-Dark Visions-
By: Cassia and Siobhan
Rating: PG-13

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

Spoilers: 
Maybe little ones for previous stories in our series and other LOTR stuff 
possibly.

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

Summary:
Aragorn is having disturbing dreams about his friend Legolas.  When he sees the 
prince’s death in the Mirror of Galadriel he sets out to try to change the 
future.  Yet it seems that the fates, a ring of horse thieves and a deadly venom 
are determined to conspire against Legolas before his friend can even reach him. 
Even with Elrond’s help, will Aragorn be able to keep his visions from coming 
true?

Series:
Yes, part of the massive Mellon Chronicles. LOL

Other stories in the series are:
Captive of Darkness
Hope
Father’s Love
Never Alone
First Meetings 
Change of Heart, Change of Mind 
Exile
Return
Mistaken Identity
Vilya
Black Breath
Sickness
The Seventh Stone
Betrayal
Legolas’ No Good, Rotten Day
Priceless Treasure
&
The Stars of Harad

Also part of this series and already written, but chronologically taking place 
after this story:

And So The End
 

This story will make more sense if you have read those first, although if you 
want to give it a whirl by itself, we try to recap and explain most of the 
references back to the other stories when they pop up, but having read the rest 
of the series is strongly recommended.

Warnings: 
Character torture and angst.  
Hey, that’s part of why you like us, right? :o)

Additional disclaimers: 
Please note that when Tolkien says that Aragorn was ‘raised in the house of 
Elrond’ after his father’s death when he was a child, we have taken that to mean 
that Elrond was something of an adopted father to his long-distant nephew, 
Aragorn, and Elrond’s twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir were something like older 
brothers to the young ranger.  We have taken the liberty of writing Aragorn’s 
mother Gilraen completely out of the equation and in our series, *both* of 
Aragorn’s parents were killed when he was young.  Please do not take offence, or 
flame us on this if you see any of these things differently.  Thanks!

Any spelling, date, cannon or character errors are the fault of the authors only 
and are completely by accident.  We are not an expert on Middle Earth and have 
never claimed to be.  So please forgive any omissions that you might find.  

 
Please Note:

As sometimes is necessary we may take a few years liberty with some of the 
events in these stories.  For example, Aragorn’s right about thirty so 
technically Théoden would be around 13 and heaven only knows old Éomund would 
be, but both of them appear or are mentioned as being a little older in this 
story.  18 at least, so nobody have a heart attack over the few discrepancies 
like that please.  Thanks.  

___________________________________________________________

 

-Dark Visions-

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART ONE*~

 

Two figures moved beneath the mottled shadows of the large mallorn trees, 
quietly talking together.  One of the sojourners supported the weight of the 
other who limped slowly forward, his useless right arm clutched tightly to his 
chest in a rough sling.

In the woods about them swift, light beings ran alongside the pair of intruders, 
carefully watching them from their hiding places amongst the tall trees.  Their 
sharp hearing picked up the quiet conversation as the elder man turned to the 
youth he was supporting; one arm wrapped protectively about the young man’s 
waist, his free hand tightly gripping the gnarled wood of his walking staff.

“No, my dear boy it was not at all funny at the time, but now looking back 
surely you can see the humor of it.”  Gandalf could not hide the smile that 
tugged at his lips as he tried to lighten his companion’s mood.  “The look on 
your face when I reached you...”

“The look on my face was pain and irritation.  I still fail to see the humor 
there Mithrandir.”  The young dark haired man tried to blow the wayward strands 
of hair out of his eyes.  He was sweating and breathing hard and the wavy curls 
stuck fast to his skin.  He tried to concentrate on walking and not on the shape 
he was in; the Maiar’s attempts to humor him were lost in the ache that throbbed 
dully through his body every time he took a step.

“Now perhaps if the roles were reversed and it was you who tumbled down that 
incline and ended up pinned beneath the bulk of a dead six-foot goblin then 
perhaps I would be laughing now as well.”  He stumbled slightly and their pace 
slowed a fraction as the wizard compensated for the human’s awkward, limping 
gate.

One of the hidden warriors that tracked their progress made to move forward but 
was held back by his superior.  The tall grey headed being was known to them, 
but the other was not.

“Now that cut on your thigh is no laughing matter.” Gandalf’s tone turned 
serious and he glanced at the makeshift bandage that wrapped around the young 
human’s leg, the red stain was spreading again.

With a deep sigh Aragorn leaned more heavily on his companion and glanced at the 
elder being, “Are you quite sure you couldn’t have handled this yourself?  I 
really don’t want to have to go to Lothlórien, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad.”  Gandalf rolled his eyes.  “My dear boy one does not get in a 
fight with a mounted wraith and his ground patrol and come out in the shape that 
you are in now and say he has a scratch.”

“I didn’t say I had a scratch.”

“Yet.” the wizard murmured. “Besides we are already in Lothlórien and have been 
for sometime now.”

“Can't we just go to Rivendell? My father can take care of this.” Aragorn drew 
his breath in with a sharp hiss as he stepped forward, placing too much pressure 
on his left leg.  A long cut traced the human’s thigh where the goblin’s blade 
had cut him.  He hadn’t even incurred the injury in the fight, which only added 
it his irritation.

“We are closer to Lothlórien and they can help you here.  Rivendell is too far 
in the shape you are in.” Gandalf spoke softly worry touching the edges of his 
age-old eyes.

“What do you think they were doing there?” Aragorn tried to change the subject, 
attempting to keep his mind off the ache that had crept back into his body.  He 
hadn’t wanted to tell Gandalf but he had known for a few days before their 
unfortunate encounter that he had been getting sick.  He could feel the pain 
deep in his throat when he swallowed and the tiredness that stole over him was 
from more than their all night trek back to the elven territory.  It should have 
been much cooler in the shade of the leafy trees than it was and he knew the 
heat was not from the injuries he had sustained last night.

“I think they were looking for something.”  Gandalf replied cryptically.  He had 
his suspicions what the wraith had been doing near the Anduin river and he felt 
partly responsible for the injuries that the young man in his company had 
incurred.  He simply had not realized that the one who searched had begun to 
concentrate his efforts in that region of the river once more.  He had been 
wrong.  He didn’t care *what* Saruman said about how anything that fell into the 
river must surely have washed to the sea by now; the wraith was there for a 
reason and it was making Gandalf re-think many things.  

The companions had been taken unawares early in the evening the day prior as 
they had set up their camp near the shores of the river Anduin on their way 
south.  Gandalf’s presence had been requested by the steward of Rohan to aid in 
talks with the Easterlings.  The wizard did not believe the truce would hold but 
he had been willing to accompany Rohan’s leader and assist him in anyway 
possible.  This setback bode ill for the tentative peace that had settled in the 
southern lands.  

The Maiar had sensed their attacker first but even he was not prepared for the 
sight of the wraith lord mounted on a huge flying beast that swept low in over 
their campsite. The wings of the large creature brushed the tops of the trees 
that bracketed the edges of the waterway, beating the air in a slow rhythmic 
thrum as it swept up the middle of the river.  The beast’s howls echoed across 
the waterway, competing with the hair-raising wails of its rider.  Seconds later 
the orcs had converged on them without warning and with Gandalf concentrating on 
their winged master, Aragorn was left to take care of the ground patrol that 
accompanied the wraith.

The orcs seemed as shocked to find the human and the wizard as the two 
companions had been to see them and Aragorn had the element of surprise on his 
side.  The fight had been short, swift and brutal.  The last of the orcs had put 
up the greatest amount of resistance.  The wraith lord seeing his servants 
decimated and unable to withstand the power of the Maiar alone and without the 
bidding of his master, had hastily retreated, blending into the darkening sky 
before Gandalf could stop him.

When Gandalf had turned his attention back to Aragorn, there was one orc left, 
and that one had nearly gotten the upper hand by the time the wizard was able 
lend a hand.  The two warriors struggled together on the edge of small knoll 
that dipped back into the woodlands.  The foul creature pressed Aragorn’s blade 
against him, his overpowering strength giving him the advantage.  The ranger 
widened his stance and shoved his opponent back with all his might giving him a 
split second reprieve.  Ducking under the orcs sweeping blade Aragorn narrowly 
missed being decapitated at the same instant that Gandalf sent a pulse of power 
straight at the creature, snapping its neck as it arced against the unseen hand 
that shoved it forward...into Aragorn, toppling them both down the grassy knoll.

When Gandalf reached the young human he lay pinned underneath the body of the 
dead orc, his right shoulder dislocated and his collarbone broken beneath the 
weight of the black creature.  The orc’s blade had torn a jagged cut in the 
ranger’s leg as they tumbled down into the sloping valley.

Unwilling to wait out the youth’s injuries and worried about poisons in his 
system, Gandalf had bandaged Aragorn’s wounds as best he could and headed them 
out that night towards the elves woodland fortress deep in Lothlórien.  He 
needed to leave the ranger somewhere safe until he was healed and proceed to 
Rohan as quickly as possible, without his young traveling companion – a thought 
with which he was not at all comfortable for some reason.

That was how they had ended up limping through the woods towards Caras Galadon 
so early in the morning.

“If we are in Lothlórien, where are the elves?” Aragorn glanced around them.  He 
had grown more uneasy the deeper they had walked into the woods.

With a small laugh Gandalf swept his staff in a lazy circle, “Why all around us, 
and they have been for some time.”  He glanced at the human who limped stiffly 
beside him, holding on to the Maiar for support, “Remember Aragorn you are not 
in Mirkwood or Rivendell.” He whispered quietly.

The ranger sighed deeply, “What I wouldn’t give to be standing in front of 
Thranduil, listening to one of his lectures on the carelessness of youth right 
now. Or better yet *home*,” dark silver eyes returned the searching glance, 
“listening to my father lecture me.”

A burst of laughter broke from the wizard’s lips, “My dear boy if we were at 
your home your father would more than likely be lecturing me and not you.”

For the first time since their encounter with the wraith, Aragorn smiled, “And 
that is truly why you don’t want to take me home right now am I not correct?”

“In part yes.  But I really must make with all haste to Rohan.  And as much as I 
hate to leave you behind, this is the safest place for you now.”  The Maiar 
stopped their forward motion, his hand clutching his staff crossed protectively 
in front of Aragorn as much to hold the wounded human up as to stop him from 
proceeding.

Wearily the ranger glanced up into the piercing blue gaze of a dozen armed 
elves.

“Good morning and well met.”  Gandalf addressed the warrior that stepped out 
from among those arranged in front of the travelers.

“You are known to us Mithrandir,” The elf’s blue eyes apprised the man that 
stood beside the Maiar, “But the human is not.”  The warrior spoke in the grey 
tongue out of habit.  It wasn’t that the Lothlórien elves were rude, but they 
were not accustomed to allowing strangers into their sanctuary unchallenged.

“I am Aragorn of the Dunédain, a friend to Gandalf the Grey.”  The man 
introduced himself, speaking elvish perfectly.  He touched the fingers of his 
left hand to his forehead and bowed slightly, as much as his wounds would allow.

The warrior hid his surprise well, his stoic gaze drifting wordlessly to the 
wizard for further explanation.

“I need you to care for this one for me.  The Lady Galadriel will know him even 
though you do not and I am sure she will welcome him here.  I have business that 
cannot be delayed or I would stay myself.  Will you escort us to your Lady?”  
The wizard spoke common not needing to impress either of the young beings he 
stood with and feeling a sense of urgency as Aragorn leaned more heavily against 
him.

Thinking through the situation for the fraction of a second, the elf nodded 
curtly and pushed back through the warriors behind him, “You will follow me.” He 
instructed as he led them on.

“You mean to leave me with these elves that do not especially want me here?” 
Aragorn whispered through gritted teeth as he forced his body to move once more, 
“Please I beg you take me with you. The last time this happened I was accused of 
murder and exiled.”  He smiled slightly as Gandalf glanced at him a huge smile 
tugging at the corners of the old wizard’s lips.

“My boy, I think you will find the welcome warmer than you did in Mirkwood at 
first, these elves are your relatives.  Galadriel is in a very distant way your 
Great Grandmother, your father is her Son-in-law.” He meant to put the youth’s 
mind at ease with his words and was surprised when a soft bark of laughter 
escaped the ranger’s lips.

“My relatives. Oh joy. And I have made such a stunning first impression 
already.” The sarcastic comment caused the wizard to laugh out loud, his mirth 
contagious.

“Don’t make me laugh Gandalf, it hurts.”

“Arwen might be here.” The wizard whispered conspiratorially.

“WHAT!?!?” Aragorn stopped moving and pulled back staring at the older man. “Who 
told you?”

With a small shake of his head the wizard wrapped his arm back around the young 
man’s waist and started them moving again.  Their guide was watching the 
outburst one fair eyebrow quirked upward in silent question as he waited for 
them to catch up.  

“I know all sorts of things.”  Gandalf replied with a quiet laugh, “Not to 
mention the look on your face when reference is made of her.  It’s only 
obvious.”

“It’s not that obvious.” Aragorn grumbled darkly.

“More than you know.” Gandalf glanced back to see why their guides had stopped. 
“Ah, here we are.”  The wizard deftly changed the subject redirecting his 
companion’s gaze.  “That, Aragorn is where your relatives live.”

“Caras Galadon.”  The elf next to him spoke quietly as they looked on the huge 
forest palace of the Lothlórien elves.

~*~



“I can’t walk any farther.” Aragorn gently pushed himself away from Gandalf and 
eased down onto the ground at the base of a tall tree.  A huge spiraling 
staircase wrapped the massive trunk and he was half afraid that the wizard 
intended to force him to climb it.  

Closing his eyes the ranger rested his head against the rough bark and tried to 
relax.  The bright light of the midday sun hurt his eyes but here under the 
interwoven canopies the lights were soft and comforting.  The darkness behind 
his closed eyelids beckoned and before he realized it, Aragorn had fallen 
asleep.

