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Heya, I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot more than you'd think. As for the formatting, I'm still trying to figure out the best way to do that, may take me a few chapters,

thank you for pointing it out. Chapter 3 coming next Thursday, hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading :}

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Despite such little time Éomer had spent with Legolas, he had made an unusual observation. The elf was undoubtedly a masterful warrior, and fought with much ferocity and an almost cat-like elegance.

Éomer assumed all elves were this way, but it was no less incredible. There was a lot of assuming to be done, which was not helpful, but one thing he was certain of was that Legolas was unusually shy for an

elf, or anyone for that matter. He often kept to himself, and seldom spoke unless he was spoken to. Though, this made him good company, Éomer thought. To be fair, he was the only of his kind within

legions, and he was finding it particularly difficult to grasp human concepts.

But, his bashfulness led it to be almost terrifying to watch the elf lash out verbally.

They had carefully unhinged the spear from the ground and cut it shorter at both ends, leaving only a small portion lodged it Legolas' arm. He was free to move. He chose not to, but if it weren't for Aragorn

holding his shoulders, his body would have betrayed him into collapse. Éomer had almost forgotten he was injured due to his elven calmness, or just common shock- he still could not tell.

At first, Aragorn spoke to him softly, his eyes wide with compassion. Then their melodious elvish deteriorated and their words became weighted with poison. Legolas uttered some- what Éomer guessed to

be- very colourful curses and pushed the ranger's hands away when he attempted to remove the spear- it proved to be a tricky manoeuvre, and even Aragorn was cautious. Meanwhile, Gimli watched on with

a strange mix of wonder and concern. The man looked down to the dwarf, but he had as little idea as he did. Neither could understand exactly what was being said, but it wasn't hard to guess.

'Oh, you are as stubborn as the dwarf!' Aragorn blurted in Westron, 'Apologies Gimli.'

Gimli grunted and folded his arms, but did not seem to take offence.

'I am not stubborn, my way is just better.' Legolas replied, although not too confident in his words.

'And what is that, walking around with this sticking through your arm?'

That silenced the elf. Aragorn made a final examination of the injury, shaking his head all the while.

'Your father would have my head if you returned like that,' he added quietly, before getting to his feet (still he supported Legolas) and turning to the two watchers, 'The spear acts as a plug for now, but

when we remove it, it will be- messy.'

'We?' Gimli said, as if insulted.

Aragorn nodded and thought nothing more of it, beckoning them over

'We must be quick, now it becomes threatening. Gimli, hold him while I pull, Lord Éomer will lower him to the stretcher.'

Legolas did not enjoy talking about it and snapped at Aragorn in elvish again. Aragorn looked at him apologetically as he clasped a hand firmly around the spear. The three exchanged firm nods, which in turn

masked stampedes of anxiety pulsing through their minds. Legolas stared darkly and unfocused at the ground. Aragorn exhaled and looked at them each in turn.

'On three then?'

The journey back to Edoras was slow, despite the fact Theoden had declared they make haste. They were weighed down by the masses of injured that were dragged along on carts or stretchers. It was a

silent exodus, and the air was as bitter as it had been when Rohan was under Saruman's power. It was difficult to guess when these people would be happy again. Aragorn was not in favour of pessimism,

but that too was fading into realism at that point.

Not among the injured, strangely, was Legolas, who had insisted upon riding Arod. He had been recovering for only a few days at Helm's Deep, but any arguments the Rohan healers or Aragorn put forth

were quickly shot down. To anyone else, the elf seemed completely fine and acted as he usually did, but there was no escape from the keen eyes of a ranger. Aragorn knew him better; loosely held reins,

slumped posture and dark eyes did not evade him. Orc weapons weren't designed to be endured, their intent was far more malicious. Then again, elves equally weren't supposed to die. Especially not as they

had done in this battle. Aragorn steered his mind away from Haldir, he would not add another friend to the list. He was just glad that the Rohirrim didn't know the significance of the loss of elven life, else

their hope be more diminished than it already was. Now it was time to be thankful that until a few days ago, elves were almost myths to these people. Whenever the fog of his thoughts cleared, Aragorn cast

a look back at the wood elf, checking he hadn't- and he wished it were a less dispiriting reason- passed out suddenly. He did not have much faith in his friend.

The Rohirrim had not forgotten about the losses of the battle, but the turmoil no longer lingered so prominently, and there was much singing and feasting late into the night. The hobbits had drawn (this

time) wanted attention to themselves, belting songs from their almost forgotten home. Aragorn was glad to see Gandalf enjoying himself at least a little, tapping his foot on the smooth stone floor as he blew

on his pipe.

King Theoden had sought out Aragorn's company, as the two were the only who had let foreboding thoughts weigh them down that night. They stepped away from the celebrations to smoke outside. Aragorn

was glad to have time to appreciate the beauty of Rohan's rolling hills and peaceful mountains. It felt protected by these mountains, like guardians, they reminded him of Rivendell.

Theoden didn't speak much, instead, the two of them enjoyed some much earnt quiet, until Éomer came to his uncle, informing him that Eowyn was searching for him. Theoden reluctantly returned to the

party to find his niece, and Éomer replaced him at Aragorn's side.

'Not enjoying the party?'

'I'm not sure. I feel as if I'm not allowed to enjoy it.'

