The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

OIOI

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed. It really inspires me to continue writing when I receive them.

OIOI

Chapter 7

Rifts

Aragorn woke to a scream that refused to materialise as he gasped in frantic desperation for air to force into his aching lungs.

"Aragorn?" Legolas' voice came from his side and he flinched at the sound, soft as it was.

Finally able to breathe again, the scream that had threatened to bubble from his throat dissipated before even a whimper escaped and he swallowed the bitter taste his fear left in his mouth.

The world was grey again, not red as he had feared. Only a bright orange glow from behind him broke up the miserable first light of dawn. One thing that had transferred from dream into reality though was the intense heat. Sweat trickled down his temples and back, although thankfully he didn't feel that crushing pressure in the air.

A gentle hand was placed against Aragorn's trembling back and a sudden, vivid vision of blood-coated, marble hands throttling him shot through his mind and he cried out, shrugging out of the blanket he found himself cocooned in and climbing to his feet so he could see the Elf. No blood was painted on Legolas' pale face nor coated his arms and blue eyes gleamed with worry rather than lunacy.

"What is it?" Legolas asked in a voice so soft that Aragorn could only just hear it; he was afraid of scaring the already timid boy.

It took Aragorn a couple of goes but eventually he managed to shakily say, "Just a nightmare."

Legolas reached behind him to retrieve a flask, offering, "Water," to Aragorn.

Taking the canteen with a shaking hand, Aragorn gratefully sipped at the stale liquid then returned the flask to Legolas.

"Is it day?" the boy asked, his eyes moving toward the grey skies.

"Dawn," Legolas informed him. "Are…are you unwell?"

"What?"

"I understand that Human children can be prone to sickness. You look very pale and you are trembling," the Elf stated.

Aragorn shook his head. "I am not ill."

"You're sure? Because I do not know much about the art of healing and even if I did…"

"I'm not sick, I promise."

"Good. Please try your best not to become so. I swore to your father that I'd protect you."

Frowning at the odd way this conversation was progressing, Aragorn simply uttered a quiet, "Alright," and looked away from the Elf's intense gaze. Still unsettled by his nightmare, he shuddered despite the heat pounding his body, the source of which he now realised was the fire beside him.

"What did you dream of?" Legolas uncertainly broke the silence; a surprise because usually he was the one who relished the quiet moments between them.

Not meeting the Elf's steady gaze, clearly so desperate to understand the puzzle of a boy he had been landed with, Aragorn instead asked a question of the Elf rather than answering his own question, "Did you build the fire?"

"I did," Legolas replied, easily picking up on the deflection of his own question.

"Why?"

Aragorn's confusion was natural. He had travelled with Legolas now for many days – how many exactly he couldn't be sure, it was so difficult to keep track – and never before, no matter how low the temperature dropped nor the circumstances, had Legolas consented to them building a fire to keep themselves warm. Even the sparse amount of meat they sometimes obtained was cooked carefully with a controlled fire that never provided any meaningful heat or light for the two travellers. Therefore, he could not fathom what had possessed Legolas to break tradition and light a substantial fire merely days after multiple Orc attacks not far from the road.

Legolas, however, shrugged dismissively and explained, "You shivered in your sleep. I feared you were cold." He frowned then and continued, "Although now it appears that you have grown too hot." Eyes, sparkling ever so slightly in the flickering of orange light, roamed over Aragorn's sweat-drenched body and the boy squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "I can extinguish it if you'd prefer."

"No!" Aragorn cried quickly. The thought of having no light or warmth made him shudder again.

"Very well."

Their regular uncomfortable silence once again fell, although now when Aragorn looked over to the Elf, blue eyes were searching around almost frantically for something to speak of. What, Aragorn wondered, had prompted such a transformation? He wasn't sure he liked this new, slightly awkward Legolas. His father had always known what to do and say and that was the one thing he had liked about being with the Elf: his ability to reassure, to be calm. Indecisive Legolas, uncertain Legolas, he did not like so much.

"Will we be leaving soon?" Aragorn said, to the great relief of Legolas.

"I thought you might like to sleep some more."

Aragorn nodded in silence, his gaze moving to the fire. Sleep was not welcome when it came adorned with nightmares.

"It…it is alright to be scared, you know," Legolas finally said in a whisper, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. "It was a horrible thing for me to witness too."