When he woke it was to the gentle brush of fingertips on his cheek, moving the 
wayward strands of hair away from his face.  Feverish silver eyes opened and he 
was surprised by the beauty of the elf that knelt before him.  Her gaze was 
piercing as though her eyes held all the wisdom of the universe beneath their 
transparent depths but the look she gave the young man was full of compassion 
unlike the warriors they had met earlier.  Her proximity startled him and the 
ranger jumped slightly, banging his head back against the tree behind him.  He 
winced and reached up to touch his head but the elf crouched in front of him 
gently took his hand in her own, turning his palm over and letting her fingers 
lightly play over the ring that Aragorn wore.

Galadriel turned to glance up at Gandalf and the wizard stiffly knelt next to 
her.  “It is as you say Mithrandir.” She spoke softly and Aragorn found himself 
enraptured by the sound of her voice.  

A small smile broke across her lips as she glanced at the young human who was 
watching her so intently.  “But I fear there is more damage in his body than you 
realize.”  She pressed the palm of her free hand against Aragorn’s forehead, the 
fingers of her right hand seeking out the pulse that beat in his left wrist that 
she still held.  Aragorn found himself flinching slightly as she moved closer to 
him.  “Do not be afraid, you are safe here.” She spoke quietly to the man.

Standing gracefully she turned and glanced behind them, addressing someone that 
Aragorn had not realized stood just beyond her.  “He is ill.”  The regal looking 
elf she spoke to nodded and at his command two warriors raced off heading deep 
into the woods.

Gandalf frowned into the tired eyes that gazed dully at him, “You thought to 
hide it from me.”

“I get sick Gandalf, I am human. It would have been nothing more than a cold if 
we had not run into that wraith.  I would have been fine.” He spoke quietly, a 
little disoriented by all the sudden attention.  How he simply wished for his 
own bed and family.

“You are missing your own?” Galadriel asked the ranger as though she could read 
his mind, which was not far from the truth.  Aragorn simply nodded as a lordly 
elf with long flowing blonde hair stepped next to Gandalf and drew him aside.

“You say you met up with a wraith?  Near our borders?”  The elf questioned the 
Maiar worriedly, his conversation hidden in elvish.

“We did.” Aragorn whispered as the female elf knelt once more by his side.

She smiled softly as she realized that the human could understand their 
language, “Of course I should have know he would have taught you to speak the 
high tongues first did he not?” she asked cryptically.

Aragorn wasn’t sure if he was just too sick to understand her questioning or if 
the question had even been meant for him.  Seeing his confusion the lady 
continued, explaining herself softly.  “I am Galadriel, Lady of these woods and 
the one who speaks with Mithrandir is my husband Celeborn.”

“Arwen’s grandparents.”  Aragorn was surprised that he had spoken out loud, his 
thoughts were fuzzy and it hurt to think.  Of course he had heard of them 
before, chiefly from Arwen when they had been together, since she spent far more 
time here than her brothers or father did.  He closed his eyes.  Just perfect.  
This was *not* the kind of first impression he would have liked to make.  

“Yes.  My daughter is Arwen’s mother.”  She let the meaning sink in slowly as 
she undid the sling that held Aragorn’s arm to his chest.  He winced and drew 
his breath in holding it against the pain that movement brought on. 

Galadriel continued speaking, “We have the knowledge to reset your shoulder and 
your collar bone.  The wound you incurred in battle will heal well, but your 
illness...” She stopped and gazed into the fever bright eyes, “I have not dealt 
with the likes before.  That is something that we have little knowledge of here 
for few are the outsiders who pass beneath these trees and elves do not get sick 
young human.”

“I know.” Aragorn muttered darkly, “My brothers constantly remind me of the 
fact.”  Had he been more himself and felt less like he was on the verge of 
passing out once more he probably wouldn’t not have interrupted the elven Lady.

“I imagine they do.  And that brings me to my point.” She smiled as Aragorn 
blushed realizing his mistake, “There is one that I know of that has knowledge 
of healing for both men and elves and that one is Elrond.  He has just taken 
leave of our borders; Celeborn has sent sentries to call him back.  He will be 
here shortly and he will know what to do.”

“My father was here?” He spoke the words in elvish, it was easier to concentrate 
on his native language.  He didn’t think to ask how they had known to send 
runners even before he and Gandalf arrived in Caras Galadon, but in time he 
would learn that there was nothing which passed the borders of this land of 
which Galadriel was unaware.

Galadriel tipped her head slightly at the words, she had known that her 
son-in-law had taken the human in and given him refuge, but then Elrond had 
fostered all the heirs of Isildur; she had not realized that this young man had 
also won the elf lord’s heart and taken on the role of a son.  

“Yes,” her answer echoed oddly in Aragorn’s ear, as though he were a long way 
away from the one who spoke it, “he is on his way.  Hold on until he gets here 
young one, it will not be long.”  The Lady of the Woods’ words circled in his 
mind and the ranger was not sure he had even heard them with his ears or they 
had simply been spoke into the darkness of his thoughts.

“Rest...just rest...”  His tired body could not resist and he slipped away into 
unconsciousness. 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART TWO*~

 

Consciousness returned slowly and it seemed to take great effort for Aragorn to 
turn his head to the side.  He could sense someone sitting next to him.  Dully 
he recognized his father, a smile creeping onto his lips.  The elf lord was 
sitting crosslegged on the ground near Aragorn’s bower, his head resting in his 
hand, sound asleep.

“Ada.” Aragorn whispered, his smile widening when Elrond started and stared down 
at his human son.  “I told Gandalf it would be better at home.”

Elrond leaned forward, touching the palm of his hand against the cool skin of 
the ranger’s face, “We are not home my son, we are in Lothlórien.  Do you not 
remember?”

Aragorn frowned up at the familiar face, sorting through the fuzzy recollections 
of his immediate past.  “I remember Gandalf...”

“He has had to travel on with out you.  He leaves his apologies and his 
blessings for a speedy recovery.  There was trouble in Rohan, he could not 
linger although he wished it greatly.” The sound of Elrond’s soft voice was 
comforting.

“I remember a lady also, she said you were related to her?”  The ranger sighed 
deeply letting the flitting memories go, “She was pretty.” He murmured softly.  
His tired mind would not cooperate with him.

Elrond laughed quietly at his son’s comment, “Yes, I dare say she is.  She is my 
wife’s mother, sister of the departed Finrod Felegund and daughter of Fingulfin 
all of whom you ought to remember if you did not spend all your history lessons 
looking out the window...” the elf lord’s smile was gentle.”

The human watched him tiredly, nodding; he remembered something to that effect 
and would have recalled a lot more if he had been feeling better.  The oddness 
of Elrond being away from Rivendell dawned slowly in his mind and he questioned 
his father on it, “Why are you here?”  It wasn’t what he meant but the elf lord 
understood.

“I am here because you are ill and because we were just leaving Lothlórien 
ourselves.  Your brothers and I had stopped through to pick up Arwen and escort 
her home for a short stay.”

Aragorn glanced around them searching for signs of elves that he might know, 
“Where are they now?”

“Your brothers?”  Elrond questioned for clarification continuing when Estel 
nodded, “They have gone back with Arwen.  Although she claimed not to need the 
company I would not have her travel alone in these days.  Celeborn’s messengers 
reached us midday two days ago and I returned with them then.  Doubtless they 
all would have come back if they had known the nature of the summons.  But the 
messengers said only that Galadriel requested my presence, and we all assumed it 
was council business until I actually arrived.  We did not know you were in this 
area Estel.”  

“Two days ago?”  Aragorn was still stuck several sentences back.  “It has been 
that long?”

“Yes.”  The elf lord threw a handful of athelas into a tiny boiling pot that sat 
near Aragorn’s head.  The human smiled softly, that was the familiar scent that 
had so reminded him of home.  “You were more ill than you admitted to being.  
For a little while they feared for your life.  Why didn’t you tell Gandalf that 
you were not well?”

“It would not have mattered had we not been overtaken by those orcs.  It would 
have been no more than a cold, I know for a fact.  But we walked all night and I 
pushed too hard.” He finally admitted to his father, casting his gaze down to 
the sling that held his right arm against his chest.  He fiddled with a frayed 
edge of the cloth before meeting Elrond’s eyes once more.

“Without letting anyone know.”  The elf lord watched the human.

“Yes.” The simple admission was spoken quietly. “Please don’t lecture me.  I 
hate being here as much as you.”

Aragorn was startled as his father laughed, “I do not hate being here Estel, nor 
being called to return.  This is one of the most beautiful places on all Arda.  
What I hate is when I see you endanger yourself needlessly.”

“This is bordering on a lecture.” Aragorn warned, playfully slipping into 
elvish.

Their conversation was interrupted by a quiet voice whose power was not belied 
by the softness of the spoken words, “So it is, and you deserve one young 
human.”

Galadriel stooped slightly and entered the open aired room.  She favored Elrond 
with a smile before turning her gaze upon Aragorn.

“How is he?”

“He is doing much better now.” Elrond answered for his son, idly checking the 
bandage that covered the gash on the man’s leg.  “His wounds are healing and his 
fever is gone.  I’d say he was on the mend.”  

Dark silver eyes were watching him closely as Aragorn followed his father’s 
movements.  His leg was stiff but the fiery pain that he remembered was gone.  
His right arm however was bound tightly to his shoulder and a sling prevented it 
from moving.  He ached when he moved but he could tell that his dislocated 
shoulder had been reset while he had been unconscious.

“Estel, this is Galadriel, she is the Lady of these woods.” Elrond said by way 
of introduction.

“We have met but I doubt that you remember.”  Galadriel inclined her head, “I 
have heard much about you, since your father returned.” She smiled at the two of 
them.  As she watched them she was struck by how very much they did resemble one 
another.  It was no small matter for her to accept the human as Elrond’s son, 
since that placed a bond of kinship between them as well, yet her heart told her 
that it was not for naught that he had been named Estel.  “When you are better, 
you are welcome to dine with us.  But tonight we will have refreshments brought 
to you.”

“Elrond, if I may have a word?”  Galadriel motioned towards the exterior of the 
canopied room walking out ahead of the elf lord when he nodded his acceptance of 
her request.

He gently reached out and touched Estel’s chest, a smile tugging at the corners 
of his mouth, “Rest, I’ll be back shortly.”  Quickly rising to his feet he 
joined Galadriel and walked with her out of earshot of the human.

The elves rounded the base of one of the huge towering trees that comprised the 
interior of Caras Galadon and Aragorn smiled contentedly to himself.  Secretly 
he was very glad they had sent for his father.  He closed his eyes and listened 
to the lilting voices of the elves high up in the trees hidden from his view. 
Their soft singing and conversations creating a soothing sound in his ears.  He 
was relieved, this did not promise to be anything like his first visit to 
Mirkwood had been.  With a smile he laid his head back down on the soft pillow 
and rested.  He hated being sick, he needed to get better and soon.  It may not 
be his home that he rested in, but having Elrond close by, it was starting to 
feel like it.

 

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

 

The soft sounds of night muted together, but they were lost on the young man who 
lay restless and gently tossing in his sleep.  

No, no, no... it was all wrong, all wrong... and he couldn’t stop it.  There was 
nothing he could do.  Nothing.  Emptiness, crushing emptiness.  He was gone.  He 
was gone and he couldn’t hold onto him... 

Aragorn jerked awake his eyes wide, his body tense as he sat up quickly in bed, 
throwing the light covers off of himself. 

“Legolas?!”  He glanced about trying to get his bearings, the soft lights of the 
night helping to ground him back to reality.  Even in the black of night Caras 
Galadon was never completely dark.  A soft blue-white light continually lit the 
stairwells and sparkled in the tree tops.  The elf’s themselves seemed to 
radiate even more of a glow here than he had noticed in Mirkwood or Rivendell.  
Aragorn had finally begun to be used to this place and in fact to love its 
beauty and timelessness.  It was like, and yet unlike Rivendell.   

As the fear of the dream that had woken him wore off so too did the stranglehold 
of the images that had terrified him. He brushed the hair out of his face with 
his free hand, holding his head gingerly and allowing his forehead to rest 
against his knees, drawn tightly to his chest; still being careful of his 
injured shoulder. 

His arm was healing quickly and the break in his collarbone was knitting itself 
well in the time he and Elrond had spent beneath the elven canopy of Lothlórien. 
Although Aragorn was nearly healed his body had still not caught up to his will 
and as he stiffly tried to move his right arm the bone-deep ache and discomfort 
from being unable to move it out of the sling just yet grated on him a little. 
His mind was distracted from the pain, snagged on the whirling afterimages of 
his latest nightmare. 

His latest one...

The dreams had started over a week ago.  They plagued his sleep and robbed him 
of rest.  Every night they returned, insistent, demanding.  Sometimes it was the 
same images over and over again, sometimes just the horrible pressing feeling 
that something was terribly wrong and all the dreams and feelings seemed to 
center on Legolas.  The impressions the night terrors left where that his friend 
was in trouble, grave danger and that he, Aragorn could not help.  Always they 
ended the same - the ranger came too late and was continually left with an 
utterly helpless feeling of loss and sorrow.

Breathing in deeply and slowly, Aragorn stilled the fears chasing through his 
heart.  He had it in mind to seek out his friend as soon as he was well.  In 
fact he attributed the dreams to his illness and tried to just ignore them.  His 
elven father had foresight but surely he did not.  Perhaps if he worked up the 
courage he would ask Elrond about it.  Thus far he had kept his troubling dreams 
to himself.  

Laying carefully back down so as not to disturb the elderly elf he shared his 
open aired room with, he turned his thoughts to his brothers, to happier times. 
He wondered how Gandalf was doing and where he was, for he had most likely left 
Rohan already.  Then he wondered what his brothers were doing and realized idly 
that he was doing everything possible to not fall asleep again.  

Turning gingerly onto his side he watched his father sleeping.  The elf lord’s 
eyes were half lidded, deep in rest.  A smile touched his lips as he recalled 
the first time he had found his father asleep not long after he had been brought 
to Rivendell.  Thoughts of his family soothed the anxieties that he couldn’t 
quite banish and he had nearly allowed sleep to steal over him once more when 
both ranger and elf lord were awoken as the peace of the night was shattered by 
a contingent of elves racing past their open chambers, heading towards Galadriel 
and Celeborn’s resting place.

