Grumpy: *runs and grabs dictionary, then flips through the pages* Let's see. Egregious means extemely bad, or the archaic form which means remarkable, and now I can't remember which I meant. Ah, well. They both work. *g* Ennui means boredom. Hope that helps.
Nell Marie: Could have, yes, but it seems no one else wanted to vote. *sigh* So we get to stick with every two day posting. Lol. Yeah, well, they're scholars as well as warriors. Why wouldn't they be good at it? *g* hehe. Sure, you can play. What's the word?
Bill the Pony: lol. Mm, it made me sleepy, too. Course, I was sleepy when I wrote it. It was about two in the morning. *g*
Enjoy! And don't forget to review. *g* I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as all the others.
Chapter 4
Mirkwood
Not too soon for Aragorn, the three riders finally left the High Pass behind them, a steadily receding edifice that held no truly good memories for the ranger.
They had been silent for many hours, and the human was amused to note Elrohir must have forgotten about his own game, so lost in thought was he. He was probably busy trying to unravel what Aragorn had been refering to. He nearly laughed, but managed to remain silent, though a smile crept onto his face. He wondered how long it would be before the elf remembered.
The trip through Mirkwood's forests was conducted in silence, each member tense and watchful, scanning the forests for any threat. The dark trees loomed, and to Aragorn's mind, seemed to stretch towards them, eager to snag them in their grasps. The shadows warped, reaching. . . .
The ranger shook his head sharply, then looked around again. Trees were just trees again, but a slightly sick feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach. What if the Ungwale had not been neutralized? Elrond had deemed him poison-free upon his return to Rivendell, but what if the elf lord was wrong? He did not remember receiving any antidote. Actually, he did not remember a lot of things. The Dúnadan wished Kalya had stuck around. He had so many questions.
"We'll stop here," Elladan suddenly announced, drawing Aragorn away from his thoughts.
"What?"
"It's getting late," the eldest said. "We should rerst here and then continue on to the palace in the morning."
Aragorn stayed where he was as his brothers swung off their horses, preparing to set up camp. Wide eyes regarded their surroundings, taking in the dark trees and shadows that surrounded him. If he could not sleep in a non-threatening environment such as Rivendell, what hope had he for sleeping here? He turned back to them. "I'd rather continue traveling now."
Both looked up, surprised. They had thought, with how tired the human was, Aragorn would be grateful for the respite in thier journey. Few stops had been made on the way, and rarely were they for rest. It was with great concern that they noted fear in their younger brother's eyes. He had never feared the forests of Mirkwoos before, been wary of them, yes, but not feared.
Unsure, they turned to look at each other, wordless questions passing between them, communicated with simple looks. Eventuallly, they came to a conclusion. Elladan nodded, "Alright, Estel. We'll continue on, but I wish you would tell us what troubles you so. You know we would help if we could."
The ranger looked away, swallowing hard. Yes, he did, or he thought he did. They always had before, and he had no reason to think they would not now. Yet he would just be proving how weak he was, and since there was likely nothing they could do about it anyway, there was no reason to reveal his troubles.
He looked back and tried to smile. "I know."
The twins pulled themselves back up and settled into their saddles, loosely holding the reins in their hands (they had taken to using saddles and such when dealing with humans so as not to attract undue attention). With a soft word, they were off again, cantering through the night.
It was nearing sundown on their sixth day out from Rivendell when the trio finally arrived at the gates to King Thranduil's palace, much to Aragorn's relief. They slowed from the headlong rush, gradually, until they reached a gentle walk--a speed more proper to enter a kingdom when lacking an emergency--and finally passed into the home of the Wood-elves realm. Aragorn's sharp eyes searched quickly for the familiar form of his friend, but found it lacking: Legolas was not there.
Another blonde-haired elf approached, expression solemn, and bowed. "Friends of old, welcome to the Grand Palace of Mirkwood, home of King Thranduil. Hail and well met." Aragorn wondered why he looked familiar.