Tears welled up, unwelcome, in Aragorn's eyes but he didn't look toward the Elf as he spoke. "Do you think they're all dead?"

"The Orcs?" Legolas asked but he already knew what the boy meant. "Yes, I suspect they killed each other off."

"Oh."

"You should not feel pity for them, Aragorn; they would show none to you."

There was a cold undertone to the Elf's normally distant voice that made Aragorn shudder with fear. Legolas seemed almost glad of their deaths and although Aragorn was pleased they could no longer cause hurt to anyone, he did not take pleasure in the slaying of any creature.

"What about…those Men? Why would they attack the monsters?"

"Orcs," Legolas corrected in impatience. "They were merely defending their territory."

"What does that mean?"

"That stand of trees was their home and their hunting ground. The spikes bearing the heads of their victims were there to warn trespassers not to linger."

In this world of evil and brutality, Legolas did not believe that concealing the truth from the naïve child would benefit him in the future so he decided it only right that he not spare the details, no matter how unpleasant they were. Frankly, he thought it highly irresponsible that Arathorn had not taught the boy anything of the world into which he had been born and was now forced to live in.

"Why are they like that?" Aragorn choked out even though he wasn't certain he really wanted to know why.

"They have been driven mad, forced to wander across barren lands. After generations of deprivation they have learned to survive the only way they can – by consuming their own kind. They live on whatever they can find; be it animal…or Human." Aragorn swallowed thickly, certain now that he shouldn't have asked. "They cannibalise their own kind without guilt or revulsion. That is what makes them so very dangerous; they are prepared to sink to the very lowest levels of their instincts simply to survive."

"So, those…warnings…and the other…"

"The remains of their hunting."

Aragorn blanched further as his mind processed this. "Are they the only ones?"

"No. There are others scattered around. Once you know the warnings to look for it is easy enough to avoid them."

"Can you teach me?"

Legolas was surprised by the request but he said, "I suppose so." The child nodded.

"Could you teach me to fight like you as well?"

"I…I'm not sure that you should be…"

"Please," Aragorn implored, climbing to his knees again and shuffling closer to the Elf. "Don't you think I should learn to defend myself?"

"Just moments ago the very thought of death scared you and yet now you desire to know how to inflict it?"

"No. But given the choice…If I were to meet people like those again, I would rather…I want to be able to defend myself and you."

Silence fell again as Legolas considered the request. Elven children were taught the art of fighting as soon as possible so why should the Human child be any different, especially given the circumstances? "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to start teaching you the basics," he agreed at last.

"Thank you." A strange relief swept over Aragorn with this promise. Activity felt better than not and he knew he would feel safer with the knowledge that he had some form of defence, however weak it may turn out to be, against the horrors he'd been forced to witness recently. Right now he couldn't imagine himself taking the life of another but who knew what the future would bring?

The silence, which Aragorn had disliked so much not long ago, was now welcomed. Legolas was watching the flames of his fire rather than his young ward and Aragorn was once again struck by the quiet strength that radiated from the Elf. He had thought that he would be disquieted by what he had seen the Elf do to the monsters and yet instead he felt comforted by what he now knew Legolas was capable of. His protector would kill for him. Just as the Rangers had always promised his father they would do if the need ever arose when they believed he was not listening at night.

Slowly, Aragorn shifted closer to the Elf until he was curled up against Legolas' side with one of his protector's arms wrapped securely around him, holding him near. In this position, as the day grew marginally lighter as dawn-break moved into full morning, he felt safe and warm and soon he drifted off into a pleasant sleep, free of nightmares in spite of the Elf's blunt, unflinching explanation of what he one day might have to face.

OIOI

"No!" Legolas shouted in impatience, rolling his eyes. "You never switch fighting hands."

"Sorry," Aragorn mumbled, returning the stick he was using as a mock weapon to his dominant right hand.

"You have not developed as much strength in your left hand as your dominant one. How many times must I tell you?"

Annoyed by the biting tone of his now-tutor's voice, Aragorn sighed. "I said I was sorry."

"'Sorry' is not good enough, it seems. You were the one who wanted to learn these skills so try to pay attention to the lessons I teach."

Sulkily, Aragorn nodded, digging the blunted end of the stick he was holding into the ground as he said, "You use both hands."