The echoes of an argument rose audibly as a second party approached them.

“I recognize that voice.”  Elrond spoke sleepily, glancing quickly at his son.

But the ranger was on his feet and running towards the lower glen.  He 
recognized the voice as well, and on the heels of his latest nightmare it filled 
his heart with urgency.  “It’s Trelan!” He called back, not waiting for his 
father to join him.

The ranger’s bare feet made his approach nearly impossible to detect and Aragorn 
slowed as he came up upon the contingent of warriors who had woken them.  The 
elves were gathered around a single person, who was not coming with them 
willingly.

“You don’t understand! I was not alone. You must let me go, I have to find my 
friends they can help, I cannot stay here!”  The elf warrior’s voice was slurred 
with delirium, but rose to near panic before his argument was cut off by a groan 
of pain.

“Do not speak folly.  You cannot go out in this condition, you cannot even 
walk.”  A soft elven voice tried to persuade the one they kept in their midst.  
“It is not safe outside our borders at night and you can go no further or you 
will kill yourself!”

“But Legolas is out there!” the strained voice protested, pain, concern and 
guilt mingling freely.  

“Trelan!” Aragorn gained the edge of the party and pushed through the warriors, 
heedless of the glares and frowns his presence caused.  When he reached the 
center of the tight circle his mouth dropped in surprise and a small cry of 
anguish broke from his lips.

He knelt down next to a stretcher that had been crudely and swiftly fashioned to 
carry his friend; it rested on the carpet of grass beneath their feet and a 
Lórien elf crouched beside it, trying vainly to keep the smaller wood elf from 
further hurting himself.  Blood caked Trelan’s face and matted in the tangled 
locks of his blonde hair.  Swelling bruises outlined his cheekbones and his arm 
was obviously broken.  The fingers of his right hand that clutched his shoulder, 
trying to damp the pain, were scraped and cut as though he had been dragged or 
fallen on sharp rocks.  The small elf took short painful gasps of air as he 
spoke, trying to breathe around the ache of broken ribs.  Huge, red rimmed eyes 
turned on Aragorn, and the ranger could see where tears had streaked through the 
dirt on friend’s cheeks.

“Trelan,” Strider leaned forward and pulled the elf against him gingerly, his 
heart breaking at the sight.  “What happened to you?” he whispered softly.

“Legolas...” The small elf just repeated the prince’s name, “We have to find 
him, I lost him Aragorn.  I lost him.”

“Shh... we will Trelan, we will.  But first let us take care of you.”  Fear 
spiked through the ranger’s heart at the elf’s words but he silenced it quickly. 
Gently pushing Trelan back, the human took the warrior’s bruised face in his 
hands and forced him to focus.  “Trelan, who did this to you and why?”

“I do not know what they wanted.  A group of men...they chased us and split us 
up.  I was unhorsed and fell.  I was caught beneath their horses.” He touched 
his arm gently as though noticing it was broken for the first time.  “They did 
not care or even wait to see if I had lived, they took Kynter with them.” 
Trelan’s eyes were huge and he jerked slightly as Elrond pushed through the 
circle of elves and knelt next to his son.  If Aragorn did not know Kynter was 
Trelan’s horse, he would have thought the injured warrior spoke of another elf, 
but he was not surprised, he knew how elves felt about their horses.  

“Trelan.”  The elf lord’s voice was soft but held an authority that could not be 
denied, “You are wounded, let us see to your injuries you can tell us what 
happened later.”

Not to be dissuaded the younger elf shook his head and gazed back at Aragorn 
locking eyes with the ranger, “Strider, I lost the prince.  I do not know where 
he is or if he...” His voice faltered and he winced holding his breath as a wave 
pain swept through his body.

Elrond stood swiftly to his feet and pushed two of the elves forward that were 
standing beside him, they could waste no more time.  Trelan’s life was in 
danger.  “Enough.  Quickly, pick up his stretcher and follow me to my rooms, he 
needs attention, immediately.”  

The Galadrim warriors were used to taking orders and did not question the elf 
lord but obeyed him, walking the wood elf away from the glen and towards the bed 
chambers that Lord Elrond had been using while he remained with them.  

Galadriel met them half way, falling in step next to Elrond.  Gently she laid 
her hand upon the wounded elf’s forehead, bidding him strength.  

Celeborn walked past them, synching the belt on the over robe he wore.  He 
nodded quickly in acknowledgement and acceptance of his son-in-law’s demands on 
the Lothlórien warriors and called the captain of the guard to himself, 
requesting a full report.

Aragorn grabbed the sleeve of the elf nearest him, gaining the warriors 
attention, “Tell me, how did you find him and where?”

The elf hesitated, but seeing no need to keep anything hidden from the ranger 
who was obviously high in the favor of the Lord and Lady, he explained that they 
had found the other Silvan elf wandering their northernmost border, heading for 
the hills.  He was wounded and delirious but intent upon reaching Rivendell.  
They had not the supplies to care for his injuries and had instead brought him 
here for help against his wishes. 

“It is a day’s journey from the southern border to Caras Galadon.” Aragorn noted 
softly.

“It is.  We did not stop and made it in less than that.”  The elf’s piercing 
eyes held the ranger’s as he continued, “I think willpower alone must have been 
the only thing keeping him going.  I do not know how long he traveled but he had 
not food or water.  Once we were able to give him both he became more coherent. 
 He said he was looking for Strider and that their friend, Legolas had been 
lost.”

Aragorn nodded numbly, his gaze dropping to the forest floor as the words sunk 
in.  Trelan had been searching for him.  He had known that the ranger was 
traveling with Gandalf through this region, for they had stopped by the palace 
not a full month ago.  A sudden thought struck him and he glanced quickly up at 
the warrior before him.

“Was there any...”

As though knowing the human’s thoughts the elf answered the yet unspoken 
question, shaking his head, “There was none other besides the one we returned 
with.  I know; I was sent back on our trail by my captain.  There were neither 
tracks nor signs of anyone else.  From the state we found him in, I would say 
that your friend had been wondering for some time before we came across him; the 
direction from which he came is impossible to guess for he was delirious and 
crossed his own trail many times.”  

Aragorn closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“I am sorry.”  The elven warrior touched the ranger lightly before walking off 
with his contingent.

“Thank you.” Aragorn whispered softly to the retreating forms.  He knew they had 
heard him.

 

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

 
He was too late.  Again he was too late!  Legolas’ eyes drifted shut and he 
softly exhaled one last time.  He could hear Trelan’s cries “I lost him, I 
cannot find him.” 

Aragorn beat against the invisible bonds that held him back helplessly as he 
struggled against his own powerlessness.

“No...” The word was a mere whisper as it left the ranger’s lips but he had not 
even realized he had spoken so wrapped in the nightmare was he.

The man tried to touch Legolas, tried to call him back, but all his attempts 
failed and the image of his friend swirled away, replaced by the painful 
emptiness of his passing.  Tears streamed down Aragorn’s face as he called out 
to his friend, Trelan’s sorrowful voice echoing his cries, taunting his 
helplessness.

“I lost him Aragorn...

“I lost him!”  Aragorn repeated the words in his sleep his distress in the 
nightmare hedging into reality as he fought to stop the vicious cycle of the 
dream. “NO!”

“NO!”

The heart wrenching cries woke Lord Elrond from a deep, exhausted sleep.  For 
the better part of the day he had cared for the Silvan elf that had been brought 
into their midst.  Trelan’s injuries had been severe and Galadriel had seen to 
it that Elrond was given access to all the supplies he needed to ensure the 
small warrior was given the very best care.  They had set him up in his own room 
with someone to watch him at all times should the elf lord be needed.  He was 
unconscious now, and that was not expected to change any time soon.  Elrond 
doubted he would awaken for several days.  His body had taken too much damage; 
it needed rest to heal.  As much as they all wanted to find out more details 
about what had happened, any further news from Trelan was going to have to wait. 
Perhaps for quite a while.  

Elrond sat up quickly, throwing the light covers off of as he turned towards the 
source of the cries, Aragorn.

His human son was caught in the throes of a nightmare, fighting within himself. 
Tears streaked the ranger’s face and his breathing was quick and fast.  

Aragorn tried to press forward and fight back the darkness, tried to cover his 
ears from the sounds of his friend’s voice calling to him.  He moved his right 
arm swiftly in his sleep, nearly hitting his father in his attempts to shut 
everything out.  The motion sent a wave of pain shooting up his arm and he cried 
out, his eyes flying open and locking on the blue ones that stared down at him.

Elrond held the sides of his son’s face, speaking quietly to him, trying to get 
the boy to wake up.  He ducked the wild swing of Aragorn’s hand and gently 
grabbed the ranger’s wrist, laying his wounded arm back against his chest and 
sliding his hands once more to the young man’s face.

Aragorn’s eyes were wide as he looked around them, frantically trying to force 
reality back into perspective.  He glanced quickly to the draped doorway as an 
elven warrior brushed the fabric entry back and stepped cautiously inside.

“Is everything all right Lord Elrond?”  

“Yes.  Yes, thank you, everything is under control.”  The elf lord never took 
his gaze from his son’s face.  The silver eyes locked onto his as Aragorn slowly 
reached his left hand up and grasped his father’s forearm.

With a curt nod the elf warrior stepped back out, giving the small family the 
privacy they needed.

Elrond gently traced his thumbs under Aragorn’s eyes, wiping away the stray 
tears as the ranger’s breathing evened out and he began to calm down.

For several moments the elf lord simply knelt beside the young man quietly, 
waiting while Aragorn composed himself.  With a slight, somewhat embarrassed nod 
the ranger acknowledged he was fine and Elrond sat back, giving him more space 
and helping him to sit up.

Closing his eyes, Aragorn took a deep, shaky breath releasing the tension that 
had bound him up in his nightmare.  When he opened his eyes again, Elrond was 
watching him closely.  The ranger smiled nervously, running his hand back 
through his hair, he dropped his gaze to the floor.  Surely he was too old to be 
waking up with nightmares and having to have his father comfort him.  All the 
same, he was not a bit sorry that Elrond was there.  The elf’s mere presence 
radiated calm, as it always had.

“I just had a bad dream that’s all.”  Aragorn explained quietly.  “I’m sorry I 
woke you.”

“That is all?”  Elrond echoed the casual dismissal questioningly.  The silence 
grew heavy between them before he continued, pressing for more, “It’s not the 
first one you’ve had.”

“You know about them?”  Aragorn was surprised, he thought that he had been quiet 
enough and not woken the elderly elf.

With a small smile Elrond shook his head, “Not until just now.”

Aragorn grimaced; he’d been caught.  He shook his head and smiled softly.  “Yes, 
I have been having night terrors for the past two weeks...”

He stopped talking, his gaze dropping to the fingers of his left hand, twining a 
loose thread from his sling as he fidgeted nervously.

Elrond’s large hand covered his own stilling his movements, “Estel?”

“They...they’ve been about Legolas.”  Aragorn glanced up through the strands of 
hair that had fallen about his face answering the question his father had not 
asked.  It didn’t matter how old he became... something about Elrond would 
always make him feel like a little boy.  Surprisingly enough that wasn’t a bad 
thing.  

Elrond nodded encouraging his son to continue.  He brushed the hair gently away 
from his son’s eyes. “And?”

The words tumbled out fast and furious, the relief at being forced to speak of 
them easing his fears.  “And every time I am too late.  He is gone.  There is a 
terrible sense of loss as though Legolas is in danger and I cannot help him.  It 
replays over and over whenever I fall asleep; I can get no rest.  Tonight was 
the worst though.  After Trelan was found in the shape he was and his report of 
losing Legolas to someone, somewhere... I am sure that some ill has befallen 
him.  I know they are just dreams but surely there must be something wrong.  You 
know father, that I have not had nightmares for years.  Why now?  Why Legolas?  
Can you see anything?  Can you tell me anything?  I need to know.”

Elrond gazed quietly into the silver eyes beseeching him.  There was so much the 
young man did not know even about himself.  When he finally spoke his voice was 
soft and low and he switched without thought to elven, “They may just be dreams. 
Or they may not.  My son, you must understand that there is much strength and 
power in you that you have yet to fully discover.  You are descended from the 
line of the ancient kings, Númenorean kings.  Within you is the power of 
insight, of far-seeing.  It would not surprise me if you have the gift of 
foresight in your own way, although you may not yet understand aright that which 
you see.”

Aragorn watched him wordlessly, wondering on the further revealing of his 
heritage and the innate strengths and weaknesses that went with it.

“One day this gift will serve you well, but now it is still only waking within 
you, untried and untrained.  It may be that Legolas is not in the trouble that 
you think him to be.  Visions are not always what they seem.  Sometimes we see 
only that what we fear, instead of that which is.”

“But father I...”

Elrond raised his hand and stopped his son from interrupting.  “Of Legolas’ 
future I am unsure.  Whatever troubles you for him is not readily apparent to me 
or I would tell you Estel.”  He paused, as if considering something.  “There are 
ways to look closer, tools to bring such visions into clearer focus if you will, 
but they are not to be used lightly or on a whim.  Nor are they easy for the 
untrained to master.”

“This is no whim Ada, I know it.”  Aragorn touched his chest lightly; “The dread 
does not leave me now even in waking.  If there is a way to find out more, I 
would hear it.”

Nodding slowly, Elrond conceded.  He held up his left hand and splayed his 
fingers; Vilya glinted brightly in the soft elven light.  “You know of the power 
of Vilya and I have told you there are other rings of power in Middle Earth.  So 
I will tell you a secret Estel that must never go beyond this conversation.  
Galadriel is the keeper of Nenya, ring of Adamant, with power over the element 
of water among many other things.  She is powerful among the Noldor, more so 
than even myself for she alone on Middle Earth is left of those elves who 
originally came over from Valinor.”  Elrond smiled slightly despite himself.  
The twins thought he had never heard their light-hearted jests, but it was true, 
what they had laughed about as children; they could actually say that their 
grandmother was older than the sun.  Bringing himself back to the moment the elf 
lord continued his original train of thought.  

