'Sindarin (Elvish)'

"Westron (Common Speech)"

/Personal Thoughts/

Rating: K+/T

Time Period: TTT

Warnings: This takes place mostly in the movieverse. It is also somewhat AU because there is no mention of Arwen or the Evenstar pendant. You can translate this however you will, but there are men kissing men on the lips here, so if you're squeamish, you can skip that part--but please enjoy the story all the same!

Summary: We all know that Arwen came to Aragorn on the river bank, but what if it had been another Elf, instead? Or rather, Elfling…

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe, it all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

.:Unwitting Angel:.

by Sentimental Star

A child, fair of hair and fair of face, crouched at the edge of the river's bank and stared wide-eyed at the still form that floated there. His Ada and their troops had been crossing these Plains, leaving behind the Grey Havens where…

The child squeezed his eyes shut tightly and vigorously shook his head. No. He did not want to go there. Unconsciously, his small hand reached up to grasp the smoothly polished, pale green stone that hung around his neck upon a mithril chain.

They had been crossing these Plains. The gelding that had been his mount spooked when one of the wild horses that roamed these open lands ventured a little too close. The young horse had shied to the edge of one of the many precipices that followed the river, unseating his rider. The child had been saved only by a deep, sandy part of the river, though indeed, from the small twinge at the base of his neck, he knew he had not escaped completely unscathed.

Barely into his thirty-fifth year of life, the Elfling—for Elfling he was—had not full grasp on his limbs…or his swimming. He knew enough to keep afloat, but the river had carried him far from his father's company. His clothes were now mostly dry, but his blond hair, at his chin as it was, still remained, if not wet, at least damp, and he shivered slightly as the cool wind blew against his sensitive ear tips. His father promised that once he grew into his majority, he no longer would need to worry about the weather, but right now, he felt it keenly, in spite of the late afternoon sun.

But still he did not move. Half-hesitant, half-fascinated, he edged closer to the darkly-clad figure caught up on the pebbly shore and drifting slightly in the absence of a strong current. The being's eyes remained shut, and by looking at his ears—for it must be a he—the child could tell that this person (he thought it was a person) was no Elf. The older Elves had mentioned something about Men—and Atani—perhaps this was one of them? And he looked like he could use some help…

Tentatively, he reached out a tiny hand (the other still gripped his pendant), hooked his small fingers into the being's coat, and tugged.

The Man—he was almost certain it was a Man—gave a low groan.

Startled, the Elfling jumped back, releasing his hold on the other being's clothes.

That perhaps was not such a good idea, for what little jostling he had done, had forced the Man towards the main current again.

'No!' came the soft, frustrated cry. It was the first he had spoken, and echoed eerily among the rocks surrounding them.

Quickly jumping forward, he splashed into the river up to his knees and seized the Man's shoulders, gripping tightly the fabric (it felt like leather), and starting the long—rather laborious—drag towards the shore.

The water helped, but he was still very small compared to the Man, who seemed so very big right now. After much falling and sputtering, slipping and sliding, he managed to drag his burden up onto a completely dry shore, flopping down on the sun-warmed stones beside him.

He blew out a tired breath, impatiently brushing away a once more wet strand of golden hair…then tensed as the Man stirred and drew in a deep breath. Biting his tongue, he stifled his surprised gasp as the eyes cracked open and peered hazily up at him.

The voice was hoarse when it spoke to him in his own language, but the silver eyes were warm. 'Are you a messenger of the Valar, little one, sent to guide me thither?'

The Elfling finally found his tongue. 'You are no Elf.' The confusion was evident in his voice.

The Man chuckled softly. 'Aye, I am Edan, and of the Dúnedain. But Elves are my family.'

'Quendi do not raise Atani,' the Elfling spoke accusingly.

The Man simply chuckled again, although clearly it was pained. 'Then surely you must not have heard of Lord Elrond.'

'Of course I have!' the Elfling exclaimed indignantly. 'Ada says he's a great Elf Lord!'

