Author's note: This is my first Lord of the Rings story for many years, and it has been long overdue! My apologies. I hope you enjoy it and I welcome any feedback or advice!

The Whispers of Green Leaves

Aragorn is attacked in Mirkwood and rescued by Legolas. Thranduil must not only deal with a party of injured Dúnedain, but also Elrond, who comes to the Woodland Kingdom accompanied by his sons and daughter, seeking to persuade him to strengthen his alliances with Men. Yet the attacks continue, threatening Thranduil's remaining faith in Men. Will Elves and Men learn to work together as Legolas hopes? And will they discover who is behind the attacks before it is too late?

Set 15 years after the death of Smaug, some years before the events in The Lord of the Rings. Featuring Legolas, Aragorn, Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir, Thranduil, Elrond, Gandalf & Saruman. Plenty of mystery, action, adventure, character developments – and also some Aragorn-Arwen romance!

Chapter 1 – The Feast in the Forest

Legolas was bored. Bored and impatient. He had felt this way for months.

He had thought that joining the eventide feast in the forest, as was customary for the Woodland Elves during the warmer months, would make for a suitable distraction, if not a pleasant one… but he had been wrong.

A growing sense of unrest had been gathering within him for some time now. He was dissatisfied with the tedium of life in the Woodland Kingdom; frustrated beyond measure that his sole occupation outside of the caves was shooting down Spiders; that the only news they ever received was another petty disagreement with the Men of Laketown or how another portion of the forest had become unsafe to roam in. It drove him mad that his father took no interest in the lands and peoples beyond their Kingdom, and that he went for years at a time without seeing a single Elf from Lothlórien or Imladris.

Imladris. Legolas' heart soared at the very thought of that place, one of beauty, wisdom and peace. He brightened, remembering his last visit to the singing valley five years ago, the joyous times he had spent in the company of Lord Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and the pleasant occasions he had spent talking with Elrond's foster son, the young Dúnedan Estel. For Legolas' father, King Thranduil, took council with Elrond every five years, taking it in turns to journey to each other's realms, and that meant that this year it was finally time for Elrond to visit again.

Legolas smiled. Lord Elrond, along with his advisors, was expected any day now. In fact, Legolas had hoped very much that his small party would have arrived today – for with him he would be bringing Elladan and Elrohir, as well as his daughter Arwen, who were coming along for a sort of holiday. Bless the Valar, Legolas had been so glad when his father had received the news back in winter! Not only was something of interest going to happen at last, but his friends were going to join him, and for the Elves' summer festival, Mereth-O-Laer! He had been avidly looking forward to this visit for months.

But, sadly, they had not arrived today.

Legolas found it hard to reign in his impatience. He had thought that a feast out in the woods, sat beneath the great oaks, would detract him from the misfortune of his friends' absence, but it was proving futile. Such a feast seemed pointless when his friends were not here to join him, and the archery instructor next to him had been wittering on about such banal drivel for the last hour that Legolas now wished he was deaf. He had given up feigning interest for some time, and instead idly played with the lavish food on his plate, immune to the music and the lively chatter around him. It was of no consequence, he decided, if he appeared moody; as the son of Thranduil, whose temper could make the entire kingdom quail like a trembling leaf, it would only be expected that he should appear sulky and haughty once in a while.

Besides, he would not be like this for long. Soon the party from Imladris would be here, and there would be more interesting and exciting goings-on than he could ever wish for.

Bang.

Everything was thrown into darkness; the black, impenetrable kind of darkness that lurks beneath a thick leafy canopy, untouched by starlight or moonlight. Legolas sighed wearily. With silence ringing in his ears, and all evidence of the feast temporarily removed from his senses, he knew what must have happened.

Something – or someone – had interrupted their feasting.

A few seconds later, the golden-red fire crackled back into life and the ring of Elves surrounding a lavish feast was illuminated before him once more, but this time under a different cluster of trees outside the great gates. As the harpist commenced a new song, Legolas watched the other Elves settle down to resume their feast, picking up half-full gleaming plates and helping themselves to more bread, cheese, grapes, pastries and all manner of wonderful food heaped plentifully in their midst, unfazed by the interruption moments ago.

Legolas, however, did not join them. He wondered who could have interrupted their merry-making under the trees, and why. It was one thing to be able to magically vanish and reappear at a spot a short distance away in the forest upon an outsider's intrusion into their circle, but it was also disturbing, inconvenient, and frankly quite rude. Legolas was not the only one annoyed, judging by the tutting of voices and shaking of heads, but he did seem to be the only one concerned. He wished he could speak to the trees to find out what they had seen, for they were rustling restlessly, but without touching his hand to their trunks he could not learn anything – especially when the conversation around him was so loud.

