Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed "Stillness"—I truly appreciated your kind words and they definitely encouraged me to keep writing. This story is already written in its entirety and is two chapters long. The final chapter will be posted next week. If I ever start posting anything, I promise you that it will be finished (I don't start posting until the story is completely written). A quick note for this story, like many authors, I take the perspective that Aragorn would have grown up viewing Elrond as his father and Elladan and Elrohir as his brothers.

The Value of Friendship

Chapter 1

Legolas leaned back against the tree, turning his face upward toward the sun and running his fingertips along the tops of the blades of grass grass, soft under his hands. He closed his eyes and relished the contrasting feelings of the sun warming his skin and the breeze gently cooling it. A sigh of contentment escaped him, he had not felt peace such as this in far too long.

He was visiting Imladris, something he tried to do more frequently since becoming friends with Estel. He tried not to dwell on his friend's mortality, but the boy had turned into a man seemingly overnight and his thoughts turned far more frequently to the passage of time than they ever had before in his life. So Legolas visited Rivendell more often, but his visits tended to be short. Often just a few short weeks, sometimes a month or a little more if the Woodland Realm could spare him. The demands of his home never allowed him to be gone for too long.

For his part, Legolas relished the breaks. The reprieve from the darkness of his home, however fleeting, left him refreshed and reinvigorated, ready to return to the fight. And even though he stole away as often as he could, Estel still seemed to have aged every time Legolas saw him. He was a ranger now, with a life of his own away from Imladris, spending more and more time with his brethren by distant blood and less with those who had raised him.

Legolas and Estel had arranged for this meeting months ago. Estel had been with the rangers and was in need of a break. Life in the Mirkwood had left Legolas exhausted, struggling to cope with the demands of being both a prince and a captain. Despite their mutual desires for time away from their duties and pre-planning, both had failed to meet at the appointed time. Aragorn and the rangers had been helping towns along the river Bruinen recover from recent flooding. Legolas had been on a patrol that had discovered multiple new spider nests in an area that the elves previously believed to be reasonably safe.

But chance intervened where well-laid plans failed. Both Legolas and Estel had arrived in Imladris within hours of each other a week late, ready to apologize profusely to the other. Instead of apologies, they shared laughter over their mutual tardiness.

They spent a week in Imladris, allowing Estel to spend time with his adopted family and giving both of them much needed rest before setting out from Rivendell with no destination in mind, aimlessly following the paths that surrounded the Last Homely House.

Those paths had eventually lead them to this clearing, the tree against which Legolas currently reclined, and the elf's sigh of happiness.

The ranger, however, was troubled. He sat across from Legolas, trying to relax, but failing. His thoughts drifted to dark places. He reclined in the grass for a few minutes, and was distracted by the feel of an ant searching for food on his arm. He sat up, brushed off the insect and moved a few feet away. He placed his hands behind him and slouched backward. He considered Legolas, and the elf's peaceful state. He too tried turning his face toward the sun, but found himself drumming his fingers restlessly.

Giving up on just enjoying the moment, he rummaged through his pack for his pipe and pipe-weed. Lighting it, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled in a huff. The smoke drifted on the breeze to Legolas, who grimaced and opened his eyes to glare at the ranger.

"Must you do that?" the elf asked, eyeing the pipe disdainfully, "You've learned much from the rangers, but this particular practice of theirs is one you could have done without."

"It relaxes me," Estel replied with a shrug.

"And it disgusts me," Legolas gestured around him, "This part of the valley is beautiful, the weather is perfect, we've nowhere to be and nothing to do, is that not enough to relax you?"

"Idleness doesn't sit well with me these days."

"It's not idleness, it's rest, and it's important," a frown marred the elf's face, he knew that Aragorn had been wrestling with internal thoughts that he had not yet shared throughout their easy journey, "What troubles you?"