There was more quiet laughter. The Man's eyes, open a bit wider now, twinkled merrily at him. 'Aye, and a wonderful adar, too.'

The Elfling subsided, cocking his head thoughtfully to the side. 'You love him.' It was not a question.

The Man's lips tugged slowly upwards into an indulgent smile. 'Aye, I do,' he agreed. 'Very much so.'

The Elfling, of course, did not find it odd that they were having this conversation when the Man was in such a critical condition. Yet, he was reminded of it when a sudden series of harsh coughs wracked—what was that word his Ada used? Wracked the mortal's frame.

Feeling bolder than before, now that he had seen the kindness of this mortal's heart in the warmth of his words and the dancing of his eyes, the Eldar child reached out and placed a gentle hand on his companion's cold cheek. Or what was supposed to be a cold cheek, for under his fingertips, it felt burning hot to the touch.

The young brow furrowed in confusion. It felt almost like his Nana's when—

Pain flashed across his face and he shook his head violently, quickly shoving it away. Later. Not now. Not ever if he had anything to say about it.

But the Man's eyes were quick, and he had caught it, even though by rights he should not have.

Slowly, and with great effort, the Dúnadan raised his own hand and cupped it tenderly around the Elfling's smooth cheek. 'What pains you so, little one?' he rasped softly.

Midnight eyes, achingly familiar, widened greatly before abruptly filling with tears. 'Nana, she-she…' the Elfling began choking out, but was unable to go any further. At the kindness and compassion in the mortal's eyes, his tears overflowed, and sobbing dully and faintly, he turned his face against the Man's hand, clinging to it with both of his own.

Understanding a great deal more than the Elfling had probably wished, the Dúnadan tried—and ultimately failed—to at least gain his elbow, but ended up collapsing back down on the stones, cracking the back of his head none too gently against the rock. After a few dizzying moments of disorientation, all went black.

When the Man's hand went slack against his face, the still rather upset Elfling gave an anguished shriek that caused the very stones to cringe.

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

When the Dúnadan next awoke, it was to find his pack gone, his body pleasantly warm, and many of his aches eased. He had vague memories of a crying child, and remembered that child to be an Elfling, but so much more comfortable was he than before that he loathed to open his eyes just, yet.

But a shriek of delighted laughter roused him at last.

Cracking his eyes open, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, peered around the…well, he believed it was a cave…searching for the source of that laughter. And had to smile as he found it.

The blond Elfling had ended up rump down on the cave's floor, and was being nuzzled to death by a spotted beige gelding who had somehow managed to enter the earthen chamber they were in. Right beside the gelding stood none other than his faithful Brego.

Brego, apparently sensing his Human friend to be awake, gave a pleased snort and a happy stomp of one front hoof, before making his way over to the Ranger where the Man lay on the floor near the fire and nudged the Dúnadan companionably.

Aragorn smiled, reaching his arm up with a little effort, and patted the stallion's strong neck. 'Mae govaennen, Brego. Mellon-nin (Well met, Brego. My friend).'

Glancing around to better take stock of their surroundings, he found his smile widening as his gaze came to rest once again on the Elfling who watched him intently across the fire. 'Vedui, penneth (Greetings, young one),' he called softly, with only the faintest rasp to his voice. 'Have you slept this night?'

Silently, the child crept closer to him and nodded, glancing embarrassedly down to his hands where he shyly fingered a small cloak—clearly the Elfling's own—that had been laid over the Ranger.

Managing to gain a sitting position, Aragorn fell lightly against Brego's side and stayed there, using it for support. Crooking a finger under the Elfling's chin, he gently lifted the child's face so he could gaze into the dark, expressive eyes. Smiling tenderly, he lightly thumbed the young one's nose, eliciting a reluctant grin. 'There now. You look much better with a smile. I do not mind being used as a pillow, tithen mellon (little friend), but it surely cannot have been very comfortable for you.'

'I did not mind,' the child spoke with quiet honesty. 'You make a good pillow.'