This was not the response Legolas had been looking for. "Have you been fighting for two millennia?"

"No," Aragorn conceded, lowering his gaze.

"Then do as I say. Pick up your weapon," the Elf instructed, raising his own blunted stick, poised to fight again.

Aragorn did not obey though but rather sighed, his eyes shifting to where they had laid their bags in preparation for a nights' sleep. "I'm tired. Can't we do this later?"

"No, we'll lose the light soon."

"What difference does that make? Maybe one day I'll have to fight in the dark." It was fair to say that the idea of learning to fight in the way that Legolas did had long since lost its appeal for Aragorn, and after endless days of repeating the same, excruciatingly dull movements and stances, he felt entirely justified in his frustration. With no food for days and very little water or sleep, he was starting to feel weary, thus his patience was growing thin.

"Aragorn," Legolas sighed, his own patience nearing an end.

"Can't we do more in the morning? I'm tired."

"You need to learn how to defend yourself. I know this part is dull but you'll need to know it for later." Aragorn lowered his eyes from Legolas', embarrassed that he had disappointed his guardian already. "Just go through it once more and then we can rest."

"Alright." Aragorn supposed he had brought this upon himself. He had asked to be taught and he should have known what kind of teacher Legolas would be. The moves he had been shown so far were so accurate, precise and fluid that his small, fumbling body found them nearly impossible to replicate to Legolas' satisfaction.

Carefully, he took the stance Legolas had taught him again, standing at a slight angle to his opponent, his legs spread, feet planted firmly on the ground.

Their mock swords never touched but Legolas taught him the strong motion of parrying a blow – he was starting with defence, they could move onto attack later if needed. Legolas was surprised to find that he did not relish the thought of this child being forced to slay and yet his rational mind realised that it was unlikely during his life that Aragorn would be able to avoid it.

OIOI

A shrill cry echoed around but Legolas stood his ground, unwilling to back down. The heat pounded down from a seemingly sunless sky and he felt a trail of sweat slide between his shoulder blades, already strained from holding his awkward stance for so long.

Normally, he would not bother but, after weeks of having nothing to eat but the odd handful of drying out berries, he was starving. He needed to eat. And, after all, he had promised the boy.

'Boy' he considered idly as he squinted towards the grey sky, waiting for the perfect moment, was by now a rather inappropriate term and one that Aragorn utterly despised. And yet, to Legolas, ancient as he was, Aragorn was exactly that; little more than a child. A child, however, who still relied on him for food and protection. Hence his standing on a bleak, waterless road staring at the sky with practiced, albeit strained, patience.

Taking a steadying breath, Legolas shifted his fingers on the rough wood of his bow. He used to be so confident with this kind of hunting but now he feared he was out of practice. That sure accuracy, which he had once been so famed for in his now lost kingdom, seemed so very distant now. Perhaps that was why he was hesitating when he should have just been taking the chance. It wasn't like he had anything to lose. Or at least he hadn't before he'd spent nearly half the day waiting for the perfect opportunity. Wasted time it might have been and yet he felt that if he was patient for just a little while longer then all this time and effort would pay off.

Legolas' eyes followed the soaring target, resisting the urge to lower his bow and ease the aching in his entire upper body.

The bird rose higher into the air and a sudden panic shot through him that he had lingered for too long. He did not move though in the hope that the bird would descend again. 'Patience', Legolas silently repeated his soothing mantra. It would all be worth it in the end.

Another few minutes passed in uncomfortable inactivity but at last a relieved light lit up the Elf's upward-gazing eyes as his prey came lower. He pulled the string of his bow back further and secured his fingers even better to the arrow poised against it. Then, finally, he released the taut string, sending the roughly-made shaft soaring through the air.

Considering his relative lack of practice, Legolas was a little surprised when the speeding dart actually thudded into the bird. He watched with a mixture of relief and frustration for although he would eat tonight there was a way to walk before he retrieved the fallen creature and he would have to do it quickly before the predators and scavengers started circling.

Breaking into a run, it proved easy enough to locate the fallen bird. His feet pounded on the dry ground, sending plumes of dust bursting into the air with each hurried step.

Only a little searching was required. Legolas lifted the bird from where it had fallen in a ditch a few feet from the road, shaking it to rid the dull feathers of the dust. Very little blood dripped from the creature due to the arrow still impaled through its neck so Legolas left it where it was. He didn't want to leave behind a trail of blood leading all the way back to their humble campsite for predators to follow.

