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 10

      To ensure that they would not be followed, Legolas ordered the Rivendell elves into the dungeon and made Strider lock it at knifepoint, if only for appearances sake because the hostage was a rather willing one (not to mention its mastermind as well).  Then they left the keys about an arm or so's reach away from the unhappy prisoners, to buy themselves time to flee at the same time not condemning the Rivendell elves to the prison until someone else comes along.

      "Oh, Estel, I am steaming mad at you right now!" Elladan seethed, though his eyes softened as Strider looked at him guiltily and longingly.  He sighed in resignation, asking again, "You know what you're doing?"

      "I know, 'Dan," he said softly, no longer bothering with pretenses, "I'm sorry."

      "We will try to pursue, though," said Elrohir, "You know that, do you not?  Do you understand? We still believe you are in the clutches of a crazed elf!"

      "Birds of a feather flock together, after all," Elladan could not help but point out.

      "I know," said Strider stifling a smile, "All will be well, I promise."

      Legolas tightened his arm about Strider, pulling him away, "Let us fly."

* * *

      They made their cautious way to the stables, and since the 'mad elf' was holding one of Lord Elrond's sons in hostage, they pretty much got all that they demanded.  Legolas asked for a pair of winter coats, some provisions, bows and arrows and daggers to be packed quickly, as well as a horse to share, and the release of all the other horses into the wild, to keep the soldiers from pursuit.  The horses were elven-trained and would eventually return or be found, but in the meantime it would put a significant distance between them and their pursuers.

      Herding the released horses, Strider and Legolas traveled away from the borders of Rivendell at a madman's pace, until Imladris was just a line in the distant horizon.  Legolas, seated behind Strider, relaxed significantly and slowed the horses down to a trot.  He was at a loss for words to say, so he loosened his grip on the human and pulled the horse to a stop.  The horses around them halted as well.

      He dismounted, and thrust the daggers into Strider's hands.

      "I would take a horse," Legolas said quietly, "but I fear I have taken far too much from Imladris already."

      He fastened his tunic over his bound chest; he did not get a chance to do this earlier during their flight, and though he was practically immune to the cold, it would be stupid to court it.  The snow was still falling about them in the heart of winter, and he knew it was blistering even with the ceasing of the storm.

      All their demands have been placed on a pack which one of the horses bore.  He removed its contents, handing the coats to Strider and arming himself.

      Strider dismounted, landing neatly on his feet beside the elf.  He slipped on one of the coats, and handed Legolas the other.  "You have a strangely consuming conscience for a thief," he said even as he thought, or a murderer.

      Legolas smiled tentatively, shook his head at the offer, "I asked for it for your sake.  You are not fully well yet.  I felt the heat from your back."

      "You need it too," Strider pointed out.

      Legolas ignored the statement, as he prepared to make the rest of his journey on foot.  "Well.  Goodbye."

      Strider's brows furrowed, "I was hoping you would take me to where you are headed for awhile.  I wish to wait until the anger of my father and brothers have dispersed.  If you do not mind, that is."

      Legolas' breath caught.  The perceptive human phrased his request as if Legolas was the one doing him a favor, when in truth it was very plainly the other way around, and it has been for quite some time now.  He looked at the man achingly, hungrily.  He did not understand, but this man was giving him, a stranger, his time, his kindness, his very light.  He blinked at the tears that sprang to his eyes, and held their burning back defiantly.

      "Estel," he said softly --hope-- calling him for the first time by the name he heard Elrond's twins refer to him as, "I do not mind at all."

* * *

      ~Return to your masters,~ Legolas commanded their stolen herd, patting the lead horse's flank gently, and watching as they yielded to his order, vanishing in a thunder of pounding hooves.  At Estel's insistence, they kept two for their travels, though the human was yet to discover precisely where they were going.

      "Your brothers are going to skin you alive," Legolas reminded the man.

      "I know," winked Estel, "that's why I'm here and not there, remember?"

      Legolas smiled, and it was the most gracious, disarming smile Strider had ever received from the elf thus far, or from anyone else for that matter.  There was a warmth to it, a gentleness that he had never seen before.

      "Well it is very foolish of you," the elf said primly, "As I said, you are not even fully well yet."

      "It will pass," Estel guaranteed him, waving off the issue carelessly, "So where are we headed?"

      "I'm not sure," Legolas admitted after a moment of thought.

      "Where were you headed when you tried to steal my horse?" Estel asked.

      "I wasn't sure," Legolas replied, "I merely wanted to leave Mirkwood."

      "Why?" Estel inquired.

      "I realized I've been lingering there far too long," said Legolas.

      "For your quick reflexes," Estel teased in a gentle voice, "It took you quite awhile to have figured that out.  A few hundred years, I heard.  Is that correct?"

      "It is," Legolas said softly, "I hadn't realized."

      The two warriors mounted their steeds, and for a moment just stayed still, looking about them as if their surroundings would offer them an answer.

      "Hm," said Legolas disapprovingly, "This was your plan.  Did you not think this far?"

      "Honestly?" said Estel, "No.  I did not think any further than leaving Rivendell.  As a matter of fact, I do not recall thinking any further than you actually grasping my plan.  Once again, I must say, it sure took you quite awhile, mellon.  For a moment there, I thought I'd have to blatantly tell you, 'Legolas.  Get my knives and take me hostage.'"

      Legolas laughed, "I'm sorry.  It is madness, you have to admit."

      Estel smiled and shrugged, rewarded by the elf's musical laughter and the light that was dawning in his shining eyes, "So where will the wind take us this time, Tumbleweed?"

      "Your Elvish requires polish," Legolas said wryly, "the name means Greenleaf, my friend."

      "Ah, but the other suits you more," reasoned Estel, teasing, "Are you always just leaving places, Legolas? Are you ever actually going somewhere?"

      Legolas smiled, a bit sadly this time, "It has been the case lately, I admit."

      "Well," said Estel, "decide quickly.  Wherever we are headed, we must move at once.  My brothers ride hard and quick.  They will be upon us soon."

      "Take me somewhere different," Legolas said dreamily, "I want to get away."

      Estel gave it a moment of thought, before saying, "You shouldn't just flee places, mellon.  Seriously.  The past has a way of catching up, you might as well stare it in the face."

      "I've tried that tack," sighed Legolas, "I've trod that path.  It is the past that turned me away."

      And yet when he urged his horse forward, Estel noticed they seemed to be headed in the general direction of Mirkwood.  He wordlessly followed the elf's lead.

      ~Did they tell you I was the one who found him?~ Legolas asked the human quietly, shifting to the language he was more comfortable with, ~One does not accuse an elf of murdering his own brother if he is the one who found him wasting away in a pool of his own blood, with his eyes, his body, struggling to find a link to the world, refusing to let it go.  His eyes rested on me, and his hands held mine in a death grip as he struggled to stay, and I watched him drift away.  He died in my arms, and I held him and begged him not to leave.  And they called me his murderer.~

      Estel watched his face, but the elf was altogether in a different place in time.  He needed no more prodding to speak, because his hurts have long since fought to surface, and now flowed as if they would drown him.

      It is in this flooding of the rawest of the elf's emotions that Estel managed to begin to piece the Mirkwood prince's story together.

TO BE CONTINUED…