Estel drew in several deep breaths from his pipe while he considered his next words. More and more lately, he thought of the future—the future of Middle Earth and his role in it. The weight of that future had been a heavier and more constant burden than ever before. He found himself afraid that he would be a disappointment to all those who believed in him. And it seemed that any time he thought any part of this, his thoughts spiraled out of control and he thought about everything that concerned him. It was easy enough to avoid when he could throw himself into his work with the rangers, but there were no distractions here.

The man thought about opening up to Legolas, but did not want to ruin what was a nearly perfect afternoon. And, very deep down, a small part of him was afraid that Legolas might confirm his fears. That Legolas would tell him he needed to embrace the future laid out before him and reclaim the throne of Gondor, and he did not know if he wanted that.

As Aragorn mussed, the smoke continued to drift toward Legolas, the elf rolled his eyes and sighed in defeat, standing with exaggerated annoyance and moving upwind of the offending smell and causing his human friend to chuckle at him, "I thought you were a friend to all things that grow, wood elf. Pipeweed is a natural pant." Estel teased.

"I would rather you let it grow and let it be."

The settled into a companionable silence once again, but Legolas did not lean back or close his eyes. Instead, he watched the ranger closely, fully aware that he had never gotten an answer to his question.

Aragorn recognized that the knowing look the elf was giving him, and approached the question cautiously, "Legolas, where do you think you'll be in ten years?"

"I do not know," Legolas replied, "Ten years is not long to an elf, but these are uncertain times. Likely, things will be much then as they are now and I will continue to fight for my father. Where do you think you will be?"

The ranger bit his lip and shifted uncertainly, "I have been thinking about the future a lot lately. I worry over it ceaselessly, and I cannot put it out of my mind."

"What is it that worries you?"

"There are many who have…" he trailed off, "expectations of me. I fear being a disappointment, I fear that I am not as great as they believe me to be."

Legolas considered his words, "You have yet to be a disappointment, and you are great, but I empathize with such fears."

Estel looked surprised, "You do?"

"Of course! I am the prince and the captain of a people at war. My father, his war council, the warriors who answer to me, and our people all have expectations of me. I do all I can in our struggle, but those who follow always deserve better than their leaders can give. I have made many mistakes, others have been injured or even lost their lives because of it. We could someday lose our fight because of decisions that I make. I too fear disappointing others. I too have struggled to find hope at times."

"But you have already met so many expectations, Legolas! You fill your duties as a prince, you are one of the greatest archers in all of Middle Earth, and you lead your people in their fight with unparalleled expertise. If you fail or fall short somehow, none could have done better."

"You exaggerate my abilities, and I thank you for the kind words. But, I did not mean to make this about me. You said fear being a disappointment, do you doubt your own abilities? You have achieved many successes in your young life, and you show much promise for the future, whatever it may bring."

"We know what it will bring—war, and the expectation that I will lead the race of men through it and after it," Aragorn absently fiddled with Barahir's ring on his finger.

Legolas noticed and was quiet.

"My father spoke to me again of my destiny when I returned," Aragorn said softly, "He speaks of it with more and more frequency. He is waiting, I think, for me to show more initiative in achieving it. The other rangers, they look to me to lead despite the fact that others among them have more experience in such matters. My brothers have shifted their attention away from combat skills in our training sessions to strategy and history. I feel that everyone around me is preparing me for a very specific future, and I do not know whether I want it."

"There are forces at play that are beyond our control," Legolas said, equally softly, "It does no good to dwell on such things. Believe me, I know. All you can do is the best you can with what you have. You can speculate, but you do not yet know what the future will ask of you."

"I fear it will be too much," Aragorn said, "I fear it will be beyond me and that I will disappoint everyone who has given so much for me throughout my life."

Legolas looked Estel directly in the eye, "I think you will do great things, my friend, but you could never disappoint me."

Aragorn looked unconvinced and looked away, "Let us ride from here. These dark thoughts are not right for such a fine day."

The elf recognized the ranger's deflection, but accepted it. For now, he was simply glad that the man had opened up to him, they would discuss this more eventually. For now, if Estel could avoid such upsetting thoughts for a time, the elf would not stop him.