Elladan and Elrohir returned the greeting with equal solemnity, while the ranger managed to nod his greeting, a creeping horror knawing away at the pit of his stomach and a hysterically jabbering voice yammering at the back of his mind that the prince was dead and it was somehow his fault, the dour attitude of the guard doing nothing to counter his fears that the worst had come to pass, though nothing of the sort was said.
They were gestured inside and led towards the stables. Once they dismounted the guard's demeanor changed. "Elladan, Elrohir, Strider. It has been too long since your last visit. Prince Legolas has been wondering after you three ceaselessly. Especially you, youg Strider," he added with a wide grin, which allowed the human to place him--Doril, one of Legolas' friends whose duty on guard always kept him at the palace--and would have irritated him at any other time. "He knows how much trouble loves finding you. In fact, I'm sure he'll be delighted when he finds out you're here."
Doril started leading them towards the palace. "He should be around any time. Went of with Raniean and Trelan to the North-lands on some business for his father. When he gets back, well, he'll probably forget every ounce of decorum Thranduil ever taught him and tackle you all in his exurberence."
The elves laughed, thoroughly enjoying themselves and the picture Doril had painted of the reserved elven prince, and got a little ahead of the human, who was still trying to process the information he had been given. Namely: Legolas was fine.
He felt shaky, like he had been holding a heavy load for many hours and had only now been relieved of that burden, just before it would have crushed him, barely able to hold his own weight. Trembling began in his hands and he forced it away, clasping his hands behind him. To show weakness in such a place of strength--for it was by thier own power that the Wood-elves kept the creeping darkness of Dol Guldor at bay--was beyond shaming.
Suddenly, he felt eyes on him and looked up, for he had glanced quiltily at his hands, and found three pairs of elvish eyes on him, staring at him questioningly.
A guilty flush tried to carress his cheeks, but he merely straightened, pushing aside the emotion and did his best to convince himself there was nothing to be ashamed of. For someone who somehow managed to convince himself that he was to blame for everything the ever went wrong, that proved remarkably difficult. He smiled, then picked up his pace and managed a measure of light-heartedness he did not feel. "Tis your elven speed, my friends. Mortal legs simply cannot keep pace."
Doril laughed, his fair voice dancing musically, seeming to mix with laughter from the trees. "Well, then, in wit, at least, you are not out-classed, dear Strider. But then, you learned from the best."
Aragorn glanced at his brothers when the group finally turned their attention away from him as they walked and noted the twins seemed to have finally relaxed. As consumed as he was in his desire to find Legolas, he had not missed the worried tension in his brothers. It hurt to know he was the cause of the shadows that flickered behind their eyes, no matter how unintentional or beyond control it was.
It was secrets that hurt his family, he knew, and he wished it could be otherwise, but it would hurt them far more to discover what they had known from the beginning: that he was untrustworthy and weak, no better than Isildur who brought upon his own death by keeping the One Ring and earning the ill-favor of the elves, dividing the two kingdoms that had once been close.
They should have stuck with their original decision, a story told to him by Rowyn, he decided. He had dismissed it as a child for a hurtful lie with the warmth of his adopted family's love behind him. As an adult, he knew it was simply a painful truth that had lost its power with time.
They were led to their rooms--adjacent to Legolas' as it had been deemed futile to keep the friends apart, especially when one of them was injured--to drop off their small packs.
He looked up to see Elladan and Elrohir leaning in the doorway. Elladan smiled. "Doril just got off-duty. Would you care to join in innocent fun while we wait for Legolas?"
Aragorn shook his head with a soft--and gneuine--chuckle. "No, I think not. Feel free to leave me out of this one. I remember what happened last time." He was silent a moment, thinking of just that event. "I'll wait here, rest, perhaps."
"Suit yourself," Elrohir said, "but you're missing out." Grinning, both left, and the ranger was once again alone.
