Disclaimer: If you actually think I'm writing this for money, or you think I'm Tolkien, I think you might need to have a little trip to see the little men with the white coats. :)
AN: Ahhh... I see that I've gone right ahead and gotten back into my habit of semi-neurotic updates... I do know that I'll never attempt two at the same time again, so hopefully I'll settle into a rhythm!
All right y'all! I'm completely ashamed at how horrid my first chappy was in terms of spelling errors and other things. I've gone back and replaced the contents with a better spelled chappy! I think one paragraph was changed, but it's nothing important! Also, I'm darned sure that I got a couple canon facts somewhat... wrong. Let me know if you spot any, because I really want this to be true to Tolkien's world! Thanks guys!
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Aragorn paused before opening the door and looked Legolas up and down critically. The elf winced inwardly, realizing that the ever-perceptive human had realized he was injured. Honestly, tis only a scratch! He thought, preparing to defend himself.
Instead, Aragorn reached out and tucked Legolas's blonde hair behind the elf's shoulder. 'One must be careful when they are holding Eldarion. He likes to pull hair."
Legolas must have looked astounded, because the king laughed and told him that it was quite normal for young children to do.
Managing to pull himself together before Aragorn discerned the true source of his amazement, Legolas asked, "So I am to hold him then?"
"Of course!" Aragorn exclaimed. "Should you not? Now, mellon-nin, you do not truly believe that we wouldn't allow it, do you?" Eying his longtime friend, Aragorn quickly reconsidered his opinion. "You're nervous, aren't you!" At Legolas's rather abashed look, the man began to snicker. "There's nothing to be frightened of! He's harmless! And I doubt you'd manage to do anything to make him cry, he's very agreeable. Now come, Arwen wants to see you too!"
He pushed open the ornate door and entered. Legolas remained in the corridor for several seconds, straightening his clothes and gathering his courage; despite Aragorn's reassurances, he still didn't know quite what to expect.
Wishing violently for his peace offering, he entered the room on silent feet. Arwen was sitting in a cherrywood rocking chair, long dark hair bound into a loose bun and contained in a golden bit of net. It matched her gown, which was a deep burgundy with gold embroidery. It was a simple enough article, but then, Arwen never needed elaborate clothing and jewels to be beautiful.
She rose upon seeing Legolas. "You are lovely as ever, milady," Legolas said, dipping into a stiff bow. She accepted this with a slight nod, then laughed and caught the other elf up in an embrace.
"It has been years, Legolas Greenleaf!" she said, and shook a playful finger at him.
"Too long," the elf replied. "I shall never again let so much time go by."
A gurgle interrupted their reunion, and Arwen turned her attention to a cradle in the corner. It was also made of cherrywood, with ivy and roses carved along the sides, and a star upon the headboard. A trailing bit of deep brown blanket was visible from where Legolas stood.
The queen of Gondor bent over the cradle and reached inside. When she straighted, she held a little bundle wrapped in a light cloth. Legolas started; he simply hadn't expected the little one to be so small. Both Aragorn and Arwen were alternately looking happily at their child and eying Legolas (who looked both fascinated and frightened).
"Come Legolas!" Arwen said softly. "Come and see him!"
Steeling himself, the blonde stepped forward.
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"An elf?" The man slammed his fist against the table and the old wood creaked in agony. He glared at the two men across the room. One was leaning on a pair of crutches and the other had a whopping goose egg just above his right temple and that entire side of his face was blue and a reddish purple. Both recoiled as the man got to his feet and stared menacingly at them.
"You fools... attacked an elf? Have you gone absolutely mad?" The man pointed at his lackeys' injuries, and snorted. "It seems you have received your just rewards already. Where is your other partner in crime?"
The man with the bruised face spoke up reluctantly. "He is in the healing quarters. Several of his ribs are cracked."
"I would have thought better of you," the leader said. He tapped his broad jaw with a thick finger. "Going out of your way to attack one of the First Born!" he spat out the final words with an unhealthy dose of contempt. "They are not worth the time and effort. If that elf tells someone of importance, we will have the guards breathing down our necks. How are we to have a proper gang of highwaymen with Gondor's finest patrolling the roads?"
"We thought he would yield some interesting information... or a heavy purse. His saddlebags bore a royal insignia."
The thick fingers stopped tapping and began stroking the chin instead. "A royal insignia... There are very few elven kingdoms left in this land, and only one who regularly has business here in Minas Tirith." The fingers pointed at the door, and the two lackeys understood they were being dismissed.
