A/N: Welcome to this story if you haven't seen it before! If you are an old reader coming to refresh your memory, I want to let you know that I'm doing some house cleaning. I'm going through my old stories and doing some editing here and there. Nothing has changed content-wise. Just made this more readable. Enjoy!

Prologue

He should have been tired.

After all, he had been hunting the Orcs that had captured Merry and Pippin for two days and one night without rest.

He had pretended to fall asleep in front of the elf and the dwarf, but as soon as he had closed his eyes, the images of loss and hurt filled his mind so he had to turn on his side to not let his companions know that he was still awake.

The dwarf's heavy snores, the buzzing of night insects, and even the winds of Rohan blowing through the tall grass seemed to be amplified tenfold. The man longed to cover his ears from the mocking cries of nature. However, he knew that no matter how hard he tried to block out the screams of the night, he could never suppress the blood-curdling scream that resounded in his heart.

Aragorn could hold it together no longer, and opened his eyes, determined not to sleep and looked out from their shelter, into vast Rohan, home of the horse lords. The crescent moon leered at him from the sky and the laughing stars seemed to be ridiculing his past.

Legolas lay on his bedroll, eyes open, hands folded, and unmoving, every detail the sleeping form of an elf. But his mind was clear and the land of dreams held no pleasure for him that night. He did not really need sleep, in the sense that mortals did, and he only rested because Aragorn and Gimli must. He could dwell in dreams even as he walked open-eyed, and he was not physically tired, though the continued thoughts of the two little hobbits in the arms of Orcs was mentally and emotionally taxing.

He listened as his friend twisted and turned in his blanket, unable to sleep, but unaware that any other was aware of his plight. Legolas could only guess at what was bothering the man, who had been withdrawn and morose ever since Boromir's death and Merry and Pippin's capture. Though they had been friends for many years, much of Aragorn's early life was still a mystery to the elf, as the man never spoke of his life at Rivendell and seldom of his mother.

Finally, unable to be a silent witness any longer, the elf sat up and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. Immediately, he felt Aragorn force his breathing into the steady rhythm of a mortal sleeper's, and the tense muscles in his arm relax so he appeared to be placid. Legolas smiled and said quietly, "You cannot fool me, adan. I know that you are not asleep."

When the man still did not respond, the elf stood and walked a little ways from their beds and then paced back, standing purposefully in front of Aragorn's body, so the man could no longer see into Rohan. Looking far into the night with his elf-eyes, Legolas though he saw a flicker of light coming from a great hall upon a high hill, in Edoras, but it was quickly put out. Perhaps someone else with insomnia in the Golden Hall of Meduseld?

"I can outwait you," Legolas told the man. "After all, I have forever, you know." Aragorn continued to feign sleep, and the elf heard him put in an unconvincing snore. As if a Ranger, traveling the wild all these years and sleeping in the open, would have survived this long if he snored. "You have not been the same since Boromir's death," the elf put bluntly, and Aragorn felt his heart sink. His friend knew him too well. "What is it, Estel?"

The man leaped up from his reclining position at his childhood name. "Do not call me that!" he snarled. The elf knew that he hated being called this name and would only endure it from the mouth of Elrond. Only the Lord of the Last Homely House East of the Sea and his children, now, knew why the name so angered him.

"Hush," Legolas chided, turning to face the man, his blond hair glistening in the moonlight. "Speak softly or you shall wake our dwarf friend."

Aragorn's chest ached with the memory brought with that name, and did not heed the elf's warning. Instead, he only snorted and spat vehemently, "Once Gimli is asleep, nothing can wake him save his own will. He can sleep through a dragon attack."

The elf had never known the man to be impertinent, and asked again, "What is bothering you?"

"The hobbits and the Orcs," the man lied through his teeth and turned his back on the elf.

Legolas did not rebuke him for lying, though the man knew that the elf could see right through him, as if he was a pane of glass. Instead, the elf took another, more gentle approach. "You wish to catch the foul creatures and rescue the two little ones badly," he said, his voice without emotion.

"And you do not?" Aragon's lack of sleep, mixed with his inability to sleep and his fear of sleep, was making him quite hard to get along with. The elf gave the man's back a wry smile and turned back to observe the star-lit plains of the land of the horse lords. Happy indeed were they that lived on this land.

"Very much so," Legolas countered. "But you seem to want it most of all." He was both saddened and delighted that this seemed to have hit its mark, and Aragorn forgot that the elf had a way with words that almost outshone his ability with a bow.

The man spun around and cried, "Of course I want it most of all! How can I not?!" He began to wring his hands in desperation, a nervous habit that Legolas had not seen him do for a long time. "I was your leader! But under my leadership, Boromir fell, Frodo and Sam have run off, and Merry and Pippin have been captured!" He grabbed the elf by the shoulder and spun him around unceremoniously. "Everything has gone wrong!"

Legolas put a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, and squeezed it, kneading the knotted muscles under too much stress. "But you are our leader still," the elf told him. "And I will follow you to whatever end."

Aragorn broke away from the elf's grasp and began to pace the length of their small camp, kicking furiously at the grass and blankets, trying desperately to find an outlet for everything inside of him. "And if that end was death?" he asked shrilly. "I cannot see what is ahead of us, Legolas. You and Gimli could both die if you continue to follow me."

Legolas watched the man and answered, "None of us can see the future, Aragorn, and if the Valar decide to give me death, I will gladly accept it."

Aragorn kicked at his pack so that it skidded to halt ten feet from where it was before. "I cannot let you die, Legolas!" he forced through clenched teeth. "We have seen too much, been through too much together." He stopped and turned to the elf. "I cannot lose you or Gimli! I have enough deaths on my hands already."

Legolas paused, turning this over in his mind. Finally, he spoke. "Gandalf's and Boromir's deaths were not your fault."

"You do not understand!" the man cried and went to retrieve his pack, stomping the entire way.

"Then let me understand," the elf persisted. He followed the man, who was trying his best to not look at his friend, and with the agility of his kind, sprang forward and picked up the pack first.

Aragorn sighed, and had no choice but to look at the elf, whose expression was set in a hard line of determination. He knew he could not evade his friend any longer, and realized perhaps that sharing his past would help ease his pains.

"The night is young," he said slowly. "Come, Legolas. I will tell you my tale."

TBC...