The One Ring remains lost. Sauron's threat is diminished but ever-present, seeking his return to power. Middle Earth has been split by the war of the ring. In Lothlorien and Rivendell, the elves dwell alone, defending their borders against invasion. Gondor is under the unsteady rule of the steward Denethor who struggles to keep the kingdom intact and steer it away from civil war. Rohan is under the command of King Theoden and is probably the only stable home of men in Middle Earth. In Mirkwood, King Thranduil defends his borders fiercely, allowing no entry to men from any kingdom. In the war, Mirkwood lost many of its finest soldiers and favourite sons. The king does not trust men any longer. Outside, in the wilds, men of Numenor roam, their glory faded, their power reduced to that of rangers, men who are feared and often loathed by men and elves alike. The one who could unite them, who could unite all Gondor and all mankind had turned long ago from his path, disillusioned with the reckless splendour of his Kingdom and afraid of the weaknesses in his blood.
---
Deep inside the woodland realm, the youngest prince of Mirkwood walked alone, his bow at his back, two short daggers hanging from his belt. All was silent among the trees, the stars almost obscured by the leaves overhead. Legolas was alert but not afraid. It had been close to three hundred years since anyone had crossed the borders of Mirkwood uninvited and none of those beings had been men or orcs. Legolas was young, for an elf and had never seen a man.
Perched high in a tree, far above the shining blond head of Prince Greenleaf, Isildur's heir was watching carefully, making no sound as he breathed through his mouth. The figure below looked elven and all that could possibly mean was that he had strayed into Mirkwood. He had heard his foster father speak despairingly of King Thranduil's rule and the Lord of Rivendell had often ridden to the woodland realm. Estel had long desired to see it, but had been forbidden to go there, for his own safety. And now he was here by accident.
Ahead of Legolas, there came a crashing noise, as of undergrowth being trampled by uncaring feet. The elf-prince pulled an arrow from the quiver at his back and aimed his bow into the darkness, his keen eyes straining to see. The noise seemed to come from everywhere at once and the warrior's bow never wavered, focusing always on the loudest source of the noise.
Aragorn watched the scene silently, not sure whether he should intervene. Then, to the left of the elf, he saw the undergrowth shaking slightly as something slithered through it.
"My lord!" he cried, unable to stop himself. "To your left!" The elf was already turning as Aragorn began to speak and as the ranger climbed nimbly down from the tree, he heard an arrow released and a howl of pain from the beast in the undergrowth.
"Yrch," he heard the elf mutter, two more arrows ready in his bow.
Aragorn ran to the elf's side, his sword already drawn. He had escaped an ambush by a party of Orcs before seeking refuge in the trees. Obviously, the orcs had not given up their chase so easily.
"How many?" the elf asked in his native tongue, not looking at Aragorn.
"Ten more, maybe," Aragorn guessed replying in kind, erring on the side of caution. And then the air was full of orc cries as they closed in about the elf and the man. They stood back to back, staring down their foes. On an unspoken signal, Legolas began to release arrow after arrow, turning swiftly as Aragorn crossed swords with the largest orc. The battle was bloody but short and as Aragorn knelt to wipe black blood from the blade of his sword, he heard footsteps beside him.
"Thank you for your..." The elf stopped, his eyes wide and shocked. Then an imperious tone crept into his voice. "You're a human?" he breathed.
"I apologise for my impertinence. I was sheltering from the party of orcs and crossed your borders without knowing," Aragorn explained.
"But you speak the Elvish tongue..." Legolas said wonderingly. "How can this be?"
"I was raised by Lord Elrond of Rivendell. My name is Estel."
Legolas looked at the man before him. His hair was dark, his face shadowed with stubble, his clothes dark and muted, blending into the surroundings perfectly. His eyes were grey in the dim half-light of the forest but Legolas' sharp vision could see the depths to them. The sword at his side was undoubtedly of elvish origin. In appearance, he matched all that Legolas had been told about humans. Filthy and unkempt, looking rough and tired and ageing almost before Legolas' eyes. In manner, though, he could not be more different that what Legolas had been brought up to expect. He had thought that all men were as weak and dishonourable as Isildur and his heirs, men who could see beauty but desire only to destroy or possess it. Men craved power over all they surveyed and to fight with one was no better than to fight with an orc.
From a pocket, the man took a bandage and began to wrap it awkwardly around his own left hand.
"You are wounded?" Legolas asked, concern in his eyes.
"Just a scratch," Aragorn assured him. "I will see to it and be on my way, with your permission."
"Absolutely not," Legolas asserted. "I will take you to my father and you will receive the finest elven care that his kingdom has to offer. Come with me, Estel."
"Your father is the king?" Aragorn asked, surprised. What was a prince of Mirkwood doing roaming alone in the dark?
