their misery? We 
cannot hold back the darkness alone, and indeed, we flee like cowards into the 
twilight, seeking refuge, leaving Men to a fate we would not endure ourselves. 
Leaving Arda herself to destruction if you speak the truth! Open your eyes, 
Aradhil and look at this Man who has come among us. Mithrandir trusts him, and 
my father sent him with us; does that mean nothing to you?"

"The will of my sovereign and an Ithron mean much, as does the well-being of my 
prince," the warden replied softly. "It is he who means nothing to me. Think on 
it, Legolas! Think well upon all of it, and return to us when you have realized 
your error." And with that, the other sprang lightly away into the higher 
branches, leaving Legolas to stare after him, incredulous, feeling as though he 
had just had a fight with a stranger. I knew of Eregion, and I knew of Dagorlad 
and Gladden Fields… I knew he disliked Men, and yet! And yet, he had never 
thought about it, he realized. Perhaps because he had so rarely seen Aradhil 
interact with Men before, and then only in matters of business, which could be 
conducted formally and at a distance. And all this time, he has borne this 
grievance within him, and I never truly saw it until now! Legolas bit his lip, 
automatically running his hands over the bark of the tree for comfort, feeling 
rather dirty himself. For though I can scarcely fathom it, it seems clear to me 
that Aradhil fears I may be corrupted by mortal influences, and so I am in some 
sense at the root of this hostility of his. I should have seen that earlier, yet 
I did not. What is wrong with me of late that I cannot see these things? Even 
Aragorn was swifter than I this evening to spot the orcs! Which thought only 
angered him in light of what he had just said to Aradhil. For why should I worry 
over that? Is that not my own prejudice speaking now, that a mortal must ever be 
lesser than an Elf in all areas?

After another hour, Aradhil retired and Dorothil took his place. "My prince?" 
Dorothil asked, with an edge of concern in his voice. "Is there aught I should 
know of?" To help you, the unspoken words hung clearly in the air between them. 
But Legolas was a prince, and the commander of this patrol, while Aradhil had 
long been a warden, and a wise Elf would take care not to embroil himself in any 
argument between two such august personages. And a wise prince will not to 
embroil his own in his private troubles, either!

"The night is full of perils, Dorothil, and I have need of thought. Pay me no 
mind," Legolas replied after a moment. There was a pregnant silence as the other 
Elf stared worriedly at him, and the prince heaved an inward sigh. Glancing down 
at Dorothil, he offered a slight smile and forced levity unfelt into his voice. 
"Fear not, I shall take good care tomorrow. But this shadow concerns me, for I 
have not felt its like before. Not as the Dark Lord is it, and yet…."

"And yet too like to discount," the other replied softly, then hesitated. "I 
would not speak out of turn, my prince, but when last I felt aught similar to 
this, ‘twas upon the slopes of Orodruin."

"Indeed? Well then, we must all be cautious tomorrow," Legolas replied, 
considering this new bit of information. Dorothil nodded, seeming to want to say 
more, but after another moment he sighed softly and took himself off to find a 
comfortable post. And while the night lasted, Legolas sat silently, but he no 
longer looked to the forest to find darkness. His back to the trees, he stared 
at the sleeping forms of his own company and saw naught but sunderings. On the 
slopes of Orodruin… where the Last Alliance was broken even in victory. Alas for 
Arda! And alas for us all!


~~~


Chapter Five  -  Slowly into the Night


 Aragorn sighed softly as he woke, wincing slightly as he carefully shifted 
positions. If I need never sleep in another tree again, I will die happy, he 
thought, feeling the twinge in his lower back work its spasmodic way up his 
spine as he straightened. Alas, it appeared that he was doomed to another few 
days of sleeping amid branches, and though he decided that, in the end, other 
circumstances might just enable him to exit this life contentedly in spite of 
that dreary prospect, none of those conditions were met at the moment. Wishing 
that he could silence the memory of that irritating child's ditty about cradles 
in the tree tops, he rose to his feet and began the process of rejoining his 
elven companions. Being Elves, of course, none of them seemed to suffer from a 
night spent in a tree's cramped and breezy quarters, and no one cared to remark 
upon their human comrade's somewhat stiff movements this morning. If morning it 
can be called! For though he knew with a Ranger's certainty that the sun 
climbed even now over the horizon, the shade beneath the forest eaves was such 
that one less discerning could easily have been fooled. Faladhros, in a display 
of unexpected courtesy, moved aside for him without being asked, nodding a 
silent good morrow that felt subtly different from yestereve's cool silence. 
Aragorn returned the gesture, wondering how things stood after last night and 
whither their course would bend now: south-east, as Aradhil suggested, or 
perhaps they would now go due east and hope to join with another group of 
foresters ere they dared Dol Guldur.

Higher up in the branches, there stood two forms. Or rather, there clung two 
forms at angles to the lighter branches, seeming to defy the natural attraction 
of the earth to all other bodies. Legolas and Aradhil spoke quietly together, 
and Aragorn was not alone in awaiting their pronouncements: the other four of 
the company waited tensely as well, watching the pair with singularly elvish 
intensity, and the Ranger took the opportunity to make a discreet surveillance 
of them. Faladhros watched prince and warden attentively, ever and anon casting 
a mistrustful look down at the ground or the lower branches; Hithras seemed to 
Aragorn's eyes as moody as his name suggested this morn; Nuilandar alone waited 
with his head bowed, seeming lost in his own thoughts; and Dorothil…. Dorothil 
is upset, the Ranger realized. It was a subtle thing, but something about the 
way the other Elf gripped the branch nearest him, as if he feared to lose its 
support, woke Aragorn's suspicion. Along with Faladhros, Dorothil had overheard 
the conversation between himself and the warden the evening before, and that was 
enough to unsettle anyone. But the Elf looked now to his prince with a certain 
apprehension that betrayed itself in that grip, in his stillness that made of 
him a living statue. What else did he hear last night? Mayhap Aradhil and 
Legolas? Aragorn had deliberately placed himself too far to overhear that 
conversation, but he had marked Aradhil's sudden flight into the upper branches, 
and the prince's huddled posture as he sat in the crook of two branches