Satisfied with the catch, Legolas made his way back to the road.

Aragorn was waiting for him back at their campsite, lighting a fire for the food Legolas had promised to return with. Legolas couldn't help but smile smugly to himself. The boy had been so convinced that he couldn't do it; which had only made Legolas even more determined not to return empty-handed.

It was truly amazing to Legolas how rapidly Aragorn had grown. Just nine years old when they had first met on that blood-thirsty night, Legolas had never imagined that six years on they would still be travelling together. That was not the only surprise though. Aragorn had changed so dramatically in those six years it was difficult to keep up. Legolas' own youth had lasted for centuries so nothing happened quickly to him, but one day – and Legolas could not accurately place when exactly – Aragorn had simply changed, seemed so very different to him.

Quite apart from the physical changes, the boy's behaviour had altered entirely almost overnight. The light-hearted child had turned into a rather sulky, dissatisfied teenager.

Legolas might not have liked – or even understood – the boy's youthful worship of his Elven saviour turned mentor but he had to confess that he liked it a great deal more than the moody, disinterestedness of his manner towards him now.

No longer did Aragorn cling tightly onto him for security. Instead, he increasingly longed to roam on his own, much to Legolas' deep concern, as although by now Aragorn had seen enough of death to be very nearly immune to it as the Elf himself was, he did not yet know of every danger that existed out there in the world beyond the shelter of Legolas' protection – this was partly Legolas' doing because he had never bothered to educate the boy in the many diverse evils of the world. Ways of survival were far easier to teach than the subtleties of good and evil. Certainly, Aragorn now knew the places and things to best avoid but he still knew little of the nuances of the world in which he resided.

The other thing that Legolas had undoubtedly failed in was his promise to Aragorn's father. On his deathbed, Arathorn had asked that one day, when Aragorn was considered old enough to understand, Legolas explain to him his true destiny, what his life would one day turn out to be. And yet for six years, Legolas had stubbornly put it off; assuring himself every day that the boy, for a boy he remained in the eyes and heart of the immortal Elf, was still too young to comprehend the knowledge Legolas had to pass on, even when sense contradicted his belief, telling him that Aragorn was already well old enough to bear the burden of his future.

Legolas could have cursed Arathorn for his thoughtlessness and his cowardice. The Man should have been honest with his son from the start. Had he had the courage then Legolas would not now be in this predicament.

As Legolas trudged through the intense heat back to where his ward waited, he idly pondered, as he had done many times before, on what Aragorn's reaction might be to the truth about his destiny. Anger, certainly. Followed by fear and then – hopefully – acceptance. That would be a rational person's response.

But Legolas' teenage charge was not rational at the moment. In fact, he was quite the opposite.

Perhaps that was the reason behind Legolas' dallying on the subject. He was afraid for the child because surely once the truth became known, when he repeated Arathorn's words to his ward, the boy would no longer be a child. He would be forced to become a responsible adult and although Legolas disliked the sulky boy he was now burdened with, he did not wish for him to lose his future to duty.

That annoyingly naïve child that had been forced upon him by the dying Human was becoming, it seemed, further away from him rather than closer over time and he had to confess that despite himself, Legolas grieved his loss and longed for his return.

"What took you so long?" an annoyed voice broke through the haze of the Elf's thoughts.

Sighing in irritation, Legolas held out his kill triumphantly to the boy.

Far from being impressed, Aragorn wrinkled his nose and asked distastefully, "Is that it?"

Dropping his hand, understandably stung by the thoughtless jibe, Legolas moved over to where Aragorn had a fire smouldering. "Prepare this."

"Why me?" Aragorn demanded, eyeing the limp bird with distaste.

"Because it will serve as good practice for you," the Elf snapped grouchily, throwing their meal at Aragorn, who was forced to catch it.

As the Elf went to sit on the parched ground, Aragorn glared at him in displeasure. Legolas knew fully well that the boy despised having to prepare their food. He had never taken well to such chores, all the more reason for Legolas to force them upon him.

"Did you practice your drill in my absence?" Legolas broke through the churlish silence as he removed his shoes to rid them of stones.