Éomer nodded and hummed in agreement, gazing out at the now silent plains.

'Lord Gimli and Lord Legolas had quite the drinking game, should've seen it.'

'Drinking game?' Aragorn turned to him for the first time.

'Is that bad?'

'Well yes, for both of them really. I assume they drank a lot.'

'To put it simply, the dwarf is probably experiencing alchohol-fueled, orc-slaying dreams. He'll be fine though, too strong to let it get to him long term. Legolas is fine though, you must know of elven

tolerances.'

Aragorn frowned and shook his head, 'Not that, Im just not sure that ales are the best thing for Legolas at the moment.'

'Oh.'

They both maintained a wordlessly agreed silence. Aragorn assumed the conversation was over, but to his surprise, Éomer spoke again, rather hurriedly.

'He'll be okay? I mean- it's the sort of thing to leave a scar but he won't die or anything?'

The ranger chuckled, but regardless, took the question seriously. He paused for a long while, contemplating as he blew out steady puffs of smoke, keeping his chin lifted at a fair level.

'I meant what I said about his stubbornness. But along with that comes a reluctance to die, a resilience even, much like his adar. The Elvenking survived grief that would destroy many others, and though

emotional and physical torment differ, elves are hard to kill.'

Éomer made a meaningful face in attempt to pretend he understood what the ranger had said. Aragorn was never good at direct answers, but to the horse-lord, it seemed as good as he was going to get.

Aragorn barely believed his own words, but added it to the list of things he'd worry about later.

'I'll go check on him.' Aragorn mumbled as he excused himself.

The feast hall had emptied a little since Aragorn was last there, it was now easier to get through the crowds without brushing shoulders with people. There were two easily identifiable silhouettes in the

golden light that Aragorn was drawn to. As he approached, neither of them looked up to greet him. He guessed that both may be asleep- Legolas with his eyes closed too.

'Not your usual way of sleeping.'

The elf was caught off-guard as his eyes snapped open. His elven grace slipped from him for just a moment, concealing a hiccup as he sat up. His flawless features twisted in pain at the sudden movement,

reaching for his shoulder and pausing halfway, changing to look up at Aragorn to see if he'd noticed. He had, but he didn't bring it up as he didn't desire to spark an argument, so just provided a disapproving

look.

'What happened to him?' Aragorn said, looking down to a soundly sleeping dwarf and drawing his attention away from the matter.

'We drank a lot- I think.'

'Oh. And how did you find the ale of men?'

Legolas shook his head and grimaced, indicating a foul taste. The ranger coughed up a laugh as he picked up a tankard, drinking from it and shrugging.

'It's no elven wine but it'll do.'

Aragorn moved to take a seat beside his friend, the other sighing as he lifted his gaze from the dwarf. The two sat and listened to the diminishing murmurs, that rippled and seemed much louder in the high-

ceiling room. They also noticed a frustrated Gandalf herding away the weary and less energetic hobbits. This brought a smile to Aragorn's face, but Legolas returned to resting his eyes. He seemed fine,

however, there was nothing he could do to hide his ridgid breathing or restless shuffling. He was almost creaking, like an old tree swaying in the wind, but without the low, sentient tune of life. Only a

distorted hum, an echo.

'I do not like it here.'

Aragorn was surprised to hear the elf's voice, taking another gulp of the ale, 'Why?'

'This is… confusing. Everyone is so merry, do they not grieve?' He said, opening his eyes and staring at a fixed point.

Aragorn took a second to understand what the elf meant. Though he agreed, he felt it more helpful to give an answer.

'They did grieve, but now they celebrate the lives of the dead.'

'Is this in the usual spirits of men? It is selfish.'

Aragorn made a note it was not more helpful to give an answer.

Legolas turned to stare at him for a moment, icy blue eyes almost a glowing white as the light hit them. Elves had no idea how uncomfortable staring was, especially under their unblinking gaze. Aragorn had

grown used to it, but he appreciated how hard it was for Legolas to learn the ways of men, he had to do it too only 50 years previously. He felt like a hypocrite.

'Just enjoy it while it lasts.'

'I don't understand "while it lasts," everything lasts forever for me,' Legolas scoffed, 'except it doesn't apparently. How many elven lives were lost in this battle?'

'No more or less than the ones lost by men.' He replied, matching his dark tone, 'you are only now coming to terms with how fleeting things really are. Everyone must do so at some point.'

'No, we shouldn't have to. This was not our fight.'

That was true, and Aragorn mourned the loss of the elves as much as Legolas did; they were equally his family. It was hard to win an argument when you wanted to agree with the other person. But he

thought that Legolas would at least

be more understanding towards their cause.

'It becomes everyones fight, whether you choose to or not. What is, is. Why must you be so bitter?' Aragorn said with uncalled for calmness.

'I apologise, I forgot it was my job to fill your life with joy today.' He snapped, seemingly ending the conversation.

Aragorn decided that the alcohol had affected the elf somewhat, but instead of blundering around like men, he became testy, which was arguably worse. He decided there was no point arguing, and sensibly

left the elf to enjoy the company of his own depressing thoughts.

'There is surely peril awaiting us, but for now, we can forget about the looming dangers of the outside world. we must value this time.'

Legolas did not turn towards him, but nodded vaguely, 'We'll see. Let us not count on the news tomorrow brings us.'

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