Legolas stretched out a hand to his goblet, fancying a drink, only to find that the wine it had contained before the intrusion had been spilt; now only a few red drops were left trickling down the side. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, searching for his reserve of patience, before calmly asking for the wine bowl to be passed his way.

He was just pouring himself some more wine in thoughtful silence when simultaneously the harpist was cut off mid-word, the fire shrank down to ashes, and someone jolted his right arm. Thrown into darkness with the last twang of the harp's strings echoing in his ears, Legolas felt a distinct wetness running down his hand and seeping through his sleeve.

And then, with a flare of red, the faces of his people were lit up again, and he found himself seated in a circle under yet another group of trees in the forest, now with a red stain down the sleeve of his silver gown. Legolas groaned. His father would be most displeased when he saw this later – he was bound to notice, he always noticed what Legolas wished he wouldn't.

Now nervous whispers of concern filled the air; a second interruption in one night was most unusual. The ring had formed tight knots where Elves huddled together, expressing their disgruntlement and disconcertion. Some were throwing worried looks over their shoulders before shrinking back into the golden light, as if expecting an attack at any second, even though they were not far from the palace. Legolas wondered whether he had wished too soon for interesting events to take place…

"What do you make of this–?" The Elf to Legolas's side broke off when he caught sight of his stained sleeve. "Goodness, let me wipe that off quickly, Prince Legolas!" he said, hurrying forwards with a napkin in an attempt to remove the stain. "How annoying these interruptions are! But it is probably just a squirrel determined on attaining a share of those nuts that arrived today from the South."

"Please, do not trouble yourself," Legolas entreated, knowing it was fruitless to try to remove the stain, and not at all keen to restart a conversation with the Elf. A curious feeling had just crept over him, and he was intent on straining his eyes into the darkness outside of the firelight, trying to discern the source. Were the trees trying to talk to him? What did they know?

With Legolas' mind clearly on other matters, the archery instructor turned away and resumed his complaints to the Elf on his other side. Legolas was glad.

He kept searching. The intruder could not be Lord Elrond, for the Elves' magic would have allowed another Elf in – so who could they be? Were they under threat? Nay, surely not – the Spiders were kept at bay some miles away, and the Orcs dwelt far in the south of Mirkwood.

Yet it did not seem to him to merely be a curious animal with an empty stomach. It felt like something more… like he was being watched… like he was meant to realise the reason why… But by the Valar, he just could not place it…

And then he heard it – a voice that belonged to no Elf –

"Please…"

Legolas turned sharply. There, in the half-gloom behind him, was a young man on his knees – a Dúnedan, judging by his build and his rusty green raiment. The man's empty grey eyes latched onto his, and cold shock and fear rushed through Legolas's veins. The man was crawling, weak and broken, as if terribly injured. That was blood, not wine, coating the hand that was clutched to the man's chest. But even worse than this was the fathomless despair in his eyes that could not possibly be due to physical pain alone.

"Ai!"

Legolas let out a cry of alarm that drew his companions' attention. With his heart racing in fear, he slid onto his knees and reached out to take the man's uninjured hand. The man held his eyes, and Legolas knew he was fighting to hold back his tears. He caught the poor man before he collapsed face first onto the earth and urgently searched his face for some explanation.

"Please help…" the man gasped, his eyes locked onto Legolas's as if they were the only hope left to him in the whole of Arda. He began to tremble violently.

"Of course, my friend! But what is wrong? Tell me, what has happened?"

The man choked out a few words. "Aragorn of the Dúnedain… The one you know as Estel…"

But before he could finish, the Ranger collapsed in Legolas' arms, his blood weeping onto Legolas's fine robes.

Estel.

Legolas felt his heart miss a beat. No. His head reeled; horror filled his heart. Not Estel!

He looked around, struggling to comprehend what must be taking place; the other Elves were standing on their feet, watching the scene curiously, but as they realised the man in his arms had fallen unconscious, Legolas saw their interest turn to dismay. Some Elves nearest him pulled the wounded man gently from his arms, allowing Legolas to stand up.

"Prince Legolas! What is it?"

Legolas took a deep breath, summoning up the strength he would soon need, and grimly faced the anxious Elves around him.

"We must make haste. Send for the palace guard and gather your weapons. The Dúnedain are close at hand and – " his voice shook, " – and they are in mortal danger. We must help them."

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