Aragorn laughed softly. 'So I have oft been told.' Smoothing the Elfling's golden hair out of his eyes, the Dúnadan fixed him with an earnest look. 'Lle tyava quel, penneth (Do you feel well, young one)?'

'My neck stings a little,' the child admitted truthfully, not wanting to lie to the Man.

'Well, let me see,' the Ranger cajoled warmly.

Obediently, the Elfling turned and, bending his head forward, brushed his hair away from the back of his neck.

Aragorn hissed quietly through his teeth when he saw the thin, jagged cut. Not terribly deep, nor even, terribly large, but enough of a cut to cause some discomfort. The skin around it was hot to the touch and dried blood still caked it. 'Aye, I could see how that would sting,' he murmured. 'If I but had my pack…'

'But you do,' the child piped up, straightening and once more turning to face him. At the Man's curious smile, the Elfling blushed and looked back down, fidgeting with his hands. 'It was not very comfortable,' he whispered sheepishly.

This time Aragorn full out laughed, tilting his head back. 'Nay, I suppose 'twas not!' he replied mirthfully.

When the Elfling perked up at his response, the Dúnadan smiled. 'Will you please bring me my pack, then?'

With a hesitant smile and another nod, the Elfling scurried off to fetch it.

'Blessed Elbereth,' murmured to himself in amusement, fondly shaking his head as he watched the child search a moment before finding what he sought. 'The Valar's child he may be, but angel he is, as well.'

'Who is it that you speak of?' the child asked inquisitively as he rejoined the Ranger.

The affectionate smile he was graced with caused the small Elf to blush.

'A very brave young Elfling whom I am quite sure saved my life this past night,' Aragorn replied playfully and yet with all seriousness, giving his tiny companion a knowing look.

If possible, the little Eldar blushed harder. 'You're welcome,' he whispered.

Aragorn grinned, and gently taking the child's tiny shoulders into his rather larger hands, turned him around. 'Now, to see to that cut of yours,' he muttered.

There was silence for a few moments as the Man mixed together a mild ointment, using herbs from his pack and a water skin the child had thoughtfully supplied him with. However, as he prepared to apply both the ointment and a covering, Aragorn began to speak again, 'Tell me, little one, how is it that you found this cave?'

The child shrugged as much as he was able. 'I just…found it. 'Twas already dug out. There was wood in one corner, and tinder. Blankets, too.'

Glancing to the side as he spread the ointment, the Ranger finally noticed the blanket he had been laying upon. 'Ah,' he murmured. Things suddenly made a bit more sense. Particularly the two horses' ability to fit within here when normally they should not have. It was clearly a dugout for the Rohirrim who roamed these lands, or for a weary traveler should one happen along. He spoke to the child again, 'Then 'twas good luck, indeed, that you found it.' He tied off the cloth covering (lifting what appeared to be a necklace's chain as he did so) and with a pat to the Elfling's shoulder, let him go. 'There, penneth. Finished.'

The Elfling—having gathered his hair up once again—now let it fall across the bandage and turned to face his clearly older companion. 'Hannon lle (Thank you),' he responded quietly.

Aragorn shook his head, reaching out to tenderly stroke the tiny Elf's hair. 'Aiya, penneth, you need not thank me. 'Tis the least I can do. You are more than welcome.'

They merely watched each other for a few moments, midnight locked on silver, as the Dúnadan continued to run his hand through the child's golden hair. As the Elfling looked at the Man, he noticed the mortal's gaze deepened into something much more than simple affection—although that was still puzzling in itself. Perhaps it was that confusion which made him speak again: 'Why do you look at me that way?'

The Ranger startled, hesitating in his ministrations. 'Little one?' he questioned.

'You love me,' the child remarked wonderingly.

Aragorn resumed his gentle strokes, shaking his head in bemusement. 'Perhaps I do, penneth, though I shan't be able to quite explain why. I have always enjoyed children. And you are a very special child. 'Tis not everyday one so small saves one so heavy.'

His words at last elicited a giggle from his young companion. 'You're not that heavy.'

