The wind whistled through the trees, biting, bitterly cold; sickly pale sunlight fought past the branches' shadow to sweep transient relief over the man and horse riding through as the muddied waters of the Carnen gurgled alongside. The few birds left in the growth beside the river were silent, and all that could be heard were the light stamp of hooves through the snow-frost covering the foliage.
Aragorn kept his eyes to the water, occasionally glancing about his bank and the opposite for any movement, but there was none. Even Orcs, it seemed, had thought it wiser to stay in milder climes for the winter. He had not felt properly warm in weeks, and he was starting to miss warmth that stretched further than the reach of a tiny campfire.
Ahead, the river narrowed - had in fact been decreasing in width for about half a day's trotting trek - and he nudged Lhach into a faster pace, veering away from the riverside slightly. It had been to his own disadvantage that he'd started on the wrong side of the river when he'd left the Iron Hills some sevendays ago; somehow, he didn't feel like riding clear around the Sea of Rhun to get around, nor following the river for however long it took to find an actual bridge crossing it. As he got nearer to the spot he'd chosen, he slowed Lhach again, and turned the horse away from the river.
About ten feet away, he squeezed Lhach into a sharp canter around, leaned forward, and - with a brief prayer for his saddlebags - heeled the horse into a neat leap across the thinnest crossing of the water. Lhach's hind hooves landed with a cold splash in the eddying swirl of mud and water at the edge of the river, and Aragorn lurched in the saddle, grabbing handfuls of chestnut mane as the horse struggled forward until he was entirely on solid ground again. "Easy, Lhach," he murmured as the chestnut settled into a loping canter, turning him toward the south, following the river again. Nightfall came early, and he was forced by the deepening darkness to stop a few hours later, leaving Lhach untethered as he slid into his bedroll and went to sleep, still cold.
Dawn rose, unfurling tremulous rays of pearly gold and faded pink into the black sky, and Aragorn rose with it, quickly saddling Lhach again and setting out on the same course as before. They followed that routine for another ten days, crossing what he knew to be the Celduin River on the seventh. They now rode west, heading forward the ever-looming forest in the distance: Caras Galen, or as Men called it - and Aragorn knew he should, but the Sindarin names still stood in his mind - Mirkwood.
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He was expecting a sentry (or several, if Thranduil's defenses were still as strong as they had been when he had come with Haldir two summers previously) to appear, but when a half-dozen archers suddenly materialized out of the trees, forcing Lhach to a quick halt, he was still unnerved at the speed and the silence with which they came. "Anna suilad," he greeted them after a moment of quiet, raising his hands in an appeasing gesture. "Im Aragorn Arathornion, in Dunedain." Lhach shifted restlessly beneath him, and he automatically stroked the horse's neck, quieting him before adding, "I am known to king Thranduil as Estel of Imladris."
One of the elves lowered his bow, after a few seconds; the others followed suit. "Then welcome, Aragorn of the Dunedain." A short silence fell again, before the leader nodded at one of the elves at the side of the group. "Ormalfin will take you to the king."
"My thanks," Aragorn responded with a salute, dismounting and feeling oddly ill at ease - the elves' immaculate appearance reminded him not only of his brothers and the other elves in Imladris, but also of his own disheveled appearance. Winter outdoors boded worse for bathing than for sleeping warm. He stepped up beside the waiting Ormalfin - the other elves had already disappeared back into the forest - and called for the reinless Lhach to follow.
The walk passed in rather stiff silence, broken only by the haunting croon of a bird in Caras Galen's gloomy forests or the occasional snort from Lhach. Aragorn sent a silent word of gratitude to Elbereth when they finally reached the austere palace, and Ormalfin left him to the guidance of one of the guards within as a groom led Lhach away. On their way to Thranduil's quarters, they passed a lone elf in a corridor, watchful eyes roaming down the hall but hazed in thought before they lit on Aragorn. "Estel?" he asked, stopping; Aragorn and the guard, too, slowed and halted, the guard bowing his head respectfully to the ashen-haired elf.
"Legolas?"
"Why -- " the prince broke off, nodding to the guard. "My gratitude. You may return to your post." Dismissed, the other elf left silently, Aragorn watching his departure with a quirked look before turning his attention back to Legolas. "You have not returned to Imladris?"
Aragorn shook his head, brow furrowing into a faint frown. "How did you know?"
"That you'd left Imladris?" He nodded. "Your brothers sent a messenger to us, just before last midsummer to tell us that you'd gone." Mirkwood's prince regarded Aragorn staidly, light eyes inscrutably in the shadows of the corridor. "'Twas labeled an urgent message."
