Author: Mirrordance

Title: Allies

Summary: One of the greatest friendships of the ages began when Legolas and Aragorn literally ran into each other trying to escape an Orc prison…

NOTE: All italics are either thoughts or flashbacks, and all words encased in ~ are spoken in elvish.

PART 2

* * *

      The sharp blade glinted in the dim firelight.

      Curse those thrice-damned orcs; everything about them seemed messy and disordered, but their blades had to have such quality.

      Struggling, Legolas watched miserably as his mother was tightly held, parts of her clothing torn as the blades touched her ivory skin, drawing blood.  She was looking at him pointedly, willing for him to cease calling attention to himself.  Wordlessly, soundlessly, she withstood the orc tortures with a straight face and cold eyes.  There was pain, yes, there was little doubt of that.  But she courageously bit back her cries and composed her face for the sake of her son.

      Legolas watched her battle with the pain, knowing she did so for him.  His eyes burned but stayed on hers, and his heart seemed to find calmness in her wordless reassurance once again.

      This, however, did not amuse the orcs at all.  Growling fiercely, they pressed their worst upon the elf queen's body, and yet she remained steadfast in keeping her anguish from her son's burning eyes.

      The perceptive Uruk-hai commander felt this dynamic between the two, and said some incomprehensible gibberish to his orc subordinates that made them cease their abuse of the woman.  For a moment, there was deathly silence, and the commander's footfalls were heavy as he stepped in front of Legolas, drawing his broadsword and slowly running it across the elf prince's cheek, drawing blood.  There was little physical pain to have from it, but the wound was a brand that defiled him, made a claim on him.

      Legolas's eyes shot up to his mother, whose pride was fierce and was severely offended by the gesture against his son.  Caught unawares at this assault from the usually calm woman, she was able to jerk free of the orcs who held her, and was even able to grab a dagger from one of their holsters and throw herself against the commander, jabbing the dagger at the thick hide of his back.

      Horrified, Legolas watched as the orc soldiers prepare to retaliate.  Finding strength in his desperation, he struggled against his handlers and also was able to steal a sword, impaling the elf guards with it.

      He fought to reach his mother, but she had already been stabbed by an orc-dagger by the time he had reached her side.  His heart burning, his eyes flaring, he stood over her for a moment, before turning to his snickering enemies and killing all the orcs in the room with his blind anger.

      ~Mama,~ he said softly, crouching next to her, his hands flailing and unsteady as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from her shoulder.

      ~It is a small cut,~ she assured him, waving away his hands as she sat up.  She looked about her at the carnage.  ~You are a gifted warrior, Legolas.~

      He pushed himself up to his feet, and offered her his hand.  She smiled up at him and took it, but she swayed and blinked, falling against him.

      He held her tightly, his brow furrowing as he searched her face.  Her lips were trembling, and her face was drawn.  Yes, her injury was but a cut.  But some orc weapons were poisoned.

      She met his eyes, and there seemed to be an apology there.  He tightened his grip around her reassuringly.

      ~We must leave before their friends arrive,~ Legolas said, moving forward with her arm draped about his shoulders.  On one hand he held an orc-scimitar that he had picked up in the melee.

      They left the room, and stealthily navigated the labyrinthine halls of the underground prison. They evaded the sounds of orc footfalls, and followed the air that seemed the freshest.  Along this way, they also located their Mirkwood soldiers, in dungeons that lined the narrow halls.  There were orc guards about them, so Legolas sat his mother down along the turn of the corridor, and used the element of surprise to kill the orc guards where they stood.  Using hisstolen scimitar, he slashed at the locks of the barred cells and freed his Mirkwood soldiers, who hurriedly armed themselves with the fallen orcs' weapons.

