Just a quick note to say many thanks to those of you who reviewed! I am very grateful, and it's good to see that people are enjoying the story so far. This chapter is a bit shorter than the first one, but hopefully you'll like it just as much!

Chapter Two: Sharper than Blades

It was only a small hare, but it would do for their meal in addition to their dry supplies ... it would be good for moral, he reflected, to have a decent cut of meat alongside normal rations. The heavens knew he keenly wished for some, anyway. Aragorn threaded his arrow through the animal, giving it a quick wipe down before returning it to his quiver. He had noticed Legolas spending more and more time reclaiming and repairing shafts of late. Aragorn was good at fixing arrowheads, whereas Legolas' defter fingers were talented with fletching. They would have to combine their repairing skills if they were both to remain sufficiently armed...

He lifted his head, the ringing of combating blades shattering the silence. Aragorn's heart stopped and the hare was left forgotten as he stumbled to his feet and with mounting dismay tore back in the direction of camp. He cursed himself fervently as his feet struggled to navigate the rough terrain in the moonlight for leaving them behind to face whatever evil had befallen them alone, praying that none of them were hurt due to his lack of care.

"Strider? Strider!" Sam's voice, lost yet close to him in the darkness. The hobbit had come looking for him, trying in vain to discern the dark garb of the ranger from the shadows of rocks and stunted bushes. Aragorn's feet stumbled to a halt amongst the tripping stones. "I'm here, Master Gamgee!"

The hobbit changed direction for Aragorn's voice. When he drew up in front of the ranger, the relief at finding him was plain on his face in the poor light. He was panting as much with anxiety as lack of breath. "You've got to stop them, Strider, they'll kill each other!"

Kill each other? Confusion and panic conflicted in his chest. "Who, Sam?"

"Boromir and Legolas – we can't stop them!"

Aragorn's feet started to propel him back to camp all the faster. How could this be happening, why was this happening? What on earth had gone on in his absence to merit such lethal behaviour? He could see them now, fighting on the edge of the camp, the hobbits milling in panic on the brink of their combat circle. Gimli's anguished cries were like moths trying to break through glass for all the good they were doing. He was mere feet from them now, close enough to see the cold fury in the Gondorian's attacks and defensive aggression in Legolas' knife action. Aragorn drew his own weapons, plunging himself right into the centre of the fight, his dagger engaging Boromir's sword and his own sword catching Legolas' knives. He thrust man from elf with a strength fuelled by his mounting anger.

"What madness is this?" Aragorn demanded furiously, casting his enraged glare on both parties, arms remaining spanned to keep the two apart. "Huh? Have you both taken complete leave of your senses?"

Boromir was first to step forwards, halted in his advance on the elf only by the flat of Aragorn's sword against his chest. "I will not stand idly by and be insulted by an elf coward," he spat, "and I will not tolerate an attack on my own people!"

Legolas' knives were lowered to his sides, but he made no move to sheath them. He had surreptitiously taken himself back from his combat partner but remained ready should the need for his knives arise again. "I returned the same slight you gave me, Boromir." A lace of bitter sarcasm lined his next words. "Clearly, what I said to you was far worse than what you said to me, as you decided it was so unforgivable as to draw your blade on me."

"That's what this is about?" Aragorn asked in disbelief, his eyes passing between his two companions in consternation. "You squabbled, and you chose to draw your sword on him?"

"I will not tolerate-"

"I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour, Boromir! Both of you are of noble lineage, both of you were raised in the high courts of your lands, yet you bicker and pick like street urchins!" Aragorn shook his head at the pair, his eyes angered and disappointed. "You should feel ashamed of yourselves, both of you. Now sheath your weapons!"

Legolas hesitated, giving Boromir a furtive glance before obeying, weighing up the threat his unexpected foe might still pose. However, because he had entrusted himself to Aragorn's judgement on this quest, the blades sank back into their leather holders. The action was reluctant, but completed nonetheless.

