Author: Mirrordance
Title: Exile
Summary: An elf is exiled as a suspect to his own brother's murder. A young king goes out into the Wild. Two warriors cross paths and embark on a common adventure as one seeks to escape his past and the other to reclaim it. How Aragorn and Legolas met.
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PART 3
It was deep in the night, and they have walked long without ceasing. The quiet, discreet elf maneuvered the forest knowingly and almost absently, as if he understood the entirety of it leaf by leaf, step by step. Strider let him move a pace ahead, just the slightest step to the front to lead the way, and he never hesitated. If he knew the human was relying solely on his senses for direction, he made no mention of it. Then again, he never really made mention of much.
At least, not since Strider basically told him he knew the elf was in the royal line of Mirkwood. Probably even its crown prince. Yet here he was, like an exile.
Like me.
There was a story here that begged to be told. Strider had met the King of Mirkwood, and met his only son and heir Legardo, who looked a bit younger than this elven horse thief, and of whom the thief did not inquire. But if he were indeed the crown prince of Mirkwood, why flee his own kingdom? Why be so alone?
Strider felt his companion's warm hand enclose around his arm, keeping him from taking another step forward. He did as he was wordlessly told, and strained his senses to hear whatever it was that would occupy the elf's mind and be the cause for so much caution.
The two of them stood still for countless moments, and Strider relaxed only after the elf released his arm and started forward again, exhaling in relief.
"What was that?" Strider asked in a lowered voice.
"Orc patrols in the near distance," the elf replied, after a pause so long that Strider had almost given up on him. He seemed to hesitate, as if he were wondering if he were obliged to answer, or deciding if he was inclined to.
"I was considering perhaps slightly altering our direction but they moved away," he added, "Mirkwood's soldiers are spread too thinly across these lands. These patrols can get too close for comfort, already so entrenched is the enemy in their stronghold South."
"Dol Guldur," said Strider, "Yes. My companion and I, we made sure to move around it on our way here from the outskirts of Mordor."
"Your companion is not an ordinary man, is he?" asked Legolas, "At first I thought I would steal from you, this harmless human and his even more harmless old friend. But I began to track you, and he had a little smile on his face."
"He understands much," Strider said, "But these are for him to know and ours to discover. I may not have known you were upon us, but I would not be surprised if he did."
"Istari," Legolas concluded, after a moment of consideration.
"Yes," Strider replied, "That he is."
"You keep strange company," the elf commented, and felt the human's wry glance, pointedly looking at him.
"I meant the old man," Legolas clarified, clearing his throat.
"It cuts both ways, though," Strider said impishly.
The elf blinked and kept his eyes on the road before him, but the human did not miss the slight quirking of his lips.
"Ah, he does smile," the human commented.
The elf said nothing, though his hand drifted absently up to his cheek, as if he were wondering if he was indeed doing as the human had said. It was a strange sensation, for it was one he had not felt in awhile. He composed himself and looked at Strider wryly.
"You must be very cleverly funny then."
"I sure like to think so," Strider smirked.
They walked in silence again, and Strider could not understand if it was the comfortable kind or the uncomfortable kind, or perhaps a comfortable silence that was made uncomfortable by the fact that it really wasn't supposed to be comfortable in the first place. His brows furrowed. His head ached. Now he understood much less because he had successfully confused himself.
Strange, he thought. His mind was flying and light, easily distracted. The world was duller, its lines meshed blending one shape to the next, seemingly less real. What's happening to me?, he wondered, almost amused.
Legolas glanced at his temporarily distracted companion dubiously, and then up at the dark skies, and the snow that fell insistently around them. The trees were leafless this season, and the branches stretched over his head in crooked, empty arms that soared and reached high but seemed to grasp at nothing. He disliked the winter for its quiet, death-like sleep, and loved it only for the greater vivacity its comparison lent to the following spring.
"Perhaps we should rest awhile," he suggested.
"I would," said Strider, "But I worry for my old friend."
"I will never have a fear for the Istari," said Legolas, "They can easily fend for themselves."
Strider considered. Why would the elf be so insistent? Elves don't tire, and though he himself was hideously worn out from his years of searching and the long journey that had directly preceded this one, he was sure he made little or no indication of it or that the elf would probably not have cared much if he was weary anyway.
"All right," he said finally, "I suppose it won't hurt him to wait a bit longer."
The elf nodded, and changed directions just slightly. They walked just a few paces and descended a gently-sloping hill, along the side of which was a small cave. It was obvious to the Ranger's eyes of Strider that this was as much of a home as the elf had in this forest. There was a lived-in warmth to it, and there were a few of his personal belongings smattered about.
"An elf in a cave," Strider marveled, "You are constantly a surprise."
The elf just smirked at him, and they each found a corner to settle in. Strider was more than happy to get off his feet after so long. He smiled indulgently in relief, and glanced at the strange elf who sat a pace away from him.
"Get some sleep," the elf insisted, "You are safe here."
The human narrowed his eyes in thought, pondering his options, before nodding and settling down more comfortably. He felt the elf looking away from him, probably in an attempt to make him feel more at ease although he still felt the other's edgy watchfulness.
Strider did not sleep at once, but soon stayed so still and looked greatly at peace that after awhile, the elf most definitely believed he did. Glancing at the human cautiously, he lifted his left pant leg and unlaced his boots, wincing at the old pain from his long-sore ankle, an injury he had acquired from the time the insane human had jumped them both off their respective horses. Sure enough, it was badly swollen, and he reached for some snow near to the cave's opening and put them against his ankle, the cold soon numbing the pain.
Strider watched through slit eyes, watching the elf tend to his injury in the dim light.
So this is why you wanted to stop, Strider concluded, marveling at the elf's endurance, and pricked by his dangerously high pride and ultimate stupidity for listening to it. But he admired his spirit more than anything, and decided to let him keep the farce he had worked so hard to keep.
Who are you, Strider wondered as he began to nod off towards sleep at last, What are you doing here?
As if the elf was hearing his thoughts, his head shot up to look at the human. But by then, Strider's eyes had already closed, this time no longer feigning sleep.
TO BE CONTINUED…