(A/N) I'm sorry this part took so long to put together, but I've started college classes, and I'm swamped. On the other hand, I really like where we are in this story, so it was fun to write. So, please R&R!

This chapter contains my 200,000th word archived with Fanfiction! The word is 'Detached'

Disclaimer: I don't own Aragorn, or Legolas, or Thranduil. I wish I owned Mirkwood, but I wouldn't write about it if I did...

CHAPTER FOUR

They awoke to a meager light bleeding between the fat roots of their sleeping place. It was a dusky grey outside, but altogether more inviting than the pitch dark had been the night prior. Now, Legolas could see the vine covered trunks clearly, getting a better idea of where they were. Upon pulling himself off the ground and ducking his way through the roots, the elf took stock of their location.

They were much further from Mirkwood than they had been at the Mountains. The wild flee from the spiders had pulled them further south and put them in a much worse condition. The walk afterwards to find the tree they slept under had carried them farther east as well.

There was a heavy sigh to his right. Estel had also woken, and was peering up through the branches.

"Half the daylight is already gone. We should've woken sooner." The ranger pointed out; though he still looked incredibly tired and weary. His posture was slumped, and he held his leg gingerly.

"Perhaps we should search out athelas before we make our way back." The blonde suggested, doubtfully eyeing the other. It would be a long return trip, all things considered.

"For that and game. I've lived off the land for weeks now, and all my initial provisions are gone." The human added in, and Legolas had to agree that he was growing hungry. He had forgotten about food. If they were going to be hunting, he needed both arms free. In that case, he began to shrug off the makeshift sling that had remained in place while he slept. But when he tried to pull the fabric over his head, there was a hand blocking the movement.

"Leave that on." How it was possible that the human thought he could instruct him, Legolas didn't know. He deigned to arch an eyebrow that conveyed more than a little annoyance.

"It's only a bit sore. I need both hands."

"It's not going to get better if you don't allow it to." The elf had rolled his eyes at the famous words every injury earned. The human only grinned. "I know how it feels. My brothers would always get me into unfortunate situations. More often than not I was the one stuck with the sling."

"Or a crutch?" The prince's blue eyes darted to the wounded leg of the other.

"Yes, that too." Estel openly conceded. "Once 'Ro tricked me in to reorganizing Erestor's books. When he found out, he was furious, so naturally I was in a hurry to get as far away from him as possible." Legolas found the fond story reminiscent of his own elfling days, spent chasing Elidyr around the palace whenever his brother wasn't busy. He hadn't even realized he was smiling.

"Then 'Dan proceeded to approach me and give me his 'expert' advice on hiding places. I was very young, and somehow was coerced into believing he had nothing to do with Elrohir's prank. Believing him was my first mistake, but staying the night in a tree was my second. Elladan made out Erestor's anger to be so deadly that I'd rather sleep fifteen feet above ground than face it." There was laughter in the Dúnadan's voice. "In the middle of the night, I rolled over in my sleep, fell, and broke my arm."

Now they were both laughing hard.

"When I got back to the House, I found out that Erestor's anger was hardly anything more than his usual, surly attitude." The human added between chuckles. "'Ro and 'Dan were sorry, sure. But they still teased me for weeks afterwards." It was such a boyish tale touched with the sparks of a close-knit family, that the elf felt his spirits lifting.

It was almost like the time Elidyr had—

Legolas killed the train of thought instantly. His guard had been down, and now the memories stung like unshed tears.

His smile fell and his eyes dipped to the forest floor as they walked. Estel had been so open with him that it felt wrong to shore up his defenses again, so Legolas attempted to blot out the flash of blades and clang of battle that took his muindor from him. Still the sounds from that day repeated over and over again like ghostly echoes. The prince's brow furrowed as the dark thoughts took over.

What could he have done? What could he have changed? He should have—

"Sorry." A soft voice reminded him that Estel was still beside him, and Legolas blinked the apparitions away.

"For what?" He regained his composure quickly, playing off his lapse in attention.

"You know what." The ranger gave him a gently stern expression, one Legolas felt confused by.

"I'm sure that I don't." He contradicted lightly, now fully engaged by the human's puzzling attitude.

"You are too proud for your own good."

"And you're remarkably cryptic for a human." That earned him an ironic smile from the other.

There was a pause as they met each other's eyes questioningly. Estel seemed to be groping for words.

"Sometimes, I feel like we are already friends." Legolas blinked, shaking his head slightly in discomfiture. He wondered briefly at what brought on the bout of seriousness. "But you were just zoning out, and we both know why. You don't have to talk about it, but you can't pretend it doesn't exist." The human's tone was not accusatory, but it was unexpected enough that Legolas bounced on the defensive.

