Author's Note: Second chapter. As to the few people who did not like my take on the way Aragorn came to Rivendell, I really do not care. ^_^ When I said it was pretty close to Tolkien's backstory, I meant it only in the fact that his father was killed by orcs and he came to live in Rivendell as a young child. Legolas being involved, of course, is my own little twist. Yes, I know Gilraen brought Aragorn to Elrond in Rivendell. Let me say it one more time: I KNOW THAT. However, I really didn't feel like writing the same stuff Tolkien did, because where's the fun in that? No, I haven't read The Two Towers or The Return of the King, although I plan to as soon as I get some money to actually *buy* the books. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people who have the patience to memorize Elvish and knows all the backstory backwards and forwards, so artistic license just has to carry me the rest of the way. Review, review, people, and flames only stoke my fires (especially if you can't spell surprises, then have the gall to say I don't have a literary bone in my body; don't make me go there, sweetheart *evil smirk*) Rowr. Tolkien fans are feisty about that background history, yeah?
Disclaimer - Don't own 'em.
Anyway, enough ranting. On with the fic.
~~~~
Uneasy Introductions
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once the court was settled again, Legolas began to try and leave.
"My father expected me home a week past. He will be sick with worry," the prince said, seeming to edge towards the door.
Elrond gave him a reproving look, which faded into bewilderment and agitation. "Where are you off to in such a hurry, Legolas Greenleaf? You would just leave me with a human child hiding in my hall?!"
Legolas smiled a little. "You need to learn to get on with him, Lord Elrond, and if I stay, I'll only get in the way. My father needs my help. I am the leader of our archers, and Dol Guldur is becoming a problem. Evil things have begun to skulk in our woods. The shadow from the east grows darker every day. I promise, I will be back as soon as I can."
"Fine then, bold little prince," Elrond said, rather impatiently waving the young elf off, for he thought it forward for Legolas to drop this boy into his lap and leave again so suddenly. "Go and see to your father. But I warn you, I expect to see you riding into my courtyard within the next few weeks. You will help see to the child, or I'll send him to Eriador."
"I give you my word, Elrond. I will return."
When farewells were exchanged and Legolas had began his journey back to Mirkwood with a fresh horse and fresh supplies, Elrond went about the task of collecting the boy that had been left in his care. He handed the boy's ragged-looking little falcon to one of his attendants and walked over to the table Aragorn was hiding under.
The boy was very young yet, yet so much had already been taken from him, by what he'd seen. Recollection was choked from him, and the capacity for articulate speech driven from his terrified mind. He had seen his father fall at the hands of orcs, had been captive to their will for days as the band of Mirkwood elves tracked them. All his personal effects, save a few scraps of tattered clothing, had been stripped from him. He was hot and exhausted and hurt from the beatings of orcs, and the shadows beneath the banquet table were a comfort he could wrap himself in. He was very hungry, but had no hope to be fed. The orcs had never fed him, not once while he was their captive, and he had never known elves. Richly dressed as they were, he didn't hold out any hope that they would feed him, either.
Crouching there under the table, he strained to remember who he was, where he had come from. He remembered only the warm grasslands of his people, the great city-the name was lost to him. The name of his city was gone. Tears ran down his cheeks unchecked. He tried to curl into as small a ball as possible, as if he could make himself invisible.
All around him, through the chairs, he could see the wondrously dressed elves. He knew they were elves from their ears, and their almost luminous eyes, their long flowing hair. They spoke a whispering language all around him, a tongue that was soft and sweet like birdsong, but he couldn't understand a word.
The one from the front of the room, with the sweeping robes and dark hair, went down to one knee, peering under the table with gray eyes the color of a winter storm. He whispered a few words in the elf language, talked a song the boy didn't understand, but it seemed to make him feel better anyway. The elf gently moved a chair to the side, in order to see the child better. A king of elves, kneeling to a mortal boy.
Elrond spoke a few words of Elvish, soothing words, meaning to calm the boy, then switched to the Common Tongue.