As the door shut behind them, the man sat and let his cool mask drop. "Legolas Greenleaf. Now he would be worth robbing..."
Hilden rubbed his hands together gleefully. He loved a good challenge. He had tried to steal from the elf five years ago and had been thwarted in much the same way as his three comrades had been. That had been before he had risen to the top of their little band. His rear smarted as he thought of how the elf had sent him off.
He looked upon the elf's return as a chance to give some good and proper payback. But Hilden was clever enough to know that it would be near impossible to get anything away from the prince unless the elf (and every one around him) was suitably distracted. He leaned back and stroked his chin again, a sure sign to everyone who knew him that he was deep in thought.
After a time, a sly smile crept across his face.
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"He is so small!" Legolas whispered. He tentatively reached out to touch the child's hand, but his fingers stopped less than an inch away.
"All is well," Arwen assured him. She and her husband were smiling in amusement at the wood-elf's reluctance. "You cannot harm him and he is yet to fully awake. He will not be frightened."
Very gently, the tips of his fingers rested upon the child's brow. Eldarion shifted a little in his mother's arms but otherwise was undisturbed. Slightly encouraged, the blonde let his fingers trace the infant's jawline and touch his tiny hand.
Aragorn tried to hold a snicker and managed quite well. To see his oldest friend so nervous about such a little thing was something he thought he would never glimpse. The elf looked like a child himself, completely absorbed in the infant's seeming perfection. His eyes followed Eldarion's smallest movement, and he always paused immediately as if he had done something wrong. His mouth curved into a tentative smile as Eldarion opened his grey eyes and looked directly into Legolas's own blue orbs.
"He has your eyes Aragorn."
"That he does," the king agreed. "But he has something that I do not."
The elf understood instantly and carefully brushed a tuft of wispy baby-hair away from Eldarion's ear. It was indeed pointed, not so much as an elf's, but certainly more so than a human's.
Arwen suddenly got a very sly look upon her face, but Legolas was so intent on Eldarion that he missed it completely. Aragorn had left her side and come up behind the elf, employing all his rangerly talents to do so without being heard. In a swift movement, he caught the elf's arms with his hands and wrapped poor Legolas into a bear hug.
"Estel, what on Arda--" He broke off as Aragorn maneuvered his arms into a cradle and Arwen began to advance. "No Aragorn, I will not--"
"Shhh, you silly creature." Aragorn firmly kept the elf's arms in place as his wife began the delicate transfer.
Much to his credit, Legolas did not struggle at all for fear he would somehow hurt Eldarion. He did however, manage a very nasty look over his shoulder.
"Do not tense," the king advised. "That makes him nervous. He will be afraid you will drop him."
"I am afraid I will drop him," came the predictable response. But it was said quietly, and by the time Eldarion was settled, he was silent and the nasty glances had ceased.
Aragorn stepped away and Legolas was left holding a very small, trusting infant. All by himself.
He swallowed hard, forced himself to relax. He looked down, meeting the gaze of Eldarion once more. The infant tilted his head, appraising this new person with calm curiosity. Several seconds passed (Legolas completely expecting the baby to burst out in tears) before the grey eyes closed and he turned toward the chest of the person who smelled so good.
The wood-elf smiled, completely won over. He ignored the little flashes of pain from his wound as Eldarion snuggled against his chest; he was convinced they would pass. Also, he was loathe to disturb the baby and possibly alert the perceptive Aragorn to his injury.
The king and queen of Gondor sat together on the overly-large chair, Legolas in the rocker recently vacated by Arwen. They passed the hours until dinner talking of the past five years as only friends can, sharing experiences that would never be recounted except for their closeness.
Over dinner, which was a large affair due to Legolas's arrival (much to the prince's dismay), Legolas was distracted by the many questions fired at him one after the other. Everyone wanted to know fresh news from Eryn Lasgalen and how things were progressing in Ithilien. The prince had patiently answered the endless rounds with the poise and grace that his father had instilled in him. After the first half hour though, he was incredibly tempted to just rise and leave the table. If he had not glimpsed Faramir and Eowyn across the hall and waved them over, he probably would have.
So it was a weary elf that retired to his chambers late that night, full of good food and ready to spend the night in a soft bed. Mere minutes after he had changed into a blue silken night tunic, his eyes were gently glazed in sleep.
