A/N: With BoFA coming out last month, I've been on a LoTR kick, and then this little plot bunny struck me. (Not that I need a new fandom.) Set ten years before the Fellowship. I'm following the movie 'verse in most things, including the T-rating for movie-level monster violence later.

Disclaimer: I make no claims on Tolkien's brainchild or Peter Jackson's vision. This is merely a mental exercise in characterization for entertainment. Plus an excuse for whump and h/c.

Chapter 1: Strange Tidings

Legolas listened to the report from the scouts recently returned from the central parts of Mirkwood. They had gone to assess whether orc strongholds were being erected in preparation of further encroachment upon the elven defenses in the north. None had been found, thank the Valar, but the scouts did come across strange tidings. Frozen, almost petrified remains of animals had been discovered close to the more southern parts of the wood. The weather had not been so harsh, and the scouts had never seen or heard of a disease that might be the cause. One elf ventured west of the forest into a few dwellings of Men where he heard tales of humans vanishing in the night, only to be found in the woods later, frozen in a similar manner to the animals.

"I spoke with a traders' caravan traveling up from the south," the scout relayed. "Two of his men disappeared on separate nights. Only one was later found, apparently frozen to death, though there had been no storms or snow recently."

Thranduil's sharp gaze never wavered as he listened. When the scout was finished, only then did the Elven-King nod and give a slight wave of the wrist. "You are dismissed."

With stiff bows, the three scouts turned on their heels and left the dais. Thranduil remained seated on his throne, face a mask of impassivity. Fighting his impatience, Legolas flicked his gaze to the ceiling where roots dangled through the underground hall like tattered banners. His father was not one to be rushed, yet a disagreement was swiftly on the horizon, for Legolas knew Thranduil's mind all too well.

"What did you make of the report?" Legolas finally asked, unable to bide his time any longer.

Thranduil rose gracefully from his seat and strode toward a small table to pour himself a chalice of wine. "The lack of enemy strongholds is good news. We may be able to push the darkness back in the intermittence." Both knew that was the best they could hope for.

"And of these strange deaths?" Legolas prodded.

"Curious, but of no consequence." Thranduil turned his head slightly to appraise his son; he too knew where Legolas's thoughts leaned.

"If there is some new evil lurking in the southern wood, we should investigate further."

"A few animals and humans succumbing to the elements or disease is hardly cause for concern."

Legolas bit back a frustrated sigh. His father had maintained an isolationist mindset for as long as Legolas could remember. The Battle of Five Armies sixty-seven years ago had done nothing to change that. In fact, the spilling of elven blood in the defense of other races had perhaps worsened Thranduil's position. He devoted himself only to the Woodland Realm.

As was right, to a degree, but Legolas did not believe in sitting back and waiting for enemies to arrive on their doorstep before battling them. If something foul was stirring in southern Mirkwood, he would rather strike it down before it grew strong enough to even consider challenging the Wood-elves.

"You are thinking of defying me again," Thranduil said calmly, holding the goblet's rim to his lips.

Legolas gave his father a canted look. It had been decades since the last time. "How can I defy you when no order has yet been given?"

Father and son gazed at each other intently, like two statues with only the crackling spirit in their eyes to suggest the battle of wills.

"It is a waste of time and resources," Thranduil said with a patience that belied his growing irritation.

"Consider it a follow-up scouting mission," Legolas countered. "This report is several days' old. Who knows what may have transpired in that time."

The barest frown tugged at Thranduil's lips, and he sipped from his chalice to mask it. Both of them knew Legolas would not be dissuaded. The only question remaining was whether his actions would be sanctioned or in direct violation of orders. As Prince of the Woodland Realm, there were few punishments for the latter, though it would undoubtedly strain the relationship with his father, which already contained the tension of a taut bowstring.

At last, Thranduil turned away, neither condoning nor forbidding his son to look into the matter. It was the best compromise the two could achieve with each other.

Legolas gathered his weapons and a small pack of supplies for the journey. He needed little, and intended to set off immediately. The report the scouts had brought back also included which paths were currently free from spider infestations, so the trek should be relatively smooth and unimpeded.

The trees stirred restlessly as he passed silently beneath their boughs. What were once great and proud sycamore and cypress, oak and ash, were now gnarled and cowed shadows of their former being. The darkness over Mirkwood may have eased since the White Council drove Sauron from Dol Guldur, but its influence remained. There was no joy or song in the whispers that flitted through leaves, only hushed anxiety.

Legolas pulled up short when the malcontent murmurings shifted their attention—there was a stranger in the forest. He unslung his bow and ran his fingers lightly across the twine, eyes peering through the heavy foliage. He did not sense any orcs, nor heard the raucous noise of their trampling. The silence with which the intruder moved set Legolas on guard, yet he merely waited as a shape eventually glided between two trees into the open. The figure stopped short, blinking for a moment before a grin cracked his dirty face.

"Have you foresight you forgot to mention? Since I did not send word of my coming."

Legolas's mouth turned up. "Aragorn, mae govannen." He stepped forward and clasped the Ranger's arm. It had been over a year since they last met, as both were burdened with leadership regarding their respective peoples. That Aragorn was here now, without the presence of the Grey Company, was certainly curious.

"What are you doing here?" Legolas asked. He hoped his friend did not come bearing ill tidings, though it would not be surprising, considering the age they lived in.

"I felt a visit was long overdue." Aragorn tilted his head as he appraised Legolas. "But it seems I've come all this way only to find you leaving."