“She has a mirror that those who are allowed to look upon may use to see what 
the possible future holds and many other things if they are able.  Few are the 
firstborn who have been privileged to gaze upon it and of mortals even less.  
Yet it may be that she will allow you to look into the mirror if you ask it of 
her.”

Aragorn glanced to the ring fitted about his own finger, his thoughts swirling 
wildly through what he knew and what he had been told.  

“Tomorrow, if you like, we will go to Galadriel and you may ask her.”  Elrond 
offered. 

“I would like to if it will help to know what has happened.  It may be that I am 
wrong, but it would put my heart at ease to know if that is the case.” Aragorn 
answered quietly.

His father’s hand on his shoulder redirected his attention and the ranger gazed 
back up into the blue ageless eyes.  “Very well.  Understand though Estel, that 
people do not always see what they wish to see.  But tonight you need to rest.  
Will you be able to sleep my son?”

Aragorn smiled and stifled a small laugh, “You mean will I be able to sleep on 
my own or would I like you to fix me some of that awful tea you make when you 
wish to put me to sleep?”

A gentle laugh escaped Elrond’s lips and he shook his head, “You and your 
brothers will be the death of me yet, not to mention those Silvan elf friends of 
yours.”

Stiffly Aragorn lay back down and rolled onto his side, watching as the elderly 
elf leaned against the pillows propped behind his head.  “I will be all right 
now father.  I will sleep.”

“If you should wake...”

Elrond stopped speaking as Aragorn closed his eyes a broad smile stretching 
across his face.  He quietly interrupted the elf lord, “Yes I know. I promise I 
will wake you and if I cannot sleep I will tell you.” He sighed slowly and 
deeply as sleep overtook him once more, his body had not yet caught up with his 
spirit and was worn out.

Elrond watched his adopted son long into the night.  The young man was growing 
up before his eyes, assuming the power and the rights that were his and yet he 
had such a long ways to go.  As fast as Aragorn seemed to be growing up to him, 
Elrond knew that he was blessed in a way because if the ranger did not have the 
timeless life span of an immortal, at least Aragorn did not age quite so quickly 
as other humans.  His Númenorean blood kept him young and age came more slowly 
than was normal, but maturity... maturity had been there for some time and 
lately Elrond could see it blossoming before his eyes.  The awakening of the 
human’s potential foresight and his increasing strength of will were signs of 
that.  

The elf lord cast his thoughts out into the tumult of the future.  There were 
ripples there that were not right, dark touches that bespoke a nameless fear, 
and uncertainty entwined the destinies of his human son and Aragorn’s most 
frequent elven companion.  He shook off the coldness that had crept into his own 
heart at the whispers the future held.  Elrond of all people, knew that the 
future was an ever changing, unrelenting flow of possibilities and nothing was 
certain until it had passed.  Easing down onto the soft bedding beneath him he 
turned on his side, facing Aragorn, and closed his eyes.  Worry would do him no 
good, nor would it bring the future on any more quickly.  They would find out 
what they needed to know tomorrow.  It would be interesting to see how the boy 
handled the fledgling power that was waking in him.

 

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART THREE*~

 

The breeze was cool, rustling across the emerald grass and making the heads of 
the blooming elanor and niphredil wave and bob peacefully beneath the trees.  

The Lady Galadriel was dressed in white as she almost always was, and looked 
very at home among the slender pale flowers.  

True to his word, Elrond had taken the ranger to speak with the Lady of the 
Golden Wood.

It was late afternoon now, and Aragorn had chaffed all day for this opportunity, 
and yet now he hesitated.  Now that he was faced with actually asking the 
question he wasn’t sure how to do so and felt as if his tongue had grown limp 
and uncooperative.  Elrond may have been perfectly comfortable with Galadriel, 
but she was still a stranger to Estel, one that he was more or less in awe of, 
and it was a slightly awkward situation.  

The young ranger resisted the urge to fidget with the edges of the sling that 
held his immobilized right arm and shoulder bound tightly to his chest.  His 
mending injury had been hurting him this morning after his un-cautious moves 
last night, and Elrond had insisted he wear the immobilizing sling again today. 

“There is something you desire Estel?” there was a hint of mirth in Galadriel’s 
wise eyes as if she knew exactly what he wanted and how he was feeling.  However 
if she did she said nothing.  Aragorn sighed inside.  Just like his father.  
They could know perfectly well what was on your mind but would insist on waiting 
to hear it from you in person.  

“For some time now I... have been having disturbing dreams,” the young ranger 
started slowly.  

“So I have heard,” Galadriel glanced at Elrond who stood quietly behind Aragorn, 
watching his human son.  “You think they are something other than dreams.”  It 
was not a question.

Aragorn nodded, also glancing back at his elven father.  “Lord Elrond told me 
that in some small way, I also have the gift of foresight because of my 
heritage.  I fear this is true and I feel certain that my friend Legolas is in 
terrible danger.  After the word Trelan brought and the condition he is in...” 
he hesitated before plunging onward.  “I came to ask if... if you would permit 
me to look in your mirror.  If this has been so strong in my dreams, I had 
hoped...” he left the statement open, waiting for her response.

Galadriel smiled softly.  She understood why her son-in-law had such affection 
for this one; he had an honest, open quality that made even his uncertainty more 
sincere than some people’s boastful show of confidence.  “You hope that you may 
see something to help you,” she finished for him with a graceful nod.  “Come 
with me.”

The Lady led them across the green grass of Caras Galadon and down a curving set 
of stairs set into the earth which led to the simple basin that all of them knew 
was much more than it seemed.  

Aragorn stopped in front of it and watched, transfixed despite the worry eating 
at his heart, as Galadriel filled the basin with water from her fountain.  The 
Lady of the Galadrim breathed upon the water, which almost immediately took on a 
different hue, and then stepped back.

Replacing her pitcher she fixed Aragorn firmly in her gaze.  “I will allow you 
to do this Aragorn, son of Arathorn, although few are the mortals who can say 
they have gazed into the Mirror of Galadriel.  Lord Elrond has told you truly, 
you have both the foresight and the strength of will to use the far-seeing tools 
of both elves and men... but be careful Estel.  Your skills are yet young and 
untrained, if you are unwary you can injure yourself.  Take a care where you 
look and for what purpose.  The mirror shows not only the past and the possible 
future, but many things that will never come to be... it is a dangerous guide.”

With these words of warning, Galadriel backed away from the pedestal, allowing 
Aragorn access.  

Slowly, Aragorn stepped up to the graceful basin, gripping one edge of the cool 
stone lip with his good hand and looking down to peer into water that was 
strangely dark and reflective for such a shallow bowl.  Both Elrond and 
Galadriel had their eyes silently fixed on him, but he tried not to think about 
that.  Instead his thoughts went to his dreams, and to Legolas as he gazed down 
at his own wavering reflection in the dark water.  For a moment that was all he 
could see, his own reflection, but presently the water seemed to get darker, and 
deeper as if opening out into a vast, swirling vortex before his eyes.  Yet the 
water itself was not moving.  Beyond sight and consciousness, Aragorn seemed 
aware of a thousand different things in the seemingly endless depths of the 
mirror. 

He saw many images swirl by as if caught in a gale.  Some the ranger recognized 
as scenes from his own childhood, but others he could not even begin to guess at 
unless they be from tales or things that happened either very long ago, or 
possibly had not yet happened at all.  As Galadriel had warned, some things that 
the mirror showed never came to pass at all... it was difficult to know what to 
trust.  

The pictures flickered by almost faster than the young man could comprehend.  

A man with a blazing gem in his hand standing before a great, hideous wolf.  

The bright stars of the heavens in elder days before the shape of the world was 
changed. 

Tall Númenorean ships... a white tree, young and graceful with stars caught in 
its branches like jewels woven into the hair of a beautiful lady.

Elrond dressed in armor and locked in desperate battle in the middle of a 
body-strewn plain.  

Rivendell, filled with many, many more elves than currently called it home and 
surrounded by enemies, a lone refuge in a dark sea.  Elrond stood on a balcony 
looking out from a distance at the dark, hopeless sea, his face grim and a 
bloody cloth bound round his arm.  

Elladan smiling at a small human boy, Estel when he was young.  The older twin 
was teaching him how to hold a bow.

A fiery mountain.  Small beings toiled up the side on some great and perilous 
errand.  

Arwen... Arwen’s face... he was almost tempted to try to look closer, to see 
what the future held if he could... but he pulled back.  That was not his 
purpose here.    

Focusing his mind more closely and attempting to weed out distractions, Aragorn 
found the images becoming clearer and slower, coalescing under the guidance of 
his unspoken thoughts.  Legolas.  He forced that to be the one overriding 
thought in his head.  Legolas.

As if at his bidding, Legolas face swirled into view, but the prince looked 
younger somehow, if that were possible for an elf.  There were men and they were 
hurting him... Aragorn nearly jerked physically back as his mind recoiled from 
the images that he knew to be coming from Legolas’ past.  

Elrond, standing a ways back, could not see what Aragorn was seeing, but he saw 
the young man tense and recoil and only just kept himself from stepping forward. 
Not everything the mirror showed one was pleasant.  

Galadriel met his eyes.  This was Aragorn’s test of strength and will; he had to 
pass it alone if he would accomplish that which he sought.  

Aragorn’s emotions caused the pictures to wobble and spin out of focus again and 
for a few moments he was left groping to pull them back into focus again, but 
slowly he did.  

Legolas’ face appeared once more, but he was laughing this time, talking with... 
with Raniean and Trelan it looked like, while riding next to Elrond.  Other 
scenes, ones that Aragorn remembered from their own not so distant past together 
surfaced: Mirkwood, fighting the spiders, Lord Thranduil’s halls, Rivendell, the 
Witch King, the cold snow of the mountains and the burning heat of Harad... all 
of them swirled past in the blink of an eye, before Aragorn once again found 
himself faced with unfamiliar images, but it was hard for him to know whether he 
had just moved forward or backward in time since the mirror was not showing him 
things in any kind of order, chronological or otherwise.  

A river.  Two riders crossed it... they were elves, one was Legolas, he couldn’t 
see the other, it might have been Trelan.

They were attacked, separated... he saw Trelan caught beneath the horses’ hooves 
and flinched hard, everything seemed so real.  Aragorn struggled to see what 
happened and where Legolas was, but he could not and the scene slid away from 
him.  He did not seem to have the skill to look more than surface deep into 
anything he saw.  That frustrated the young man and he tried harder.  Of course, 
being able to bend the mirror to his will at all was no small feat, however 
Aragorn had no way of knowing that.  

A scene snapped clearly into focus.  Legolas, lying pale and still on slanting 
bed of grey shale.  Behind him in the distance a faint, foggy mountain range 
formed a striking resemblance to the image of an old, hook-nosed man.  Something 
moved in the rocks.  Aragorn could not see what, but he knew it was danger for 
Legolas.  

Mentally he screamed for his friend to wake up, attempting to force the image to 
stay, but it slipped away like sand between his fingers and he had no way of 
even knowing if it were the past, the present or the future that he was seeing. 
Aragorn’s left hand tightened vise-like on the edge of the mirror basin, 
causing the stone to dig roughly into his fingers.  

The image wavered.  He was closer to Legolas now, he could see his friend’s face 
and the elf was awake.  

“Don’t be angry with me Estel...” Legolas’ voice was weak and soft.  “I’m 
sorry...” the elf seemed to reach out for his hand, but was not strong enough to 
do so and the prince’s arm fell back to his side.  Legolas’ eyes closed and his 
spirit fled as death reached up and swallowed him.  

“No!” Aragorn didn’t realize that he had shouted it aloud.  With all his will he 
fought to hold the picture he was seeing, to know what was wrong and why his 
friend was dying... but he could see nothing.  The elf seemed uninjured.  The 
scene replayed itself again, exactly the same way and it was like being stuck in 
a nightmare all over again.  Legolas’ hand fell limply back to his side and 
Aragorn reached out, trying to take hold of it, his whole concentration and will 
bent on the horrible scene in front of him.

“Do not touch the water,” Galadriel’s quiet warning went unheard and unheeded.  

Aragorn’s good hand slid over the lip of the bowl, reaching for his friend out 
of reflex and anguish, even though he knew he wasn’t really there.  The instant 
his fingers touched the water the pictures went into a nauseating spin as the 
seemingly cool liquid bubbled tumultuously, searing the hand that had violated 
it.  The young man cried out in surprise and pain as he was mentally ripped free 
of the scene he was concentrating on and jerked back to the present.  

One of Galadriel’s slim, strong hands was on his shoulder and the other firmly 
grasped his left wrist, lifting his hand out of the water and anchoring him back 
to reality.  “Estel?  Estel...” she spoke his name like a call but for a moment 
he did not respond.  

Her eyes fell quickly upon Elrond but he needed no summons, he was already 
beside them, touching his son’s face and bringing Aragorn’s head around towards 
him.  “Estel, Estel answer me.”

Aragorn blinked twice and took a deep, shaky breath, looking around as if not 
sure what had happened.  

“I’m sorry...” he apologized for the concerned looks on their faces, a deep 
humiliation flooding him.  “I’m sorry.  I-I think I must have done something 
stupid, didn’t I?”  He dropped his head and his gaze as everything came back to 
him.

Elrond touched his shoulder gently as Galadriel released the young ranger.  “You 
are brave Estel, but you have to be more careful.  Your time will come, but you 
are not yet skilled enough young one to understand nor wield the full power 
inside of you.  Now look at me, look at me Estel,” he insisted and Aragorn 
slowly met his searching gaze.  

Elrond sighed softly.  Aragorn was all right.  Weary beyond measure from 
exerting himself and his untried abilities far too much while in an already 
weakened condition, but ultimately unharmed by his experience.  His foster son 
was, however, deeply troubled and he could see that.  “What did you see?”

