It was late into the night when Nephryn had finally managed to settle the hobbits. There were complaints aplenty of how hobbits were unused to heights, and how difficult it would be to sleep. Pippen fretted noisily about how if he rolled in his sleep, he'd surely fall into the abyss below the mallorn trees. Nephryn had soothed them all, assuring them that never had such a thing occurred and even hobbits could not roll that far. They seemed to accept her at her word, and so they slept, albeit under the watchful eyes of Boromir, Gimli and two Woodland elves.

Now Legolas sat comfortably on a long cushioned seat. He waited patiently for Nephryn, who was in the chamber beyond changing out of her working clothes. When she emerged, she wore a bodice of crushed silk, pale green in colour, embossed with delicate gold leaf patterns that snaked down the sleeve to the flared cuff. The skirt was slim fitted and flowed about her like liquid. She simply glowed, and for the third time that day, Legolas was bowled over.

He stood as she entered the room, and then without warning both cast formality aside and the elf-prince swept her up in a tight embrace. Nephryn finally allowed her true emotions to flow as she buried one small fist in his hair and wrapped the other firmly around his neck while burying her face in the crook of his neck. They stood for a long while like that, immersed completely within one another, swaying listlessly to the unison beat of their hearts.

"I have missed you so."

The soft words came from Nephryn, muffled as she spoke through her hands. She felt Legolas shudder in response. She knew well that only his matched her sense of loss and yearning.

"When I came here, I became unwell again. As though my body did not want to go on without you. It was such a struggle to regain what I had at Rivendell with you."

Legolas broke away from the embrace then, frowning at what the elf-maid spoke of. He stood back from her and carefully surveyed her. Certainly she did look in the whole of her health now.

"You saw you deteriorated when you left. How so?"

Nephryn lead him over to the long chaise, where they sat. She cupped his hand in hers and held them on her lap.

"When I arrived, I was exhausted. I slept for neigh on seven days. The healer, even Galadriél herself thought that I was to pass from this world, for I ate and drank nothing for that time. When I woke, I did not speak for another week. I am only truly regaining my strength these past weeks. But none could understand what had happened for my wound was almost fully healed when I arrived."

Legolas could not help himself and he leaned in close, caressing her cheek as she gazed thoughtfully into the night beyond. Her smooth cool skin delighted his fingertips and he found that she was equally eager for the touch of his skin on hers. She turned her gazed on him then, and he was utterly entranced. Wide doe eyes, glistening liquid emerald drank in the sight of him, too long only drawing on blissful memories for sustenance. When the distance between them, mere inches, was more than she could bear, Nephryn bent forward pulling his arms around her. Legolas was obliged willingly, encircling her within the taut sway of his body. One hand swept up her back, relishing the feel of delicate bones nestled beneath a veil of ivory skin, while the other supported her lolling head as she succumbed to the need to be wholly held by him.

They lazed like that for a seeming eternity. The night air chilled the room and diamond stars punctuated the darkened heavens as though the sky were a suffocating blanket pierced by thousands of pins, spilling light from the brighter realms beyond. Yet, as Legolas stood there with Nephryn, lulled by the rhythmic beat of her heart against his, he truly did not care if the sun never rose to grace another day.

Nephryn murmured something unintelligible into the fabric of his tunic. He had neither the energy nor the will to break the comfortable silence that had settled between them, so his fingers sought out her lips, gently guiding her face to his. She smiled as she finally rose up, stopping when they were face to face, the noses almost touching.

"We ought to take a walk. It is a beautiful night and in winter, Lorién is best appreciated at night. Will you come?"

Legolas ran his hand from her temple back through her thick ebony tresses and down only to her bare neck. He drew a tortured whimper from her and her eyes fell shut as she swayed gently in his buzzing presence.

"I will." Nephryn's eyes flew open, as though she'd forgotten her invitation. She smiled shyly, a delicate blush creeping up the apple of her cheeks, knowing that she'd been caught out. She was about to speak when he held up his hand.