"I might be wrong, but I thought it was my business and not yours." Legolas snapped sharply. He was growing impatient and more than a little uncomfortable with the turn in conversation.

Their exchange was scaring off potential game, anyways. It was a tense silence, but gradually the sounds of the forest returned and they trudged on. The elf hefted a sigh and ran his uninjured hand through his hair.

"I apologize." He spoke quietly. "You have been nothing but kind to my people. I should not have grown angry with you."

*muindor*—"brother (blood)" (Sindarin)

"It is fine." Aragorn could see the blonde visibly relax upon his forgiveness. He used the opening to clear up their earlier confusion. "I said I was sorry because my story made you upset." He watched the elf's face carefully. The prince opened his mouth as if to protest before he thought better of it, steely eyes flashing down again as if they could conceal whatever melancholy thoughts plagued him.

Their feet padded quietly along the gnarled floor, Aragorn's leg dragging softly in the dirt when it wouldn't pull his full weight. It was a calming pace; very slow, yet companionable.

The ranger was allowing himself to be taken in by the forest, appreciating the odd beauty of the thick trees curling over their path and the paper-thin, autumn leaves that were colored in shades of maroon and gold. He was honestly taken aback when Legolas spoke.

"He died because of me." It was said in a small voice, smaller than Aragorn thought the other was capable of, and the blonde's face was hidden in the afternoon shadow as his head was bent down, shoulders hunched.

He was hurting.

And it shocked Aragorn to realize that it hurt him to watch.

He instantly felt bad for prying, and even worse for coaxing an admission out of the elf.

"Was he killed by your hand?" The prince's shoulders were trembling, but besides the slight shake, Aragorn would have next to no clue to his emotional state.

"No, but—"

"Then he didn't die because of you." Aragorn interrupted firmly. The human recognized guilt when he saw it, and Legolas was filled with so much remorse that he was appalled he hadn't seen it before.

"He was protecting me!" Legolas' clear voice cracked, lost eyes finally meeting Aragorn's. His appearance was so broken that the ranger was nearly speechless.

"It was his choice." The human managed, his only thought to erase that look of desperation from the elf's fair face. There was some progress made, as doubt was now the dominant expression present. The blonde's eyebrows were knit in skepticism.

"No one chooses death. If I wasn't there, he would still be alive." The stubborn elf was hell-bent on blaming himself.

"There is no way that makes it your fault." He could see how much Legolas needed to believe it, how his spirit was slowly being crushed by it. This was how elves faded, how grief sapped at their life force until they couldn't go on. If the blonde kept it bottled up for so long, he would be gone before anyone thought to ask what was wrong.

"He was a lot like you, wasn't he?" Aragorn tried again. "You were willing to die for those in Mirkwood, willing to sacrifice yourself for something you cared about. Your brother had the right to make that same choice." He was pleased to see Legolas falter, if only slightly.

"It was my mistake to pay for, not his." The pale face was closed off again, obstinate as ever.

"I just hope you realize that if you could do it over, he'd probably make the same choice all over again."

That statement struck home, those widening eyes the only reaction on an otherwise defensive countenance. Estel was encouraged by the growing silence, and he let Legolas think it out. If he came to terms with it himself, then that weight might finally lift off his shoulders.

Aragorn couldn't help but look at his companion in a different light now. He'd assumed the elf to have been royalty, yes. He'd even found out that his brother was deceased. But for the self-assured, determined being to be hiding the awful burden of guilt, Aragorn had no clue. It humanized the superior creature more than any fake smiles ever could. Conflicting thoughts dashed across the other's face, betraying flickers of emotion that the human hadn't noticed before.

When he met the blonde's icy irises a second time, he found a small bit of relief in them.

"Hannon le, Estel." Was the genuine answer, lighter spoken than the ponderous argument prior. "That helped a little." Free of his stoic barrier, the blonde looked much younger, and much more vulnerable.

"Call me Aragorn." Estel answered kindly, feeling much better himself after Legolas had finally opened up to someone. "Estel is my elvish name, and I do not care much for it." The opposing cerulean eyes flashed with mirth.

"Mayhap because it is reserved for ellith?" The trill of laughter that followed made Aragorn smile in spite of himself.

"That might be it."

They walked on, a more contented quiet following. And even in spite of their injuries, they were able to sneak up unawares on a few small woodland creatures. The game was swiftly knifed and skinned, and they ate while Aragorn treated himself with the patch of herbs they had stumbled upon. After the brief respite they regained their wits and renewed their slow pace towards the Elvenking's Halls, trading jests and stories of days not filled with orc raids and spider attacks.