“I saw Legolas,” Aragorn was slightly breathless but quickly got control of 
himself.  “He was in danger.  Grave danger... I saw him die.”  

The raw pain behind Aragorn’s eyes made Elrond’s heart ache.  He knew what the 
prince meant to his son.  “It is not the certain future Aragorn, it may not even 
be the future at all.”

Aragorn was already shaking his head.  “No!  He is in danger.  I know it.  I can 
feel it.  Ada, I know where he is!”

Elrond glanced at Galadriel but returned his gaze to his youngest son.  “What do 
you mean Estel?”

“I saw him,” Aragorn wavered slightly and had to grip the mirror pedestal with 
his burned fingers again to keep steady.  “I saw him, and in the background I 
could clearly see the old man in the mountain.  It was distant and faint, but 
there.”

Elrond’s brow creased.  The only vantage point from which the mountains lined up 
right to create that unique picture was Northern Rohan, above Fangorn.  But what 
would Legolas be doing that far south of here?

“But can you be sure?  The mirror can show us that which we wish, or that which 
we fear, as well as that which is true,” Galadriel questioned quietly.  

“No,” Aragorn’s mind was made up and he battled the dizziness working on him.  
His shoulder and arm were hurting again; a lot.  He was very tired but fought 
off the sluggishness.  “No, he’s *there*.  I don’t know how I know it, I-I just 
do!  You have to believe me.  I know what I saw and if something is not done he 
is going to die.  I have to go, I have to...” the young Dùnadan’s knees buckled. 
 

Elrond caught his foster son and supported his weight gently.  “You are not 
going anywhere in this condition Estel.  Your own body will not allow it,” he 
remonstrated as he gently eased the ranger down onto a nearby bench.  

Aragorn’s breathing was quick and fast.  His whole being was exhausted from his 
efforts and frustrated with its own frailty.  He winced slightly as Elrond 
checked the burns on his hand but they were light ones only and not serious.  

Worn as he was, the human was still protesting and attempting to rise.  “I have 
to go, I have to...”

Galadriel touched his forehead lightly with her fingertips, brushing them across 
his clammy brow and the young man’s hurting, agitated body relaxed almost 
instantly, slumping into Elrond’s arms.  

“­­Idh si, rest now,” the elf lady murmured as Estel’s eyes closed.

“That’s not fair...” Aragorn murmured before sweet, dreamless slumber pulled him 
under.  

Elrond gathered the young man easily in his arms; careful of the Dùnadan’s 
mending bones.  “I suppose it’s not,” the elf lord whispered to his unconscious 
son with a soft smile.  “But it is best for you.”  Aragorn would only hurt 
himself at this point by trying to do too much in such a critically weakened 
condition.

“That works slightly better on him than it ever did on the twins,” Elrond 
remarked quietly, directing his amused gaze towards Galadriel as he carried 
Aragorn back to bed in one of the ground-level bowers.  

The elf woman laughed softly at the memory they were both recalling.  It was a 
wonderfully musical sound.  “They were young and overactive.  This one does not 
have that much energy now.”

Elrond chuckled as he laid his human son down on the soft, silky cushions of 
their resting-place.  Like most of Lórien it was both indoors and outdoors at 
the same time and the sweet fragrance of niphredil hung like a healing balm in 
the cool air.  

“You haven’t seen him when he is well.  At full strength I would say he could 
challenge them both when it comes to energy and exuberance,” the elf lord 
remarked with a soft smile. 

Galadriel settled the ranger’s mending arm comfortably on his chest and pulled a 
light covering over him.  It had been a long time since she had helped tuck 
anyone into to bed and it amused her.  “I do not doubt it.  Your and your 
brother’s descendants have always been a handful.  I’ll have you know that you 
were no different when you were young.”  Her smile was soft.  

Elrond just shook his head as they moved quietly away, leaving Aragorn sleeping. 
“That was before I married Celebrían.  Being a father changes many things.”

Galadriel cast her gaze back towards Estel’s still form, her eyes distant as she 
thought of her daughter.  “She would have liked him.  Many would not have taken 
him in or taken him to heart as you have done, yet the fate of the world may 
someday hang on such quiet beginnings.  My daughter chose well.”  She rested her 
hand lightly above her son-in-law’s heart.  

They did not often speak of Celebrían now that she was gone and Elrond touched 
Galadriel’s hand in a gesture of thanks.  It did not hurt now to think of his 
wife.  He would always miss her until the day they were together again, but he 
knew she was happy.  

“The boy has a good heart and a fierce loyalty.  He will go after Legolas if we 
are not careful.  Yet... I am also troubled for the young prince,” Elrond said 
as they walked amid the trees together.  “Estel’s visions are correct if what my 
heart speaks is true.  He is in danger.”

Galadriel nodded, she felt the same.  “I fear you are right, but I will admit I 
do not know him as you do, we have never met and his fate is hidden from me.  
For Estel to feel the danger so acutely his connection with Legolas must be a 
strong one.”

“It is,” Elrond nodded, clasping his hands behind his back.  “It is.”

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

 

Thunder rolled lazily across the cloudy sky.  The air was thick and oppressive 
and the gentle drizzle that was beginning to fall did nothing to lighten it.  

Jagged, craggy grey rocks and loose shale formed the face of the landscape, 
absorbing the rain drops with little effect, save that the shale slowly darkened 
in color, as if trying to disappear into the overcast sky.  

Water beaded on a grey cloak, nearly the same shade as the shale, before slowly 
seeping into the light fabric and running in small rivulets off of unmoving 
fingers.  A pale face with closed lids, stared up unseeing at the grey sky while 
moist air and misty rain made long black eyelashes glisten and soft golden hair 
cling to the unresponsive form.  Thin streaks of crimson mingled in the 
rainwater, as blood seeped slowly from a deep abrasion across the still being’s 
right temple.

A tall, slippery knoll rose high above the unconscious figure on the left, 
barren and above the tree-line.  In the distance the Misty Mountains rose faint, 
yet distinct, forming the shape of an old man’s face.  

The shale on the knoll above was hard and yielded up no secrets.  Not even an 
elf would have been able to read the struggle that had taken place up there.  
Not even their keen eyes would have been able to see where the larger group of 
horseman had backed the lone rider up against the edge of the slippery cliff, 
whooping and yelling, shooting arrows and snapping whips, attempting to unsettle 
the agitated elven horse.  

“Thala... thala, lasto beth nín Avornwen,” the blonde-haired rider tried to calm 
his horse as the dapple grey backed skittishly towards the cliff-edge, her 
hooves slipping and sliding.  His bow was gone, he was too far away for his 
hand-to-hand weapons to be any use, he had no idea where his friend was now and 
that last worried him to no end.  

Not even the strangely melted shale or burnt tree stump would have offered a 
clue as to how the elven horse, extremely unsettled by the harassing presence of 
the others despite the calming reassurances of its rider, had reared suddenly 
when lightening struck the earth not fifty feet away, melting stone like butter 
and sending the tree bursting into flames.  

No skid marks.  No trail.  Nothing but the still body at the base of the cliff 
to mark the elf’s passing when he was thrown clear of his horse, glancing off 
the ragged cliff face three times before slipping and sliding into this narrow 
rift where he had lain since, unmoving.  

The grey horse bolted and the riders took off after it, no one thought of what 
had happened to the elf.  No one cared.  

Water pooled in the folds of the elf’s clothing and beaded off his skin but the 
sensation did not wake him.  Neither did the soft sounds of scrabbling, and the 
scraping of scales across stone.

A long, strong-bodied lizard, larger than a cat, but not quite so big as a dog 
dragged its scaly underbelly along the ground as it inched cautiously forward on 
four short but powerful legs.  Mottled grey, brown and green patterns enabled 
the reptile to blend in with its surroundings while keen senses drew it towards 
the only thing in these dead, craggy paths that was radiating heat.  

The lhyguan flicked its long, thin tongue out, testing the air in an almost 
snake-like manner.  It smelled blood.  And the blood smelled sweet.  

Seemingly from nowhere, two more of the creatures appeared, called by the scent 
of blood and the silent summons of the first lhyguan.  Warily, the beasts half 
waddled, half slithered forward towards the still body of the elf prince.  
Unresisting prey was too tempting to pass up and the lhygians looked at one 
another.  The first one opened his mouth in a soft hiss that was almost a growl, 
revealing two small but razor sharp rows of teeth.  He had found this one first, 
the others could share in the spoils, but the kill was his.  

Slithering forward until he was standing on the unconscious elf’s chest, the 
lhyguan dipped its head towards Legolas’ neck; its bite loaded with enough venom 
to kill a small Oliphaunt given enough time.  The other two creatures edged 
closer, waiting for their opportunity.  But Legolas remained unaware of the 
danger.  The prince did not stir.  

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART FOUR*~

 

The soft, blue hues of night had settled once more upon Lothlórien.  Beneath the 
quiet trees a lone figure slid silently across the grass near the southern 
borders of the wood.  

Aragorn was very nearly holding his breath in an attempt to remain perfectly 
quiet.  Thus far he seemed to have escaped notice, but he would not relax until 
he had left the forest behind him.  

Elrond and Galadriel meant well, and he knew they were concerned for him, but 
his heart was telling him that he had already waited too long.  Aragorn slid 
silently behind a thick tree trunk as he saw several elf sentries pass 
noiselessly by in the distance. Holding his stiff right arm against him, he 
tried to keep the white sling hidden in the shadows.  The bones were more or 
less mended now, but the arm was still weak from forced non-use and the new 
bones were thin.  

Aragorn wished he had his cloak because that would blend better, but he had been 
unable to get together many supplies before leaving, since he had wished to 
avoid detection.  

Once the coast was clear the young ranger moved on again.  After several hours 
he was finally free of the woods and in the open plains below Lórien.  Breathing 
a sigh of relief, Aragorn let some of the tension leave his aching body.  He was 
still more worn from his experience with the mirror than he wanted to admit, but 
at the same time a dreadful urgency had filled him.  Legolas was in danger.  And 
the fear that he was already too late gnawed at him incessantly.

Aragorn shivered slightly.  The night was cold, and it seemed to have gotten 
even more so as soon as he left the protective borders of the Golden Wood.  He 
wished he had his cloak even more now, but there was no use thinking about that. 
He pressed on, working his way slowly and carefully down a steep incline.  The 
grass and loose earth was slick with nighttime dew and his boots slid 
treacherously in the dark as he cautiously edged down the slope.

There was no warning.  He heard no footfalls, no rustle of movement.  Nothing to 
indicate that he was not alone.  However, some inner sense made the young man 
turn sharply to the right and look around.  Unfortunately the abrupt movement on 
the steep incline was not a good idea.  

Aragorn’s boots slid on the slick grass and he lost his balance.  His arms cut 
through the dark air as they waved in a useless attempt to regain his lost 
footing.  He felt himself starting to tumble as his feet slid out from under 
him... suddenly a strong hand caught his flailing left arm, pulling the young 
ranger up short and spinning him part way around.  

The young ranger jerked in surprise and alarm.  He couldn’t see his attacker 
from this position and trying to turn was only going to make him slip again.  He 
didn’t know who or what else was out here but it had him at a disadvantage.  
Automatically, he pulled free of his sling, trying to go for his sword with his 
right hand since his left was caught firm.  His tenuous footing slipped and slid 
further as he tried to pull free of whoever had grabbed him, or at least turn 
towards the being, but the strong hands that held him grappled against his 
forward momentum, pulling him back and catching his good arm in a position that 
effectively rendered him unable to struggle further. 

“Estel, what are you doing?  Be still or you’ll fall!” 

At the sound of the voice Aragorn instantly stopped struggling and allowed the 
grip on his arms to pull him fully upright and set him on his feet again on a 
more stable patch of grass and rocks.  

The hands released him then and Aragorn pulled away, turning around to face the 
being behind him.  

Elrond was smiling wryly at his foster son, one eyebrow cocked.  

Aragorn’s breath was still coming quick and fast and his heart was pounding in 
his ears from the adrenaline surge a few moments ago.  “Are you trying to kill 
me?” he panted out, shocked at seeing the elf lord.  

“Actually that’s what I was hoping to avoid,” the elder elf said calmly, his 
smile growing as he saw how flustered the human was.  Elrond shimmered faintly 
in the moonlight, but only faintly.  To an extent he could control or hide his 
inner radiance depending on what the situation called for.  

Aragorn shook his head and put one hand over his slowly calming heart as he 
glared accusingly at his father’s amused look.   “And I thought my brothers were 
bad about sneaking up on me!”  The truth was they held nothing on their father. 
Elladan and Elrohir Aragorn had learned to detect, but Elrond was another 
matter all together.  

“Perhaps if you didn’t always feel the need to take off in the middle of the 
night, you wouldn’t have to worry about it,” the elf lord fixed his son with a 
somewhat stern look.  Yes, Aragorn was plenty old enough and capable enough to 
look after himself, but still...

Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment and passed his hand over his face.  He 
didn’t bother asking what Elrond was doing here, he figured he knew.

“I’m not going back,” the ranger said quietly, meeting the elf lord’s eyes and 
hoping he understood, but prepared if he didn’t.  He gestured to his right arm 
and the sling that was right now hanging uselessly around his neck.  “I am 
nearly well again.  I will be all right.  But Legolas is in danger, I know he is 
and I must go try to find him.  It is no more than he has done for me.  Please 
understand, this is something I have to do.”

“Are you through?” Elrond waited until the human had finished speaking.  “Good,” 
he nodded when Aragorn did not respond.  “As so often is the case you are not 
nearly so well as you think Estel, if tonight’s little altercation is any 
indication.  What would you have done if I *had* been an enemy?  I cannot allow 
you do this alone.”

Aragorn’s eyes turned hard with determination.  “I’m sorry father, but you 
cannot stop me.”

