Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Type: one-shot

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

PART 2: Aragorn

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CHAPTER 1: Strangers

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      It has been six years.

      Curiously, the path that Aragorn was taking had reminded him of that time, when he had been deathly ill.  It's as if he had come through here before, or perhaps that it was peppered by the strong spirit of someone he knew, who had taken this same road with his passions and will, his thoughts and his hesitations, marking the road forever.

      There was a great storm blowing over his troupe, but they pushed on because that was the kind of men that they were.  The King, and his band coming from a diplomatic mission, plagued by the incessant rain that only seemed to strengthen with time.

      "Sire," his right-hand man, on the horse beside him called, "The horses are tired, as are the men.  I do not wish to complain but this storm only looks to get worse, not better."

      "I understand, Captain" Aragorn said, "We will make camp upon the next clearing that we find.  Perhaps a cave, for the horses.  We have been traveling for days, after all."

      The men rode on, and after awhile, Aragorn found himself stopping next to a narrow dirt road to his right.

      "Sire?" his Captain inquired.

      "This dirt road," said Aragorn, "Does it lead into a town?"

      "'Tis not on the map, sire!" his navigator replied, from somewhere behind, "But small settlements have been known to pepper the area.  Perhaps they may be hospitable."

      Aragorn looked up at the dark sky.  Considering it was supposed to be noon, this storm was truly bad in that it made the day look like the black of night.

      Aragorn signaled for his men to take the dirt road.  A few meters along it, they sighted a large house, and he some of his men cheered at the sight of a stable barn beside it.

      "Shelter…" one of them said longingly.

      "We must speak to the owners first," Aragorn said, "Do not be hasty.  We must respect their will."

      "Surely they would welcome the King," said his Captain.

      "Times are still uncertain," said Aragorn, "They may be wary."

      Aragorn stopped his horse, and his men followed suit.  He jumped off his horse, and handed the reins to his Captain.  "Hold your position," Aragorn commanded, "Give me three of your men on foot, we shall speak with the owners.  Keep still.  Do not trample on their flowers."

      The Captain nodded, and glanced at the flowerbeds that he hadn't even noticed, surrounding the large, wooden house.

      "Of course," the Captain said, turning to his men and assigning three of the best to accompany the King.

      Barely sparing a glance behind him, Aragorn sauntered over to the porch of the wooden house.  The windows were aglow with firelight.  It looked warm and inviting, and he tried no to think of his last warm meal, with a roof over his head, near a fire…

      His knuckles rapped smartly against the door, and it took only a moment until it was opened halfway for him.  The person who had opened the door was a little girl, who could not have been more than four or five years old.  Her eyes were wary but curious, a stunning silver.  Her hair was a curly mass of jet-black, and her face was flushed and healthy.

      "Hello," she said with a tentative smile on her little, pink, full lips.

      Aragorn was charmed.  He fell to a knee so that they met eye-to-eye.  "Are you the lady of the house?" he asked, mock-gravely.

      "Yes," she said, stifling a delighted giggle, "Who are you?"

      "I am Aragorn," said the King, "King Elessar."

      She looked at him skeptically, "I've heard of the legends.  Papa said, you're supposed to be ten feet tall."

      Aragorn laughed, "That is why they call it tall tales."

      She laughed too, and the sound was warm and musical.

      "I'm Adrianna," the little girl said primly, and offered him her hand to shake.  A voice from inside the house interrupted the exchange, though refused to show himself.

      ~You foolish girl,~ said the voice in curiously fluent Elvish, ~Why did you tell these strangers your name?~

      Aragorn watched Adrianna roll back her eyes, and reply in just-as fluent Elvish, ~Calm down, Mattheas, he looks perfectly harmless to me.~

      ~Now you've told him my name as well!~ snapped the boy, ~Stupid girl.  I will tell Papa.~

      ~And I'll tell him you called me stupid,~ the girl snapped back, before turning to Aragorn, "That is my brother.  He is a grouch."

      Suddenly, a kettle whistled from inside the house, and Adrianna exclaimed, "The broth!" before turning away from Aragorn, apparently running to take care of her cooking.

      She had unwittingly left the door ajar, and it opened wider, pressed by the winds.  Aragorn suddenly found himself staring down the length of a bow and arrow.  He heard his three men unsheathe their swords to protect their King by instinct.

      "Desist!" Aragorn commanded his men, and though the threat still existed, the three men did as their King bid.  They cautiously sheathed their swords, and looked warily upon this young boy with his bow and arrow.