The ranger sighed at the thought, then laughed ruefully, an irony he had never before considered occuring to him. Alone in his travels, he wished he could return home to the company of his family and friends. Amidst those he cared about and who cared about him, he desired nothing more than to be alone. A bitter existence, then, he decided, for he was ever doomed to desire something he could not have: in attaining one, he lost the other. What a sorry sight he was.
"Self pity does not become you."
The words echoed, unexpectedly, through his mind in the voice of the one who had said them not so long ago, bringing both solace and pain. He remembered wanting his brothers' company. Then, once he had it, he told them to leave--albiet not in those words. Now, he felt a pang at their absence.
Disgust firmly crowding out pity, he irritably strode to the small closet on the far side of the room. Years ago, before responsibilities interfered, Thranduil had remarked that Strider spent so much time in Mirkwood with Legolas that he might as well live here. Legolas had used that as a jumping point and claimed the rooms next to his were, henceforth, Strider's. It followed logically, then, that the ranger would also keep some belongings in Mirkwood. Thus it was that when Aragorn opened the door to his closet, his own clothes could be seen.
Three outfits, complete outfits--two casual, one dress--occupied the small space. The number of times had had arrived at Thranduil's door with Legolas, filthy, injured, clothes in rags could no longer be counted. In an effort to save the residents' wardrobes that were sacrificed to re-cloth him (as well as grant the ranger more comfort--elven finery hung uneasily on him, even when basic), it had been proclaimed that some of the Dúnadan's own outfits would be transferred to Mirkwood for keeping, and would there be cleaned and maintained.
Picturing the encounter, Aragorn pulled out one of those outfits and proceeded to exchange dirty wear for clean, paying no heed to his own filthy form. Then, dressed, at least, in clean clothes, Aragorn collapsed into a chair.
The good memories relaxed him, undoing his near-strangle hold on consciousness, and allowed the exhausted ranger to drop off to sleep. It was a shame, then, that the images which replaced conscious thought were not so pleasant.
~*~
Aragorn giggled happily. He had done it. He had slipped away from the nursery and the strange beings with strange ears who said strange things. Elfses, his mother had said.
He giggled again, pleased with his accomplishment. That he now found himself in an unfamiliar hall that was really big dampened his happiness not at all. That he was in reality lost had yet to occur to him.
He look around him to see if anyone had found him yet. Plenty of light illuminated the hall and he could see far down it both ways. No tall figure stood down either direction, hands on hips and scolding him. He giggled again. No one had found him yet.
The little boy of two skipped slightly, a kind of little hop that was a cross between a jump and a run. He wanted to play. No toys were anywhere in sight, so he decided to look for them. A big place like this had to have plenty of toys.
His little feet pattered softly on the marble floor as he ran, occassionally stopping to explore this or that, enchanted by the flowing marks on the walls. He touched one, deciding he would like to draw on the wall like that, then moved on.
After a while, he decided to look for Mommy. He had not seen her in a long time, and he missed her. He wanted to show her all the neat things he had found. The little boy started down the hall, looking around for his mother, calling for her softly.
~~~~
Anxious faces watched apprehensively as Lord Elrond worked quickly to try and save the woman in his care. Blood seeped in a seemingly endless flow out of the still figure, straining the white sheets beneath the pale body with an ever-growing puddle of blood. Nothing was working to staunch the deadly flow, and the woman's breathing progressively slowed as it became more labored, and they knew.
Despite the elf lords superior skill and best efforts, all knew they were going to lose her. The wound was simply too terrible.
Finally, Gilrean's breathing stoppped, her chest rising and falling no more. Silence reigned, each alone with his thoughts. Sadly, Elrond pulled a white sheet over her body, concealing the angry wound that had proven too much for the strong willed woman of proud lineage. Her soul fled after husband's to the Halls of Mandos and beyond, lost forever to those still living on Middle-earth, content in the knowledge that she got Aragorn, the last hope of men, of his people, her only son, to safety among the elves.