"Yes. I am sure he will be most grateful to you. I would likely not have escaped unscathed if it had not been for your warning."
"You fight admirably, Prince of Mirkwood. I am sure you would not have suffered had I been elsewhere," Aragorn said and, satisfied that all the foul blood was gone from his sword, sheathed it at his belt, bowing slightly to the prince.
"Estel, I insist. And do not sand upon formalities. We have fought side by side and status is no longer an issue. My name is Legolas."
"Legolas..." Aragorn mused, giving in to the prince's insistence and following him through the woods.
Initially, Aragorn walked behind Legolas, determined that he would not allow himself to become too relaxed and forget his place. Though was destined to be king one day, he fought daily against that destiny and disliked the mention of it. It was one of the reasons he had left his beloved foster family in Rivendell after Lord Elrond had disclosed his true identity. Here, Legolas was his superior and he did not mean to forget that. His observation of etiquette obviously did not please the elven prince who stopped and stood at Aragorn's side.
"Let us walk as friends, Estel. I would not have you follow me at a safe distance."
"If that is your wish," Aragorn said, inclining his head. The look on Legolas' face was a close to frustration as an elf ever got.
"Is it yours?" he demanded.
"I... Yes, Legolas, I would enjoy walking with you as a comrade."
As they walked, the trees thinned slightly, the view becoming clearer as more light filtered through the leaves. Aragorn looked around him, stunned at the simple beauty of the place, at the trees and the plants, the animals that walked unhindered here and there, the crystalline stream that seemed to sing as it splashed over small pebbles.
"Your land is most beautiful, Legolas," Aragorn said, a note of awe in his tone.
"Thank you," Legolas replied. For a moment, Aragorn thought the prince was simply being polite but when he turned to meet Legolas' eyes, Aragorn saw the pride and love glowing in their blue depths. The love of his land lit Legolas from within and, when paired with the silver light of the moon and stars, he seemed to simply glow with the ethereal beauty of his kind.
Aragorn was powerless to do more than stare, the elf's loveliness leaving him stunned. His blond hair shimmered in the light, the silver circlet on his head the only sign of his status. Other than that, he was dressed as and appeared to be an elven warrior. His hands were slim and white, steady as the earth he stood upon, and looked well made for handling weapons.
Aragorn realised that he was staring and looked away, flustered. His eyes lit upon a tree of almost pure white its leaves silver, its blossoms a deep red.
"That is a most beautiful sight," he said softly, reminded forcefully of the white tree planted by his ancestor in Minas Anor.
"It is," Legolas agreed. "And I see that you know of the white tree of Gondor. It is not, though, a connection we take any pride in."
Aragorn felt uncomfortable with this new knowledge of Legolas' less than favourable opinion of the land he was born to rule. He opened his mouth to ask where the disdain came from but was cut off by Legolas' joyful shout of "Ada!"
---
Deep inside the woodland realm, the youngest prince of Mirkwood walked alone, his bow at his back, two short daggers hanging from his belt. All was silent among the trees, the stars almost obscured by the leaves overhead. Legolas was alert but not afraid. It had been close to three hundred years since anyone had crossed the borders of Mirkwood uninvited and none of those beings had been men or orcs. Legolas was young, for an elf and had never seen a man.
Perched high in a tree, far above the shining blond head of Prince Greenleaf, Isildur's heir was watching carefully, making no sound as he breathed through his mouth. The figure below looked elven and all that could possibly mean was that he had strayed into Mirkwood. He had heard his foster father speak despairingly of King Thranduil's rule and the Lord of Rivendell had often ridden to the woodland realm. Estel had long desired to see it, but had been forbidden to go there, for his own safety. And now he was here by accident.
Ahead of Legolas, there came a crashing noise, as of undergrowth being trampled by uncaring feet. The elf-prince pulled an arrow from the quiver at his back and aimed his bow into the darkness, his keen eyes straining to see. The noise seemed to come from everywhere at once and the warrior's bow never wavered, focusing always on the loudest source of the noise.
Aragorn watched the scene silently, not sure whether he should intervene. Then, to the left of the elf, he saw the undergrowth shaking slightly as something slithered through it.
"My lord!" he cried, unable to stop himself. "To your left!" The elf was already turning as Aragorn began to speak and as the ranger climbed nimbly down from the tree, he heard an arrow released and a howl of pain from the beast in the undergrowth.
"Yrch," he heard the elf mutter, two more arrows ready in his bow.
Aragorn ran to the elf's side, his sword already drawn. He had escaped an ambush by a party of Orcs before seeking refuge in the trees. Obviously, the orcs had not given up their chase so easily.
"How many?" the elf asked in his native tongue, not looking at Aragorn.