It was afternoon on the second day of travel when Aragorn risked another personal question.

"Won't your adar be worried that you haven't returned yet?" The elf didn't seem concerned in the slightest about the awful time they were making.

His answer was a subtle shake of the head, and a satirical smile, empty of warmth.

"In this past year he hasn't seen me for weeks on end without reason. He won't worry." The elf sounded so sure of this fact, that Aragorn didn't push the matter. Instead, the human pressed his own pace to quicken. It sent spikes of pain up his calf muscles even with the aid of the rudimentary crutch they fashioned from a sturdy branch. The blonde didn't seem to notice the adjustment, his thoughts drifting elsewhere yet again.

*Hannon le*—"Thank you" (Sindarin)

*ellith*—"female elves" (Sindarin)

If someone had told Legolas a week ago that he would be fast friends with a human, he would have laughed at them. It wasn't simply the fact that few humans passed by Mirkwood. No, it had much to do with his lack of trust in general. It took a great deal for him to grow comfortable with another, and yet Aragorn was very easy to get along with.

It shocked the elf even further when he realized he knew next to nothing about him.

Estel shared many short, amusing tales of his childhood. They were great little stories that were pricks of light on an otherwise darkening horizon. But as to why the man had been so near to his homeland in such a dire moment of need, Legolas was stumped. Could it have been fate? The human seemed to fulfill some higher purpose, even though he was ordinary and amenable. The matter of his sudden appearance was puzzling enough for the prince to bring it up.

"If you hail from Imladris, why did you travel so deep into Mirkwood? It is the last place many wish to be." It was a casual question, one Legolas was frustrated that he couldn't figure out himself.

"I was in the process of completing a favor for an old friend." Aragorn shrugged half-heartedly, as if the mere thought of the favor made him tired. "It was a near impossible request, and I am glad for the detour, though not for the circumstances." Legolas nodded, seeing that the small fragment of information was all Aragorn was willing to give.

The two walked for the better part of a day, refilling water skins at a small, stagnant pond. It was the only water they would come upon until they could touch by the Enchanted Stream, so they reluctantly drank. By the end of the day, they had just struck upon the Old Forest Road.

"This is taking far longer than I expected it to." Aragorn muttered, casting a scathing look at his wounded leg.

"We will go as fast as we can manage. At this pace we will reach the Halls in a couple more days. Then we can treat your gash properly." Legolas shrugged, noting the inflamed skin around the other's stitches. They both knew that the torn flesh was infected, even with the repeated herbal treatments. Legolas' own shoulder ached dully, a swollen joint that he could hardly rotate properly, let alone work a bow with. They made a sorry pair of skilled fighters, and the sooner Aragorn could get his leg looked at the better.

The forest had fallen quiet since the battle in the Mountains, and Legolas hoped that meant no further trouble had befallen his hometown. The trees whispered cautiously, unwilling to pass along messages and altogether uneasy. The blonde was left to feel uncomfortable with the woods, and edgy with anticipation.

"Something feels wrong." Aragorn said precisely what Legolas was thinking. "It's in the air." The elf hummed in agreement. He glanced about them only to see the resolute woods untouched and unmoving. There was nothing to be nervous about, but the feeling wouldn't leave.

And so the next few, painstaking, days were spent limping and laughing and healing. The time came when Legolas knew they would reach Mirkwood and the five days spent with no one's company but Aragorn's felt like weeks and months. He was sore, and tired, and pained, yes.

But he felt happier and more complete than he had been for the past year.

"And Elrond kept them on patrol duty for a week afterwards." The ranger concluded his most recent addition to his seemingly endless supply of Elrohir and Elladan prank stories. The two snickered at the elves' mischief, and the sheer ridiculous nature of their tricks.

"Do you think you can manage a thousand more steps?" Legolas could see the short path that would take them to the massive doors at the end of their journey.

"I'm good for it," the human's breathing was only slightly labored, "but if I couldn't, would you carry me?" The immediate snort was answer enough. Estel's mouth quirked up at the edge as they neared the elvish dwellings. "I was just curious as to how you might deal with a denial."

"You were supposed to say yes as a formality," Legolas quipped back, "We are close enough that if you quit on me, you would deserve to rot where you stand."

"Remind me not to get on your bad side." Aragorn smiled, his grey eyes trailing ahead to see the intricately carved wooden doors arched with pillars on either side. A short bridge spanned over the Forest River, and Legolas never thought he'd be so happy to see Anildor manning the post there.

