Author's Note: Hehehe, beware; my stories contain subliminal messages that influence you to give me nice reviews. So far, they seem to be working. Sorry this took so long! I had a few stumped moments, and a research paper on the French Revolution to attend to.

Disclaimer: Aragorn, Legolas, and Thranduil are Tolkien's. The Supreme Governor and his court, belong to me.

Chapter Five

Getting Acquainted

Someone pushed open the door to the room where Derek was staying. The men who had gathered there looked up expectantly, letting out a breath of relief when a familiar face appeared in the opening.

"Is the Supreme Governor in?" Legolas asked innocently.

Derek groaned, walked over and pulled him inside. "Next time, let Strider do the introductions, understand?"

Strider, who walked in after him, glanced curiously at all the men seated around the floor in Derek's room. "What's wrong?"

"Everybody wanted the room with the window," Legolas teased.

"Everybody wanted the room farthest away from yours," Strider retorted. "Last time I came here, I was up half the night listening to your chanting."

Legolas looked indignant. "Chanting? I was singing. You, apparently, are not experienced enough to tell the difference. I was trying to drown out the sound of your snores."

Derek interrupted them anxiously. "Why did you two go back to the throne room? What happened?"

Strider opened his mouth to reply, but Legolas interrupted him.

"Nothing happened."

"What happened?" Derek repeated suspiciously, raising his voice a notch.

Sighing dramatically, Strider massaged a cramp on the back of his neck.

"Let's call it, confessions of a guilty prince."

"What?"

"Strider," Legolas threw him a reproving glare, "It wasn't that bad. I just told him- my father- a little bit about your quest, you know, just the general outline."

"You told him everything," Strider reminded him.

"Oh, well, I guess you could call it that," Legolas admitted reluctantly, then suddenly began to protest. "I didn't really have a choice. He notices everything! Sometimes I think he knows how to read my mind. I'm sorry. " he added apologetically.

Derek looked aghast. "I can't believe this. I don't believe this! You should have just told him the truth. Now he thinks we're nothing but a bunch of no-goods!"

"I think he always thought that," Legolas pointed out. "Anyway, you're in luck. Since its night already, he won't send you packing until tomorrow."

"Why is your father so negative towards humans?" one of the men asked curiously.

"To borrow from Strider," Legolas answered curtly, "It's none of your business."

This comment was followed by a rather uncomfortable silence, during which Strider wondered, *When did I say that?*

Legolas, oblivious to the reaction his remark had caused, or else choosing to ignore it, was settling himself in a seat by the fireplace. He sat cross- legged, resting his chin on his hand, and looked up at the silent group.

 "You told me how you got to Mirkwood, but you didn't say how you got Strider to come with you."

Strider, realizing that Legolas was trying to change the subject, complied. If they were going to continue discussing all the grievances between elves and men, elves and dwarves, elves and- well, the likelihood was that all the men would end up pointing out that it was the elves' fault to begin with.

"I met them near Mirkwood, three days after they set out from the village on the Long River," Strider began. "They told me their story. Three days earlier, I had seen a lone traveler walking South, the same as the villager's description. With my direction, their tracker was able to pick up his trail. We have followed it this far. But what he could want in Mirkwood, we have yet to discover. They are sure, however, that this traveler is Yellow Eyes, and that he is the man they want. But there appears to be no motive."

Legolas seemed to ponder this for a while, features growing hard with concentration. The dancing flames in the fireplace dwindled, and some of the men nodded, fighting to stay awake. Strider watched his friend in silence.

"Tell me about your parents," Legolas said finally. But he was looking at Derek.

Startled out of his reverie, Derek stared at him questioningly. "My parents?"

Legolas nodded silently.

Not sure where to begin, Derek hesitated. He tried to organize the thoughts and emotions that came flooding back into coherent memories, but they wouldn't cooperate. So he told them as they came.

