Disclaimer:  Most kings and princes wouldn't take very kindly to being thought of as property for ownership, so I keep my hands off the Numenorean and the elf . . .for the time being, at least . . .

AN1:  Languages are frightening.  I did my best at translating the Elvish, but yeah, I didn't understand most of the rules I read, so even this small bit probably has major issues and the longer one in the next chapter major ones, but I tried.  Elvish parts of conversations are translated at the bottom.

AN2:  Thanks for the kind reviews.  Sorry this is short, but it's all that I've got done that's in any shape or form suitable for posting.  I'm continuing as quickly as possible, but my muses have taken to doing the spastic jumps around the story that it did in AToM for those who read that.  They don't seem to understand that we have much to get through before we reach the Pelennor Fields, much to do before we march on Mordor, much to do before the end of the story, no matter how much I try to explain it.  Oh well.  I hope you all like the update.

Tainted Hope

Part 2

"Aragorn!"  Legolas sprinted lightly up the stairs, his elven feet making no sound, startling one of the Rohirrim who pointed up the stairs and to the left.  Legolas nodded a silent thanks before continuing on.

He found the Numenorean slumped against the wall, his chin resting on his chest with his arms crossed beneath, and his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, effectively blocking half of the hallway.  Legolas smiled.  It certainly couldn't qualify as the most absurd position he had ever seen one of the Rangers in, but for Aragorn, it ranked up there.

The smile faded as he approached the Man, understanding the need to wake him and yet not relishing in the fact.  The last weeks, while difficult for all, had been even harder on Aragorn, finally forced to face the fact that he would either be king or die.  While the elf could sleep while riding or walking, the man could not, and even when the battle was finished and his weariness obvious he refused to take rest until he had seen to Gimli and some of the wounded Rohirrim.

Legolas knelt silently by his companion, studying him as he reached one hand towards the other man's shoulder.  He would be a great king of men . . .if only they could keep him alive long enough to claim the mantle.

"Lúmë lelya, Estel."  Legolas gently nudged the man's shoulder, leaping back in surprise when the Numenorean lunged at him, only his elven reflexes keeping him from finding himself in a stranglehold.

Aragorn stopped, stared at the elf, and then slumped back against the wall, running a hand through his dark hair.  "I am sorry, mellon nin.  Forgive me."

"No harm was done, Aragorn.  I am sorry if I startled you, but Gandalf has asked that we ride for Isengard as soon as possible."

"We should move quickly, then.  It is never wise to keep a wizard waiting longer than is absolutely necessary."  Aragorn climbed slowly to his feet, steadying himself against the wall.

"He would delay as long as possible if it were for your well being, Aragorn.  The hope of men resides in you.  Are you certain that you are well?"

The man smiled and placed one hand on the elf's shoulder as he walked by.  "I am well, Legolas.  In these dark times, it is really so strange that the dark should invade my dreams as well?"

"Mayhap not strange, but troubling it can still be called, especially when the one in question has at least a small portion of Sight gifted to him."

"I am well, Legolas.  Let us leave it at that."

The elf made no further mention of what had happened, but he watched the man carefully as Aragorn saddled his horse and swung himself skillfully into the saddle to follow Gandalf's lead.

The ranger, for his part, was aware of the elf's attention, and, once Gimli had taken his accustomed seat, of the dwarf's as well, but he strove to ignore it as best he could, recognizing that it sprang from friendship and a deep caring.  His own actions had disturbed him deeply, as well, and he truly did not know from what dark corner of his mind they had sprung.

He had not meant to sleep in the hall, but his weariness had finally become too great a burden.  He knew that he had dreamt while he slept, and that his actions had stemmed from the dream, but of what and why the memory of dreaming should send a chill through his soul he could not explain to himself, let alone his companions.

Aragorn watched with a strange mixture of awe and fear as the company approached the edge of the dark woods, Gandalf somehow parting a way through the dark and the gloom that had swallowed whole so large a portion of Isengard's might.

As the trees closed around them, Aragorn noticed that the scrutiny of his companions fade as Gimli and Legolas engaged in a debate as to which wonder was the most amazing, the woods of Fangorn or the caverns of Helm's Deep.  He listened with half his mind, the other half filled with the faintest of whispering and the deepest of dreads.

He could not hear the trees nearly as strongly or as clearly as the elf could, but he could still sense their living presence, the power and strength that they empowered, and some sixth sense at the back of his mind warned that they did not welcome him.

Aragorn turned his gaze to the very front of the small column of marchers, to where Gandalf and Theoden King were bent together in discussion.  If he and the wizard had been alone, perhaps he might have voiced his dread, but he would not speak of nameless, groundless fears in front of the king of Rohan.

The whispers rose higher in his mind, becoming entangled and twisted together, forming a net that settled with deliberate efficiency around his own thoughts, his fear brimming, moving closer and closer to panic with each indrawn breath.  He urged his horse closer to the center of the path, closing his eyes, hoping to appease the trees by showing that he meant to stay no longer than was necessary and to stray no closer than was needed.

"Aragorn?"  The ranger felt a hand fall on his shoulder and realized that he had ridden far closer to Legolas and Gimli than he had intended.  "What is wrong?"

"I do not like this place, Legolas."  The elf frowned at the man, who was pale and breathing heavily, his gray eyes downcast.

"Another who sees sense, master elf!"  Gimli laughed, the sound fading quickly as he, too, stared at the Numenorean.

"What is wrong, Aragorn?"

"I am not welcomed here, my friends.  I will be grateful when this journey is over."

Legolas turned his attention to the trees, struggling to grasp the meaning of their words, searching for whatever it was that was making the Numenorean nearly physically ill.

"Aragorn, I sense nothing here against you.  They fight the darkness, the Orcs, the killers and burners and usurpers of their land, but they bear no ill will towards men, and none know of what you are . . .Aragorn!"  Legolas used his knees to guide his horse against Aragorn's, grabbing the man as he swayed alarmingly, his eyes rolling back into his head and his lips moving slightly.

Whatever the man was saying was lost in a dark stirring in the woods about them, and the Rohirrim quickly surrounded their lord, their horses nearly rearing in fright as the sound of wood groaning under strain rose in a symphony of power to fill the woods.

Before any further actions could be performed Gandalf stepped forward, his staff glowing.  The ranger tensed against his side and Legolas glanced down, stopping and staring in bewilderment.  The man's face was frozen into a mask of disgust and disbelief as he watched Gandalf, his eyes, usually a light gray, seeming at that moment to be pure black and bottomless.

An explosion of light enveloped the company, and when it had faded Legolas again looked at the man, only to find a shaky, gray-eyed ranger gently releasing himself from the elf's hands.

"I told you I was not welcome here, my friends."  The ranger urged his horse ahead, and both Legolas and Gimli watched him, troubled by what had happened.  The elf decided to consult the wizard as soon as was possible.

It was true that the huorns did not welcome something, but what that something was, Legolas feared to know.

End Notes:

Lúmë lelya, Estel.—Time to leave, Estel.

Mellon nin—My friend