Aragorn understood immediately when Legolas suggested that he leave Gondor for awhile. He was a danger to his people. The day before seemed like a dream to him, but the funeral preparations going on outside his chambers offered firm proof. He had slain seven of his men in madness. How could he face his people again?

"They will forgive you, for ever you have been their loving and gentle king," Legolas said, and Aragorn realised that he had spoken aloud. "A new evil has risen in Middle Earth. We journey not to flee from your guilt, but to uncover its roots."

Legolas knew he stretched the truth there, slightly. They were going to minimize the harm that Aragorn could cause others. But he did not need to speak that to Aragorn.

"You should leave at nightfall," Arwen said. "All has been arranged."

"I do not like the idea of Aragorn sneaking away," Legolas protested. "He is their King. They will understand."

"Arwen is right," Aragorn told him. "I cannot expect them to understand…not yet."

"My heart wishes that I could accompany you, my love," Arwen whispered to him. "But of what use would I be? I can no longer travel the paths of the Dream. And I am needed in the kingdom, now that its king has marched to war."

Aragorn laughed bitterly. "War, beloved?"

He was surprised to see Legolas and Arwen regarding him with serious eyes.

"A war like which as never been seen on Middle Earth before," Legolas told him. "This is a war of the spirit, not of the flesh. Yet something tells me it will have the greatest consequence of all."

His journey of the Dream had been…unnerving. Legolas had put the feeling to the longing of the sea, before, but now he sensed more clearly a brooding and growing darkness. Something was gathering strength, hidden in the folds and twists of the Dream.

"And no warriors are there left, save Legolas and yourself," Arwen said gravely. "For since the departure of the Elves, no others can safely enter the realm of the Dream."

Aragorn had been shocked to learn that the palantir had been a gateway to the Dream. Yet another part of him had already known. He remembered the dark dreams which haunted him, the voices which gave him no peace. Foreboding grew in him.

"Let us go, then," he said sternly, and suddenly Legolas was reminded of Strider of old. "By death shall we amend the deeds we have caused in life."

Arwen took a step toward him, and for a moment Aragorn believed that she was about to strike him.

"Never say that!" she said, her voice low but firm. "Never seek death, Aragorn. By doing so you mock the blessing that is our union!"

Arwen placed slender hands on his face, and drew him in to a sweet kiss. "Be well, my love. Be well, old friend," she said to Legolas fondly, and kissed him on the cheek.

She did not join them as they took their horses from the stable, and walked them to the side gate. But a still and solemn figure stood on a high balcony to give silent blessing over their departure.

*****

For the most part, their ride that night was a silent one. Legolas' mind turned over the events frantically, searching them again and again for a hint of logic of pattern. In a small woven pouch at his belt lay all of the herb sycaroot that Arwen still had. It was not cultivated anymore, since the Elves had left, and neither were sure that it still grew upon Middle Earth. Even in the days of the Elves, the plant had been rare. Its healing properties only worked against the fatigue caused by working in the dream with a waking body, and so was not highly valued as a medicine. Arwen had explained the preparatory method to him: take a small piece of the dried root, and boil it down in half a cup of strong spirits until it was reduced to less than a spoonful. This resulted in the decoction that she had given him earlier.

Legolas also worried about Gimli. He had not seen his friend since the night of the Warg attack, and though he believed Gimli was more than a match for the Wargs, he did not know what had become of the dwarf. Aragorn and Arwen shared his concern, but believed that Gimli would most likely search for Legolas in Gondor. Arwen would receive him when he arrived, but there was no method to send word to Legolas.

The same worry nagged at Aragorn. They were effectively cut off from the world now. It would be too risky to send messengers to Gondor, and Arwen would not know where to find him. In truth, he did not know where he and Legolas were heading. The problem irked him. As king, he had grown used to having a large network of correspondents. And slow, stately rides, he thought ruefully, as he began to feel the galloping of the horses.

He was decidedly stiff when they dismounted in the warm, grey light of dawn for rest.

Legolas laughed as Aragorn limped about the camp. "I'd never thought to see Strider be sore from a horse!" he chuckled. "You remind me of Gimli."

Aragorn shot him an irritated glare, which only served to increase Legolas' mirth.

"It has been many a year since someone recalled the name of Strider!" Aragorn said. "And longer since Strider roamed freely in the Wild." He looked at the laughing Elf, with his sparkling eyes and lips curved in a delicious smile. Warmth settled somewhere deep inside him.

"It shall be as it used to be, then," Legolas agreed. "The Fellowship is off again to save Middle Earth, and noble Strider shall lead us."

Only Strider is old now, thought Aragorn, and if you have been untouched by age, something still lies heavy on your countenance. Strange, that the fate of the world should lie in the hands of two winter warriors*

"You are cheerful for someone who does not know what he has gotten himself into!" was all that he remarked.

"It is not the nature of Elves to despair," Legolas told him. "Now sleep, Aragorn, and I will stand watch."

Aragorn arched an eyebrow. "I thought it was to be as the days of old? Then you know that the first watch was ever mine."

Legolas looked sharply at him, but detected no uneasy sign. "Wake me at mid-morning," he said.

Aragorn nodded. "And, Legolas. Do not enter the Dream, even in sleep today. It is taxing on your body, and I suspect that we shall have need of your strength ere long."

Legolas conceeded, if reluctantly, to Aragorn's logic.

Aragorn sat in silence, listening to the rhythm of Legolas' breathing change until it grew deep and steady. Their camp was secure. A steep cliff rose behind them, protecting their back. They had found a fold in the unyielding line of rock, and had made camp there. To prying eyes, they would have been invisible.

He checked once again to see that Legolas was truly asleep. The blond archer did not respond to Aragorn's gentle touch on his cheek. Aragorn was satisfied. He settled himself cross-legged on the grass. The reins of his mount were looped around his wrist. Should he remain still too long, the horse would jerk him out of sleep or trance.

Carefully, Aragorn opened in his mind the gateway to the paths of the Elven Dream.