They rode throughout the afternoon, their pace unhurried. Sometimes, they maintained a companionable silence; other times they spoke of lighter subjects than they had in the clearing.

Legolas was laughing at Estel's tale of a harmless but foolish town drunkard's efforts to save barrels of ale from a flash flood when he noticed the trees no longer reached out to him in greeting, but instead whispered of danger. Legolas quieted, and stilled his horse. Aragorn, recognized the look of concentration on his friend's face. He did not speak, but reached almost instinctively for his sword.

The elf reached out with all of his senses, he stilled his breath and strained his ears, narrowed his eyes and searched their surroundings, and opened his mind to the murmuring of the trees. He felt half blinded here, where the trees were not used to the presence of a wood elf. The trees in his home would have provided a far more specific warning far sooner. The trees here were used to neither danger nor such free communication with the elves that wandered beneath their boughs. For although all elves shared an affinity with the natural world, none could connect with the trees so well as the wood elves.

And then he caught it, the sense of darkness from the east. The threat, at first an indistinct darkness, materialized into a more clear picture. "Orcs," he warned, his brow crinkling in confusion, "They move quickly, more quickly than they should—wargs too, perhaps?"

"What of their numbers? Can we fight, or should we run?"

Legolas narrowed his eyes, he could see them now and they did indeed have wargs and set a furious pace, "We risk being overrun, and I would not lead them closer to Imladris. I think they know we are here, they may follow," the threat neared, but the proximity allowed Legolas to pick up more details, "We can defeat them, they number less than twenty. Perhaps it is a scouting party?"

"Only twenty, it hardly seems fair," Aragorn said with a slight smile, "Will there be any left for me after you're done with your bow?"

Legolas glanced at the ranger, "I can spare you a few," he responded, also grinning.

Legolas drew his bow and knocked at arrow, he waited patiently for the foul creatures to come within the wide range of his deadly aim. He released and had drawn and fired his bow again before the first arrow struck an orc in the eye, the second finding the eye of the warg the orc rode. It was foolish of the dark creatures to continue their pursuit against the bow of an elf and a the sword of a ranger. But the chance to slay an elf was too great a temptation for them and they drove forward, heedless of the loss of their own numbers.

The archer continued firing, and with every shot, another orc fell. Aragorn drew his sword, ready to cut down any who made it to them and was met with much thinner ranks than they would have faced but for the elf's bow.

As Aragorn used his sword to eliminate threats near to them, Legolas hung back, still using his bow to limit the number of enemies that made it to Aragorn's waiting blade. He scanned the unorganized ban constantly, but concentrated on the orc's nearest Aragorn as they posed the biggest threat. And because of that, he missed the danger to his friend a moment too late to prevent harm.

Like Legolas, an orc had also hung back, intent to do damage from afar. The orc was pointing a crossbow directly at Aragorn, who did not see the threat. Dread filled Legolas as he realized it was too late: there was no time to disarm or disable the orc, but there might be enough time to save his friend.

The elf reacted almost instantly, taking only the time necessary to order his body to move. Legolas launched himself off of his horse and into the fray as the orc fired. Elf and bolt simultaneously flew through the air toward the unsuspecting human; the bolt was faster, but the elf was closer. Legolas arrived a moment before the deadly projectile, colliding with the unsuspecting ranger and tackling him to the ground. Time seemed to slow down for the elf. He first felt relief at having saved his friend; then pain, as the bolt instead found his own chest; and finally fear that Estel might still be injured by the fall. They landed in a graceless heap, Legolas on top of Estel.

When they hit the ground, the ranger reacted on instinct, turning toward what he perceived to be a threat, pulling a knife from his belt, and wondering how an orc had gotten past Legolas to attack him from so close. It was only reflexes born of training with elves that saved Legolas from a stab wound.

"Legolas," Aragorn gasped in shock, "What…" Aragorn did not know where to begin.

Safe, the thought filtered through Legolas's muddled thoughts; he could not conclude that the ranger was uninjured, but he was well enough to keep fighting. "Crossbow," he choked out, "Behind us."