Sorrow hung in the air. To lose one being was terrible. To lose two, especially so needlessly, was worse. Then, there was the child that was left behind to consider. Elrond frowned thoughtfully, still staring at the prone form before him.
Glorfindel was the first to breech the silence which hung over the room like a shroud. "What should we do about the boy?"
Elrond did not respond. Elladan reacted as if he had been slapped. "About the boy? What do you think we should do with the boy?" he demanded as if it should be obvious, sorrow and guilt quickly turned to anger in his voice. "He must go back to his people."
"It is not so simple," Glorfindel objected, slowly shaking his head. "His mother risked so much to bring him here, believing we would keep him safe. Could we really turn him away?"
"And why not?" Tirian charged, leveling a stern gaze at the light haired elf. "He is not an elf. He needs to be with his own kind."
"Gilrean brought him here to keep him safe. He is heir to the throne of Gondor. If the Enemy were to discover him, it would be disasterous."
"His ancestors were disasters!" Tirian exclaimed, garnering a dark look from Elrond that went unnoticed.
Elrohir's voice was a match to his brother's, loud and angry, when he replied. "He doesn't belong here! The concerns of men are none of our concern."
"Oh, so you don't mind hunting Orcs with them, but the more general requirements of friendship are beyond you." Glorifindel folded his arms across his chest.
"Have you forgotten what Isildur did?" Elladan exclaimed. "That little whelp is just a product of him, and just as weak! His mother is dead. His people are the only things he has left, and we are not them. He does not belong here."
A small sniffle, and a whisper of "Mommy," froze the occupants of the room in surprise. Every face turned to look at the small little figure who stood in the doorway. Large blue eyes stared at them, tears shimmering in their depths as a bottom lip began to tremble.
With the insinct of all children, little Aragorn knew they were talking about him, that they were mad at him. It did not matter that he did not know why, simply that they were. Children who angered adults were punished. A small whimper escaped him and the little body darted out of the room, a blur of color as he raced away from the anger and the people who did not like him.
Away from the place he did not belong.
~*~
Lost in the painful half-memory formed from vague feelings of that time and things he had heard in his youth, Aragorn shifted in his sleep. Just barely, a pained cry could be heard, pulled from his throat by the pain of rejection that he saw. Relieved of restraint by repose, he could not keep the weakness he so desperately hid at bay, thrashing slightly as he unconsciously tried to escape what had no bonds.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas bid his friends good-bye as they turned their seperate ways, Raneian and Trelan returning to their duties as the elf prince turned towards his room. He smiled as he thought of his friends and how much fun they had had while running such a mundane errand for his father, the kind he hated because they were so very dull. His heart was still light from their banter and the joy of being in their presence.
The only thing that would have made it better, he mused, is if Aragorn were here.
He sighed. Two years had passed since he had last seen the young man, since thier last adventure had turned into a struggle and they had dragged themselves back to Rivendell with multiple cuts and bruises and other injuries that needed to be tended by the elven lord. He snorted as he caught himself missing those times.
Great, now I know I'm insane. I actually miss being tortured. He also knew he would gladly face anything to help his friend. It still amazed him that the he had grown so close to the Dúnadan after hating men for so very long. But he was over that, and he missed the feeling not at all.
Not since Dorolyn had how quickly things could change been driven into him so forcefully nor so clearly. In the flash of an eye, it seemed, his perceptions had turned one-hundred-eighty degrees around. Twice. He shook his head ruefully. Full circle, and he could not convince himself to regret any of it, not even to escape the pain.
The prince paused as he reached his friend's door, half wishing it would open to reveal a smiling young man dressed in a filthy leather overcoat. If only Aragorn was an elf, he would not have to be concerned with the passage of time. As concerned, Legolas corrected himself, remembering the trouble that seemed to follow the human everywhere. He would not change the man, of course, but he wished, at times when he allowed himself to consider the fact that he would one day lose his friend, that the Doom of Men was not his lot.