The Man sighed in mock-sorrow. 'Alas, I do not believe my brothers would quite agree with you.' He dropped his chin into his free hand as he reflected on an afterthought, 'My best friend, either.'

Gingerly, he untangled his fingers from the Elfling's silky blond hair, causing several wayward strands to fall into the young Elf's eyes.

Impatiently (and with slight exasperation), the child blew them out of his line of vision. They merely fell right back into place.

Chuckling softly, Aragorn once more took up his pack and, after rooting around a few moments, emerged with a few of his leather hair ties. Resting his hand once more on the Elfling's head, eyes glinting with amusement, he offered, 'Shall I fix that for you?'

'Yes, please.'

Taking up an even amount of strands, Aragorn deftly began braiding along the Elfling's temples. 'My best friend taught me this,' he advised the Elfling softly. 'Once, when he was injured so badly that he could not reach up to do his hair, he asked me to help him.'

'Is he an Elf?' the child wanted to know.

Aragorn smiled. 'Aye, he is. And I love him dearly. More than I probably have a right to. You remind me of him, actually.'

'He is very lucky,' the small Elf observed quietly.

'No more than I am to have him,' Aragorn countered, voice equally soft.

As he continued to braid the Elfling's hair, he quietly regaled the child with stories of the adventures (though the Peredhil twins would call themmisadventures) that he had had with the Sindar Prince.

Once he finished, the young one reached up and gingerly touched the braid at the side of his head, glancing up at the Dúnadan in awe. 'My Naneth used to braid my hair like this,' he whispered. 'Before she—before we left her…let her go at the Grey Havens.'

This brought Aragorn up short. As he ducked to look the tiny Elf in the eyes, he noticed tears stood in their midnight depths, the hurt swirling there all too recent. 'She has not really left you, you know,' the Ranger murmured finally.

'But she's gone,' the Elfling choked out miserably.

'Not really,' Aragorn repeated softly, resting his hand over the little one's heart. 'She's still here.' He tapped the Elfling's chest for emphasis. 'Right here. And if you remember that, she will never ever really leave you. Besides, you will see her again. Perhaps not for many years, but when you, too, travel across the sea…'

'She'll be waiting?'

Aragorn smiled. 'She'll be waiting.'

The Elfling finally smiled back. 'And I'll see her again.'

'And you'll see her again,' Aragorn agreed, gently drawing the child into his arms.

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

(Some Time Later)

The child was sniffling slightly, and Aragorn felt a twinge somewhere in the region of his heart.

The fire was long ago put out—the blankets folded, the wood restocked. And now they stood in the entrance to the earthen cave. The sun had at last dawned, and it was well nigh the time for him to start riding for Helm's Deep. This meant, of course, that they must part ways.

Carefully, still rather unsteady on his feet, Aragorn crouched down in front of the Elfling. 'I would take you with me,' the Human murmured, running his hand once more through the child's silky blond hair, 'but a besieged land is no place for an Eldar child. Make haste for Rivendell, penneth. Your gelding knows the way. Once there, tell Lord Elrond and his sons that Estel sent you, and sends with you his love. They can help you find your family.'

'Estel?' the child questioned thickly, clearing his throat and rubbing away a few treacherous tears.

'Strange name, I know, but 'tis mine all the same,' Aragorn replied with a lopsided smile.

'I like it…Estel,' the Elfling murmured to himself.

The Dúnadan's smile turned wistful. 'So do I, corthalion (strong heart). I would that it be my only name, but…'

The small Elf tilted his head curiously. 'Aren't you still? I mean, 'twas your first name. That you knew, anyway. So should you not still belong to it? You will always be Estel, no matter what other names you take up or wherever you travel…'

Aragorn sat back on his haunches, shaking his head in fond amazement as he regarded the Elfling. 'I suppose so, tithen mellon,' he murmured. Reaching out, he gently drew the child's head forward and placed a soft kiss on the young brow.

When he pulled back, the Elfling's eyes were filled with tears. Before he could so much as soothe the child, the tiny Eldar launched himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around the Man's neck.