For the first time, Aragorn was struck by how much Legolas's manner resembled Elladan's: aloof, collected, and short-spoken - just this side of what Aragorn would call 'stuffy'. And for the first time he was grateful to having lived with Elladan and his oft-unfinished statements for so long; for now he could understand the words left unspoken as well as those said aloud. "You will not sent a messenger back yet?" It was more a plea than a question.
"That would depend on many things," Legolas said at length, solemnly; and slowly, as if it didn't quite belong on his face, a grin appeared. "Not yet, though. Nay, not 'til you've at least washed off all of that grime. My father would not speak to anyone in that condition, not even one of Elrond's sons."
Aragorn's subtle smile faded slightly at mention of Elrond, but he inclined his head slightly. "That would be appreciated, if you could spare the time and resource."
"I would have little if I had not time," the elf replied with a small smile. "Come. I will show you to the bathing pools. And after, I will take you to my father."
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It was amazing, Aragorn decided, how much half an hour in a pool of hot water could do to lift one's spirits. Though still clothed in his worn traveling garments, he could at least see the natural color of his skin again, or so Legolas jibed subtly as they walked toward Thranduil's chambers.
"Father," Legolas greeted the older, stately-looking elf as they stepped in. He moved aside as Aragorn bowed his head, pressing his right hand to his heart in a salute. "Estel of Imladris, now known as Aragorn of the Dunedain."
"My lord Thranduil," and Aragorn straightened, feeling the appraisal evident in Thranduil's cobalt-colored eyes; the king was little taller than his son, but he carried an air of majesty and power that Legolas did not. "I bring no news from Imladris, but I ask your leave to stay within Caras Galen as your leisure serves."
"It is not within my desire to deny one even formerly from bountiful Imladris," Thranduil replied formally. Aragorn noted that the king's voice had not lost any of its gravely edge in the two years since he'd last heard it, nor its harsh lilt, unusual in elves. "You may remain here as long as you wish it. Have you any other needs that require my attention?"
Aragorn blinked, at a loss for words at the king's brusqueness. Legolas saw the bemusement flickering across the man's face and stepped in. "No, Father. I will take him to one of the empty chambers."
"I did not.. upset him, did I?" Aragorn asked Legolas once he was certain they were out of the king's earshot, turning slightly to glance back down the hallway.
"No," the prince responded with a chuckle. "If you mean to ask it, he usually is that abrupt. 'Tis not becoming for an elf, I know."
"He makes Haldir of Lorien even seem a chatterbox."
"And that is a frightening thought."
Aragorn looked sharply toward Legolas, but the elf's face was blank of any of the faint sarcasm that had tinged his words. "You dislike Haldir?"
"No." Legolas rounded a corner, pushed open a door that creaked faintly with disuse. "Will this room suit you? I am sorry, but most of the balconied rooms have purposes," he added, somewhat apologetically.
"It will serve well." He could see why the room was not yet used - though capacious, it was built in a fashion almost dwarven, high walls and canted ceiling all constructed of dark wood and darker stone. He felt a pang of faint claustrophobia just looking into it.
"If you mean to stay longer than you did last time, I could have one of the other rooms cleared for you by tomorrow."
Aragorn had to smile at the prince's tacit inquiry, but nodded. "Will a sevenday's stay here burden you?"
"Not at all. Caras Galen's resources are your own 'til you leave. Sleep well, then."
"Legolas." The prince paused, turned back to glance at Aragorn as thte man called after him. "Thank you."
A slight smile curved Legolas's mouth. "You are most welcome." His footsteps, deliberately sounded, faded away down the dark hall as Aragorn slipped into the cavernous room.
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The next morning found him wandering through the shadowy groves of the famed Greenwood on foot - despite its darkness even in daylight, Aragorn found the openness of the forest more comforting than the enclosed space of his temporary room. On his return toward the palace, he was surprised to come across Legolas alone in a clearing, taking shots at a dead tree. As he watched, the prince put a straight line of five arrows into the old wood in rapid succession, the dull practice arrows piercing the target easily.
"Impressive."
Legolas half-twisted at the comment in surprise, loosing his bow unintentionally - by chance, he managed to jerk the bow at the last second, sending the arrow flitting into the leaves above Aragorn's head even as the man ducked. "Aragorn!"
"Like I said," Aragorn said, straightening with a mild grin. "Impressive."
"You startled me." Legolas leveled an even look at the man, lowering his bow to his side. "My apologies."
"'Tis I who should apologize. Are you always outside this early?"
"As often as I can be. Whenever I'm not assisting my father." The elf went to the tree, carefully prising the arrows out. "Will you go back with me? I was going to return soon."
"Gladly."
"And while we go, you must tell me of your travels. It has been too long since I have left Caras Galen."
The wind rustled through the dark trees, softened in its chill by the buffer of flora near as immortal as those who resided within the forest. And the two figures strode back toward the house, illusory silhouettes dark and bright against the sublunary trees.