He glanced down, then started walking again. It would do him no good to dwell on things he could not change and would only serve to depress him. Eventually, the ranger would wander back around to Mirkwood as soon as his duties allowed; Legolas would just have to be patient.
Two steps from the door, he froze, a puzzled frown momentarily marring his fair features. A sound had reached his ears, a whimper, from the room behind him. That was impossible, though, for no one stayed in that room save Aragorn, and Strider was out with the rangers, working to protect the peoples of their now divided kingdom, a duty they had claimed long ago and took very seriously.
Yet the sound repeated itself, and this time he could not dismiss it as his imagination. Cautiously, he walked back and reached for the doornob, turning it slowly while trying to remain as quiet as possible so as not to alert the intruder to his presence.
The door opened on silent hinges, and Legolas peered into the dark chamber with keen eyes, just catching sight of a still figure slouched in the chair by the window. Weak light streamed in, just sufficient enough to shilouet the figure and hinder his attempts to identify who trespassed in his friend's room.
A touch angry, he abandoned caution and strode across the room, ready to throw the intruder out on his rear. When he could finally make the individual out, however, his mind skidded to a halt along with his body, all thoughts of doing anything fleeing in the face of his shock, which momentarily froze him to the spot.
Before his eyes sat Strider, living and breathing, seemingly whole. At least, Death seemed not to have caught him yet and no injuries were bandaged, but the elf could not claim the other to be in good health. Concern clouded his eyes when he noted the other's pale complexion and the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his features while he slept. The man's eyes twitched under closed lids, his head jerking slightly, restlessly.
He's having a nightmare, Legolas realized suddenly, then could have slapped himself for simply staring when he should be waking the other up.
He stepped forward to shake the young man--
Only to have the other's eyes fly open before he could touch him, jerking backwards. Legolas flinched back in surprise before he could stop himself, the glazed horror in the man's eyes surprising him. Then he stepped forward and clasped the other's arm. "Are you alright?" he asked intently.
Aragorn's silver eyes, overly bright, focused almost desperately on his own. The intensity of the gaze, combined with the emotion he saw there, confused the elf prince. Aragorn looked like he was seeing a ghost he desperately wished to be real, a dream; or like he had lost someone and now found himself before them and could not even believe his own eyes.
Then, slowly, the look disappeared and a smile spread over the ranger's face, erasing the other expression so completely that Legolas could almost believe he had imagined it. "Legolas. It has been too long, mellon nin."
The blonde haired elf smiled. "Indeed. You stayed away too long, Strider."
Despite the slight look of pain that flickered in his depths, the other smiled mischieviously. "I thought two years was but a blink of an eye to an elf."
His smile widened, but he decided not to continue the taunting. "What fair winds bring you to Mirkwood?"
"I chanced to gain some time to myself."
"And Elrond did not threaten to chain you to a wall to keep you in Imladris?" Legolas asked with poorly concealed amusement.
Aragorn's lips twitched. "Actually, my father tends to prefer we be elsewhere when me and my brothers spend any time together. He says the house is likely to survive longer that way."
Legolas laughed and dropped down onto the edge of the bed. "Which goes double whenever I join you."
Aragorn chuckled softly, unconsciously rubbing at his eyes.
A shadowed look of concern replaced the jovality in the prince's eyes. "You seem tired, my friend. Have you long taken to sleeping in chairs instead of your bed?"
The faintest hint of a blush crept onto the other's face, and silver eyes darted away from intent blue. "It is nothing to be concerned over, Legolas."
A frown creased the elven brow while the concern deepened. Almost anything Aragorn dismissed as nothing and refused to talk about was never the nothing he claimed it to be and was, indeed, usually quite serious. "Talk to me, Aragorn. I may not be able to help, but I would hear what troubles you." Wary eyes glanced at him. "Please, mellon nin. It hurts to see you in pain, especially when I know not why."