Seeing that Legolas had done as commanded, Boromir grudgingly followed suit. He pinned his aggressive glare on Aragorn. "I will not be spoken to as a child," the Gondorian growled. "Not by you, not by anyone!"

"I treat you only as your behaviour merits!" Aragorn hissed in Boromir's face. "Children come to blows over such things, and if you insist on behaving like a child, then you leave me no choice but to treat you as one. And you-" Aragorn turned on Legolas, the archer's one raised brow betraying his surprise that his friend should turn his anger on him, "-I swear that tongue of yours has an edge keener than any blade ever made: learn when to keep it still!"

Gimli chose to interject, coming into their too-close circle. "Just take a look at who witnesses the defenders of the Fellowship fight amongst themselves!" For the first time, man and elf turned their eyes from each other to look about them, and both felt a stab of guilt...

Pippin would not look at them directly, his eyes averted beyond them into the darkness, as though looking past the problem would dissolve the threat of their argument. The fear was there all the same behind his mask of feigned ignorance. Merry and Sam did not know where to put their eyes, their own uncertainty of what this meant clear on their features. Only Frodo looked directly at them. There was a deep sadness reflecting in his blue eyes. Feeling compelled to say something with the faces turned on him, he muttered: "I'm sorry ... I know this only came about because of me."

"No, Frodo," Legolas toned gently. He bowed to the hobbit after the fashion of his people. "The need for apology lies with us only. You have committed no wrong here." Legolas cast Boromir an unreadable look before taking up his fallen bow and disappearing back into the night, making it clear that he wished to complete his watch and leave the company of the others behind him.

-(())-

There was no hare when he went back for it, the fresh meat probably stolen away by a fox or some such creature. In truth, he never expected it to be there when he returned for it, but that did not make his frustration with the night any less. Aragorn released a deep, almost guttural growl of rage, not so loud as to alert the rest of the Fellowship, but enough to ease a little of his frustration. This night was passing from bad to worse. He would make sure they were on the river again at first light: it was becoming increasingly apparent that the only way to maintain peace in their company was to keep it as divided by stretches of water as possible.

He made his way back to the camp glumly, not having the heart to attempt a further hunt in the darkness. He could see the thick shadows of cloud beginning to obscure the deep blue of the night skies, taking the pinpricks of starlight with them. It would rain tonight; the air had that smell about it. He was in no mood to get wet, but the heavens rarely paid attention to what those on the land wanted. He was a man of the wilds, the weather was something he regarded more as a fickle travelling companion than a potential hindrance ... but, right now, he wished fervently that he was no more than a regular mortal man, living in his own house and watching the clouds gather outside as he lounged in the comfort of a fire. Such privileges were not bound for the exiled King of Men, and he knew he had no right to such desires.

The news of the stolen hare met only with the silent disappointment of downcast hobbit eyes and irritated but accepting expressions from man and dwarf alike. The group were hungry, but following the let-down of the promised hare, their appetite – a completely different element altogether – left them ... there was only so much lembas they could take. Equally, there was only so much forced conversation Aragorn could take. He had not sat alongside Gimli long before he rose to his feet and left. None challenged his decision to walk off into the night.

His attempts to keep his footfalls quiet along the shingle were each futile efforts, and he soon learned that his caution was a waste of energy ... besides, the crunch of his boots on the loose chips of stone was vastly preferable to the pained company the others tried to keep. As he walked, the shingle gradually became punctuated with grassy tufts rising from the occasional patch of sandy dirt, and he found himself in the presence of some stunted trees, their structures marking themselves as separate from the night with a different kind of black.

"Mae govannen,Dúnedan."

Aragorn's body – to his annoyance – betrayed his surprise as he started, and his irritation was deepened by the triumphant cadence of quiet laughter from the tree's boughs. His eyes raised, only just distinguishing the shape of the elf from the tree: they were at once a part of and separate from each other, and those who did not know what they looked for would never spot him. "So this is where you chose to hide," Aragorn remarked, electing to stay with Legolas' Sindarin dialect, as much for himself as the elf.