"My mother used to smile," Derek began. "She smiled all the time. Especially when it rained. She loved the rain, because it made things grow. My parents used to stand out in the rain and soak themselves to the bone, for no reason at all. My father loved my mother, very, very much. They used to go for walks every evening and come back late. There was a little spring they used to visit in the woods…" he faltered, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "I'm not really saying what I meant to say, but-" he paused, taking a deep breath. "I sort of feel responsible for it all, you know. I mean there's my wife and my children, I feel like everyone's counting on me to…be there." He frowned slightly. "Losing your parents, it kind of makes you grow up faster."

"You have to trust in your own judgment," the man by the fireplace added.

Legolas looked at him questioningly. "What do you mean?"

"You're on your own."

"Well," Strider said thoughtfully, "Not completely." He smiled inwardly, thinking of his foster father, brothers, and sister. "There are some wise people left in the world."

The man laughed mirthlessly. "I used to believe that too." His expression darkened. "There's nobody looking out for me."

"Why do you say that?" Legolas asked.

"Because I have found that it is the truth." The man stared hard at him, until Legolas eventually looked away. He shot Strider a what's-up-with-him look, and Strider shrugged back.

"I never learned your names," Legolas exclaimed after a few moments. "Your real names," he added with a smirk. "I know Derek and Strider, but-"

The man with the red beard offered his hand. "I'm Lars," he said, "And this is my younger brother Eric."

Legolas shook his hand, smiling thoughtfully. "I think it very is strange," he remarked, "The way humans say hello. Like this," he grabbed Eric's hand, pumping it up and down. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Eric looked at him blankly.

"See? Now this is how it ought to be done," Legolas demonstrated an elvish greeting, cupping his hand against his chest and then lifting it toward Eric. "It means I am with you, or I am your friend."

Nodding, Eric repeated the gesture. "I am with you," he mused. "It's like a language with your hands, isn't it?"

Legolas shook his head in agreement.

Lars introduced the others. "That is Token Jarr, from our village. And this is Aronne," he indicated the man on his left. "This young man is Peter, my nephew," he finished.

Legolas acknowledged them all, suddenly growing somber. "It's a pity you have to leave tomorrow. We've hardly met. I'm sure you would have liked Mirkwood, despite all the nasty things you've probably heard about it."

The men feinted surprise, and shook their heads, but Legolas continued moodily.

"You probably won't believe it, but Mirkwood used to be called Greenwood, the greatest forest of the elves. A long time ago, it was as beautiful as any realm, even more so than Lothlorien, or so my father says. Lately, well," his blue eyes were dimmed with regret. "Things have gone from bad to worse. It is rare to see anything alive in the wood anymore; hardly any travelers pass through here, and those that do are not welcome." Strider watched his friend's expression darken. "It seems that every evil thing in Middle Earth is drawn to Mirkwood. Outside the borders of our kingdom, everything dwells in perpetual shadow. Orcs roam freely in the South; there is none to hinder their coming and going. Everyone thinks my father is destroying Mirkwood through negligence, and that his powers are weakening. They say that his greed and lust for gold have blinded him to what is going on outside. Ever since Oropher died, they say he is not fit to rule-"

"Who says?" Strider questioned softly.

Legolas' eyes flashed with irritancy. "Everyone."

"What do you say?"

Derek stared at the Elf, eyes searching his face for an answer. Shrugging, Legolas twirled a strand of his golden hair, and looked down. Strider laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, and gently lifted his chin until they were eye to eye. "You cannot alter the mistakes of the past. You can only learn from them, and move on. Who knows, but maybe you were born to healing. Legolas Thranduillion," he whispered. "Estel."

Legolas was silent for a few moments, then looking hard at Strider said, "Estel, you should heed your own words."

Strider began to smile, but Legolas shook his head. "I'm serious."

"I know you are. And I shall. When the time is right."

TBC….

Obviously at this point, no one has a clue that Sauron is hanging out in Mirkwood. They're going to find out soon, the hard way…