Aragorn glanced down, sliding down in his seat so that his legs splayed out before him and he was only half seated in the chair, nearly falling out of it. It looked nothing like the bearing of a king, but of a disconsolate and discontent child, and had the situation been not so tense, he would have laughed. The man picked idly at the hem of his shirt, running his hand along the frayed fabric that was nearing the end of its life. Legolas waited.
Finally, the Dúnadan sighed. He had long told Legolas everything, for the elf was the one being Aragorn trusted to not expect him to be king. "I find I do not want to sleep," he admitted. "Shadows in my mind steal away peaceful sleep, even in Rivendell, and I find no rest. Dreams, nightmares, disturb my slumber, and I am surprised I have not yet woken screaming for more than once I feel I should have and yet no one has heard."
The elf blinked. He thought he knew why Aragorn had not wanted to speak of this, but he did not agree with it. The human should talk to his family, but nothing he could say would convince the young one, so he would do what he could. "What kind of dreams, mellon nin?" he inquired.
"Terrible. I do not wish to remember."
"Alright. What started them?"
The gaze that had been fixed unwavering on the floor, studying it as if with great interest and yet not really seeing it at all finally lifted, though not to focus on the being to which the words were directed. The silver eyes drifted past his shoulder to focus on the joint between two walls and the ceiling, a triangle that seemed to narrow his focus and held it as steadily as if it were presenting information for some test the human dared not fail.
"Two weeks ago I journeyed into the Misty Mountains seeking the source of destruction that had waylaid many travelers and were a menace to nearby populations. People dared not travel, and rumor came to the Dúnadain. I decided to seek out this thing and deal with it if possible.
"Well, we both know how often my plans go as planned. I found them, but they also found me. The leader of the group who had been hauting the Wilds and Ettenmoors shot me with an arrow laced with Ungwale, a drug that wreaks havoc on your mind while taunting your body. It showed me many things and it was only with the help of a friend that I was able to escape the darkness' pull.
"Eventually, we reached the pass where we could gain the antidote and were caught. I remember little of what came next, but the poison was neutralized and I arrived in time to see my friend cut down, then had to fight for my life against numerous foes. Elladan and Elrohir arrived soon after, with Orcs trailing Elrohir." A smile crossed his lips and his eye finally met the prince's. "You should ask him about it sometime." Then the gaze drifted away again. "We engaged the Orcs, this time with the help of those who had been trying to kill us. The Orcs were slaughtered and they were called away. By Sauron, if my guess is right."
"Who is 'they'?" Legolas asked after a moment.
Aragorn laughed slightly, a tired sound that the elf felt was out of place coming from his friend. "That, my friend, is the question that started this all. But now I have an answer: the Slyntari."
"Slyntari?" he echoed, frowning. "I've never heard of them."
"I was told to ask Lord Elrond, for he would surely know. I discovered they were something of a secret society started back in the days of the Last Alliance to oppose the power of the Dúnadain and take revenge. Many of the members are Black Númenoreans who despise the Rangers. Others are simply evil men snared by the Enemy."
"Yet they are powerful," Legolas guessed.
"And skilled."
A fair eyebrow was raised before Legolas could stop himself. "And yet you defended yourself against many of them, single-handed."
Aragorn sat forward. "They were young, trained but not seasoned, over-eager. They were little more than children, Legolas. Many of them even younger than I."
The other eyebrow joined its companion near his hairline. "I see. But what does that have to do with your nightmares now?"
The ranger slumped backwards once more. "I have no idea." His eyes blinked slowly. "I had hoped that coming here would stop them, but that seems not to be so."
"I don't understand."
"No, I do not expect you would, but your presence helps just the same. As did Elrohir and Elladan being near, but the pain is still there, lurking, waiting for me to let down my guard and I cannot sleep or it takes over."
"You have not told your family this," Legolas observed neutrally.