"I do not class my method of concealment during a watch as hiding in the sense you are implying ... at least, no more than you do your lone wanderings, Estel," replied the elf dryly. Aragorn found himself grudgingly acquiescing with Legolas' astute reflection of his own chosen behaviour, and equally irritated by the cutting observation. His love of taking leave of the company of the others was something he did for solitude, on the face of it. Deeper down, he needed the temporary lull in their constant expectation, a thing attainable only by distancing himself from them. Leader, governor, protector, warrior, king. They looked at him with such anticipation of greatness; but the potential he felt within himself to fail that expectation was often overwhelming, so much so that he could not stand to look at them. He was Strider the ranger before he was Aragorn, Isildur's heir. Even the name the elves had given him grated his soul now... Estel. Hope. Clearly, he did not hide the essence of his feelings as well from Legolas as he did from the rest of the Fellowship. "Little escapes you, does it, my friend?"

"It has not escaped my attention that you are upset with me." Legolas chose to come down at that point, simply jumping from his elevated position and landing with less sound than Aragorn's attempted stealth had ever achieved. He lowered the hood he used to shield his betraying pale hair. The elf's blue eyes caught the scant light and threw it back at Aragorn with an ethereal quality, making the sad regret in them all the more potent.

Aragorn offered his friend an equally unhappy smile. "You disappointed me tonight, Legolas. In a way I never thought possible."

It was clear in his eyes that Legolas found the statement hurtful ... not so much the words themselves, but what they meant to his friend. "I know. And I am sorry, Aragorn. It was never my intention for it to escalate so severely."

"Intention or no, Legolas, you know how sharp your wit is when it is spurred by your pride. We both know you are greater than what happened tonight. Please, just walk away in future ... I have no desire to see a sword in your gut."

"And I have equally no desire to fell a human," Legolas returned, "but I'll defend myself wherever necessary: I will not sacrifice my immortality to a human's burnt pride."

Aragorn nodded his acceptance of Legolas' terms. It was not necessary to say any more of the night's poor events ... he knew the elf's own disappointment with himself to be as keen as Aragorn's. They shared a silence together; it was not the uncomfortable quiet Aragorn had experienced earlier, but rather the companionship of two friends who did not need words to enjoy each other's company. Despite constantly being in close proximity, such occasions for them were rare. Legolas, as much as he was enjoying the companionship, felt the need to shatter the temporary peace and bring them both back to their uncertain reality. "Boromir is not a bad man, Estel-" he paused, his following words seeming to stick in his throat. Aragorn looked at his friend with heavy trepidation ... he knew Legolas well, and he recognised the weighted tone of voice for all its prophesising quality.

"But?" Aragorn prompted.

"But I heard the Ring speak with Frodo through him tonight, and I saw its blackness in his soul when he took his sword to me."

Aragorn felt the hair at the nape of his neck rise at Legolas' words.

"Boromir's heart yearns to save his people: his will is noble and true, but his desperation for them is keener than his loyalty to us, and the Ring knows it has found a strong tool in him. It perceives us as a threat to its return to Sauron's hand, and it will not rest until it sees us all destroyed. Our Fellowship will falter to its will, no matter how hard we try to keep it together. Something is coming for us in the night, Estel, and I fear we do not have the combined strength to repel it." The frightening truth was, whenever Legolas developed these feelings of danger, he was never wrong. To ignore his words was folly. "I would not see Boromir come to harm, either by my hand or any other's, but if that is what becomes necessary to protect what we do here, then it is an action I will commit without hesitation." He paused, before: "You would not ask any different of me, would you, Estel?"

Aragorn cast the fair-haired elf a searching look in the darkness. What little he could see of Legolas' face was open and sincere: he was not offering a challenge, but requesting confirmation of what he thought to be required of him. If Aragorn bid him to under no circumstances slay Boromir, no matter what the situation, Legolas would obey it. It frightened him that they were having such a conversation in the first place, but he sensed the rising necessity in their need to be clear on the subject. He offered a shake of the head, and Legolas gave a single shallow nod in acknowledgement of the unvoiced order.