      ~Sire,~ said one of the men as Legolas helped his mother to her feet and draped her arm about her shoulders, ~I overheard the orcs speaking to each other.  They have kept our horses, to eat for later.  If we find them, we may escape with them.~

      ~Follow the scent of the fresh air, captain,~ said Legolas, ~If we should find our steeds along the way, all well and good.  But at this point, as long as we leave this place, I would happily crawl.~

      The group moved through the intricate halls, using their stealth and light feet to fell the small groups of orcs that they found in their way.  The winding paths gradually rose, and they knew that they were nearing the surface. 

      Legolas felt his mother try to gather her feet, and he teased her, telling her what she had told him some hours ago, ~Pace yourself, mother.~

      She chuckled a little, and coughed, telling him that his spirit was remarkably high.  She fell heavier against him, and the two of them stumbled to their knees on the ground.

      ~Mother!~ he cried, shaking her.  The poison was working quickly, and he feared for her life.  Their soldiers looked toward them with great worry.

      ~We must keep moving,~ she told her son, and let him raise her to her feet.  Quietly, she murmured against his ear, ~I am sorry to be such a burden to you.~

      ~You are no burden,~ he told her gravely, as the group steadily made their way up.  As they reached the mouth of the underground dungeon, however, they found a good size of orcs gathered there.  The horses were also about, as if they were already being prepared for the evening meal.

      Staying in the dark shadows of the way to the deeper dungeons, the group pondered the situation.

      ~There seems no other way out,~ said the captain thoughtfully.

      ~There is very many of them,~ murmured Legolas, ~we have little choice but to come through this way.~

      The Mirkwood soldiers knew what this meant; they would have to face the numerous enemy head on, and rely on their skills, the surprise on their side, and blind luck.

      ~Anyone who can get to a horse,~ said Legolas vehemently, ~Take it and fly.  Do not look back, is this understood? Take it and fly.  They will kill us all eventually, and anyone who has the chance to survive and escape must take it.  That others may know the rest of us are here.  Take it and fly.~

      The soldiers nodded, the conviction of their Prince a weight in the air, as they tensed and prepared for battle.

      ~Leave me,~ Legolas's mother whispered against his ear, ~You cannot fight with me upon you like this.  Leave me.~

      ~Never,~ he said, sitting her down in the shadows, ~Stay out of sight, mama.  I will be back.~

      Quietly signaling to his men, Legolas dove into the fray, and hacked his way through the stunned orcs.  He felt his men scatter, and heard some of them cry as they fell. His heart burst the pain of their loss, even as they all knew this to be a shot in the dark.  And yet he allowed not for a moment of grief, and only let his anger strengthen him.  He found himself next to one of the horses, who were neighing and shifting nervously as the fight broke out around them.

      Legolas swung his legs over the animal's back, and maneuvered it adroitly towards where he had left his mother, striking at all the orcs that stood in his way. 

      ~Mama,~ he called to her, leaning over and offering her his hand.  She gripped him tightly and he pulled her over to sit in front of him upon the saddle.  Pulling at the reins of the horse and urging them faster, he hacked through all the orcs they had passed.

      The remains of his soldiers were also now on horseback and were converging about him.

      ~Didn't I tell you to fly?!~ Legolas exclaimed incredulously at them, ~Go, go!~

      Legolas felt his mother chuckle against him.  ~They feared your father's wrath if they returned to Mirkwood without you or I.  Little did they know my Legolas has a wild temper of his own.~

      Legolas waved his weapon against an orc, ~I must have gotten this humorous streak from you.  Now is hardly the time to be amused!~

      ~Any time is a time to be amused,~ she argued softly, making him smile slightly.

      The orcs around them were thickening, and Legolas adroitly moved his horse away from them, swiftly moving towards the exit.  It is here that he suddenly finds he and his mother were the only ones left.

      Disobeying his own orders, Legolas turned to watch as the horses of his comrades were hacked at, sending its riders to the ground.

      ~You said not to look back, sire!~ exclaimed his captain from the fray, ~Fly! Live! Save the queen!~

      Legolas watched in horror as his last man fell.  Averting his eyes and murmuring a silent prayer, he urged his horse forward and rode madly through the night.