      It wasn't the threat to his life that sent Aragorn's heart racing.  It was this young boy, who could not be more than six or seven years of age, with his streaming golden hair, his intensely focused eyes, his sure, un-shaking hands wielding what looked to be an intricate Elvish bow…

      "Legolas," Aragorn whispered, even as he thought that it could not be possible.  This boy, this… Mattheas, was the splitting image of his dear friend, the elf whom he had not seen in years.

      The boy flinched, as if he recognized the name.  But he held his ground, and refused to lower his defenses.  "State your business and leave us in peace," he said, regal and arrogant.  He had the composure and looks of an elf, but his ears were short, like a man's.  And he was so young…

      "I am Elessar," said Aragorn, "My men and I have come from a mission, and we seek your permission to use your stables, as shelter until the storm passes."

      "You are the King," Mattheas said in awe, lowering his weapon, "I apologize, sire.  But 'tis not my permission to give.  We are awaiting the return of our father."

      "Of course," Aragorn nodded, "I should like to meet him as well."

      Would it be you, Legolas?, he wondered.

      "In the meantime," Adrianna said, bounding into the room, precariously bearing a cup of steaming soup that miraculously escaped spillage, "Would the King and his loyal men join me for some broth?"

      Aragorn smiled at her indulgently, "If it pleases you."

      She beamed at him, and led him and his troupe of three to the small dining room, her older brother following hesitantly, cautiously measuring the three men whom Aragorn was with, who looked as if they would follow the King to the ends of the Earth.

      Aragorn took a sip of the broth, and he glanced at one of his men who had almost groaned in pleasure.  It was delicious, and so incredibly warming.

      "Is it good?" Adrianna asked one of the soldiers earnestly.  The man glanced at Aragorn for permission to reply, and Aragorn prodded him with his eyes.

      "It is very good," the soldier said quickly, "Absolutely delightful."

      Adrianna grinned, "I made it."

      The soldier seemed at a loss as how to relate with the precocious child.  "T-truly?" he stammered, "And what of your mother?"

      "She died some months ago," Adrianna replied, shrugging, "The plague took her.  But you needn't be uncomfortable about it.  She taught me how to cook.  And her spirit is strong and remains within me, and within this house."

      The soldier looked relieved when she turned to Aragorn instead.

      "Does the King like it?" she asked.

      "It is wonderful," Aragorn said, "Thank you."

      Suddenly, they heard the door open, and Adrianna jumped from her seat excitedly, once again to be trailed by her hapless older brother.

      "It's Papa," she exclaimed, "He would be so glad to see the King has come to visit!"

      Aragorn rose from his seat, and followed the children to the living room.  The father indeed had arrived, but he had his back to Aragorn, as he shed the multitude of coats he was wearing and put them upon a rack.  He was soaking wet, and his long, golden hair was tied loosely, hanging along the length of his back.  His ears were not pointed as an elf's, and for a breath, Aragorn dismissed the idea that this man was Legolas.  Until he heard that distinct, soothing voice.

      "Children," he asked, "Why are there men outside the house?"

      "There are men inside too!" Adrianna said delightedly, pulling her father to face Aragorn, "You see? It's the King!"

      Their eyes met, after six years of having vanished from each other's lives, two brothers stared at each other in wonder and delight.  The silence held for a moment, until Mattheas pulled at his father's tunic and spoke to him in an Elvish he assumed the King and his men would not understand.

      ~Adrianna was quick to entertain strangers,~ Mattheas complained to his father, who looked exactly like him, ~She was not cautious at all.~

      ~And how was your conduct?~ Legolas asked of his son, his eyes dancing as he indulged him.

      ~I was not as lenient,~ Mattheas said proudly, ~I did not let them in until I heard him say your name.  The name that mother used to call you when she didn't think we were listening.~

      ~What name?~ Legolas asked, although he knew.  He had been hiding in the guise of a new name for years, although Jacinda had stubbornly taken to calling him Legolas.  He did not let the boy answer though, and instead turned to Aragorn.  "Sire.  What may we do for you?"

      "Our men and our horses are weary from travel," said Aragorn, "We hoped to use your stables, for shelter from this raging storm."

      "Of course," said Legolas, "Our home is your own."

      Aragorn smiled, and ordered his three men to inform the rest of the troupe and to make camp at the stables, leaving him in the house with Legolas and the two children.

      "Are your men hungry?" Legolas asked, "I've returned from capturing game.  My daughter makes a good broth.  It will be good enough for many."

      "Game?" Aragorn asked, "In this weather?"

      Legolas smiled at him wryly, daring Aragorn to doubt his prowess.  Legolas sank down on a chair, sitting in front of a raging fire.  He was cold, and wet, shivering slightly.  Adrianna stood on a stool behind him, drying his hair with a rag.