"No." Aragorn winced as he pulled the crudely made shaft from the bird's neck, laying it delicately to one side, it was not snapped therefore would not be wasted but used again.

Legolas looked up and pressed, "Why not?"

"It's hot!"

"That is not a suitable excuse, Aragorn."

"It is in my mind," Aragorn mumbled under his breath even though he knew that Legolas could hear the comment perfectly well.

"Battle does not only occur in temperate weather. You never know; one day you might have to fight in the heat."

"I never get to fight at all," Aragorn stressed, plucking feathers from their meal.

"Aragorn…" Legolas sighed. He knew exactly where this was heading and he had been there a hundred times before.

"You don't let me do anything."

"That's not true. You're doing something this very minute."

"Yes, because plucking feathers is highly dangerous," Aragorn retorted sarcastically.

"And you should be grateful that you have no need to be toying with danger."

Aragorn sighed heavily, bitterly returning his wavering attention to his bird preparation, very much aware of his companion's gaze boring into him, eyes burning with concern.

This was by no means the first time that Aragorn had protested recently over his lack of involvement. And maybe Legolas was being too protective, sheltering him in the same way he despised Arathorn for doing all his young life. Yet he hated the thought of Aragorn becoming like him – a listless warrior devoid of feeling.

He wanted the boy to remain pure, in the vain hope that it might help him remain that way when one day he would have to face his evil-drenched destiny. For now, that was the only thing Legolas was willing to sacrifice when it came to Aragorn. There was time yet to worry about all the other things he was bound to teach him.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?" Legolas startled from his thoughts, realising that for the second time that day he had fallen into his own thoughts. Surely this was a bad thing though so he pledged himself not to fall into the trap again.

"Do you think you could teach me to shoot?" Before the Elf had a chance to protest, Aragorn rationalised, "Then I could help you do the hunting and you wouldn't have to leave me alone for so long. You could keep your eye on me that way."

The Elf sighed heavily again. "Maybe," came his less than enthusiastic reply.

Fed up with the vague and negative replied to his – frankly very reasonably – requests, Aragorn lost his calm, as he had been prone to do of late, and slammed the nearly naked bird to the ground, yelling, "It's not fair! I never get to do anything I want to do!"

"Aragorn, please…"

"No!" Tears brimmed in tumultuous grey eyes as Aragorn continued, the words spilling unchecked and unheeding of his guardian's reaction to them. "Why can't I be taught the things you know? That is what you're supposed to be doing – teaching me. But I don't need to learn any further ways to collect water or light a fire – I know all of that now. I need to learn how to fight, how to defend myself and not just by lunging at thin air. I want to learn to fight like you can."

"Why?" Legolas interrupted. "Why do you think you need to learn battle skills, Aragorn?"

"Because! So that I can protect myself."

"There is an easy way to do that: when you see danger, run."

Aragorn scoffed, his eyes roving around for he feared that if his gaze settled on Legolas then he would crumble in his resolve to remain angry. Legolas did have the uncanny ability of making him feel guilty for just about everything he said or did.

"You don't think that's a little cowardly?" the teen ground out.

"Preservation is not an act of cowardice," the Elf stated without thought. "It is simply common sense."

That lesson was the one that he had consistently drilled into the boy from the very first day he had asked to be taught self-defence. But it seemed that it was no longer satisfactory in Aragorn's eyes.

"Then what about the day you met me? What was that?" the human challenged Legolas' reckless attack on the Orcs that held him and his father.

"That was stupidity." He spoke without thinking, not considering that his ward's feeling might be hurt by the words.

Aragorn should have anticipated the answer. Legolas was, and had been ever since they'd been thrown together by tragic circumstance, blunt to a fault, which had understandably caused tension between them in the past. Despite his prior knowledge of the Elf's candour, the words still stung Aragorn to hear.

"So saving me was stupid? Is that what you're saying?"

"You know fully well it's not," Legolas sighed.

"Well, that's what you just said!"

"That is not…The day I met you was…different."

"How?"

Lost for a suitable reply, Legolas settled on his fall-back answer instead, "You are too young to fight."

"I may have been too young six years ago but not anymore. I am fifteen now, Legolas. If not now, then when? Will you start teaching me on my deathbed? Or maybe in the midst of an Orc attack?"

"That won't happen."

"How do you know?"

"Because I won't let it," the Elf stated with confidence.