* * *

      Legolas jerked awake, sending pain tingling through his body.  He coughed once, and sat up, finding the human looking at him thoughtfully.  Those eyes made him feel as if the human could look at him all the way through to his bones.

      "What?" Legolas asked testily.  Damn those eyes, he thought, it was almost as if this human saw through him, peered into his mind, witnessed his dreams.

      "You talk in your sleep," Aragorn replied simply, moving from his corner and studying the elf's face.  "How fares your wound?"
      "It is fine," Legolas replied quickly, irked at what the human must have heard from him, "Worry about yourself.  I hear them coming.  They are talking about you."

      Aragorn inhaled, steeled himself up for the torment he knew would soon come.

      "Any advice?" Aragorn asked the elf.

      "They like it when you whine and scream and beg," said Legolas, "I never give them the satisfaction.  But I have a feeling, if you did give them what they want, they would be done with you sooner.  It is entirely up to you."

      "Pride or pain," said Aragorn, "One at stake. I see.  Well."

      Legolas watched as the orcs took the human away.  His heart constricted in a way that it hasn't done in long while, not since he had lost his mother.

      He found himself in the strange position of beginning to care for the blasted, strange human.

* * *

      "Should I ask you if you are all right?" Legolas teased him, the moment he sensed that the human was stirring awake.  The orcs had brought him in some time ago, and he had been completely unconscious.  Knowing only loosely the weaker human physique, Legolas had been gravely worried, and was vastly relieved by the human's awakening.

      "Not," grunted Aragorn, blinking to clear his wavering vision, "Not if you do not desire me to slay you."

      Legolas raised the athelas he had taken from the human's bootstraps up to Aragorn's line of vision, "I thought you may need this, and yet I do not exactly know what to do with it.  I took it from your boots."

      Aragorn's hands shook as he raised them, and Legolas pushed them back to the ground.

      "Just tell me and I will do it myself," said theelf coolly.

      "I need to chew at it," said Aragorn, an eyebrow raising, as if he thought it preposterous that the aloof elf would not only feed it to him, but would also take the paste from his mouth and put it upon his injuries.

      "Ah, that special kingly touch," said Legolas, putting the weed upon Aragorn's mouth, "I must remind you, however, that I took it from your boot.  It is hardly healthy to go around shoving it into your mouth, is it? I mean, are you certain you haven't been stepping on anything unpleasant lately?"

      "Ha.  I'll take my chances.  Chewing draws out all that the leaves have to offer," said Aragorn as he munched, "not to mention, increases its volume.  The paste is easier to apply, and there could be more of it.  I usually prefer steaming it in water, but no such luxury at present."  Once again, he raised his hands to take the paste from his mouth, but they shook miserably and Legolas rolled back his eyes and forced the human's hands to the ground.

      "You needn't be embarrassed," said the elf, "or picky."

      Legolas pressed his two fingers gently against Aragorn's mouth and took the paste, looking at him expectantly. "The way I see it," he said, "The worst of your injuries seem to be the cut upon the back of your head.  Would how you feel attest to this?"

      "I think you are correct," agreed Aragorn, and the elf turned him over on his side, his light hands unintrusive as he spread the paste against the heavily bruised, slightly cut and bleeding wound.  Aragorn sighed in involuntary pleasure as he felt the immediate effects of the healing herb.  Legolas turned him gently to lie once again on his back.

      "Not bad," Aragorn told him.

      "Your face is heavily bruised," Legolas informed him, "I think they may scar, if left untreated.  Are you worried about such things?"

      "I would rather save the athelas for more serious injuries," said Aragorn wryly, "And you, master elf, don't look so pretty yourself."

      Legolas touched at his hair self-consciously, "I am usually much more presentable.  I would need a comb made out of mithril to go through these tangles."