The elf shoved himself up from the ground, nearly collapsing back on top of Estel when his arm threatened to give out. He gritted his teeth and made it to his knees, pulling the knife from the still stunned ranger's fingers and throwing it thirty yards to strike the orc, who was loading another bolt into his crossbow, in the throat. It fell to the ground, gurgling out its final breath.

Aragorn watched in shock, his eyes widening as they took in the thick black shaft that protruded from Legolas's chest, dangerously near to his heart—the ranger refused to consider the thought that the elf's heart had been struck. Estel pushed past his stunned disbelief and moved, grabbing the sword that he had dropped in the fall and attacking the remaining orcs with a fierce vengeance. Slashing two in the throat and decapitating the final orc before running back and dropping to his knees at his friend's side.

Legolas had remained upright only long enough to ensure Aragorn was well and fell back to the ground as the ranger returned to him. Aragorn dived for his friend, reaching to control the elf's fall and prevent it from worsening the injury. Legolas looked at Aragorn with wide, frightened eyes, seeming to search the ranger, "You are well?"

Estel's face contorted with pain at the question, but not physical pain, "I am well, you foolish, self-sacrificing, irrational elf. Why did you do that, Legolas?" Aragorn bent closer, examining the wound, breathing out a sigh of relief when he was certain that the bolt had indeed missed the elf's heart. He turned the elf slightly, and felt his own heart race as he realized that the bolt had gone all the way through the elf's chest, the point of it sticking out of his back maybe half an inch.

"I did it," Legolas paused to regain his breath before continuing his voice tight with pain, "for you."

"Come on," Aragorn said, moving to stand and bring the elf with him, "We are close to Imladris, we ride there immediately and my father can treat you."

Legolas barked out a cry of pain before abruptly cutting it off as the ranger grabbed his shoulders, ready to help him up. "Wait," he gasped, breathless with pain, "Wait."

"Legolas, we cannot delay, this is serious. We must go back, it is our best hope."

Legolas grasped his friend's hands with fading strength. "Take it out," he pleaded.

Estel felt his heart break, "I cannot, not here. The blood loss would be too dangerous, it is better to leave it, you know this. I will keep pressure on the wound while we ride and then my father will help you."

"No," Legolas shook his head, "It…it n-needs to come out. There is," a paused for breath again and Aragorn began to suspect an injury to his lung, "something wrong."

Fear shot through the ranger. Legolas did not want to say the word aloud, but Estel had no such qualms, "Poison?"

Legolas nodded jerkily, "I fear so. It—it feels wrong. Something is amiss."

"Alright," Estel responded, forcing himself to calm, to remember his training as a healer, "What, exactly is amiss?" He did not doubt the elf, but wanted to know the first symptoms the elf was feeling to help determine the cause of the problem.

"It is difficult to breath," the elf said slowly, "And I feel more tired than I should, the blood loss is not so bad…"

Aragorn's pack had been discarded before the fight, he reached out and dragged it to him and pulled a small dagger and bandages from it. Using the dagger, he cut away Legolas's tunic. The bolt was most the way through the elf, only a few inches of the shaft and the fletching stuck out from the elf's chest. "I need you to sit up," Aragorn said, gently pulling on the elf's shoulders, stopping only when Legolas rested against him. Part of the arrow's head stuck out of the elf's back, "Oh, Legolas…"

Orcs, ever inventive in their cruelty, frequently barbed their bolts and arrows. Aragorn could not say for sure, but he suspected this too was barbed. If he was correct, pulling out would only cause more damage and further endanger the elf's lungs and heart.

"Legolas, can you tell if…" he trailed off, not wanting to ask.

"It's barbed?" Legolas answered, his voice tight and breathless, "No, I do not know."

"If it is…"

"I know. Do it quickly."

Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, knowing that he would cause his friend more pain. He picked up the dagger again and cut the fletching off of the arrow. He then put the flat part of the blade on the end of the arrow, still balancing Legolas in his precarious seated position.

