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.
* * *
PART 7
"At least he was gracious enough not to have taken any of the horses this time," Strider jested when he awoke hours and hours later to find the elf gone, and yet Gandalf could see very clearly from his eyes that he was pricked over having been left behind.
"Who is the curious elf anyway?" Gandalf inquired.
"Lesandro," replied Strider, trying to keep his annoyance in check, "a prince of Mirkwood who has an aversion to attachments. As you may have noticed firsthand."
"You seem upset," Gandalf pointed out.
Strider frowned, contemplated lying for a moment before deciding against standing up to the old wizard's prying eyes. "I suppose... he seemed rather lonely. I wanted to know who he was. And I haven't had the chance to really thank him," his hands brushed at the elf's coat about his shoulders, "or return this. The cursed fool went out on the storm without a coat. He's an elf, for the Valar's sake, it does not mean he has the hides of an oliphuant."
"I told him Lord Elrond and your brothers must be out looking for you now," said Gandalf, "and he did not wish to be found."
"Strange," murmured Strider, stifling a cough, "they used to be friends. I suppose I could always ask Elladan and Elrohir when we see each other."
Gandalf reached over to touch the man's forehead, which was noticeably cooler. "It seems your rest did you good."
"Which is more than I can say for the fool," said Strider, still intent on the elf who had left, "Did you know he was hurt? And he is out there, and without a coat!"
"If you are strong enough to be this angry," smiled Gandalf, "You are strong enough to toil along the rest of our road."
"I am not angry," said Strider, raising an eyebrow, "I just have a rather low tolerance for stupidity."
"I am sure he knows what he is doing," soothed Gandalf.
Strider bit his lip in thought, shook his head in annoyance and tried to calm his voice, "I'm sorry my friend. He just seemed so alone. And he was kind to me."
"You cannot help everyone, Estel," said Gandalf, understanding the root of the young hero's frustrations, "Especially those who do not wish to be helped."
"I felt he was like me," Strider confessed, "Does that make any sense to you?"
"Yes," Gandalf replied, teasing, "He is stubborn. Strong. Restless. And I think someone said stupid."
Strider looked at him wryly, Point taken.
* * *
When all that was left of the storm was lightly falling snow, and the winds have died, the wizard and Strider took to the road once more. Strider still felt sluggish, but he was much stronger and easily handled his own steed. The two companions traveled in silence, and the man wondered why the Istari had a strange old light in his eyes and a little smile on his face.
"We are nearing home," Strider said, recognizing the roads, thinking perhaps it was why Gandalf would seem so happy, though he looked more knowing than joyful…
Strider was pulled from his thoughts by the urgent pounding of horse hooves headed their way and sure enough, they were met by a sizeable contingent of Rivendell's soldiers, spearheaded by none other than Elladan himself, Strider's adoptive brother.
The handsome elf smiled as he looked over the two riders indulgently. "Hello there, Mithrandir. And ahh, dearest Estel. We were wondering what kind of trouble you may have gotten yourself into."
"It was not a very eventful journey," Strider guaranteed him.
"Yes, he simply has a touch of the flu," Gandalf informed the elf, before the human glossed it over, as he oft did his hurts.
"But I am well now," argued Strider, "We were delayed because I took some rest. I am sorry to have troubled you."
"It keeps my life interesting," winked Elladan, "Elrohir took a different road with his own contingent. They ought to be by soon. We will be home in time for supper! Ada will be thrilled."
"Yes," agreed Strider, "We've not been home all together in awhile."
"We have," Elladan pointed out, "You have not. But all is well and good for at last you are here with us. We wish to hear tales of all your adventures, for we've only heard smatterings here and there. Great deeds, Estel, great deeds. But one thing the legends do not seem to point out, brother, is your single, most terrible fault."
"What's that?" Strider asked, feeling a tease coming from the glint in Elladan's eye.
"You do not write home enough," Elladan said wryly, he smiled and blinked, excited as he heard the coming of the other search party, "Here comes Elrohir. I found you first. We had a wager."
"What was at stake?" Strider asked.
"I've forgotten," Elladan admitted with a smile, "Well, it matters not. I won."
"But your victory was just a matter of luck, brother!" Elrohir exclaimed as he appeared at the head of his column, his keen elven ears picking up on the conversation even before he was in their eyeshot. "I, however, have a rather great prize."
The soldiers of Rivendell, Elladan, Gandalf and Strider looked behind Elrohir at the rest of his arriving group. Elladan and his soldiers gasped, and the wizard merely looked pensive. Strider, squinting and last to see the strange arrival, gasped.
The contingent was rather bedraggled for a group of Rivendell's finest elven soldiers. They had injured members sharing horses and a rather impressive array of cuts and bruises between them. But what was most stunning was the sight of a Mirkwood elf who looked to be the cause of it all.
Sitting atop a horse and secured by the burliest of all the elven soldiers of Elrohir's contingent was a stern-looking Lesandro, face bruised and hands bound in front of him. His jaw was set, his expression composed though his eyes burned holes through all that he looked upon.
Cold, was the first coherent thought that struck Strider, Downright frigid.
"Elrohir!" exclaimed Strider, aghast, "What are you doing?"
"Look who I found mulling about," replied Elrohir, "I think he was spying on Estel and Mithrandir."
"If this was so then he didn't really do anything, did he?" snapped Strider, "Are the shackles necessary?"
"I'm afraid you don't quite understand," clarified Elrohir, "I forgot. You would not have known about him, you were not even born at the time. You are looking at the elven race's most despicable fugitive," he blinked, correcting himself, "It's only one, actually."
"Lesandro?" Strider asked, turning to the bound elf inquiringly, "What is he saying?"
Legolas looked at him blankly, before turning away. His eyes were like daggers to all else that he looked upon, but he avoided the one gaze that seemed to see straight through to his broken heart.
"You are mistaken, Estel," Elladan said, confused, "This is not Lesandro. This is Legolas, the younger brother of Lesandro, and his murderer."
TO BE CONTINUED…