"But only if you promise to stay with me tonight."

"I would not have it any other way, my beloved."

Not minutes later, having finally conquered the swelled urge to remain inside for the remainder of the night, Legolas stood behind Nephryn draping a heavy grey cloak over her narrow shoulders. He had no need for he still wore his tunic. As they stepped outside, the frigid air caught their breaths in flimsy swirls. Intuitively, the elf-maid's hand sought out Legolas's hand and together, leaning tightly into one another, they walked out into the night.

They did not notice the bright, twinkling eyes that observed them from the shadows. Aragorn was restless, and occupied with thoughts of the day days that lay before them. As he walked, allowing the listless air and hushed night sounds to envelope his senses, the presence to the elven couple had almost gone unnoticed by him. But for the soft burble of laughter that broke the eerie quiet, he would have continued on his quest to lay to rest the beasts that plagued his thoughts and thwarted sleep.

As he watched, he saw in both what others surely saw in him when Arwen was with him. He'd been the first to admit that the deep bond that had flourished between prince and maid was sudden, but as he looked on now, there was no doubt in his mind but that the bond was as real as his own and as strong. The embers of a deep abiding love glowed bright in the elf-prince's eyes. In all the years he'd known Legolas, never before had he witnessed such presence about the elven prince, but then never before had Legolas found in another a soul that so completed his own. But if was true, he knew that too much love could kill you. Elrond had spoken with him only once of the love there existed between he and wife.

It will wane the fire that is in you. For true love, you will break all the rules and discard your own morals. For this love is the deadliest kind. You begin to dread the day you might lose them for you know that that is the day you will cease to truly exist. The pain of that fear will make you crazy and your become the victim of your crime. It can be both the port in roughest storm and the storm itself.

As the pair walked into the misty night, Aragorn watched the instinctive gravitational pull between them and yearned that his love was with him, soothing away the seeming insurmountable troubles. Arwen was the unwavering unfailing presence amidst his ever-present self-doubt and he missed her sorely, more with every passing hour.

"It seems the elves have found in one another some solace in the darkest of hours."

Though the words sounded genuine and even profound, the smirk on Boromir's ragged face suggested that his observations were less than sincere. He stood behind Aragorn, leaning sullenly against the bole of a tall mallorn. He gestured to the fading figures of the elves and snorted weakly.

"Everything about their kind is quiet and devious: the way that they speak, fight even love. It is unearthly."

Aragorn bristled at the unkind remarks. Truly his upbringing and life was more elven than most. He owed his life to Elrond and his heart to Arwen. As he turned to face the man, Aragorn was surprised to see that Boromir was watching the spot where Legolas and Nephryn last stood with a mixture of envy and resentment.

"You would rather the girl-elf would not have risked her neck to save ours?"

Boromir was drawn out of his ponderings by the question and his face darkened at the insinuations. He raised his chin defiantly and struck the sturdy trunk defiantly.

"I did not say that! I am, as are we all, grateful for her timely intervention. I simply do not care for their habits and customs."

"And yet you are more than agreeable to accept their aid, however unsavoury you find their ways. How hypocritical of you! Such a typical response from a man! Do you not see that were it not for those devious beings, we would not live today?"

By now, their voices had escalated and had shattered the still hush of their surroundings. Boromir's eyes flashed with rage. The idea that elves were saviours of men was an ideal only pandered to by the elves themselves. A man, supposed heir to the throne of Gondor stood their, waxing the elves praises. Boromir was incensed. He fingered the hilt of the knife that nestled comfortably at his hip and when he could contain his ire no more, he whipped it out and flung it roughly at the tree trunk. The wood splintered as the blunted blade embedded itself in its folds.

Aragorn stared at him, astonished. He frowned deeply, unable to comprehend why the man disliked the elves so.

"Do you not realise that it was men's weakness that first brought the bane of Sauron upon us and were it not for the bravery of the elves at Dagorlad, we would likely be minions of the Dark Lord. In fact it is the unwavering stupidity and failings of men that has us one this doomed Quest in the first place."