"What if one day you're not around to protect me anymore?"

"I will always be here, Aragorn. Where else would I go?"

Rolling his eyes with a self-satisfied look, Aragorn said, "Well, we're never going anywhere, that's for sure."

Reigning in his temper at the dig, Legolas ground out, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's not like you're ever going to leave this boring old strip of road, is it?" Legolas' glare did little to put Aragorn off and he continued with his cruelly stinging barbs. "For six tedious years we have walked up and down, from end to end. Just walking, nothing else. You won't even stop for more than a night at a time. You don't think that's cowardly? It's pathetic! You're pathetic! I don't think you could have ever been anything but a coward. A real warrior would not be so utterly unwilling to wander from the comfort of his home or to engage the Enemy." Getting to his feet as though to further emphasise the sheer venom of his words, Aragorn went on. "Were you ever anything but the weak-willed, fearful mess you are right now? Too scared to stand up for yourself – is that it? You wouldn't even meet me in a fight!"

"I saved your life," Legolas said through gritted teeth, slowly gaining his feet, visibly shaking with anger. "And – need I remind you? – the life of your father."

Snorting in sarcastic laughter, Aragorn took a step closer, seemingly undeterred by the fact that Legolas stood over a foot taller than him. "My father was ten times the man you will ever be!"

"Enough!" Legolas yelled, his fragile temper finally shattering at the unkind accusations. In the same instant, a crack resounded in the hot afternoon air and the Elf felt the slight stinging sensation across the flat of his hand a fraction of a second before his mind caught up with what had just occurred.

The red veil of anger cleared from his vision and Legolas stumbled backwards, away from the dumbfounded boy, who had his left hand pressed against the biting pain on his right cheek where the Elf, his guardian and defender, had just struck him.

"Aragorn…" Legolas' voice cracked horribly as he took an imploring step towards his shocked ward.

"Stay away from me," Aragorn gasped, extending his hand to keep some distance between the two of them.

"Aragorn, please, I am so sorry."

"Don't come near me!" Tears spilled over but they were of anger rather than sadness. Pulling himself together, Aragorn said in an admirably steady voice, "You really are a coward."

With anger still pulsing relentlessly through him, Aragorn turned sharply away from Legolas, snatched up his pack from the ground, and went to stride away.

A hand shot out to grab him but was the retracted just as quickly as if burnt by the touch. "Where are you going?" Legolas called in despair.

"Away from you."

"Aragorn, you can't leave."

"Why not? Clearly you don't care enough about me to want me here."

"You know fully well that's not true."

"No? Then why do you still treat me like an incompetent child?" Aragorn yelled, resuming storming away even though he knew in his heart that Legolas would follow him no matter what he said. He wanted to give into his impulses for a while though.

"Because you are still a child, Aragorn."

"I'm not!" Aragorn yelled in anger, balling his fists.

"You are to me."

This did nothing to cool Aragorn's anger as Legolas had hoped. In fact, the boy seemed to perceive it more as an insult. "I am not!"

"Aragorn please stop."

"No! Why should I stay with you? I'm tired of just going backwards and forwards, travelling the same dull stretch of road all the time. Maybe it's enough for you, but it's not for me. I'm better than that." Aragorn nearly tripped on the uneven ground in his haste to escape his guardian. "If you want to remain going in the same pattern until you die then go ahead, but you can do it alone."

"Aragorn…"

"When I was little, you told me that one day we would have to go out into the world, but I realise now that you're simply too scared."

"Please would you stop?"

"Can we go somewhere else then?" Aragorn demanded, stopping suddenly and whirling to face Legolas.

The question stumped the Elf. He wanted to be honest as well as keep his charge at his side. With a deep sigh of dejection, Legolas told the truth. "I can't promise you that. Try to understand, Aragorn, I…"

"I knew it! You just want to walk up and down the road forever! Am I destined to die here too? Maybe I'll never leave. But I have to go, Legolas, because I am more than this. I want more."

"Tell me, then, what you want."

"I want to do something!"

"What? You want to kill, is that it? You want to take a life, watch someone's soul ebb from their body as they choke on their own blood? Is that really what you want? Because it is not glamorous, Aragorn. Every time you kill something you have to recognise that loss."