"How long were you planning on staying under there?"
Aragorn understood and did not understand. He came forward slightly, trying to get a better look at this elf, who seemed to be the leader of them all. He was dressed all in gray velvet. His face was remarkable to Aragorn. It was kind, seemingly ageless, but without a wrinkle or mark on it to tell the passage of time. His rich black hair was parted down the middle and combed richly down his shoulders. A silver band adorned with an intricate mithril jewel sat at his brows. His face had a serene, settled look, a look that said it could be both sweet and stern.
The boy allowed himself to be pulled out and gently coaxed to his feet. It was not so much that he trusted the elf; he was much too world-wise and jaded for such fast faith. It was more that he was too tired and dazed and grief-stricken to do anything else. Tears still overflowed and coursed down his cheeks, but Elrond wiped them away absently, though with a tender touch. There was enough strength left in the boy to hope that this kindness was not feigned. The orcs had never bothered to pretend.
"Come to me, child, and I'll take you to a more quiet place." Elrond held out a hand to him, and Aragorn, not having anyone else to take solace in, hemmed in by a circle of wondering inhuman eyes, went to him. But instead of simply taking his hand, he ran and clung to the elvish lord like a shipwrecked sailor reaching for anything to keep him afloat; the mortal boy buried his face in the tall elf's robes and sobbed silently, embracing the elf lord as tightly as he could, much to Elrond's dismay.
Elrond's robes were a comfort to Aragorn. They were sweet-smelling, soft as nothing he had felt before, and they seemed to engulf him, hiding him from all the people looking at him.
As for Elrond, he could not make up his mind whether to be shocked at such undignified behavior, or endeared to the boy by it. His own children were brought up in the court, and though they loved him in their own ways, they were never so frank about it. In the end, he thought it sweet, and honest at the least. Yet, the boy did not speak. Elrond wondered briefly if he was weak-minded.
He lifted the boy into his arms, having to force his nose not to wrinkle in distaste at the smell of dirt, sweat, and orc's blood, which was the most overpowering. Aragorn's coarse, tattered clothes were stained black with it.
"Could do with a bath, couldn't you?" he asked, looking down at the boy in his arms, but Aragorn only ducked his head shyly against Elrond's chest. The elvish lord knew that the boy was frightened; still, he saw great courage in a child that was brave enough to hug a king.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Read, review, I'm working on a new chapter (btw, I haven't forseen any slash, for the person that asked). But if you you're an A/L fan, read "Longing for Lorien".
Yes, that was a shameless plug. Sue me.
Disclaimer - Don't own 'em.
Anyway, enough ranting. On with the fic.
~~~~
Uneasy Introductions
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once the court was settled again, Legolas began to try and leave.
"My father expected me home a week past. He will be sick with worry," the prince said, seeming to edge towards the door.
Elrond gave him a reproving look, which faded into bewilderment and agitation. "Where are you off to in such a hurry, Legolas Greenleaf? You would just leave me with a human child hiding in my hall?!"
Legolas smiled a little. "You need to learn to get on with him, Lord Elrond, and if I stay, I'll only get in the way. My father needs my help. I am the leader of our archers, and Dol Guldur is becoming a problem. Evil things have begun to skulk in our woods. The shadow from the east grows darker every day. I promise, I will be back as soon as I can."
"Fine then, bold little prince," Elrond said, rather impatiently waving the young elf off, for he thought it forward for Legolas to drop this boy into his lap and leave again so suddenly. "Go and see to your father. But I warn you, I expect to see you riding into my courtyard within the next few weeks. You will help see to the child, or I'll send him to Eriador."
"I give you my word, Elrond. I will return."
When farewells were exchanged and Legolas had began his journey back to Mirkwood with a fresh horse and fresh supplies, Elrond went about the task of collecting the boy that had been left in his care. He handed the boy's ragged-looking little falcon to one of his attendants and walked over to the table Aragorn was hiding under.