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Shouting brought him back to awareness and he was on his feet in an instant. His reflexes had been honed from centuries of patrolling his homeland and awakening to peril when it was still known as Mirkwood, and he found that old habits never really go away. His night tunic was quickly replaced by the dark brown tunic he had planned to wear the next day, and he was outside in the cool night air ready for action in less than thirty seconds.
"What is going on?" he called to a passing guard.
"Fire!" the man yelled over his shoulder.
The elf felt a cold band of iron wrap around his chest. His immediate concern was of course for the royal family. But no, he realized quickly enough that the shouting was too close to possibly be from the King's House.
Breaking into a quick jog, he followed the guard as the man made his way through the gathering crowd. His mind whirled along many paths, although two stood out clearly. Firstly, the wood-elf knew well the destructive force that was fire. Eryn Lasgalen had suffered many forest fires, and he knew all too well how quickly fire could spread. But that brought him to the second path: how on Arda could Minas Tirith burn? It was carved from stone!
But no, that wasn't true at all. The walls around each level of the great city were stone, true enough, but the homes, shops and many other buildings were not.
His sensitive nose caught the distinctive scent of smoke rising from just outside the gate separating the fifth tier from the sixth. No hesitation marred his decision to see if he could be of help, it was simply the way he was. He was off in an instant, weaving his way delicately through the growing crowd.
The guards at the gate moved together, intent on following orders by not letting anyone past. Without breaking stride, Legolas simply placed one hand on each of the guards' shoulders and vaulted between them.
He raced along the street until his forward progress was near halted completely by the sheer amount of people. But it posed no problems for the keen-eyed elf. He could very clearly see flames licking along the wood of a medium sized merchant building. But he could also hear the faint cries for help above the crackling of the fire and the shouts of the crowd.
Once again, his decision was made quickly.
The crowd cried out in unison as an elf with long golden hair tied into a simple tail pushed through their midst and disappeared into the doorway of the burning shop.
And a man with a bruise along his right temple froze in surprise, his hand still outstretched to snatch the elf's belt and pull him away.
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Imagine the surprise of one Legolas Greenleaf when he found himself inside the building, breathing smoke and blinking away tears from his suddenly irritated eyes. His entrance hadn't been planned at all in his conscious mind. He didn't like fire; he loathed the destruction it caused and more often than not, the tears that followed in its wake.
It was hot inside, he could feel each breath of tainted air trying to sear his lungs. The smoke darkened the light, obscured even the brightest of flames in a shrouded blur. He knew he had to move quickly, for he was growing dizzy already, and he hadn't been inside for more than several seconds.
The prince prowled quickly through the rooms, ears guiding him to the source of the cries for help. He found them in a tiny room that served as a kitchen, a boy of about nine and who Legolas assumed to be his mother. The woman was silent, a tiny trickle of blood running down her forehead. The boy had been the one calling for assistance, but his voice was growing hoarse.
Legolas entered and kneeled by the pair. "I will not harm you," he assured the boy, who looked absolutely terrified at the sudden appearance of such an unexpected savior. "I only wish to escort you to a safe place."
The little boy paused for a second (a second too long to Legolas, whose lungs were burning more fiercely than ever), and then nodded, brown eyes wide with terror. He reached up to grasp the elf's proffered hand, and the woman quietly followed her son's lead.
Legolas pulled them close, one under each arm. "We must be quick. I do not know how much longer this building will remain upright."
And true to the wood-elf's luck, the ceiling chose that moment to shudder, raining bits of fiery wooden beams down upon them. They all looked up just in time to see a full size beam give way and begin to plummet directly towards their heads.
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AN: Hello again, yes it's my customary end note. I'd like to take this opportunity to plead for my life, especially to Alenor Peredhel and her deadly baseball bat. Sorry about the long wait... and the cliffy. (Well, the cliffy not so much :))
For anyone who's interested, I did indeed pass my driver's test, (woot!!) and I have successfully driven all over town without a single scratch on my mother's truck! Now the only thing left to do is to get a truck of my own!
We're off to a great start! Thanx and plenty of cake and ice cream go to the people who reviewed chappy 1! PeppyPower, tsu, Elflingimp, ArodielTheElfOf Rohan, Tathren Lalaith, Alenor Peredhel, maneatingbananas, LadyLendariel, HauntedPast, lillypop, Nieriel Raina, Eye of Newt and Aimme.
I love you all!