“Who said anything about stopping you?  If I had wanted to do that all I would 
have had to do is say a word to Galadriel and the Galadrim would have halted you 
long before you got anywhere near the borders of the woods.  Yes, Estel, don’t 
look so shocked, the Lord and Lady of the Wood know everything that happens in 
their realm and I know *you* at any rate,” Elrond added with a twinkle in his 
eye at Aragorn’s surprised look.  “I knew you’d never stay put.  Of course you 
are going to find Legolas, and since I cannot with good conscience let you go 
alone in your condition, I am going with you.”

Aragorn blinked, utterly taken aback by this new revelation.  “You are?”

“I’m glad my companionship is so highly rated,” Elrond remarked dryly at his 
adopted son’s nonplused expression.  

Aragorn flushed.  “That’s not what I meant, I mean, there’s no one I would 
rather have with me, but it’s just-”

“Just that you’ve never seen me leave Rivendell?  I’m not a fixture there 
Aragorn,” he laughed.  “I dare say I will not be a burden to your travels,” he 
cut the young man off with a wave of his hand before the ranger could again 
protest that that was not what he had meant.  “Besides, I think you forgot a few 
things...” 

Un-shouldering the pack that up until now Aragorn did not even realize the elf 
lord was carrying; Elrond dropped the weighty knapsack on the ground with a 
thud.  “How far did you think you were going to get supplied like you are now?” 
the elf shook his head with an amused smile.  “I *know* I taught you better than 
that Estel.  Look at that, you didn’t even bring your cloak... well I don’t have 
yours, but I have a spare.”  Elrond pulled the cloak off his own shoulders and 
wrapped the warm fabric around the young human’s, his look brooking no protest. 
 
Aragorn pulled the dark cloak closer around him with his good hand.  With 
minimal difficulty he pulled the small brooch off the shoulder of his tunic and 
used it to hold the cloak closed about his neck.  After it was fastened the 
ranger let his fingers linger on the small star-shaped clasp that Elladan had 
given him many years ago as he broke into a large grin.  Touching Elrond’s arm, 
he caught the elf lord’s gaze again.  

“Thank you,” Aragorn meant far more than the cloak and his eyes said that 
clearly.  Just how far Elrond was willing to go to support him touched his heart 
deeply.  

Elrond brushed his son’s unruly locks with the back of his fingers, his smile 
both fond and proud.  “You are becoming a man Estel.  Indeed, you have been one 
for some time.  Our paths will lead us apart very soon I think, and it may be 
that we see less of one another than in former years... but at least this 
journey we will make together.”

Aragorn smiled softly in the darkness.   “Then I will treasure this time, as I 
have every moment I have lived in your house.  Thank you, you ease my mind in 
more ways than one.  If Legolas *is* injured in some way, he could ask for no 
better care than yours.”

“Indeed,” the elf lord’s smile turned wry again.  “So instead of dragging him 
back to me you are dragging me out to him are you?  This should prove 
interesting.  Perhaps I will finally see just *how* it is that you two manage to 
get yourselves into so much trouble!”

“I’m sure we’ll have no trouble with you around Ada,” Aragorn said innocently.  

“Why do I doubt that?” Elrond shook his head with a soft laugh, stooping to grab 
one strap of the pack that was still sitting on the ground.  “Well?  Are you 
going to take your things out of here or not?  If you think I’m going to carry 
everything you are gravely mistaken...”

Aragorn chuckled as he helped his father sort his share of the supplies out of 
the pack.  He was glad for the elf lord’s company.  He had traveled many times 
with his brothers but rarely ever with his father.  The visit to Lothlórien had 
woken many questions in his mind that he had never stopped to consider before 
about Elrond and his past.  He supposed it was part of truly growing up when you 
began to see someone as more than just your father, but as a person, a person he 
would like to get to know better, especially since Aragorn too felt that their 
lives would soon begin to undergo many changes.  

This was going to be a very interesting trip indeed.

Aragorn shouldered his own pack once more and turned back in the direction he 
had been going.  He took a deep breath of the night air and an unexplainable 
chill ran through him.  

Elrond noticed the troubled look on his foster son’s face and touched his 
shoulder gently as they started descending the steep slope once more.  “You fear 
for Legolas.”  

“Yes,” Aragorn was not ashamed to admit it.  “I have the awful feeling that 
somehow I have already waited too long... I fear I will be too late.”

Elrond was silent for a time, but when they had reached the bottom of the hill 
he spoke, his voice quiet, but firm.  “We cannot do more than we are doing now 
Estel.  There is nothing more ultimately destructive than focusing on what might 
have been but can no longer be changed.  Have faith, Estel.”  

Elrond could not promise that all would be well, for that was more than he knew, 
but Aragorn took comfort in his father’s wisdom and nodded, silently praying 
that his dreams would not come true.  That they would not be too late.

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

 
A tall human with sandy blonde hair pulled back in several rough braids was 
swearing prodigiously, an empty halter clamped in his hand.  The falling rain 
made the leather slick and was steadily worsening his disposition.  “Any sign of 
them up there Léod?” he called up to his companion on the dark, shale covered 
ridge above.  

“No, you know Freca’s gonna have our hides if we don’t bring them back,” the 
second fellow responded helpfully.  

“Thanks, I never would have guessed,” the first man grumped, swearing a little 
louder, his voice echoing off the walls of the curving canyon he was descending 
into.  “I hope they haven’t tangled it up with any of those stinking lhygians.  
You did bring the anti-venom kit with just in case, right?”

A grunt from above answered to the affirmative.  “Yes Fastred, I’m not stupid 
you know.  After all, it wasn’t *I* who let them get away...”

These men were in fact horse-breakers by trade, in search of some of their stock 
that had run off and made for the hills.  This light rain was not making their 
search any easier, or any more pleasant.  

Fastred kicked a loose piece of shale angrily as he rounded a corner, holding on 
to the cliff face next to him to keep from slipping on the sharp incline and 
shifting stones as he rounded the bend.  Any horse that came down here stood a 
good chance of breaking a leg or worse and that would be a tragedy, not only 
because of the loss of a good animal, but because these horses did not belong to 
the breakers, but were entrusted into their care by individual clients to be 
tamed and made saddle-ready.  To violate such a trust was a serious thing and 
not one that their employer would take lightly.

“Well I certainly hope that none of them were foolish enough to come down 
through... here.”  Fastred pulled up short at the sight he found himself 
confronted with.  A still body lay sprawled on the ground at the base of the 
cliff and on its chest...

The lhyguan leaned down close, ready to taste the elf’s blood when a heavy stone 
hit it full in the back of the head, making it reel before turning around and 
hissing loudly, its flat broad head swiveling to find the source of the new 
threat.  

“Hey, get away!  Get away!” Fastred threw another stone, narrowly missing the 
second lhyguan.  “Léod!  Léod!  Get down here quick!” he shouted, snapping a 
long thin branch off one of the spindly trees nearby.  Edging forward, while 
trying to keep out of the reach of the deadly lhygians, Fastred swatted at the 
creatures with the leafy end of the branch, continuing to shout loudly, since he 
knew the reptiles were sensitive to loud sounds.  

The lhygians hissed and retreated a few paces in fear and anger, but they were 
reluctant to leave the prone body of their intended prey.  

Léod quickly slithered down the steep incline behind his friend and immediately 
seeing what was going on, he drew a knife from his belt.

Two of the great lizards were still perched atop the unmoving body of the 
stranger on the ground and one, closer at hand, was staring at the newcomers 
with small deadly eyes.  

Just at that moment, the one closest to the two humans lunged forward, straight 
at them.  Quick as he could, Léod hurled the knife in his hand, catching the 
creature in the back.  The lhyguan made no audible outcry, but it thrashed 
madly, turning and writhing on the shale in its death throes.  There was a 
flurry of movement from the lhygians standing on the unconscious being, but when 
the two breakers moved towards them they fled with a scuttle and a hiss, 
disappearing into the shadows of the rocks.  

“Who in the world is this?” Léod knelt next to Legolas, turning the prince’s 
head towards them and checking his pulse.  

Wet golden hair pulled away from the elf’s pointed ears and Fastred blinked in 
surprise.  “*What* in the world is this?”

Léod kicked his friend’s boot.  “Don’t be an idiot, it’s an elf!  Haven’t you 
ever seen an elf before?”

“Oh, and you have?” Fastred shot back as he checked the prince over for 
injuries.  His friend ignored him.  “I wonder how he got out here?” he muttered 
quietly, thinking out loud.

“Oh damn,” Fastred murmured as he turned the elf’s right hand over and lifted it 
up.  A small, but deep wound marred the pale, flawless skin of the prince’s 
palm, just below the base of his thumb.  The bite had an odd, irregular shape 
and the deepest part of it were two nearly identical punctures about an inch or 
more apart.  The flesh around the wound was already red and beginning to swell. 
 

“Lhyguan poison,” Fastred muttered with revulsion.  “One of them got him before 
they ran off.”  Under normal circumstances, the elf would die in a matter of 
minutes as the deadly venom spread through his body, swelling internal organs 
and wreaking havoc with the nervous system.  

Léod dropped the pack off his back and rummaged through it quickly.  Pulling out 
a jar and a small flask he passed the vial to his friend while he opened the 
jar.  Ladling out a generous amount of the gooey yellow substance inside with 
two cupped fingers, Léod spread the mixture onto a strip of cloth and pressed it 
tightly against the bleeding wound on the elf’s hand, working it into the 
puncture and binding it off.  That would slow the poison and neutralize it at 
its point of entry.  

Meanwhile, Fastred had mixed the contents of the vial with the water in the 
drinking horn he carried.  Tipping the unconscious elf up into a sitting 
position, they put the end of the horn in Legolas’ mouth and slowly poured the 
water in, waiting for the natural swallowing instinct to take effect before 
administering some more, a little at a time.  

Léod glanced at his friend as they slowly administered the anti-venom to the 
unresponsive elf.  “Whoever he is, he’s lucky we had some of the AntiVen with 
us.  But... this batch was mixed up for horses... do you think it’ll work on a 
human or an... an elf?”  

Fastred shrugged.  “I have no idea.  It ought to still work on a man, although 
it might be a mite stronger than necessary... we’ll know soon if the same holds 
true for his kind.”

The rain was intensifying and they tipped the drinking horn one last time, 
administering the last of the anti-venom serum.  

“Come on,” Fastred dragged the limp elf upright as he stood, throwing Legolas 
over one shoulder and finding that the prince was remarkably light.  “Let’s get 
him back to Émuseld.  If he makes it he’s gonna need a fire and dry clothes to 
see him through the shakes.  We’ll keep looking for the horses after the storm 
breaks.”

Léod nodded.  “At least this way Freca can’t complain about us coming back 
without the horses.”  Both men were glad for a reason to not prolong their 
search in the midst of such inclement weather.  

Fastred rolled his eyes.  “You wish.”

 

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

 

“Ada?” Aragorn waited until the elderly elf met his eye across the fire. The 
sparks from the pitch that burned on the wood leapt high into the night sky and 
painted the ranger’s face in warm amber tones. “Tell me of mother.” He asked 
quietly. “I never hear you speak of her.” 

The elf sat cross-legged on the far side of the fire. His hair normally braided 
in intricate elvish design was simply pulled back and pleated into one long 
braid behind his head, in the fashion that Aragorn had seen warriors sometimes 
wear theirs. The elf lord wore no distinguishing garments that would set him 
apart from any other elf if they happened across travelers on their journey 
south. His royal clothing had been given up in exchange for a dark brown under 
tunic the color of the woods. It was overlaid by a simple suede jerkin, that 
laced up the front. The impressions of hand tooled leaves decorated the borders 
of its edges as it swept down his slender frame tapering mid thigh and was 
belted about his waist by a nondescript leather belt. He wore dark leggings that 
contrasted slightly with the ornate sheath at his side. The elf had also brought 
his bow and quiver; they lay beside him within easy reach of his hands. 

Aragorn had stared long at his father wondering about his early life, he had 
never seen the elf lord dressed as he was and it had occurred to the ranger that 
there was much he did not know about his father. Oh he had heard stories of the 
courage and strength of Lord Elrond, but never from the elf himself.  In a way 
it was strange really, Elrond was the lore master and storyteller and from him 
Aragorn had learned much of the history of Middle Earth over the years... but 
very few tales that involved the elf lord’s own past.  Those thoughts had 
surfaced questions in the ranger’s mind and so he had finally gotten up the 
courage to start asking.  

Elrond frowned in confusion at the human’s statement, Aragorn had always been 
told everything he wanted to know about his birth parents.  “You ask of 
Gilraen?” 

With a small shake of his head Aragorn cast his gaze down, slightly unsure of 
how his father would respond.  Did Elrond not speak of the past because he did 
not wish to?  The crackling fire cast odd shadows about them and Elrond tipped 
his head slightly trying to see into the shaded eyes of his adopted son.  He 
waited out the human, while the young man thought through his question.

“No.  Not her.”  When he spoke again Aragorn’s voice was soft and low but the 
elven hearing quickly picked up the quiet tones. “You have told me much about 
them, and I thank you, but... although I know she is my mother by birth, as 
Arathorn is my father, still if...if your wife were yet in Middle Earth she 
would have been the mother I came to know.  Elladan and Elrohir talk of their 
mother often and I have come to think of her in such a way through them.  I did 
not mean to be presumptuous.”  Silver eyes searched the blue ones that watched 
the ranger closely.  Elrond gave his head a slight shake, letting Aragorn know 
he had done nothing wrong, but he did not speak.  

“You never speak of her Ada.”  Aragorn repeated quietly.  There was so much 
about Elrond that Aragorn realized he really did not know, even though he had 
lived with him all his life.  He had never thought much about it before, but now 
he wondered about the woman who had captured his father’s heart.  

Elrond looked quickly out into the night, unconsciously shielding his inner soul 
from the piercing gaze of his son.  No, he rarely spoke of her anymore.  The 
years had fled so quickly and the past seemed more like wisps of remembrance 
with barely any substance. 

Afraid he had hurt his adoptive parent Aragorn quietly stood and rounded the 
fire, seating himself near Elrond’s side.