The boy was very young yet, yet so much had already been taken from him, by what he'd seen. Recollection was choked from him, and the capacity for articulate speech driven from his terrified mind. He had seen his father fall at the hands of orcs, had been captive to their will for days as the band of Mirkwood elves tracked them. All his personal effects, save a few scraps of tattered clothing, had been stripped from him. He was hot and exhausted and hurt from the beatings of orcs, and the shadows beneath the banquet table were a comfort he could wrap himself in. He was very hungry, but had no hope to be fed. The orcs had never fed him, not once while he was their captive, and he had never known elves. Richly dressed as they were, he didn't hold out any hope that they would feed him, either.
Crouching there under the table, he strained to remember who he was, where he had come from. He remembered only the warm grasslands of his people, the great city-the name was lost to him. The name of his city was gone. Tears ran down his cheeks unchecked. He tried to curl into as small a ball as possible, as if he could make himself invisible.
All around him, through the chairs, he could see the wondrously dressed elves. He knew they were elves from their ears, and their almost luminous eyes, their long flowing hair. They spoke a whispering language all around him, a tongue that was soft and sweet like birdsong, but he couldn't understand a word.
The one from the front of the room, with the sweeping robes and dark hair, went down to one knee, peering under the table with gray eyes the color of a winter storm. He whispered a few words in the elf language, talked a song the boy didn't understand, but it seemed to make him feel better anyway. The elf gently moved a chair to the side, in order to see the child better. A king of elves, kneeling to a mortal boy.
Elrond spoke a few words of Elvish, soothing words, meaning to calm the boy, then switched to the Common Tongue.
"How long were you planning on staying under there?"
Aragorn understood and did not understand. He came forward slightly, trying to get a better look at this elf, who seemed to be the leader of them all. He was dressed all in gray velvet. His face was remarkable to Aragorn. It was kind, seemingly ageless, but without a wrinkle or mark on it to tell the passage of time. His rich black hair was parted down the middle and combed richly down his shoulders. A silver band adorned with an intricate mithril jewel sat at his brows. His face had a serene, settled look, a look that said it could be both sweet and stern.
The boy allowed himself to be pulled out and gently coaxed to his feet. It was not so much that he trusted the elf; he was much too world-wise and jaded for such fast faith. It was more that he was too tired and dazed and grief-stricken to do anything else. Tears still overflowed and coursed down his cheeks, but Elrond wiped them away absently, though with a tender touch. There was enough strength left in the boy to hope that this kindness was not feigned. The orcs had never bothered to pretend.
"Come to me, child, and I'll take you to a more quiet place." Elrond held out a hand to him, and Aragorn, not having anyone else to take solace in, hemmed in by a circle of wondering inhuman eyes, went to him. But instead of simply taking his hand, he ran and clung to the elvish lord like a shipwrecked sailor reaching for anything to keep him afloat; the mortal boy buried his face in the tall elf's robes and sobbed silently, embracing the elf lord as tightly as he could, much to Elrond's dismay.
Elrond's robes were a comfort to Aragorn. They were sweet-smelling, soft as nothing he had felt before, and they seemed to engulf him, hiding him from all the people looking at him.
As for Elrond, he could not make up his mind whether to be shocked at such undignified behavior, or endeared to the boy by it. His own children were brought up in the court, and though they loved him in their own ways, they were never so frank about it. In the end, he thought it sweet, and honest at the least. Yet, the boy did not speak. Elrond wondered briefly if he was weak-minded.
He lifted the boy into his arms, having to force his nose not to wrinkle in distaste at the smell of dirt, sweat, and orc's blood, which was the most overpowering. Aragorn's coarse, tattered clothes were stained black with it.
"Could do with a bath, couldn't you?" he asked, looking down at the boy in his arms, but Aragorn only ducked his head shyly against Elrond's chest. The elvish lord knew that the boy was frightened; still, he saw great courage in a child that was brave enough to hug a king.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Read, review, I'm working on a new chapter (btw, I haven't forseen any slash, for the person that asked). But if you you're an A/L fan, read "Longing for Lorien".
Yes, that was a shameless plug. Sue me.