"I can't!" Aragorn cried, surging to his feet to pace restlessly. "They can't know or they might. . . . They might. . . ." He would not finish the sentence, trailing off miserably into silence, halting his hasty steps.
"They might what?" Legolas prompted softly.
The reply, when it came, was so low the elf almost missed it. "I can't lose them."
Confusion clouded clear blue eyes, then the nimble elf stood and walked over to his friend. He gripped the other's shoulders firmly, shaking slightly to emphasize his point. "You won't."
"If they knew, I would."
Legolas blinked as realization slid into place. "I know. Do you fear you will lose me as well?"
Hesitant silver eyes regarded him, looking hearbreakingly vulnerable, and the elf had his answer. Giving into a rare and very human impulse, he pulled the human into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around the man's form and pulling him close. With his lips close to the other's ears he whispered, loud enough that he knew he would be heard, "You will never lose my friendship, Aragorn. My friendship is forever, and I will not leave you. There is not a thing you could do that would change that."
A sob escaped the ranger's lips, and the man's grip tightened. Tears that Legolas felt had desired escape for too long began to flow. Holding tightly to his friend, Legolas pulled his unresisting friend over to sit on the edge of the bed.
How long they sat thus, the blonde-haired elf could not say, nor did he attempt to measure the time, nor did he seek to stem the flow of grief from the man that he held. This release was long overdue and he would do nothing to interrupt it. Finally, though, it slowed, then stopped, and the chin that had pressed almost painfully into his shoulder was removed. He felt Aragorn turn his head and rest it against his shoulder, snifling occassionally as he calmed down.
It warmed his heart to witness the child-like gestures in one who insisted he was a grown man. To his mind, it said that despite the troubles they had been through, the difficult experiences, that his friend yet retained some innocence, was yet young. It meant that the young man he had met on the edge of Mirkwood's forests with an irrepressible spirit and a ready smile was not yet driven away by the harsh reality of life on Middle-earth. He prayed that the change he knew must occur would be a long time coming.
Then Aragorn pulled back and wiped at his eyes, smiling self-conscioiusly. "I feel like such an idiot."
Legolas smiled back. "I won't tell if you won't," he teased. "But I rather enjoyed it."
The ranger blinked. "Enjoyed me making a fool of myself?" he demanded, incredulous.
"It feels good to be trusted with something from my friend that I know has been shared with no one else in a very long time," the elf admitted quietly. "And it is nice to be needed for something other than my skills at dealing death."
Aragorn smiled, and it was a soft smile, erasing the discomfort that had prompted the man's words. "I'll keep that in mind," he responded. "It'll give me an excuse to return to Mirkwood the next time I need to break down." He smiled, something of his old self returning to his eyes.
"Perhaps I will actually see a lot of you, in that case," Legolas teased, then ducked as the human swatted at him playfully. "But really, if your last adventure was as heinous as you say, and I'm sure it was worse, then I'm surprised they let you leave Rivendell alone."
"Alone?" the human questioned. "Oh, I'm hardly alone. Elladan and Elrohir are here with me."
Legolas' eyes widened in horror. "They're here?" he breathed. Aragorn burst out laughing and the prince frowned. "That's not funny, Estel!" he cried. "Just because your father banned them from tearing up your home doesn't mean they can tear up mine!" The human started laughing harder. "Where are they?"
Several attempts by the ranger to answer the question were curtailed by renewed fits of hilarity. But finally, the hysterics calmed enough that he could speak. "I don't know. They disappeared shortly after we arrived with Doril."
The elf's eyes widened. "Oh no!" he exclaimed. "And it's almost dinner time!"
Aragorn sat up straight, a similar expression of horror adorning his face. "The kitchens!" he cried. "We have to get down there before they burn them down like they almost did the last time!"
Without another word, the two friends escaped the room, racing in search of the twins whose reputation for mischief preceeded them even more extensively than their prowess against orcs. For the moment, at least, the shadows remained far behind, pushed away by friendship. But it was not pushed far.