Legolas frowned. "Aye, the timing is poor." He briefly considered turning back with Aragorn, but could not do so in good conscience. Despite the lack of evidence that some sentient evil was behind the mysterious deaths, he could not shake the feeling that something was terribly amiss in the wood.

"Where are you off to that demands your attention?"

Legolas's mouth quirked. "Nowhere either of our fathers would approve of."

Aragorn arched a brow. "I have not been under the rule of Lord Elrond's house in many years. So perhaps in this, you are the one who needs a chaperone." He shifted his position, symbolically turning his back on his previous destination of the Elven-halls.

Legolas shot the man a mock glower. "You do not even know where I'm headed."

Aragorn gestured for Legolas to lead the way. "Then enlighten me."

They fell into step automatically. For all of Legolas's long years, his time knowing Aragorn was markedly short, yet he could not say when their friendship had become one of complete, unmitigated trust and loyalty. There were no requests, no explanations between them, only the willing decision to walk into danger together as they had done numerous times in the past. Neither was the type to shy away from trouble. Legolas had fought to defend Mirkwood under the shadow's influence for over a thousand years. He could have easily succumbed to the isolationist thinking of his father, concerned only with their own borders, but being on the front lines for so long had not taught him to retreat; it had taught him not to wait for the enemy to close in on them. Aragorn's fight, while often against physical enemies, was also personal. His time was soon coming, and with it the end to the growing darkness—one way or another. And so they fought, knowing that each small victory meant something...somewhere, to someone. One less band of orcs, one less enemy stronghold. Which was why neither of them intended to let some foul creature begin a new reign of terror if they could stop it.

"That is a strange tale," Aragorn said after Legolas had relayed what the scouts reported. "It is not the time of year for frost to claim lives, though I suppose an anomaly is possible."

"We shall soon see for ourselves."

The further they traveled, the darker the forest became. Trees grew twisted, gnarled and contorted trunks bracing clumpy thickets of leaves that blocked out all but specks of sunlight. They passed blackened piles of mulch that oozed a pitch-like sludge—liquefied remains of long-decomposed spiders. The stench of decay hung heavily in the air, assaulting Legolas's senses with its caustic, burning tang. Dusk was approaching, and though the area no longer contained spider nests, neither elf nor man wanted to camp within twenty yards of the rotting filth.

Eventually they left the compost spots behind, and Legolas found a small grove with several trees nestled so close together they formed a protective wall on one side. The elf gathered stones to construct a fire ring while Aragorn collected kindling. Once a few flames flickered to life, the Ranger sat back to pull some rations out of his pack. Legolas leaned against one of the trees, eyes peeled against the encroaching darkness as the last remnant of daylight was swallowed by night.

The crackle and pop of the fire was the only sound, both travelers well-accustomed to companionable silence. Plumes of smoke wafted up to disappear into the trees, coating the grove with the scent of charred wood, which at least served to dull some of the more acrid odors permeating the forest. Aragorn stretched his neck, resulting in a crack as loud as the kindling.

Legolas angled a half-amused, half-remorseful look his way. "I apologize, mellon nîn. You came to Mirkwood anticipating a soft bed, and I've dragged you further from it."

"If a bed was all I wanted, I wouldn't have traveled as far as the Woodland Realm for one." Aragorn gave him a pointed glance. "Nay, truthfully there is a measure of comfort in familiarity."

"Sleeping on the cold hard ground?"

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "No. Following you on a misadventure."

Legolas crossed his arms. "A bit premature to cast such despondent predictions on this trip. Besides, if we are keeping count, I believe more often than not it is you leading us into danger."

Aragorn let out a muted laugh, ever aware of their surroundings. "Fair point." He picked up a branch and stoked the fire.

Legolas studied the tight lines around the man's eyes, grey orbs lit by the wavering flames. "You are troubled."

"No more so than usual."

The elf frowned at the dispirited tone. "Aragorn."

He leaned back with a sigh. "It is foolish, but one day I fear I will miss this: living in the Wild, the freedom to come and go as I choose…when I will send others to investigate danger rather than go myself." Aragorn lifted his head. "The time is coming when we will no longer hunt together."

Legolas glanced away. He could not fully imagine the reality of Aragorn's future. Yes, Legolas Thranduilion was Prince of the Woodland Realm, but it was highly unlikely his father's rule would ever end, and so Legolas did not even have to entertain the thought of becoming King of Eryn Lasgalen. What he did have to dwell on was time, which usually mattered little to one whose lifespan extended thousands of years, but therein was the bane when an elf became friends with a man.

He straightened from leaning against the tree. "Those days are not yet upon you, Aragorn."

"They are approaching."

"Yes, but your brooding will not hasten—nor delay them. I suspect you came to Mirkwood seeking respite from the burden of your heritage and what is expected of you. So let us focus solely on our venture…" Legolas flashed Aragorn a grin. "Since there is a good chance it will lead us into mortal peril."

Aragorn smirked. "When you put it that way…" He retrieved his bedroll and lay down, pillowing it under his head. "I think I shall take what rest I can."

Legolas's lips twitched, and he turned his full attention toward keeping watch. The fire eventually died down, shrouding them in darkness. Without the crackling, Legolas was able to hear faint whispers on the air. They susurrated through the trees like malevolent kisses, caressing the leaves to tease forth shuddering breaths. The elf wrapped his arms about himself, and began to count the minutes until dawn.

A/N: So, my first foray into LoTR fanfiction. What say you?