With quiet grunt of surprise, Aragorn found himself knocked backwards against Brego's warm flank and just barely managed to steady the two of them against it as he returned the hug, face softening.

'I will miss you,' the Elfling choked, voice quiet.

Aragorn kissed the child's forehead again, stroking the silky blond tresses. 'As will I,' the Man murmured. 'But know, little one, that if I survive this war—and I mean to—I will find you again.'

The Elfling sniffed, tightening his hold. 'Lle vesta (Do you promise)?'

The Ranger gently squeezed his small companion. 'Im vesta (I promise).' Tenderly, he released the young Elf and set him back on his feet. Bowing his head and pressing his hand to his heart, he swept his arm forward. 'Lissen ar' maska lalaith tenna' lye omentuva, astalder (Sweet water and light laughter 'til next we meet, valiant one).'

As he went to draw away, the Elfling suddenly seized his hand, quickly yanking off something from around his neck. 'Wait! Please take this! That way you'll remember me…' He pressed an object, smooth and cool to the touch, into the Man's palm.

Aragorn smiled at the child, lightly chucking his chin. 'Remember you?' he whispered. 'How could I forget?' He loosened his fist and glanced down to find a delicate necklace coiled in his palm…before his head jumped up, eyes bright with gratitude as he understood that this beautiful piece of craftsmanship was a gift from this rather remarkable child.

Snaking out an arm, he again brought the Elfling towards him and held the small Elf for the span of a heartbeat. 'Hannon lle,' he spoke softly into the pointed ear. 'Amin harmuva onalle e' coramin (Thank you. I shall treasure your gift in my heart).'

Some time later, as he rode away, he twisted around in his saddle as much as he dared to catch one last glimpse of his bright-eyed young savior. Yet when he looked, neither child nor gelding was there any longer.

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

(Two Days Later, Helm's Deep)

"He's alive!"

"He's a miracle!"

"He's survived!"

Then the horns, sounding from one rampart to another…

Helm's Deep was a commotion when he arrived. Yet, as he clattered along the flagstone pathways of the Hornburg and into an inner courtyard, there finally pulling to a halt, the hubbub of a dozen conversations, and a dozen more cries, were silenced as those within its walls took note of him, and his very much alive state.

Sliding less than gracefully off Brego's back, and once more using the stallion's warm side for balance, Aragorn gazed around at the at the dozens of eyes trained on him with a sheepish (rather embarrassed), half-smile. Clearing his throat, he requested, "If someone might see to my horse…"

The courtyard erupted. Laughter, cheers, and cries of, "Well met, Lord!" filled the air.

Someone did indeed come forward to take Brego's reins, leading the stalwart stallion off for some well deserved rest.

Aragorn tried to do the same, but as he headed through the people thronging the courtyard, many, many reached out to pat his back. Or his shoulder. Or his arm. And, of course, he had to stop and greet whoever it was with a smile or a nod.

In the mean time, those who had already made their greetings drifted off and the stone walls once again rang with the Rohirrim's voices. But there was laughter there now, relief. They did not even know the news he bore, and yet, already they were more at ease than he had ever seen them.

Truthfully, he was slightly overwhelmed by how clearly happy these men and women were to see him. Children he had never seen before, nor ever met, scampered out between the grown-ups and hugged his legs, then chased each other away and into the midst of those around them, laughing and chattering. Men, women, many who had been on the trail with him, and many who had not, smiled brightly at him before going about their work.

Was this what it was like to be king of a country? A good king? To be amidst your people, to share in their joys and cares?

This…actually was not so bad, now that he thought about it…

'Honestly, Estel! You will probably be the most dysfunctional king anyone has ever heard of. You love people—both those who are yours and those who are not—and love them with a fierceness that allows you to die for them with little thought. You walk among them, not as a king among men, but as a person, not so very different from them at all. And yet, with you, wherever your travels take you, you bring hope. Valor. Courage…Don't try to refute me—'tis true. Frankly, mellon-nin, even if you were in the poorest, most destitute village on Middle-Earth, if you shed your Ranger clothes and your Elven garb, and donned the clothing that the villagers there wore, you would still be pinned within moments as one possessed of the blood of kings and great men. I know not why you doubt your strength or your ability to govern fair and wisely. You are Estel, and 'tis much more than a mere name that I speak of. You always will be.'

