This is my first LOTR fan-fic, so your reviews would be MUCH appreciated! I'm sorry if the characters are different than they are in the book, but...I'm twisting them to my own devices (laughs manically). If you read the summary and understood it, you must think that I hate Legolas, but he's actually my favorite character, so I'll try to go easy on him.

Dreams to Reality

Estel looked around suddenly. His face felt hot. The sweat rolling down from his forehead tickled as it went down his nose. He longed to bring up a finger to brush the drop away, but he was supposed to be silent. He looked at the Elves beside him. Their faces were grim, but determined. He took a deep (silent) breath, trying to calm down.

They had been fighting the Wild Men for over a year now. They were attacking villages around Rivendell and occupying them. Soon, when they had enough land, people, and power, they would go for the Elf-kingdom itself. This was why they needed to be stopped.

Estel remembered when they had first been told by Elrond and Glorfindel that they needed to help in the fight against their occupation. Elladan and Elrohir had looked at each other, a bit doubtful, but Legolas had been indignant.

"Why do we need to worry about them?" he'd asked sarcastically. "We don't need to have any fear of them. They'll never have Imladris! Besides, you have...," his voice dropped to a whisper as he specifically addressed Elrond, "...you have Vilya."

Elrond had looked at the Ring on his finger. He could not stop a sigh from escaping his lips. "I would never use Vilya against the Wild Men, no matter how strong they became. It is becoming ever more dangerous to use our Rings. Speak of it no more, Legolas."

Estel stifled a chuckle as he thought of Legolas. He was the most stubborn Elf that Aragorn had ever known, and that was saying something. Aragorn had grown-up with two of the wildest Elves around: his step-brothers, Elladan and Elrohir.

Elladan and Elrohir were strong-willed, but they always listened to the voice of reason. They did love a good practical joke, though, and Aragorn could think of the many times that he had fallen prey to their longing for entertainment. As Estel had gotten older, they had relaxed a little in their pranks, but they were still just as fun-loving as ever.

Legolas was fun-loving (and definitely strong-willed), but he also tended to have quite a temper. Aragorn had remembered many times when Legolas had run off without listening to wiser counsel. Estel had always gone after him and brought him back before too much damage was done. Legolas had also done the same for Aragorn.

"They're coming," an Elf sentinel hissed. Estel shook his head, trying to get rid of thoughts of his friends and focus all of his concentration on preparing for the battle that would soon begin. He clutched his sword hilt a bit tighter and tensed his jaw. He would be ready.

He stood in that stiff position for some time, waiting. He was waiting for the sensations that would alert him to the Wild Men.

He could hear the sound of their heavy boots pounding the ground as they ran towards them. The sound of their chain-mail and weapons rustling echoed through the deserted city. Aragorn held his breath.

He could smell the sour, sickly odor that followed them around, as if they hadn't bathed in quite some time. They smelled like the pigs and cows, the horse feces and the chicken coop. Their foul breath was carried even through the still air.

Aragorn felt the rush of adrenaline that is natural to feel before any battle. This time, though, there was a difference: it is the dead-set determination of a man who knows his time to go has come. Estel swallowed. They were so close...

The first Wild Man crossed his path. Aragorn swung out his sword. He could feel it make contact with the shabbily-armored man. His blood stained the ground; it glistened in the moonlight.

So this man, this man, was the first to go down tonight.

It could just as easily been Aragorn himself.

Aragorn swung his sword to the side. It went through the throat of another man. He could hear the sounds of battle going on around him (the clash of steel, the shrieks of horror), but now, it was only him and this man: just one tiny duel that night. And if Aragorn planned to win, he had to beat each one of his competitors.

An Elf fell dead behind him. Aragorn thrust his sword into the belly of his enemy and shoved up. They always told you to do that...

He pulled the sword out and blocked the hit of another man. He grabbed his dagger and got another one threw the throat.

The fighting went on and on. Each minute seemed like a life-time. The empty houses around him suddenly began to blaze with flames. The orange glow illuminated both Man and Elf to give them a slightly terrifying aura. For a split second Estel wondered if he looked that way too.

He could see a single Elf defending himself from a group five of Wild Men. They were forcing him into one of the huts. Aragorn fought his way over, hoping to assist his ally before it was too late.

Aragorn got there just in time. Aragorn slew two of them. The Elf was able to kill one. Now, only one remained...

The Wild Man was the tallest Mortal that he'd ever seen. He must have at least been the height of Gandalf. When he turned around, Aragorn could see that his face was covered over with one of the most hideous helmets that Estel had ever seen. The only part of the face that Aragorn could see was his cold black eyes.

The ranger nearly dropped his sword in astonishment. He could sense a smirk from behind the helm, and the man turned away. He raised his sword high over the elf, preparing to bring it down and slice him in two.

Aragorn quickly ran in front and knocked the blow with his own sword, pushing the elf back into the house accidentally. The man began to hit at Estel. Estel knocked each hit, but it seemed like that's how the Wild Man wanted it; he was deliberately hitting poorly. Could that truly be?

Estel realized too late that he had fallen into a trap. He and the Elf were pushed inside of the house. Its roof was in flames. They could hear it creak as it began to fall in.

"Fight, fight it!" someone cried from somewhere, but Aragorn could do nothing.

He could only watch in horror as the roof began to collapse.

Legolas!

Legolas shot up, reaching instinctively for his bow. "What's going on?" he asked, looking around. "What's happening?"

Elrohir and Elladan looked at each other. "You were having an ill dream," Elrohir said slowly, observing his friend. "Are you all right?"