The soft sounds of footsteps did not register in the elf’s mind as his thoughts 
were flung eons into the past.  It was the gentle touch of his son’s hand on his 
knee that brought elf back to the present.

“I’m sorry.”  Aragorn whispered softly, “I did not mean to bring you pain. I was 
only curious.  I thought perhaps it would be easier to speak of her without my 
brothers here, but obviously I was wrong.  You don’t have to remember for me, 
its all right to let it go.”

Elrond smiled gently at the human that was seated next to him.  Why wouldn’t his 
son ask him such questions?

“No Aragorn, it is well.  You are correct I do not speak of Celebrìan often and 
if she had stayed in Middle Earth she would indeed have taken the place of your 
departed mother.”  His smiled widened as he thought on his wife, “She would have 
loved you.  You have the same spark and joy of life that always marked her.  I 
find it odd but you, all of you, in one way or another remind me of her.  And I 
see reflections of her soul in yours.”  He laughed slightly, for Aragorn was no 
physical relation to his wife, and yet as in his own sons, he saw a kindredness 
of spirit.  “Her heart was big enough for all of Middle Earth, not unlike your 
own my son.”

“How did you meet her?”  Aragorn pressed gently, noting that his father was 
opening up to him.

Elrond laughed, his face flushing slightly with embarrassment. “Oh now that is a 
tale.”  He shook his head, a smile widening on his face, “A very long one.  It 
took place on the face of an earth that was very different than the one you now 
know young one.  You recall that before the forging of the Rings of Power, there 
was a great elven kingdom in Eregion, which men now call Hollin.  Galadriel and 
Celeborn dwelt there and governed the people.  Ost-in-Edhil that realm was 
called in the days of Celembrimbor, when the dwarves of Moria and the Elves of 
Eregion lived in peace.  Now when my brother and I were quite young, after our 
parents left but before the founding of Númenor, we left the house of Maglor 
whose keeping we had been in, and joined the elves in Eregion.  There we would 
go out hunting with our friends near Ost-in-Edhil from time to time and for the 
most part, we younger ones would stay away from the main citadels and hunt the 
outer edges.”  The elderly elf stopped, deep in remembrance a frown slightly 
marring his noble face and Aragorn was amused to see that he bit his lip exactly 
the same way Elladan did every time the younger elf was lost in thought.  “I 
can’t remember why,” he finally continued, “But this particular time we had 
ridden into the inner sanctuary and were on our way back out when she passed 
by.”

“Father!”  Aragorn gave the elf a gentle shove as his elder started laughing, 
interrupting his own tale.  The elf lord picked up a stray piece of wood and 
tossed it on the fire before continuing his story.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.  I think my mind had all but frozen, for 
she was the most beautiful maiden I had ever seen.  She was walking beneath the 
trees with a group of her friends but I saw none of them save her.  And that of 
course was exactly the time that my brother chose to spook my horse.  He 
admitted later that he did it on purpose when he saw the look on my face.”

“Ah, so that’s where Elladan and Elrohir get it from.” Aragorn laughed aloud and 
ducked a playful smack. “I knew you had to be a ruffian when you were younger, 
get in lots of trouble did we?”  He snickered at the glower his father laid on 
him.

“Do you want to hear the story or not?”  Elrond threatened lightly, unable to 
contain his own mirth.

“No please, please I wouldn’t miss this for all the world.”

With a shake of his head the elf lord continued, “Needless to say my horse 
reared up and I was thrown from it.  I broke my arm in the fall and when I did 
not rise immediately the commotion gathered quite a crowd.  The first one to 
reach me was Celebrìan and hers the first voice I heard.  But it was her eyes 
that held me captive. Oh her eyes, by the Valar Aragorn I swear they held all 
the stars of the universe in their depths.” Elrond was smiling softly, lost in 
memories as he stared into the sparking fire.

Aragorn smiled in kind as he watched his father recall his past, swept away to 
the younger days of Middle Earth and enraptured by the tale the elderly elf 
told.

“And her hair, it was thick and long and it shown like flax on a summers day.  
It smelled sweet like the meadow flowers.  I can still recall the scent...” 
Elrond’s voice dropped off and he glanced down to his hands, “None of our 
children carried on that trait.”  He turned and looked at the human next to him, 
gently touching an errant strand of Aragorn’s unruly locks.  “None of them.  You 
all have the darker hair of my side of the family.”

Aragorn did not speak when Elrond turned back to gaze once more into the 
firepit.  He did not continue for some time and the ranger gave him space to be 
alone with his thoughts, idly stirring the fire with a stick he had found on the 
forest floor.  The quiet sounds of the forest about them filtered through the 
night, bringing with their song a calm and a peace that all was well in the 
woods and it seemed as though that serenity stretched through the whole of 
Middle Earth if it were possible.

“She was the first one to reach my side after I fell and the only one I can 
recall being there.”  Elrond laughed softly at himself as he picked up the story 
where he had left it off.  “I couldn’t even speak her beauty held me sway, much 
to my brother and his friend’s amusement.  Thank the Valar her mother rescued 
me, having witnessed my accident and saved me further embarrassment by taking me 
with her to have my arm set.”  He laughed out loud, “*That* was the first time I 
met your mother...I mean Celebrìan.” He corrected himself quickly.  It was hard 
to remember sometimes, that Aragorn was not truly his son the way Elladan and 
Elrohir were.

“Its all right father, you can call her my mother, for, meaning no disrespect to 
the dead, I consider you my true family.”  Aragorn smiled up into the dark eyes 
that watched him intently, “Tell me, how long before you decided she was the 
one?” A mischievous grin spread across the young human’s face.

“Oh that very day, when I looked into her eyes. I knew I would never be able to 
live free of her enchantment.  So it was that I began to *visit* often, very 
often.” Aragorn raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“As in daily.  I couldn’t get her out of my head.  She of course made a merry 
chase of it, but I knew that she felt the same way and it was only a matter of 
time.”  Elrond frowned mockingly at his son who could barely contain himself, 
trying hard to fight back the giggles, “Don’t look at me like that.” He gave the 
ranger a good shove.  “As if you haven’t been the same. I’ve seen that far off 
look in your eyes a time or two.  You know how women are!”

Aragorn’s mouth dropped open. He was at a loss of what to say.  “You...how... I 
never!”

“You have and you know it! Your brothers have seen it, I have seen it and,” he 
sighed deeply in resignation, “Valar knows Arwen has seen it.”

The silver eyes that held his gaze suddenly sought the forest floor.

“O, Estel.” Elrond’s voice was tender and soft and Aragorn glanced hesitantly 
back up at his father, “I have tread the path that you have and though our 
destinies lie in different places, we are not so far removed from one another 
that I can not understand the heedless choices of the heart.”  He gently touched 
the young man’s chin, lifting the ranger’s head until their eyes met.

“You said we would not speak of it for many years yet.”  Aragorn’s voice was low 
and slightly hesitant.

“And so we shall not for the future is uncertain, and the time will come.”  He 
smiled at the ranger, “But not now, however you did want to know about 
Cele...your mother, did you not?”  He matched the youth’s suddenly mischievous 
grin.

His smile broadened as Aragorn nodded.  He was glad that they had this time 
together alone; they needed it – father and son.  “We spent many happy days 
together, for we were young and the world seemed full of nothing but time... 
however peace did not last.  Sauron bred discontent among the elves and they 
rebelled.  Galadriel and her family were chased out of Ost-in-Edhil by their own 
people.  With the aide of the dwarves she and Celebrìan passed through Moria and 
so escaped to Lothlórien, although that was not yet its name.  Celeborn refused 
to pass into the dwarf realm.  He, I and the other elves that followed Gil-Galad 
and were not part of the doings in Hollin remained on the west side of the 
mountains.  Then Sauron unmasked his evil intents and war came for many, many 
bitter years.  I did not see Celebrìan again until after it was all over and she 
and her mother came looking for Celeborn, who was staying with me in newly 
founded Imladris.  It had been so long by then... I said nothing to her at the 
time, fearing that the bond made in our youth was forgotten.  But it was not so, 
and that soon became clear.  By the time I asked her if she would stay with me 
forever, her answer was not the yes I had hoped and expected, but rather she 
lectured me on taking so long to ask her!”

“She lectured *you*?!?!?” Aragorn was laughing hard, “I wish I had seen that.”

“Yes, well asking her was nothing compared to finding the courage to speak with 
her parents about our intentions.”  Elrond let his breath out in a rush, shaking 
his head.  “I may have stood beside Celeborn in battle many times and faced 
death, but that was nothing compared with the thought of asking for his 
daughter’s hand!”

“Are you telling me *you* were nervous?” Aragorn asked incredulously.

“Yes!”  Elrond glowered at him playfully, “Being an elf lord is no easy business 
and I have been nervous many times in my life since, but none more than then.” 
He elbowed the youth next to him, “Stop laughing. Celeborn and Galadriel have 
been good relatives through the years, helping me raise two boys and one girl 
without their mother.”

The young human had quieted listening intently once more.

“I tell you Estel, living with a woman half one’s life is far different than 
raising one.”  A deep sorrowful sigh escaped the elf’s lips and Aragorn leaned 
forward slightly, “Her leaving was one of the hardest things I have ever had to 
endure.” Elrond’s voice softened as spoke of Celebrìan’s departure, “When she 
left, much of the beauty of Rivendell passed with her and ere then it has fallen 
into autumn as though the very woods themselves mourn her leaving.”

“You miss her greatly don’t you?” Aragorn whispered.

“Everyday.” Elrond smiled sadly, his eyes fixed on the brightly burning fire.  A 
look of peace crossed his face and the lines etched in his brow eased as he 
continued, thinking now on the future, “But we will yet be together once more, 
when it comes my time to leave this land.”

The wistfulness in the elf’s voice pained the human and Aragorn found himself 
glancing out into the dark of night, his own thoughts furrowing lines of sadness 
onto his face.

Elrond noticed the abrupt change and turned towards his son. “Estel?  What is 
it?  What have I said that has caused you pain?”

Aragorn shook his head slowly, “You will one day all leave me and I will see you 
no more.” His voice was a mere whisper when he finally spoke his fears.  They 
were no secret and he had voiced them before, but that didn’t mean they had ever 
truly gone away. 

Elrond’s fingers gently hooked beneath the ranger’s chin, tipping Aragorn’s head 
back up and forcing him to look at the elf again.  Tearful eyes met the blue and 
the elf lord closed his own at the intensity of the emotions.  “There is much 
young one that is not revealed of the future.  Do not weary your heart with 
worry.  It does you no good and besides,” He smiled gently at his son, “you’ll 
not be rid of me anytime soon nor your brothers I fear!”

Conceding the point, Aragorn nodded and returned the smile.  He started to 
respond but his father cautioned him to silence, suddenly alert.  The sounds of 
the forest around them had grown silent and Elrond glanced about them listening, 
his hand shifting slowly to the pommel of his sword sheathed at his side.

Aragorn moved quietly into a crouched position, drawing his own weapon, the 
steel of the blade ringing softly in the dark stillness.  He could barely hear 
the shifting of heavy feet and he swiveled out of instinct bringing his sword up 
before him as the moonlight caught the edges of the heavy orc blade that swung 
towards him.

The foul creature's weapon descended on the ranger with a vengeance and Aragorn 
stumbled slightly under the blow.  His collarbone, though mended, was not quite 
fit for battle and the strain he was placing on it was obvious as a deep 
throbbing ache set in.  Without time to worry about it, the human ignored the 
warning signals and spun towards his opponent, smashing his fist into the orcs 
face before driving his blade through the evil beast. 

To his right he could hear his elven father struggling in his own battle.  The 
elf parried a glancing blow and brought his blade up in a high arc; twisting in 
a tight circle on his boot-heels he swiftly decapitated the orc that advanced on 
him from behind.  Elrond was fast, too fast for his opponents.  His style of 
graceful, efficient warfare took his clumsier adversaries off guard and he 
dispatched his attackers with ease and swiftness.  Running his sharp elven sword 
through the heart of the orc before him, Elrond realized he was momentarily free 
from the dark wave and turned to see how Aragorn was faring.

The ranger was locked in combat with an orc nearly twice his size and a good 
head taller than the human.  With a deft twist of his blade Aragorn disarmed the 
foul creature but before he could finish it off, the orc lunged at him, bringing 
his fists down together on the humans newly healed shoulder.  The blow swept an 
agonizing wave of pain through the ranger and he was momentarily thrown off his 
guard as he collapsed down to his knees, bright sparks of pain flashing on the 
edges of his vision as he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

He heard Elrond call his name and could see the elf out of the corner of his eye 
as the elven warrior raced to his side.  But there was no time; the orc, having 
reclaimed his scimitar raised the weapon above his head intending to kill the 
human.  

___________________________________________________________

 

~*PART FIVE*~


In the split second before the orc could bring the blade down, Aragorn’s fingers 
tightened on the handle of his sword and he thrust the weapon upward beneath his 
attacker’s ribs, piercing the darkened heart.  The orc fell with a stifled cry 
to the ground.  Elrond stopped, his own weapon dropping to his side as Aragorn 
turned a weary gaze on the elf lord.

A shadow behind his father caught Aragorn’s attention and he slipped a dagger 
from his boot.  Deftly tossing the small knife into the air he grabbed the blade 
and threw the weapon across the camp with a shout. The dagger passed through the 
air mere inches from Elrond’s face.  The elf didn’t move nor did he flinch as 
the blade barely brushed his hair before embedding itself in the neck of an orc 
behind him.  The creature dropped to the forest floor with out a sound. 

“I think that’s all of them.”  Aragorn glanced around them, his senses still on 
alert.  He swallowed hard, resting where he was kneeling on the ground, not 
quite trusting himself to his feet yet.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, his gaze falling on his father.  The elf 
lord nodded, he too was still listening, wanting to make sure they were alone.

“Estel?”  Elrond asked cautiously, stepping over the dead body of an orc.