/Aiya, mellon-nin,/ Aragorn thought, shaking his head in fond amazement as he recalled those words. /You spoke so freely of my fears, and only now, years later, do I understand completely what you meant./

It was therefore no surprise that, when a familiar, gruff voice cut through the din as he made his way into the Keep, whatever tension had been haunting him since he had taken leave of the Elfling on the riverbank at last started to flee. "Where is he? Oooh, I'm going to kill him! I'll kill him!"

And there, charging through the masses, came Gimli, son of Glóin, and following in his wake, Legolas Thranduilion.

Both parties halted abruptly, mere feet from each other.

The Dwarf, oblivious to the fact that both Elf and Man were fighting very hard not to cry—already too far gone himself—let an enormous grin split his face in half as he fully took in the bedraggled Ranger. The stout man's eyes twinkled brightly as he gave a deep-bellied laugh. "You are, without a doubt, the luckiest, the cunningest, and the most reckless Man I have ever met!" He gave another great guffaw and finally came forward, hugging the wayward Dúnadan for all he was worth. "Bless you, laddie! Bless you!"

"Well met, my friend," Aragorn wheezed back, trying to breathe around the Dwarf's powerful hug. Working an arm out, he patted Gimli's shoulder, unable to much more than that.

"Well met?" the Dwarf rumbled, stepping back with a huge smile. "Well met indeed!" he laughed heartily.

Aragorn grinned tiredly and went to give a dry retort…when a slim hand touched his injured shoulder.

Swiftly he turned and trapped the slender appendage within his own, finding himself on level with suspiciously bright midnight eyes. "Ara--" the fair being began...but got no further before he was yanked into a firm hug. "--gorn," he finished, voice but a breath, slightly shocked. The lump in his throat, which the Silvan Elf had been beating back and beating back, now swelled, and the first wash of tears spilled over and out of the Eldar's eyes, falling to land on the very much solid, and very much real, Man's neck.

"Legolas," Aragorn breathed out heavily, gratefully burying his face in the silky blond strands against his cheek and inhaling his beloved friend's scent. All final traces of tension fled.

The prince's hands crumpled as he tightly gripped the fabric of Aragorn's dark leather coat and hid his own face. 'Lle ab dollen (You are late),' he choked, smiling widely against the broad shoulder.

Aragorn's shoulders shook a little as he laughed into Legolas's hair, finally pulling back the prince to regard his best friend with sparkling silver eyes. Taking the Eldar's face tenderly into his hands, he caught a trickling tear with his thumb.

A second, slightly more wobbly smile was the response he received. "You look terrible, you know," the Elf spoke thickly in Westron.

"Aye, I know," Aragorn chuckled lightly. He ran his hand through the Silvan archer's silken tresses, pushing several errant strands out of his face and, leaning forward, pressed a warm kiss to his beloved friend's forehead. "I've missed you," he suddenly murmured.

The prince gave a strangled laugh and, surprising his Human friend immensely, promptly threw his arms around the Man's neck, hugging him tightly. "Aragorn, of all the inane things to say…!"

"What?" the Dúnadan wanted to know, actually pouting. "'Tis true!"

This time it was Legolas's turn to pull back and cup the Man's face in his hands, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. They did nothing, however, to dim the brightness of the smile the prince bestowed upon the Ranger as he shook his head in affectionate amusement. "You are incorrigible," he managed.

Aragorn affected an air of injured dignity and looked away. "Hmph. Well, 'tis nice to know I am loved around here."

The Silvan Elf's reaction was quite the opposite from what the Man was expecting. His face was suddenly—and quite forcefully—grabbed and turned towards the prince. Before Aragorn could so much as ask what was wrong, he abruptly found his Elven best friend's lips being crushed against his own.