Legolas rubbed his eyes and sat back down. He had been having that same dream of Aragorn's battle for three weeks now, and each time, he always awoke before he could see his friend's fate. The Elf looked up at the twins, who were staring at him with worried expressions on their faces.

Legolas tried to smile. "I'm fine; don't worry about me. I have ill dreams all of the time."

"That's for sure," Elladan grumbled. "One time we had to make sure you didn't walk right off of the terrace to save your father from 'the dragon.'"

"Or," Elrohir put in, "what about that time that you woke up crying? Huh? What was that all about?"

"And when you dreamt that you had a terrible ill dream that came true."

"And I believe that you once dreamt that you were poisoned at your birthday celebration."

"Oh, and remember the time when you dreamt that Estel was so old that he couldn't even remember who any of us were?"

"All right, you are correct; I have dreamt many strange dreams." Legolas was trying to get his mind off of Estel at the moment, and the twins weren't helping. Neither was being in this cave.

Yes, he, Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, was in a cave - and, get this, it's the best part - voluntarily. He could have gone ahead scouting with the others, but a terrible weight was on his heart. He hadn't known if he'd been able to make it, so he decided to stay in the cave with the other warriors.

The air was so tight. "I'm going to go talk to Glorfindel at the mouth," he wheezed, grasping the wall. The twins didn't even hear him; they were too busy talking about other ill dreams of his.

Glorfindel was standing still. Legolas walked up behind him, his eyes lowered to show respect to such a wise elder.

"What is happening out there my lord?" Legolas asked, looking at the tiny specks of fire on the horizon.

"The Wild Men are camping," Glorfindel answered, and Legolas was taken aback when he heard the heaviness in the Balrog-slayer's voice. "They will be ready for war by tomorrow."

Legolas nodded. He knew that it was only fair that they waited until the Wild Men were prepared for a battle. Elves believed in fair fights, and they knew that they had great advantages over mortals with their keen senses. Legolas scowled. Then why was Aragorn fighting in one of those deserted cities?

Glorfindel turned to look at the young Elf. "Something troubles you, my young friend."

Legolas sighed, crossing his arms and clutching his bow tighter. "I have been troubled by the same ill dream for some time now, and I cannot find any meaning to it."

"What is your dream of?" Glorfindel asked.

"In my dream, which is situated at one of the deserted cities that the Wild Men have possessed, Estel fights," Legolas began, closing his eyes and picturing his dream. "The city has been lit aflame."

Glorfindel nodded. "That is a common Wild Man tactic."

"Estel fights valiantly," Legolas continues, "but there is always an Elf who needs his assistance. The Elf is being attacked by a great man, and even Estel thinks of him as a superior.

"Estel believes that he saves the Elf, but the great man is just trying to trap them in a burning home. I awake just before the roof collapses." Legolas opened his eyes, hardly believing that he was standing in the mouth of the cave and not in front of the burning city.

Glorfindel frowned. "Perhaps Estel does not know who he fights for. Perhaps you worry that Estel's mind is elsewhere during battle."

Legolas frowned. "It is not that. I fear that my dream may become real." Legolas swallowed and met Glorfindel's gaze. "I fear that Estel will die in battle."

"Estel will die someday, Legolas," Glorfindel said softly. "He is a mortal: he is born to die."

Legolas had heard this lecture thousands of times from almost every Elf-lord. He sighed. "I know that he is born to die, but I still enjoy his company and wish him to live out to his full amount of days, however short that may be. What you say does not comfort me."

Glorfindel smiled. "I know not the words to comfort you, Legolas. The only comfort that you can find is from finishing your dream."

Legolas nodded. "I am going to go lie down...Maybe the tight air in here is jut making me nervous."

Legolas didn't wait to hear if Glorfindel said anything. Instead, he went back to his mat and lied down, shutting his eyes.

The creaking around Aragorn grew louder. The great man stood in the doorway, leering down at them triumphantly.

Who did he think he was? What arrogance. If only Aragorn had lived a bit longer; he could have shown him what kind of fight that he could put up.

And yet, the man still lived. "Hang on, mellon-nin," he whispered into the elf's ear. The man grabbed a spear and began to run at the Wild Man, who stood there, waiting for the metal to pierce his flesh.

The sound of cracking wood didn't make Aragorn stop. The spear was almost there...

He never made it before the roof caved in.

Legolas sat up. Sweat drenched his face and he was breathing quickly. He looked around. He had to tell Elladan and Elrohir. They would know what to do! Perhaps Legolas's dream was a foreboding of what was to come, and it hadn't happened yet.

Legolas whirled around, searching for the two twins. They were no where in sight. He would have to tell Glorfindel then. Somebody needed to know.

The Prince of Mirkwood stood up and walked quickly to the mouth of the cave. He frowned. The twins were with Glorfindel, and they were giving a very tired looking Elf some water.

Perhaps this was a messenger from one of the other battles!

Legolas ran over. "What's going on?" he demanded of them.

Elrohir put a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder. "Calm down, Greenleaf. This messenger just arrived, and he is very weary."

Legolas pushed past the twin and grabbed the messenger's shoulders. "What is your message?" he demanded.

The messenger looked at the prince pityingly. Legolas felt his heart stop. He let go of the messenger and stood beside Elladan, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

"I have tidings of sadness for the Prince's Elrohir and Elladan of Imladris, and Prince Legolas of Mirkwood."

Legolas didn't want to hear the message any more. Maybe they could somehow postpone this until tomorrow.

"The Ranger, Aragorn of the Dunedaine, known as Estel to us Elves..."

Elladan bristled. "What's happened to him?"

The messenger looked down. "My lords, he's dead."