      "I'm sorry, my friend," laughed Aragorn, "When we escape to nearby Rivendell, a multitude of combs we can acquire.  But even ada would not have one made of mithril."

      "From how your own hair looks," said Legolas with a smile, "I'm surprised you have combs at all."

      "That is a mean thing to say to an injured man," Aragorn told him mock-gravely.

      "I apologize," Legolas said, chuckling.

      "You are hardly sorry at all."

* * *

      The days unfolded between them, peppered by beatings and consequent healing that found the new friends more and more comfortable with each other.  The other's company was the only refuge from despair, and they seemed to share a ridiculously irreverent humor and a spirit that fought against all odds.

      Legolas found Estel profoundly amicable and kind, and it seemed so easy for the human to relate with him, to share his humor, his passions.  He was drawn towards this indescribable light in the human's eyes, his burning life.

      Aragorn, on the other hand, found that underneath the aloof exterior of the Prince of Mirkwood was a soul that was proud and all at once charming.  He was disarmingly witty, fiercely strong. But still once in awhile, his deep eyes would be underlined with a sadness that Aragorn understood, but still could not openly speak of.

      This sadness would come to a head one night, when he opened his eyes after another beating and found himself encased in the elf's arms.

      Legolas was sitting on the ground and leaning against the rock wall, with Aragorn's back slumped against his chest, sitting in front of him.  Legolas had his arms around the human, sharing his warmth and giving him reassurance.

      Aragorn felt drained and exhausted, but alert.  Legolas felt him stir, and loosened his hold on the human and shifted, gently easing Aragorn to his back on the ground.

      "You were having trouble breathing lying on your back like that," Legolas told him softly, his sad eyes seemingly evading the human's stare, "I had to prop you up."

      "They gave me orc-ale," Aragorn told the elf, "Potentially lethal to humans.  It has this stimulating chemical, I think…"

      "I know," Legolas said, rising from Aragorn's side and heading for the corner of the cell that he had occupied the first time they had been in here.  He pulled his knees to his chest.

      "I've only ever had it once before," Aragorn said, pushing himself up to a sitting position, looking at the elf cautiously, "Elladan and Elrohir found a cache of it in one of our adventures together.  And the fool human wanted to be able to do everything his older brothers could do, so I took a slug.  It nearly killed me," he laughed, "And ada nearly killed my brothers."

      Legolas glanced at him, said nothing.

      Aragorn peered into Legolas's face, feeling the renewed distance the elf had placed between them.

      "Did they do something to you while I was unconscious?" Aragorn asked him worriedly.

      Legolas bit his lip in thought.

      "Nothing I didn't do to myself."

* * *

      Caring hurts, he thought miserably, I wish I were alone.  I wish I had no one to look after but myself.  I wish I was accountable only to and for myself…

      The orcs had brought Estel in semi-conscious. He was telling dirty jokes in elvish, and kept muttering about the ale.  Legolas knew that, if orc-ale it was that he spoke, it was potent even for elves, and possibly lethal to humans.

      Estel was shaking and cold, and was having a hard time breathing.  Each gasp was laborious and hideously inadequate.  Legolas thought that the human would die before his very eyes, and he felt a loss so great that he could not explain it.

      The orcs, who had ever only shown him brutality, could not break him.  And this human, who ever only showed him kindness, only ever lent him his strength, could break him and hurt him so.

      Legolas pulled Estel up to a sitting position before him, and held him, giving him warmth. He knew that there was no cure for this poisoning, one only had to try to live through it.  He could feel the vicious pounding of Estel's heart, as if it would burst.  His skin was clammy and cold, his pallor so death-like, his breathing gasps moving from desperately quick to slow and shallow, and Legolas feared that it could just suddenly stop.

      He found himself making prayers and promises to all the gods who could hear him.  He found tears shaking in his eyes, and a desperation he had not felt since… since…

      Estel's gasps, his hard-breathing, his cold skin, his pounding heart, was so much like his mother's, that time he held her in his arms as they ran desperately through the night.