      "Isn't this dirty, 'Anna?" he asked his daughter, his voice muffled.

      She just giggled, "So are you, Papa."

      "See to the broth," Legolas told her, taking the rag from her small hands, "Mattheas, help your sister.  The soldiers of Gondor will appreciate it."

      Mattheas nodded, and the two children headed for the kitchen, hand in hand.  Legolas watched them leave, before he turned to Aragorn and smiled at him delightedly.

      "I am so happy to find you well," he told his old friend.

      Aragorn watched him closely.  "What have you been doing, my friend? Where have you been? You have children.  You had a wife.  And you've been hiding from me all this while."

      Legolas avoided the questions, for now.  His eyes clouded as he looked at Aragorn intently.  "Aren't they beautiful?"

      "Yes," Aragorn agreed, "And so intelligent.  You have raised them well, my friend."

      Legolas smiled, and stifled a cough.  "And how fares your own son?"

      "On his way to becoming a king himself," Aragorn replied, watching Legolas, "Are you ill?"

      Legolas shook his head, waved this away.  "And how is Gimli? The hobbits? Have you seen them in recent years? Eomer and Eowyn, and Arwen and Gandalf? Have you heard from Mirkwood?"

      "All is well, my friend," Aragorn assured him, "Although your Father wants to have your head for slinking away into another of your wild adventures.  A sentiment I and Gimli share as well, I guarantee you, for you have excluded us from what seems to be a great quest."

      Legolas chuckled, and coughed again.  He stifled it with some difficulty, failing as the hacking coughs racked his body relentlessly.  Aragorn put a comforting hand to his back.

      "Legolas…" Aragorn said quietly, worried.  He had never seen the elf so incapacitated.

      Legolas caught his breath, shivered a little.  His eyes watered, and the glowing magic they had upon that first time they had sighted each other in six years was starting to wane, and dim.

      Aragorn laid a hand upon the elf's warm brow, and he frowned.  "You should not have been out in this ridiculous weather."

      Mattheas entered the room, bearing a wool blanket and a cup of soup.  "The King is right, Papa," he said quietly, handing Legolas the armload. 

      Legolas just smiled at him.  "I'm fine, Mattheas."

      "Mama had told me the exact same thing," Mattheas said, distrusting, and his intent eyes fearful.

      "See to your sister," Legolas told him, and the boy quietly obeyed, leaving the two old friends alone.

      "Adrianna said the plague took their mother," Aragorn said quietly, "I'm very sorry for the loss of your wife."

      "It had been a strange marriage," Legolas said with a small smile, beginning to cough again.

      "We must get you to bed," Aragorn concluded, taking the steaming cup from Legolas's cold hands and setting it on a low table, "You are very sick."

      "It's been this way for a long time," said Legolas, "It makes no difference.  The fever comes and goes, you needn't worry about it."

      Aragorn ignored the advice, and had a grip on Legolas's arm, willing him to rise.

      "You musn't stand too close," Legolas snapped, turning his head away from Aragorn as he coughed, "I fear you may catch it and I would be the death of you."

      Aragorn's brows furrowed.  "Catch what, Legolas?"

      Legolas shook his head.  "Just… don't stand too close.  If you do not stand too close, all will be well.  I've taken great caution so that my children would not be infected, as I was.  As my wife was.  I've… I've not held them in so long, Aragorn."

      Aragorn watched the elf's face, his fear mounting in proportion to his frustration.  "What have you been doing to yourself, my friend… Elves do not catch the plague."

      Legolas pushed the stray strands of his hair to behind his now-short ears.  "In case you missed it."

      "I did not," said Aragorn, "But I've been wondering how this situation arose.  Here you are, before me, suddenly a man.  With great secrets.  The day is long, and the storm will take its sweet time ravaging this land.  We have all the moments we need for your long tale."

      "Past is past," Legolas said wearily.

      "Some pasts are like ghosts," said Aragorn, "They keep returning until they have satisfied themselves.  This path led me to you.  I want to know why."

      Legolas sighed.  "I am too tired for this," he lied.

      Aragorn looked at him worriedly.  He was pale, and shivering.  Thinner, and undoubtedly gravely ill.  He let the questions remain unanswered, for the moment.

      "Why did you tell your children I was ten feet tall?" he asked instead.

      Legolas smiled.  "I told them of your mighty deeds, is all.  Your height they probably imagined.  The stories were supposed to be bedtime stories, but it stirred their blood and it would go on all night."

      Aragorn grinned at him, helped him settle the wool blankets over his cold body.  "You rest here.  I shall see to my men, and return for you.  We have more to speak of."

To be continued…