Boromir paced in angry circles now, breaths coming in rough snorts as he bore unwilling ears to the harsh truths Aragorn rendered. He regarded the Ranger with squinted eyes

"Yes! It was your flawed ancestor Isildur that failed the men! It is not merely I who is a weak man of Gondor. You also bear the weight of the past failures of our kind."

"Yes! I do. Why then is it only I who can see the continuous sacrifice made by elves. They remedied our mistakes at Dagorlad a millennia ago at the loss of their High-King. And still they stand with us. Even Elrond, he who has witnessed the repeat of such mistakes over and over, is still willing to lend us aid in our hour of need. And you stand before me and slate their customs. I will not have it. I tell you solemnly that if you speak ill of such wondrous creatures again, it shall be the last thing you ever say."

Boromir stared at him then, having ceased his pacings. He held Aragorn's penetrating stare for a long while, a myriad of emotions playing across his expressive features. At last he seemed to decide that there was nothing to say that could respond to such a declaration. He reached out and pulled hard of the hilt of the knife and wrenched it from the trunk. With that, he turned and walked away, his stance a curious fusion of defiance and defeat.

Energy spent, Aragorn sighed and leaned heavily against the tree trunk. How would the fellowship proceed now? They had lost their most powerful ally Gandalf the Grey to the abysmal depths of Khazad Dûm and now the group appeared to be splintering rapidly under the crushing weight of their duties. Legolas, he knew would die for the cause but would love equally spend his last days by Nephryn's side. The hobbits were resolute in the face of danger but only because they had not faced anything like it before. Gimli, though steady and brave, was descended from a race who'd turned their backs on Middle Earth once before. Boromir would follow them to the depths of Mordor, but in the belief that what was being achieved was for Gondor and Gondor alone. And at that very moment, even Aragorn himself wanted for nothing more than the soothing cooling presence of his Evenstar.

"You doubt yourself. It is truly the straightest road to defeat."

The deep timbre came again from behind for once more Aragorn had not heard anyone approach. Lord Celeborn stood solemnly behind him, hands clasped within folds of an elegant blue robe. He bowed lightly and Aragorn did the same. They stood in silence for a long time as Aragorn tried to respond in some way to the elf-lord's shrewd observations.

To his dismay, Aragorn found that he could not argue with the truth. Celeborn seemed to see his acceptance and continued in soft tones

"All is not lost. There are a great many obstacles ahead, but they are not insurmountable so long as you have faith in yours and your friends' abilities. I know that you doubt only their resolve but that falters only when yours does."

"I am not their leader. I am one of eight. We are equals."

"It is not so. You are a born leader and whether you wish it so or not, all will look to you for direction, even strong-minded Boromir. You feel that the loss of Mithrandir was the fatal blow in the undermining of the fellowship. It is not so. Still you persist, as you must for the sake of all. Do not let your hope falter now, not when you have come so far already."

Aragorn shook his head vehemently exhaling loudly, trying to keep his anger at the impossible odds in check.

"Have we really come that far? We must get the Ring to Mordor. The Dark lord has more allies than there are talking creatures. All stand against us and now we seem to stand against each other. I believe our progress falls woefully short."

Celeborn placed a solid hand on Aragorn's shoulder, causing the man to look up. In the elf-lord's wise eyes, Aragorn saw an unshakeable determination, a steadfast belief in the cause undertaken by an unlikely group, and he took solace from the fact that such a wise and long-standing creature saw fit to place faith in them.

"You will have audience with the Lady tomorrow. You have not come here by chance. There is a reason for everything. I have learned this over many millennia of experience."

With out another word, Celeborn turned and disappeared with the same stealth with which he'd arrived. Aragorn was alone once more, with only his thoughts for company and the branded memories of Evenstar as succour. He pulled his heavy cloak closer around him, the chill finally beginning to seep through to his bones.

It was time to rest, he decided. Standing here in worry would achieve nothing more than weighing down further his already tired limbs.