      Even his prayers, his promises, his begging sounded the same.

~Do not die, Mama.~

     

~Do not die, Estel.~

     

      Past and present wove themselves in an endless multiplicity of painful moments that his mind reeled, unsure of where he was, unsure of who he was with.

Sure only of his loss.

     

      Eventually, Estel's breathing leveled, and Legolas shook with his relief, even as he promised himself that he would distance himself as much as he was able, because Caring only hurt.

* * *

      Legolas coughed, and felt Estel's hand against his back, days later.  Or maybe it had been just hours, or moments.  Time slowed and stilled and remained a distant reality here.

      "Your old injury," Aragorn commented, "You must let me see to it.  It was bad enough as it was without the orcs repeatedly pounding on you.  It hinders your breathing, I know--"

      "If you were truly kind," Legolas told him tiredly, "You would just leave me be."

      Aragorn's brows furrowed.  "I do not understand… Have I done something? These past few days you have--"

      The iron door was pushed open, saving Legolas from having to face Estel's justified questions.  A group of orcs entered and grabbed the two prisoners, dragging them along to the chamber where they often did their torturing.

      An Uruk-hai commander was standing against the wall, and looking at Legolas dispassionately.  He spoke to the Uruk-hai commander who have been in charge and with whom Aragorn and Legolas were more familiar.

      "Yes it is him," the Uruk-hai commander said to his colleague.  "You remember my face, elf?"

      "All of you look the same," Legolas lied coolly, though his eyes burned and the the orc knew that he was indeed remembered.  This was the orc who had branded his face.  This is the orc whom his mother died trying to kill.

      "Your mother, she had a good hand with a sword," the orc leered at him, "Good enough to keep me from my duties for awhile.  But not for long.  You are a fool to return here, after your escape.  But all the luckier for me."

      He stepped forward and cupped Legolas's face with the tight grip of his clawed hands.  "I do not know how it is that you heal so well or so quickly.  But I guarantee you, the next scar I will lay upon your face is one that you could never erase."

      His grip tightened on Legolas's face, drawing some blood with his claws.  Then he pushed Legolas away.

      "You had killed many of us, elf," he spat, "and I think it only fair that you suffer before we kill you in turn."

      "You can do nothing to me anymore," Legolas told him coldly.

      "I discovered this long ago," said the orc, "but like your mother, your resolve can break in but one way.  I heard you made a friend."

      Legolas glanced at Aragorn.  "If you refer to him, you are mistaken."

      There was such coldness in his eyes that made Aragorn's heart wrench, and wonder if he was lying or not.

      The orc's eyes narrowed.  "We'll see.  He will be begging for his death with what we plan to subject him to.  You will break, elf," he shrugged, "And if you don't, we plan to kill him anyways.  Dinner, you see.  We will ensure that you get a plate."

      Legolas watched blandly as they tore at Aragorn's tunic, and bound his arms over his head to a rope attached to a wood brace on the rock ceiling, his booted feet dangling an arm off the ground.

      Two orcs held Legolas by the arms to watch a show that they were just as excited to see.  Their innate bloodlust was unspeakable, their ardent desire to inflict suffering nothing short of evil.

      The uruk-hair commander drew out a long, spiked whip. He slashed it against the ground, just to test it, and to get a reaction, which Legolas or Aragorn did not provide him with.

      He circled Aragorn once, then raised the whip and let it skitter across Aragorn's torso, the spikes clinging to and breaking his skin.  Aragorn's jaw set, but he kept his reactions minimal.  His eyes were turned towards Legolas, trying to understand him.  He did not ask for pity, or help, or relief.  He just wanted to believe that this moved the seemingly cold elf, in some way.  In any way…

      Legolas tried to keep himself composed, even as Aragorn seemed to seek out his fire.  That first stroke had been brutal, and it made his heart jump and his mind jerk, whited out by his anger.  And yet he kept his reactions level.  If he seeked to keep himself from caring, this was the best avenue to prove himself in.  He didn't care.  He shouldn't.  It hurt to.  It was a gamble, and in a situation like this, one he was bound to miserably lose.