"Ten more, maybe," Aragorn guessed replying in kind, erring on the side of caution. And then the air was full of orc cries as they closed in about the elf and the man. They stood back to back, staring down their foes. On an unspoken signal, Legolas began to release arrow after arrow, turning swiftly as Aragorn crossed swords with the largest orc. The battle was bloody but short and as Aragorn knelt to wipe black blood from the blade of his sword, he heard footsteps beside him.
"Thank you for your..." The elf stopped, his eyes wide and shocked. Then an imperious tone crept into his voice. "You're a human?" he breathed.
"I apologise for my impertinence. I was sheltering from the party of orcs and crossed your borders without knowing," Aragorn explained.
"But you speak the Elvish tongue..." Legolas said wonderingly. "How can this be?"
"I was raised by Lord Elrond of Rivendell. My name is Estel."
Legolas looked at the man before him. His hair was dark, his face shadowed with stubble, his clothes dark and muted, blending into the surroundings perfectly. His eyes were grey in the dim half-light of the forest but Legolas' sharp vision could see the depths to them. The sword at his side was undoubtedly of elvish origin. In appearance, he matched all that Legolas had been told about humans. Filthy and unkempt, looking rough and tired and ageing almost before Legolas' eyes. In manner, though, he could not be more different that what Legolas had been brought up to expect. He had thought that all men were as weak and dishonourable as Isildur and his heirs, men who could see beauty but desire only to destroy or possess it. Men craved power over all they surveyed and to fight with one was no better than to fight with an orc.
From a pocket, the man took a bandage and began to wrap it awkwardly around his own left hand.
"You are wounded?" Legolas asked, concern in his eyes.
"Just a scratch," Aragorn assured him. "I will see to it and be on my way, with your permission."
"Absolutely not," Legolas asserted. "I will take you to my father and you will receive the finest elven care that his kingdom has to offer. Come with me, Estel."
"Your father is the king?" Aragorn asked, surprised. What was a prince of Mirkwood doing roaming alone in the dark?
"Yes. I am sure he will be most grateful to you. I would likely not have escaped unscathed if it had not been for your warning."
"You fight admirably, Prince of Mirkwood. I am sure you would not have suffered had I been elsewhere," Aragorn said and, satisfied that all the foul blood was gone from his sword, sheathed it at his belt, bowing slightly to the prince.
"Estel, I insist. And do not sand upon formalities. We have fought side by side and status is no longer an issue. My name is Legolas."
"Legolas..." Aragorn mused, giving in to the prince's insistence and following him through the woods.
Initially, Aragorn walked behind Legolas, determined that he would not allow himself to become too relaxed and forget his place. Though was destined to be king one day, he fought daily against that destiny and disliked the mention of it. It was one of the reasons he had left his beloved foster family in Rivendell after Lord Elrond had disclosed his true identity. Here, Legolas was his superior and he did not mean to forget that. His observation of etiquette obviously did not please the elven prince who stopped and stood at Aragorn's side.
"Let us walk as friends, Estel. I would not have you follow me at a safe distance."
"If that is your wish," Aragorn said, inclining his head. The look on Legolas' face was a close to frustration as an elf ever got.
"Is it yours?" he demanded.
"I... Yes, Legolas, I would enjoy walking with you as a comrade."
As they walked, the trees thinned slightly, the view becoming clearer as more light filtered through the leaves. Aragorn looked around him, stunned at the simple beauty of the place, at the trees and the plants, the animals that walked unhindered here and there, the crystalline stream that seemed to sing as it splashed over small pebbles.
"Your land is most beautiful, Legolas," Aragorn said, a note of awe in his tone.
"Thank you," Legolas replied. For a moment, Aragorn thought the prince was simply being polite but when he turned to meet Legolas' eyes, Aragorn saw the pride and love glowing in their blue depths. The love of his land lit Legolas from within and, when paired with the silver light of the moon and stars, he seemed to simply glow with the ethereal beauty of his kind.
Aragorn was powerless to do more than stare, the elf's loveliness leaving him stunned. His blond hair shimmered in the light, the silver circlet on his head the only sign of his status. Other than that, he was dressed as and appeared to be an elven warrior. His hands were slim and white, steady as the earth he stood upon, and looked well made for handling weapons.
Aragorn realised that he was staring and looked away, flustered. His eyes lit upon a tree of almost pure white its leaves silver, its blossoms a deep red.
"That is a most beautiful sight," he said softly, reminded forcefully of the white tree planted by his ancestor in Minas Anor.
"It is," Legolas agreed. "And I see that you know of the white tree of Gondor. It is not, though, a connection we take any pride in."
Aragorn felt uncomfortable with this new knowledge of Legolas' less than favourable opinion of the land he was born to rule. He opened his mouth to ask where the disdain came from but was cut off by Legolas' joyful shout of "Ada!"