"Anildor!" He cupped his hands around his mouth, getting the armed ellon's attention.

What the Captain must have thought when he saw them, Legolas didn't know. They were bloodied and weary, one in a sling, the other with a crutch. But Anildor's fair face split into a wide grin, and he was rushing out to meet them mere seconds later.

"Mellon-nin! You live!" He embraced the blonde tightly, pressing his shoulder hard enough to earn a wince.

"Of course I live!" Legolas smiled as he returned the hug. However, he was swiftly being tugged towards the Halls faster than his traveled feet could take him. He was mortified by Aragorn's smirk of amusement as he was yanked by the wrist like an elfling. In retaliation, he pulled on the sleeve of the Captain of the Guard.

"He needs a trip to the healing ward." Legolas gestured back towards the human with a smirk of his own. The ranger caught up via staff and added a reluctant nod.

"We can get to the ward by ourselves. Would you tell Lord Thranduil of my return?" Legolas lead Aragorn into the underground Halls, turning sharply down a cool, winding path that followed the natural stone. It felt so good to be back home, that he finally relaxed. That apprehensive sensation that had followed him the past few days was erased.

The occupants of Mirkwood had taken notice of the dirtied blonde and his companion, and they flocked to him donning various expressions of joy.

"We thought you were dead!"

"Are you okay?"

"Where have you been?"

The elegant voices of his kind were dancing about the room in confusion, and Legolas was too tired to follow them all.

"My friend requires attention." He gently parted himself from the crowd, Aragorn in tow as they found the healing sector of the underground.

The healers and apothecaries were quickly guiding them to cots and examining their injuries, much to Legolas' protest. He shrugged off the hand of a Silvan elf, retreating to an unoccupied corner of the room.

"Don't let him get away." Aragorn joked, "He dislocated his shoulder earlier. If you don't make him sit down, he'll pretend as if he were fine."

"I am fine." Legolas insisted.

"He's also a hopeless liar."

"I am not." Legolas barked back, sounding like an infant even to himself. However, he allowed himself to be brought next to Aragorn to sit on a cot of his own. The ranger tossed him a condescending grin in jest, earning rolled eyes from the blonde. His shoulder was prodded and the sling was exchanged for proper bandages to brace it. Aragorn's foul cut was being cleaned and worked on as well, the skin red-rimmed and ghastly. It was a miracle that he had managed to travel as long as he did.

Legolas' attention was drawn to a sudden noise in the hall. A smooth, angry voice was bellowing around the corner and the sound of running steps followed haphazardly. The prince immediately paled and tensed.

It was his father's voice.

*mellon-nin*—"my friend" (Sindarin)

*ellon*—"male elf" (Sindarin)

Aragorn watched his friend carefully when the commotion in the hall signified what could only be the Elvenking Thranduil's presence. From the barely veiled fright in the blonde's eyes, the human was positive this assumption was correct. He was prepared for scolding, anger, joy, and relief—the things parents were known for.

But Aragorn did not expect what followed.

A head of pale blonde hair bolted into the room, the exact same color that graced Legolas'. Thranduil was tall, with striking eyes under a dark brow, and the ranger found him intimidating even while his attention was fixed elsewhere. The King wore dark, flowing robes that trailed along the floor, but the fabric lay ruffled as if from running, and paired with the slightly mussed hair, the elf appeared taken off guard and stressed.

He simply paused, wide-eyed gaze trained on his son and mouth parted in disbelief.

Legolas' open, joking demeanor had fled—leaving only an indecipherable, shielded one in its place. His shoulders were stiff, but his eyes were questioning and unmistakably dejected.

"Ion-nin, are you alright?" Thranduil's gaze had dropped towards the elf's heavily bandaged shoulder, and he finally approached the archer with fresh haste.

"It is nothing, ada. I am well." Legolas found a smile as they touched upon familiar territory. "I trust the others made it back safely?" But Thranduil was still scanning his son's being, as if in reassurance. He was strangely out-of-reach. Unconnected. Detached.

"What happened?" The prince's voice fell low and hollow. Thranduil had set a cool hand on his undamaged shoulder, but the Elvenking's gaze was intent upon him still.

"Lethonnel—" the King's words were emptier than before, expression frostier than any tone might convey.

"Your mother faded this morning."

*Ion-nin*—"My son" (Sindarin)

*Ada*—"Dad/Daddy" (Sindarin)

(A/N) Thanks for reading. I'll get working on what should be the final chapter. Thanks to all who fav'd, followed, and reviewed last chapter, I really appreciate it! Please drop me a review, they make me write faster!