      The uruk-hai braced for a second strike.  And Legolas watched the spiked tip of the whip dance on the air and touch the floor behind the uruk-hai, before he sent in slamming against Estel's back.  Involuntarily, the human's body jerked with the pain, and Legolas found his breath had caught, as if the strike was straight into his heart.

      Do something.  This man is a friend to you.  You know it.  And once it begins, you cannot stop it.  Do something.

      The uruk-hai braced for a third strike, and Legolas watched in horror as the whip descended again in a lethal arc, against Estel's torso.  His body jerked again, and Legolas found he could not restrain himself anymore.

      Do something!

      The uruk-hai threw the whip over his head for a fourth strike, its spiked tip touching the floor near Legolas's boot.  Discreetly, he stepped on it and placed all his weight and force against it, the spikes digging into his thin boots, through to his skin.

      The force of the commander's attempt to swing the whip battled with Legolas's anchor, and the handle flew from his hands.  All seemed momentarily stumped as to what had happened, and Legolas took the moment to push away his two guards to free his arms, scooped up the whip from the ground and hit them with it, just before he turned to the commander and struck his face with the spiked whip, making him holler in pain and his hands shoot up to his eyes.

      Jumping towards Estel, Legolas snatched the screaming Uruk-hai's broadsword and cut at the human's ropes, making him crumple to the ground on his own, since the elf was too busy defending them to assist him.

      Legolas snapped the whip threateningly at the orcs who were converging around them, and tossed the broadsword to Aragorn, who had just gathered his feet.

      ~You had to wait until the third strike?~ Aragorn murmured to him wryly, as the two warriors stood back to back in a fight-ready stance.

      ~Are you complaining?!~ Legolas snapped.

      ~Yes, of course!~ the human exclaimed with a laugh, ~A second chance at escape, my friend.  We really must succeed this time.  Or else I'm going to be orc-dinner by nightfall.~

      They parried and attacked, Legolas soon grabbing a sword of his own from a fallen enemy.  Though battered and hideously outnumbered, they drew strength from each other.  Gradually, they managed to fell all of the orcs in the room, and steadily made their way out to the narrow corridors.

      The numbers of the orcs were great, but this time, the narrow halls were to their advantage; this way, they needn't be completely surrounded, and any orc who wanted to battle them had to step forward in a maximum of three's, since the way was so small and the bulk of the orcs so large.  Little by little, the masses could be handled, and soon, man and elf found themselves the only ones standing.

      "And then there was two," Legolas proudly declared, jabbing his sword into the face of an already-fallen orc.  The sword stood that way for a moment, as the elf dusted his bloodied hands uselessly upon his bloodied tunic.

      Aragorn glanced at the crushed face of the orc at their feet.  "That might have been unnecessary."

      The elf said nothing, and Aragorn watched his face.  There was something manic about his eyes, a fiery bloodlust that Aragorn had never seen before.  So unlike the coldness of his eyes when he said that Aragorn was not his friend, but also somewhat similar to it in the sense that… it didn't seem to be him at all.  Not that he was an expert; perhaps this was who the elf truly was, after all, Aragorn had not known him for very long.  But he refused to accept it.  The first time their eyes met, the first time they had laughed together… there was something strong and unshakeable there, something pure and true.  Not this tainted coldness, not this satisfied bloodlust.

      "I can almost hear your thoughts," Legolas told him, feeling the human's eyes practically devouring his face, "Worry about such things later, Estel.  I desire to leave this place."

      Wordlessly, the two maneuvered through the bodies of orcs, only now realizing just how great and many they were after all.  Spotting an axe, Legolas tossed away his broadsword in favor of it, and hacked absently at the wooden support structures lining the rock walls that they passed.

