The Elf's words were meant to comfort, but the fact that he offered forgiveness so readily only made the man of Gondor feel like the world's biggest wretch. "Legolas, for what it's worth, I appreciate your amnesty, but I do not expect to find absolution for what I've done for quite some time yet."

"Consider it forgiven," he repeated softly, then released his brotherly grasp and moved as if to retrieve the bow he had abandoned, but seemed wary of bending.

Boromir was quick to offer his assistance. He also noticed the white knives glinting dully in the grass where they had fallen during the skirmish, and picked them up as well. He wisely did not say a word as he gathered the weapons, knowing that he could very easily do even further damage to the proud Elf's dignity.

Legolas shot him a noncommittal look as he accepted the proffered items, but his eyes glittered with relief and appreciation.

"I will return shortly," Boromir told him, "after I have made a little sense of this all and can think clearly again."

The Elf did not respond for a moment. He was busy cleaning the blood from his left knife with his gray cloak. He looked up as he slipped both blades back into the sheath nestled against his quiver and settled the strap over one shoulder. Legolas was silent for a moment, as if unsure that he should leave Boromir and risk him slipping back under the spell of the Ring. His judgment warred with itself for a moment, but then he nodded to his friend. "I will see you at the camp, then."

Legolas returned to the campsite near the river Anduin's edge, leaving Boromir to lick his wounds and come to terms with the reality of his circumstances.

He could hear Aragorn and Gimli discussing the merits of stone construction and the Hobbits bickering amongst themselves long before he reached the place where they had set up camp some hours earlier. When he came into view, however, everyone fell silent.

The other members of the Fellowship were startled beyond comprehension by the sight of the Elf. His dishevelled appearance was far from what they had come to expect of the fair prince of Mirkwood, who always appeared put-together to a point just this side of vain.

During the vicious spar, the flaxen hair had come free of the thin plaits that had secured it. Tight waves crimped the top half, which lay haphazardly over his tunic in disarray. Blood stained locks of it a strangely pale crimson, mud was caked in it, and leaves were woven through the tangled locks. His warrior's finery was covered in a fine spray of blood. His bow he held in limp fingers, and his quiver of arrows was slung absently over one shoulder.

Not surprisingly, the sensitive Ringbearer was the most shocked out of all of them. His wide blue eyes were dark with confusion as they regarded the lithe Elf, but as he passed by Legolas simply ruffled the mop of curly hair and offered a soft, reassuring smile that Frodo was quick to return gratefully, seeming slightly comforted.

The archer intended to head straight for his bedroll, but stopped short when he met the glare Aragorn had leveled upon him. Legolas opened his mouth, but did not have a chance to speak before the ranger stalked up to him, grabbed him by the elbow, and veritably dragged him a few feet away from the campsite.

The man looked him over, and his brows furrowed, his eyes glinting with a trace of irritation. Aragorn seemed to inherently understand what had transpired. Legolas had been gone for quite awhile, which, to be fair, wouldn't be unusual under normal circumstances. The Elf liked his privacy. But then there was the fact that Boromir as well had been absent. It wasn't an enormous challenge to put two and two together.

"What happened to you?!" the man hissed. "You look like you have just returned from battle!"

For his part, the Elf just smiled dryly. "You could say that."

"Oh, Legolas, what did you do to him?" asked Aragorn, his tone heavy with concern and dread. He was not angry, for he knew Legolas was not given to fits of temper unless real reason drove him; however, he as well knew the prowess of the Elf in sparring. He worried for Boromir's sake.

"The Ring and its keeper are safe," replied the archer calmly. His expression betrayed nothing as he shrugged elegantly.

Aragorn released a frustrated sigh. "Is he still breathing?" the ranger inquired, not a trace of humor in his voice.

"Of course," Legolas answered with a snort hardly befitting an Elf of his breeding and stature. "He is only a bit riled. I barely nicked him with my knife, and we tussled a bit, but other than that he is completely unharmed. If you must know this to understand that I was not taken by insanity: Boromir drew first against me. I only wanted to confront him verbally. I never wished for it to escalate to a physical confrontation."

"I don't care who started it, Legolas; you two are not children. I cannot speak for Boromir's temper, but you are more mature than this."

"Look at me, Aragorn!" His friend spread his hands wide in a gesture of supplication. "Look at me! Do you honestly believe this was the work of a sane man?! What would you have me do the next time he assaults me, Aragorn? Shall I just stand there and let him maim me beyond recognition?"

"Lower your voice," Aragorn whispered as he glanced furtively toward the foursome huddled together by the fire. Gimli was not his concern; he had fallen asleep and still snored on, oblivious to the bickering between the two longtime friends. "You are frightening the Hobbits." His words hit their mark, and Legolas's eyes darkened. Surely he did not wish for that! He felt a twinge of regret as he looked over his shoulder and found that the small creatures were studying him worriedly, their eyes large and fearful.

"The Ringbearer is safe," Legolas repeated, much softer now. "That is what matters."

"What happened back there?" the ranger asked in a tight tone. He was obviously tiring of these cryptic responses.

"It is under control." The archer refused to say more, which further annoyed Aragorn.

"He could have killed you!" Aragorn's hold on his temper was slipping. "Do you know the danger of the situation you stepped into?"

The blond Elf folded his arms across his chest. "This whole journey is dangerous, Aragorn."

"Then do not further endanger yourself!"

"Far be it from me," Legolas intoned.

His friend frowned at him as he raked his fingers through his dark hair, annoyed with his sarcasm. "Legolas, this quest is causing enough emotional duress as it is, and tensions between the members can only further complicate things. As the new leader of this Fellowship, I must know when confrontations arise, and deal with them as a mediator, but I cannot do this without the cooperation of everyone. You are being very difficult, and consequently you are making my duty that much more difficult to uphold. I wish that you would desist with your vigilantism."

"Vigilantism?! Nay, Aragorn, this was not about justice. This was about safety, and not just for the Nine Walkers, but for Middle Earth. He wants the Ring, Aragorn, and you know what would happen if no one stopped him from taking it. I did what had to be done. I observed a problem, and quelled it before it could grow into a catastrophe. After all, is that not our purpose here in this Fellowship, Aragorn?" The bright eyes searched his. "Is it not our duty to protect Frodo from danger, both present and perceived?"

When there was no immediate response, Legolas shook his head. "I am tired, Aragorn. May I return now? Is this discussion over?"

Sighing, the man nodded, then watched as his friend walked back to the fire and gingerly took a seat before it, mindful of injuries that Aragorn could not see. He would have to treat them as best he could, and sooner rather than later, if Legolas would only abandon his pride long enough to allow him access. But for the moment, he let the Elf be and stood alone with his concerns. His restless mind had not been calmed at all by his friend's explanations about what had happened. He could feel that the altercation had been more serious than Legolas had led him to believe. It had not just been a tussle in the mud to try to distract Boromir long enough for him to see how stupid and dangerous his desires were. After all, if the archer came to blows with another, it was because he felt there was no other option. The implications were not promising.

Aragorn looked to the line of trees from which Legolas had emerged, sighing to himself and letting his shoulders droop with the weight of his worry. Whatever happened, Valar, let that be enough. Let nothing else happen within this Fellowship to endanger it. Boromir may have learned his lesson today. Soon he may find strength enough to ignore the Ring's seduction.

Somehow, though, Aragorn doubted this.