"The world doesn't mourn the loss of monsters. That is a noble cause to be associated with. The Rangers…"

"I am not a Ranger, Aragorn."

"I know that!" Aragorn yelled. "I wish I was still with them. I hate it here. And I hate you."

"You know that I am doing my best here and I don't think even you could hate me for that." Legolas' voice was painfully soft as Aragorn's biting words sunk into his heart.

"How do you know? You don't know anything about me."

Without thinking, Legolas shot back, "I know more than you might think."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Legolas hesitated, torn between bitterly telling Aragorn the truth about his Human lineage or keeping things as constant as they had always been whilst he remained within the care of the Elf. Legolas longed for consistency, craved it almost, and had done ever since his fleeing from the burning Mirkwood before it fell completely. It felt so much better when he stuck to his routines. Not like when he deviated – as when he'd first stumbled across the inquisitive young boy and ill-fated father – and the terrible aching pain in his chest grew almost unbearable. Of course, Legolas would never tell Aragorn any of that. He didn't have a whole lot of pride left but he was determined to cling onto the scrap he still believed he possessed.

"Well?" Aragorn demanded impatiently of his guardian.

Legolas shook his head and said, "Aragorn, I…"

"I knew it." Disappointment mingled with his anger, fuelling his rage rather than dampening it.

"Where do you think there is to go?" Legolas demanded as Aragorn walked away from him again.

"Anywhere is better here."

Tired of carefully restraining his own anger, Legolas decided he'd had enough of indulging the child under his care and stopped suddenly in his tracks, shouting, "Aragorn, stop right there!" When the boy did not halt as he had expected, he demanded, "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," Aragorn muttered under his breath, knowing perfectly well that the Elf could hear him as well.

"I told you to stop."

"And I said no," Aragorn shouted this time.

"Aragorn, I am warning you."

"Warning me? You have no right to speak to me like that! You are not my father!"

"I am the closest thing you have!"

"Get away from me. I don't ever want to see you again." The tears flowed freely down his face now.

Realising what he'd said, Legolas stopped dead.

And then he was gone. Legolas tried to get his legs to move, to run after his young charge and desperately plead with him, but he could not move. He wanted to shout to the boy; to tell him that he was indeed a coward, that he didn't deserve the boy's respect, but his throat seemed incapable of forming a sound.

What good would it do to chase after him anyway? There would only be a short reprieve if he talked Aragorn down now and then it would start all over again. There would be more questions that Legolas could not – or perhaps would not – answer.

OIOI

Blind rage pushed him onwards, away from Legolas. Aragorn's mind whirled with a thousand thoughts, not one of them tangible enough to grasp ahold of. Anger at Legolas, at their life now, at the harsh words spoken on both sides. His own barbs had been just as cruel as the Elf's. He hated seeing the hurt in his guardian's eyes, even if at the time he had derived from it a kind of satisfaction.

Tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision until they spilled unchecked down his face. He swiped them angrily away despite there being no one around to see. Why should he feel guilty for what he'd said? It was all true. Legolas had deserved to be told the truth. The monotony of their life walking the same boring road could not continue. It was driving him close to madness. On his own at least he could just for once do something different – find some form of excitement. He could make it on his own. He did not need Legolas to protect him. He was not a child anymore but Legolas was never going to treat him as anything but, he realised. At least on his own, he would be able to prove to himself that he could face the world. Surely his father would never have smothered him so.

The heat of the day was starting to wane by now and Aragorn realised that it was nearing night-time. He had walked further than he'd expected and he had no clue where he was, even though he had no doubt passed this section of road before…

Blinking in confusion and looking about himself, Aragorn suddenly noticed that he was no longer stood on the flat, well-trodden road that he had travelled for the past six years but rather on the uneven and unknown ground beyond the Old Forest Road.

Well, he had wanted a new adventure so perhaps this unknown terrain was for the best. And he could always find his way back if he needed, he reasoned in order to reassure himself and push down the first, niggling chords of panic rising in his chest in spite of his desire for independence.

Delving into his mind, Aragorn easily recalled those irritating survival techniques Legolas had forced him to practice every single day to assure himself that he could do this all alone.

No more wandering for days on end with no rest at all. He would stop whenever and wherever he wanted.

The thrill of his new, unrestricted life pulsed through him and a soft smile of satisfaction came to his lips. Already this was better.

To Be Continued…

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