      "Stop that," Aragorn told him, "You'll bring this place crashing over our heads."

      He had said it before thinking; it was precisely what the elf was planning to do.  Aragorn stopped walking and grabbed Legolas by the elbow, forcing him to face him.

      "Listen to me," said Aragorn vehemently, "They are all dead.  We just have to leave here and never come back.  You keep doing that, you will bury us here."

      Legolas jerked his elbow free of Aragorn's hold.  "Then leave! I returned here to take this whole place to the ground.  I never planned on your help, I do not need it and I do not ask for it."

      "What in the world for?" exclaimed Aragorn, "they are all dead, you did right already.  You did right by your mother—"

      "You do not speak of her," seethed Legolas, "You do not know anything of her, or of me.  They tortured her here and made me watch.  She died with a poisoned wound trying to save my dignity.  All of my soldiers died here.  And when I fled from this place, I held my mother until she died in my arms.

      "She kept begging me to stop the horse because its movements hurt her so," continued Legolas, "My mother has never begged for anything in all of her life and I rejected her one request.  I felt her warmth leave her body, and reason fade from her eyes.  I told her we should keep going, Rivendell was near, I could see it, when it was leagues and leagues away! Do you know the last things I have ever given my mother? I gave her pain, rejection, and lies.  Such great things to remember a son by!"

      Aragorn saw the grief in his burning eyes, and could not find an appropriate thing to say about it, so he simply grabbed the axe, and they both wrestled for a grip of it for a brief moment.

      "Let go," snapped Legolas.

      Aragorn pulled the axe closer to his face, and naturally Legolas went with it. 

      "Listen to me," Aragorn told him scathingly, "Your blood-lusting vengeance will not flee from you until you let the past go.  You kill them all, you tear this place down, all well and good, assuming you live through it.  And then what? Some other band of orcs and some other kind of place.  More blood, more destruction, and if you happen to survive, you go elsewhere.  I see it in your eyes, you not merely want them all dead, you will not stop until you yourself have ceased breathing!"

      Legolas tugged on the axe handle once, but Aragorn would not release it.  The elf averted his eyes, and the grief seemed to sink into its depths, no longer blinding and predominant, but just one among his many passions.  He stared at Aragorn.

      "This place will crumble to the ground," Legolas told him determinedly, "And then…" he seemed momentarily at a loss for words, "And then I swear to you.  I swear to you on my mother's grave.  All other battles after this will be done no longer as a bitter past constantly relived, but in order to build a future."

      Aragorn's eyes glinted, just before he jerked the axe completely away from Legolas's grip.  He turned away from the elf and started to walk off.

      "Estel?" Legolas called.

      Aragorn paused, turned and looked at the elf jauntily.  "I keep the axe.  I am doing this anyway, I might as well get the best weapon for such a task.  Find your own."

      "You mean you will help me?" asked Legolas, incredulous.

      "The more there are of us to accomplish this task you have placed upon yourself, master elf," said Aragorn, "the quicker it will be done with, the quicker we get to leave."

      "B-but why do you…?" Legolas asked him softly.

      Aragorn sighed and walked back towards the elf.  "Why do I help? Have you not learned?

      "Because you need it," said Aragorn, "And because I can."

* * *

      Man and elf made quick work of the underground tunnels, shattering its foundations.  Then by luck, they stumbled upon a cache of orc-ale near the mouth of the cave leading to the underground dungeons.  Throwing it around liberally, they grabbed a torch and set the place on fire.

      Running to escape the blast from the flammable liquid, the two threw themselves to the ground as the cave shook, and crumbled behind them.

      Pushing themselves up to sit, they looked at the smoke and the fire and the rubble with satisfaction.

      "Ahh," sighed Aragorn, "I am sure, if the search parties tasked with finding us are anywhere remotely near this area, they could not possibly miss this."

      "I hope so," said Legolas, "Not unless you intend to walk back to Rivendell."