"On three," Aragorn said, "One, two—" he pushed against the dagger, forcing the bolt the rest of the way through the exist wound in the elf's back. A cry of pain was torn from Legolas's lips. His entire body went rigid and Aragorn could see the outline of every formidable muscle in the archer's shoulders and back as he fought to stay still when every instinct he had urged him to try to escape the pain. Aragorn was grateful that his friend succeeded in holding still, he was not sure he could have restrained the wounded elf.

As soon as the entirety of the bolt's head was exposed, the healer changed tactics, grabbing it and pulling it swiftly but smoothly. It proved too much for the elf's considerable pain tolerance, and he passed out; his tense body suddenly relaxed, his lolling forward onto Aragorn's shoulder. Aragorn wanted the throw the offending object as far from them as he could, but he knew that would help no one. He set it next to him carefully, knowing his father would use it to try to identify whatever poison or toxin that might be on it. He wasted no effort trying to do that here—he did not have the supplies to treat such a malady here in any case and he would not waste time. Hastily, but dexterously, he bandaged the wounds. This was no skillful healing, this was battlefield medicine. It was not meant to cure, it was intended only to keep the patient alive long enough to allow true healing.

Aragorn debated only for a moment before pulling the elf's torn and bloodied tunic back onto him. There was no reason to ruin another one and the tunic would be welcome if Legolas, a stranger to cold, developed a fever.

He was fortunate that the horses had not wandered in the minutes that had passed since the fight had ended. He quickly secured both of their packs to Legolas's horse, who kept glancing between the elf and Aragorn, seeming to understand that all was not well.

Moving back to the elf, Aragorn lifted him gently, glad for his friend's slender build. Awkwardly, but carefully, he lifted Legolas onto his horse and climbed up behind him, making sure to keep a good grip on his friend as he did so.

Once mounted, he clucked his tongue and urged his horse into a gallop toward Imladris. Legolas's horse followed without prompting, unwilling to be left behind if his master was leaving.

The ride back was hellish for both elf and ranger. Legolas regained lucidity shortly after they started riding. Estel wished he had not. Although the horse stepped with care, every bobble and sway caused Legolas to tense with pain. The closer they got to Imladris, the more Legolas slipped away from reality. His wound throbbed ceaselessly, he shivered despite the warmth of the summer evening, and his lungs seemed to be fighting against him.

"Aragorn?" Legolas said weakly.

"Yes, my friend," Aragorn replied.

"If this does not end well," Legolas paused to take a breath, "You need to know and, more importantly," another worrying pause to breathe, "You need to believe that it was not your fault."

Aragorn closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the emotion he felt building within him. He tightened his hold on the elf, refusing to let go in any way, "It will end well, Legolas. Stay awake, don't give up."

"Stay awake," Legolas murmured, as though to himself, "I won't give up, but I fear whatever fell toxin the orcs used may overcome me."

"Did something change?"

Legolas hesitated before answering, "My hands and feet tingle, and it grows more difficult to breathe."

"Relax your muscles, tension will not help with the breathing. Hang on my friend, we'll be home soon." This was not entirely a lie. They were mere hours from Imladris, not days. Estel hoped they were close enough, "Show me that elven strength I've heard so much about all my life."

The elf's shoulders shook with his slight chuckle.

Aragorn pulled him closer again. "Just breathe," he whispered, "and stay awake."

They continued to ride, and eventually Legolas let his head rest limply on the ranger's shoulder.

"Legolas? Are you with me?"

Legolas turned his head toward Aragorn's voice, but did not answer. He found he could not, he had no breath to waste on words.

Aragorn listened with mounting fear to the elf's labored breathing—each shallow breathe sounded unnatural and strained, "Stay awake, Legolas, stay awake and breathe. You don't need to speak."

The words floated to Legolas as though through a fog, stay awake, stay awake, breathe, stay awake. Staying awake and breathing—these tasks should be so simple, but both were presently a struggle.

Comfort for Legolas was now of little concern, they had to get home. Aragorn urged his horse faster.

End note: That's all for now; hope you enjoyed it! I'll be back next week with the second and final chapter!

-Cool Breeze