"Legolas?" he gasped in astonishment when the Firstborn finally released him.

Furious midnight eyes met his own wide silver ones. "Don't you ever say that again! Don't you ever do that again! Do you have any idea how much you scared me?" The Silvan Elf's voice shook as he switched over to Sindarin, 'Coramin lindua ele lle, Estel. Oio naa elea lle alasse'! (My heart sings to see you, Estel. Ever is thy sight a joy!)'

Perhaps they could have ended it there, and the prince could have regained his badly shaken composure. But the look on Aragorn's face was so awed, so touched, and so incredibly tender that Legolas completely lost what little self-control he had had to begin with.

By the time the Dúnadan had engulfed him in another embrace, the Silvan Elf was outright sobbing, his shoulders heaving with every hitched breath. He weakly pounded his fists against Aragorn's chest, weeping quietly and softly trembling. 'Amin mela lle,' he choked. 'Amin mela lle (I love you).'

Briefly squeezing his eyes shut against his own tears, Aragorn tightened his hold on his distraught, beloved friend. Originally, he had planned on seeking out King Théoden after first assuring Legolas and Gimli of his continued survival. But Legolas, clearly, needed him more right now.

Opening his eyes again, he searched out Gimli who had thus far been warding off any unwelcome attention and who, in all honesty (and some guilt), he had temporarily forgotten.

Seeing his searching gaze, the Dwarf stumped over, face softening as he took in his two friends. "Aye, laddie? What do you need me to do?"

"I have a message for Théoden. Would you be able to take it? I dare not leave him like this." He nodded meaningfully to the dully sobbing Elf in his arms.

"Think you that I would refuse after seeing the two of you together?" Gimli asked with a small, warm smile.

Aragorn's face relaxed dramatically. "Thank you, Gimli," he murmured sincerely.

Once the Dwarf took off with the news, the Ranger drew his best friend into a side room—this one looking to be an extra armory room of some sort. Luckily, no one was in it at the moment besides the two of them.

Finding a spare crate, he dropped down onto it, bringing Legolas with him. The still-crying Elf practically collapsed into his lap, letting out all the pain, fear, and grief of the past three days.

Unable to speak around the block in his throat, Aragorn had to content himself with simply stroking the Wood-Elf's hair in the most comforting manner possible.

Finally, after what seemed like hours (although the Ranger well-knew it was but a half hour at most), Legolas's tears eased. The archer, however, did not move his head or upper torso from where they lay in the Man's lap, drained and exhausted from letting his emotions run their course.

When the Elf's sobs subsided until they were naught but occasional hiccups for air, Aragorn leaned down and kissed the fair head. 'Lle naa quel (Are you well)?' he murmured.

A weary Legolas sat back on his heels, posture straightening, and nodded heavily. Shakily rubbing the residual tears away with the heels of his palms, he cleared his throat and lifted his head. 'I am well, Estel.'

'I think, then, mellon-nin, that we ought to move away from here. Others will want use of this room soon,' Aragorn advised softly.

'I would that you let me treat your wound, Estel,' the Silvan Elf requested quietly, as he gently helped his beloved Human companion to his feet.

''Tis but a mere scratch, Legolas--' Aragorn began to protest.

'Please,' the Elf quite nearly begged, causing the Man to pull up short.

The Ranger heaved a sigh, and shook his head fondly. 'All right, mellon-nin. All right.' He touched the prince's still damp cheek. 'And sorry I ever let you become this unwound.'

A slight arm curled itself around his waist as Legolas pulled him to lean against his side, hold tight, as they made their way out of the armory door and back into the passageways. 'Do not apologize,' the Wood-Elf murmured. 'You could hardly have foreseen that attack by Wargs.' The fear and the grief still a little too near to the Elven heart, Legolas quickly switched subjects. 'What happened, Estel?'

'Well, I fell off a cliff…' Aragorn started impishly.

A wry, pained look let him know that that particular response was not terribly appreciated at the moment.

