Chapter Two-The Prince of Mirkwood

Aragorn tracked a pack of deer for several days, but soon found that he could not keep up. His sudden lack of finesse wasn't helping his presence remain undetected. At first, he blamed it on lack of experience hunting, despite knowing his hunting skills weren't at fault. Next, he convinced himself that he had been overexerting himself lately, but he knew the real reason. He was coming down with a cold. Any thoughts he had had about being glad he wasn't an elf were quickly banished. He hated being sick. Elrond still thought of him as a child and being sick so frequently did not help his goal of getting his father to stop hovering. Thankfully, the cold was nothing more than an occasional cough or sneeze and a dull headache, nothing he couldn't push past.

The sun hadn't even set when Aragorn bedded down in exhaustion for the night just off the main path, satisfied that the brush would hide him from plain sight. He did not sleep well, as the night air worsened his cough, but he still managed to sleep in brief periods. It was during one of these periods that he was spotted by a messenger from Mirkwood.

Legolas, the youngest prince of Mirkwood was on his way back from Lothlorien after giving Celeborn a message from his father and engaging in a short archery contest with his dear friend Haldir. Despite being lost in his thoughts, he still managed to notice the young man sleeping on the forest floor before he could trip over him. He had to shake is head at the lunacy of a man sleeping unsheltered on the forest floor.

When the man coughed suddenly in his sleep, the elf frowned. This was not right. He would wait for the man to rouse, assess his condition, and then give him a sound lecture about protecting his fragile health. While waiting for the man to wake up, his eyes carefully scrutinized the tall, young man, and he realized with a start who he beheld. The man coughed again and turned over, mumbling incoherently in his sleep.

The sun had just begun to rise when Aragorn began to rouse. He sat up slowly, feeling as though his head was stuffed with cotton. His eyes rebelled against the harsh sunlight, so he was startled when a smooth voice greeted him in elvish, "Good morning, Estel, son of Elrond."

The ranger-in-training turned to see a slender blond elf leaning casually against a tree, watching him closely. "How do you know my name? Who are you?" These questions were not asked lightly.

The elf smiled slightly at how slow the man was in placing his hand on his sword hilt, "The elves of my kingdom have often visited Rivendell. I saw you from a distance practicing with the rangers, and Lord Elrond told me of your past. As for me, I am Legolas, son of Thranduil." The ranger coughed again and Legolas looked at him in concern, all mirth over slow humans abandoned, "Estel, are you ill?"

Aragorn glared at the stranger who spoke so familiarly to him and said through clenched teeth, "Do not call me Estel."

Legolas looked at him in surprise, "You are the hope of your people, for which reason you have been given that name."

"I do not wish to be the hope of my people. The ways of Gondor only bring death and corruption. Furthermore, you speak as though you know me, but you only know of me."

"So do many of the ways of elves, and I apologize for my familiarity."

Aragorn laughed dryly, "What do you know of death? Elves are immortal."

The prince of Mirkwood fell silent, then at last answered, "You are right, and it is not my place to judge what you do. If you do not wish to be called Estel, I will call you Aragorn, for you are Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

A look of pain and grief crossed the young ranger's features, and he spat, "Do not speak that name." Softer, he said, "I could not bear it." At last he spoke up. "Call me Strider, for that is what I will be called by many in the days to come."

Legolas took a gamble, he desperately wanted to befriend the ranger if only out of concern for his health, but he also knew that if the man was allowed, he would never again claim to be his father's son. Slowly, he said, "That I cannot do. I will call you Aragorn or Estel, but please, for the moment, I wish to call you friend. Where do you journey?"

The ranger did not smile, nor did he look up, but he answered, "I am on a hunting trip. I may go near the Shire, but that is for the deer to decide."

"Then I will join you." Legolas said quietly. It was an offer, not a statement.

Aragorn was less than thrilled, and he said bitterly, "I wish to be alone!"

"Two are better than one on a hunt."

Aragorn turned to see the elf smirking. He couldn't argue.