      The elf looked up at the dimming skies over their heads.  The sun was near to its setting, and the evening was being preceded by its insistent breeze.

      Glancing at the human with his torn tunic, Legolas removed the top layer of his, and offered it to him.

      "Half-naked human," Legolas teased, "we seemed to have made good with our escape."

      Aragorn grinned at him and took the tunic gratefully, slipping it over his head.

      "The cavalry arrives," said Legolas, just as the sound of horse hooves were made known to Aragorn's lesser ears, and a band of Lord Elrond, Elrohir, Elladan, and some other soldiers from Rivendell burst through the scene.

      ~Orc-blood,~ said Elladan, looking pointedly at Estel, ~Fire and rubble.  We did not doubt it was you.~

      His dancing eyes betrayed his fears and relief over finding Estel, though, so the human just grinned up at him.

      ~My Prince,~ said Elrond to Legolas, ~I have spoken with your father.  He grieves the loss of his wife, and prayed he wouldn't have to grieve the loss of a son.  You imagine that relieved as he may be to find you well, you will most likely incur his wrath.~

      ~I know this, Lord Elrond,~ said Legolas, ~But I am grateful for the warning.~

      Elrond stared at the smoldering ruin for a moment, before he looked down at Legolas and Aragorn.

      ~And here before us lies the two biggest trouble-makers in all of Middle-Earth,~ he sighed, ~One wonders at the cruel fate that would allow you two to meet.~

      Estel grinned at him.  ~The same fate that would give you these two for your children all at one time," he said, nodding at Elladan and Elrohir.

      ~I would knock your head off if I wasn't so happy to see you,~ Elrohir told him with a laugh.

      ~As would I,~ agreed Elladan.

      Estel turned to Legolas, who was watching the exchange politely.  ~You see how loved I am here?~

      The elf smiled at him.  ~Then it is a good fate after all that you have found me,~ he said, ~A poor human being bullied by the twin sons of Lord Elrond is hardly fair at all, if you didn't have an ally like me, mellon.~

THE END

OCTOBER 15, 2003

SOME IMPORTANT NOTES:

On the timeline.  I flipped through the appendix to the Return of the King regarding Aragorn's life.  The way I remember it, when he was two, he was raised in the house of Elrond following the death of his father.  He had a multitude of adventures with Elladan and Elrohir, and after returning from one of these around the age of twenty, he was told about his royal lineage, just before he met Arwen.  While my story is not really specific with regard to the timeline, I wanted it to fit in somewhere here: Aragorn already being aware of who he truly is, but also still not so much burdened by his responsibilities, still youthful but also as strong as we have always known him.

On the characters.  Speaking of Aragorn's strength, I have always depicted him as unwavering in all of my stories, so undoubtedly, this includes it too.  As for Legolas… I wanted to give him strength, but also a challenge.  He is such a powerful figure, always composed, always aware.  I wanted to trace this as being founded on a strength that he had acquired throughout his life, this story merely just being an 'episode' out of it.  His mother had died in a most cruel way (I've always wondered about her), and this still managed to bring out the best in him.  The strength that we see in the books and the movies, I kind of attributed to the promise he had made to Aragorn in this story, about building a future.  He also seems very aloof at the start, or at the exterior, so I did not want this to immediately be overtaken by Aragorn, resulting in his hesitations.  I wanted his character to be a mix of the introverted of the movies, and the easy charm of the books.  So what came out is a hybrid that I hope did not veer too far off course.

On the scenario.  Of course all of us fans of this great friendship must have our own version of how it began.  I have several versions in my imagination, this just being one of them.  I hope it is feasible.

On the style.  It's set in a dungeon, and I wanted to tell the story in a way that mirrored this.  Like time stretching and stopping, the past returning and woven within the story, instead of being explicitly ordered.  I hope it is not too confusing! :)

Anyway, c&c's always welcome.  I think I wrote this in three days, and I may or still may not edit it.  But here goes nothing… :) I hope it's not too bad!