'All right, Legolas,' the Dúnadan sighed again in defeat, now serious. 'Do not fret so. You have every right to, I know. But I am here now. Take your ease, quel mellon-nin. As to how I came to be here…' He suddenly smiled. 'Well, I do believe I met an angel…'

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

When he finished his tale, Aragorn was sitting on a cot in a makeshift treatment room. Legolas was kneeling in front of him, cleaning up the injuries the Ranger had sustained, which were indeed minor. Amazingly. And the Dúnadan quite firmly believed that had everything to do with the mysterious Elfling he had met.

Now that the story was through, Legolas tied off the final bandage and set aside the materials he had been using, gaze thoughtful and slightly distracted.

It was a peculiar look for his friend, and Aragorn wanted to know what was going on behind those beautiful midnight eyes, so strikingly similar to…

He froze. /Wait. It can't be. There's no possible way--!/ 'Mellon-nin?' he asked (slightly apprehensively), reaching out to lightly touch the slim hands.

Legolas snapped out of whatever strange trance he had fallen into and offered the Human a small smile. 'Sorry, Estel. Just an odd thought that did not quite connect…Years and years ago when I was traveling these lands with my adar and our company, I, too, met an angel. Or at least I called him so when Ada found me.' Absent-mindedly, he handed the Ranger a pack of lembas and a waterskin.

"Eat some, Estel. Drink a little," he murmured in Westron, before once more continuing, "I had fallen into a river, you see, after my mount spooked." Aragorn gratefully bit into the Elven way-bread that had been a staple of his childhood as Legolas continued, "I found him floating in that river, half-drowned, and somehow (with a great deal of luck), managed to pull him out and get him through the night. We had just left my mother at the sea." The Wood-Elf smiled sadly at the Man. "And I was very much hurting over it. He, once he woke up and still only half-recovered, told me exactly what I told you when you found out about Gilraen and Arathorn—adjusted slightly, of course. And comforted me, near-stranger that he was. 'Twas he who also taught me how to braid my hair as it is now, though, indeed, my Nana was the first braid it as such."

At this point, Legolas failed to notice Aragorn suddenly choking on the lemba he had eaten, midnight eyes in the past, "When 'twas time for us to part—he off to a war, and me off to Rivendell—I gave him my mother's necklace. So he would not forget me, I told him." The Wood-Elf shook his head in amusement. "He gave me in return, a simple message to deliver to Lord Elrond and the twins. Elbereth, how confused they must have been when I told them that "hope" had sent me. But I like to think, Aragorn, that 'twas perhaps one of your ancestors who helped me that day."

Aragorn's response was coughing and hacking as he continued to choke on the way-bread.

Finally taking note of this, Legolas raised an amused eyebrow as he lightly pounded the Man's back. 'You know, Estel,' he remarked dryly in Sindarin, 'choking on a lemba is really not conducive to your health.'

But the Ranger merely sputtered out around a cough, 'That was you?!'

Wide-eyed with astonishment, Legolas stared at his Human friend. 'Come again?' he finally managed.

Quickly, trying to be careful at the same time, Aragorn yanked off the pendant he was wearing around his neck and thrust it into the prince's hands.

Throat once more feeling alarmingly thick, the Wood-Elf closely examined it—mithril, intricately designed, smooth pale green stone, twinkling as if he had just seen it yesterday, not over two thousand yesteryears ago. He choked, head jumping up and midnight eyes locking on silver. 'Naneth's necklace.'

The Dúnadan carefully slipped off the cot and knelt on the floor with his best friend, gently gripping his life-long companion's wrists and tears standing in his own eyes as he gazed tenderly back at the prince. 'Late?' he at last managed, echoing Legolas's earlier words. He gave a rakish grin, tears welling over and trickling down his cheeks. 'Aye, over two thousand years late. But I found you at last, penneth, as promised. Mayhap you remember me?'

'Remember you?' Legolas replied thickly, voice wavering as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Aragorn's, the necklace clasped between them. 'How could I forget?'

I Veth (The End)!