Aragorn waved him off and stood unsteadily to his feet, straightening up slowly. 
He pressed his left hand against his still mending collar-bone and groaned 
softly, it ached deep in the bone.  That last blow had almost been too much.  
Quietly he surveyed their wrecked camp; the bodies of the dead orcs littering 
the tiny glen lay in dark in heaps.  The fire ring had been utterly destroyed 
the carcass of one of the foul beasts lay prone across the crushed embers.

“Well that’s nice.  I am *not* sleeping here tonight.” He turned his gaze on his 
father.  The elderly elf was frowning as he ripped a piece of cloth from one of 
the dead creatures and wiped the edge of his blade clean, inspecting the smooth 
steel for any nicks or pits it may have picked up in the fight.

Aragorn watched Elrond for a few moments, fascinated by the warrior that he had 
seen in the elderly elf only minutes earlier. 

“What do you think they wanted?" The Ranger resumed his inspection of the 
destroyed glade as the elf lord gazed dispassionately at the bodies that strew 
their camp. His lips turned up slightly in disgust. 

“Our gear and ourselves if they could have gotten either.  The group was 
relatively small and from the way they are outfitted they are not soldiers, but 
marauding raiders, most likely from the mountains somewhere.  We are far enough 
south to be in danger of such errant scouting parties such as this one.  It 
simply never occurred to me when we made camp.”  Elrond supposed that maybe it 
really had been a long time since he had been away from the lands surrounding 
Rivendell, especially when not traveling with a large host.  He was going to 
have to be a bit more on his guard.  

A soft laugh drew the elf’s attention to his son who was walking slowly toward 
him, “Those types of things don’t always occur to me either, which is why I am 
always thankful when Legolas is traveling with me.  He is... how shall I put 
it... ultimately cautious about situations like this.  I think it comes from 
living in Mirkwood.  If he were here I think he mostly likely would have 
insisted on camping in a different location entirely.”  The ranger glanced 
quickly into the tree tops above their heads before stooping to retrieve a flat 
branch, gathering it into a pile that he had started collecting, stacking them 
on the ground along with various other piece of wood and large leaves that he 
could find laying on the forest floor. “And he’d be right too.”  Aragorn was 
walking slowly gazing intently into the upper reaches of the trees around them 
again, his preoccupation taking him out of the ring of the small glade. 

“Estel wait, come here,” Elrond walked after the young human, “I really need to 
see to your collar-bone, that was a vicious blow you took.  You are not yet 
healed enough my son.”

“In a minute, we need to set up camp somewhere much safer, there may be more 
parties about.” 

Elrond could hear the human’s voice just outside the glen under the shadows of 
the woods and growing fainter; the ranger was moving away from him. “I think 
I’ve found the perfect place to rest for the evening.”  Aragorn called back 
through the forest, his voice taking on an odd strain to it as though his 
attentions were focused elsewhere.  

Elrond had begun collecting what things were salvageable and picked up the pile 
of leaves and wood that Aragorn had left stacked up, having a good idea of what 
his adopted son was up to.  He followed the soft sounds of the ranger's 
approaching footsteps as he walked back towards the elf, meeting him part way.

“Here let me help you.”  Aragorn stepped out of the half-gloom of the woods, 
and, seeing the load his father carried, quickly wrapped his arms around the 
upper half of the stack of tree limbs, intending to help ease the burden.  
Unfortunately the weight of the wood was too much for his injuries to sustain 
and he fell to one knee in an attempt not to drop the load he carried, 
unsuccessfully stifling a small cry.

“Enough.”  Elrond dropped his burden on the ground and steered the ranger over 
to a large boulder, forcing the human to sit down.  “Let me see to your shoulder 
*now*.  Not another excuse, we’ll build our loft in a moment.”

Aragorn winced as his father pressed his hands underneath the ranger’s tunic and 
gently felt the healing bones.  Moving the tunic back from near the youth’s neck 
Elrond’s sharp eyes detected the darkening bruises from where the orc had hit 
his son.  “How does it feel?  Can you move your arm at all?”

“A bit.”  Aragorn painfully tried to rotate his right arm, unsuccessfully 
attempting to convince the elf that he was all right.

“Estel.”  Elrond’s tone was a warning in its self.  He rummaged through his sack 
and pulled out a white piece of cloth.

“I am not putting that back on.  I fully intend to build us a flet and climb up 
there myself.”  Aragorn stiffly stood and rounded the rock, keeping the boulder 
between he and his father.

“You may *help* build a flet and you may climb up there by yourself but you will 
wear this sling again until that arm and shoulder have had some rest.”  Elrond 
laid the cloth on the rock and glanced up at the tree next to him. “This one 
will do.”  With that said the elf lord easily vaulted into the lowest branches 
of the tree, climbing half way up it where the thick limbs crossed one another 
and were wide enough to carry the weight of a human and elf.

“Hand me up the wood Estel.”  The disembodied voice of his father floated down 
to him, the elf lord’s form hidden in the thick gloom.

“I cannot see you.”  Aragorn hefted a flat limb and lifted it above his head.  A 
soft blue glow brightened slightly in the tree, emanating directly overhead and 
he smiled up into the eyes of the elf lord, “Oh there you are.”  He teased 
lightly as he slowly handed the wood and greens to Elrond, pulling himself and 
their supplies up with him at the last.

The loft as Elrond had called it was far more sturdy than any flet Legolas and 
he had ever constructed as far as the ranger could remember.  The elf lord had 
padded the wooden platform with the large fronds from the forest floor, their 
scent adding a familiar fragrance to the tree top dwelling.

His father scooted to the back of the thrown together shelf, intending to make 
room for his son as Aragorn edged up on to the loft.  The human stood 
uncertainly, glancing from the trunk of the tree at the elf’s back to the elf 
lord himself.

“What is it Estel?”

“Well, its just that...Legolas always lets me...makes me...” the ranger sighed 
in resignation and admitted the reasons for his hesitancy to his father, “I 
sleep by the tree and he sleeps by the edge.”

Try as he might Elrond could not stifle the small laugh that the admission 
provoked.  “You mean to say that he fears you will fall off in the middle of the 
night?”

Aragorn blushed and the color that rose in his cheeks was not hidden from his 
father.  “It’s not that... well maybe it is.”  He glanced in embarrassment out 
into the night around them.  “Mostly it's just that *Legolas* can’t sleep cause 
I fidget and toss in the night, this high above the ground.  I just sleep better 
with the tree at my back.”  He smiled ruefully down at his father as he inched 
around the elf, his hand braced against the tree that formed the back of the 
platform.

Elrond easily slid out of the way and moved towards the edge of the flet, trying 
to contain his laughter.  “Oh Estel, forgive me, sometimes I forget you aren’t 
elven.” He reached towards the boy, pulling him closer away from the safety of 
the trunk as the ranger seated himself wearily onto the platform.  “Let me have 
a look at that shoulder again.  I have some ointment here that will help to take 
the ache out of the bones.”  

Gently brushing the long wayward strands of dark hair away from the youth’s 
neck, the elf lord worked the soothing lotion into the bruised collarbone.  “So 
Legolas taught you how to build flets did he?”  He tried to preoccupy the ranger 
with quiet conversation as he rotated Aragorn’s shoulder and reset his right arm 
in the soft sling.

A quiet moan escaped the human’s lips and he shut his eyes tightly, nodding in 
answer to the question.  Breathing in slowly as Elrond eased his arm back 
against his chest and held it there gently he continued to speak, “The first I 
built by myself fell out from underneath us.  Don’t you know he never lets me 
live it down.”  Aragorn laughed softly at himself, “It really was funny though 
and thank the Valar neither of us was hurt.”

Elrond was shaking his head in amusement. His dark eyes watching intently as his 
son inched back towards the tree’s tall trunk and eased down onto the fronds 
that lined the loft, carefully positioning himself on his left side, the faintly 
glowing light of the elf aiding him.  The youth smiled at his father.  He felt 
worse than he wanted to admit; the surprise attack by the orcs had worn him out 
and he hated those feelings of weakness.

“Thank you Ada.  It does feel much better now.” The ranger spoke softly, his 
words easily falling into elvish.  

“Good.  Were you injured anywhere else?”  The elf lord questioned as he lay 
down, wrapping himself in his cloak and pillowing his head on his arm.  His 
son’s eyes reflected the dim glow he cast about them as the human tried vainly 
to remain awake.  “Estel don’t fight it.  Let your body relax and rest, you need 
the sleep.”

Aragorn pulled away from the hand that reached towards him, a mischievous grin 
pulling at the corners of his mouth, “Do not try that elven trick on me again!  
I’ll fall asleep on my own, thank you.”

Laying his hand gently on the young man’s shoulder Elrond laughed, “I wouldn’t 
dream of it.  Besides Galadriel always was better at that than I.”

Relaxing back against the trunk, Estel blinked slowly.  “See, this is how 
Legolas and I are always getting into trouble.  We never go seeking it, somehow 
it simply always finds us.”

“You expect me to believe...” Elrond cut their quiet conversation off, rolling 
swiftly onto his stomach and pulling himself silently to the edge of the flet.

Something stirred below them.

In seconds Aragorn had awkwardly joined him, peering intently into the darkness 
below their hiding place.

A small party of orcs passed beneath them, their shuffling gait loud in the 
night stillness.  Everything in the forest silenced as they passed, grunting and 
talking to one another in their coarse graveling voices.  Their complaints 
carried easily on the slight breezes and the two watchers could hear the evil 
beasts discussing their slain comrades and wondering where their murderers were 
hiding even now.  The hulking black form of a warg padded next to its masters, 
scenting the varying smells.  Neither it nor the evil creatures that accompanied 
it detected the elf and the ranger high above their heads.

Elrond gently tapped Aragorn’s shoulder and the two pulled back from the edge of 
the platform, quietly lying back down and watching one another, waiting until 
the sounds of the woods crept back into the trees around them, their soft 
cacophony like a symphony to the two.

 “We are safe now.  They know not where we have gotten to and they will not pass 
this way again.”  Elrond whispered, his voice barely heard by the ranger.

Aragorn nodded in understanding, he had long ago learned to read what people 
were saying without having to fully hear it.  Years of wandering with Legolas 
had given him that edge.  His thoughts turned once more to his friend and he 
grimaced, shaking his head slightly at the edginess that dogged his heart and 
waking moments.

“Tomorrow we’ll resume our search.  We will find him Estel.”  Elrond comforted.

“I know.”  Aragorn was far from sure but the words of his father went far to 
soothe his worried heart and he closed his eyes, content in the fact that for 
the moment they were safe and he was one step closer to finding his friend.

 

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

 
Legolas shivered violently, yet he felt as if his body was on fire.  Heat 
radiated off him and his hair clung to the sides of his fever-damp face.  Inside 
he felt as if he were burning up, yet his skin was unaccountably cold and tense 
shudders wracked his frame.  For one who was unaccustomed to having to feel the 
presence of either hot or cold, the sensation was distinctly disconcerting, as 
well as miserable.

If the elf prince had ever had the flu, or anything of that nature, he would 
have likened his current state to that, but, being an elf, Legolas had never 
been ill, so the only thing that this reminded him of was the hellish state he 
had been left in after having been given too much Dragon Water to drink, or some 
of the worse fevers he had had after being injured.  But even that hadn’t felt 
quite like this.

The elf prince moaned softly and opened his eyes, attempting to work the blurry 
world into focus.  A hand rested on his forehead to check the state of his 
fever.  It was not the hand of another elf.  

“Estel?” Legolas murmured blearily.  His cloudy mind didn’t register that it had 
been several over a month since he last saw the ranger, or how highly unlikely 
it was for Aragorn to be anywhere near here, wherever ‘here’ was.  All he knew 
was he was hurting and disoriented and usually when he was in that state, the 
young Dùnadan was close at hand.  Odd how that worked.  

“No, Freca.  Just lay still.  You’re going to live,” a gruff but not unkind 
voice spoke nearby, making Legolas start slightly.  The accent was that of 
Rohan.  “You may not feel like you want to for a little while, but you will.”

Legolas realized that the man near him was a complete stranger, so were the 
other men he could only vaguely sense nearby.  The elf stiffened.  He didn’t 
feel threatened by these people, but past experience had not lead him to be 
comfortable being vulnerable around most mortals.  

“Where am I?” Legolas tried to keep his voice from shaking.  He felt horrible.  
Truly horrible.  “Who are you?”  The prince winced.  His tone had betrayed much 
more fear than he intended.  He wanted to sit up, but he felt too dizzy and ill 
to attempt it.  

“You’re in Émuseld, above East Emnet.  My men found you up in the rocky places 
of the Wold.  I’m Freca and you’re in my house.  You were bitten by a Lhyguan.  
My people saved your life and brought you here.  Now just lie still and rest or 
you’ll wish you were still unconscious.  Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of these 
cases.”

Legolas relaxed because he could not afford to remain tense.  If these people 
intended to harm him, then there was nothing he could do about it and they 
probably would have done it already.  “Where’s Trelan?” he murmured as he 
remembered what had happened before his fall.  

“Who?” 

“M-my friend... another elf, did you find another elf?” Legolas was starting to 
shiver again, the violent trembling taking over him as darkness began to edge 
his vision.  

“Sorry, we found you alone.  Now be still, it’ll pass faster if you save your 
strength.  Be still...” 

But if Freca said anything else, Legolas did not hear it, for the shadow world 
had pulled him under again and he knew no more.

 

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

 

“Rise and shine,” an overly rough hand shook Legolas out of his slumber and the 
elf winced, trying to pull away.  The jarring sent waves of pain and nausea 
through his aching body and the loud voice made his head throb.  

“Come on now, wake up,” Freca was still shaking the elf.  

Legolas rolled over and fixed the man with a slightly blood-shot glare.  “I am 
awake.”  Silently, he reflected that he would have to have been dead to not be. 
“What is it?”  The prince passed his hand over his face, trying to dispel the 
deep ache behind his eyes, but it was no use, even the slightest movement of his 
gaze made his eye sockets throb as if he were looking into the sun.  

“What is it?  You’ve been down for nearly two days, it’s time you got up