A/N: Hello you beautiful, beautiful people!
This is it, my friends, the end - NO MORE SURVIVAL AFTER THIS! It's been wonderful and I am *so* very greatful for all the amazing reviews you have so kindly written for me... hopefully I won't lose any of you with the ending of this story, and you'll come with me to other adventures etc! Sorry for the massive delay on this chapter: it seems that work culminating to relatively the same amount I have *ever* done in the whole of my life was dumped upon me recently, and with the sweet promise of more. So, sorry, but it's here now. You'll all obviously be thrilled to know that I only failed one subject in my mock-exams: Physics... but that was only 'cause I didn't revise! excuse alert!
And you know that time near the beginning of this fic when I told you my brains were leaking out of my ears because I was drowning in coursework on American history and the 1920's boom? And I thought I was going mad? Well, apparently me slamming my head repeatedly on my desk was completely worth it, as I got two A-stars in History!!! Yey! English too! So, those are the extremes, with all the others landing in between. Be proud of your author, for I have worked moderately hard!!
Anyway, enough of this gloating, and I will get onto the story in just a second, but I have to tell you something first. You know the next saga- length Mirkwood fic I so fervently promised a while back? The one where Legolas returns home for the first time, birnging the fellowship with him, but more than that happens? Yeah? I'm afraid it's gonna have to be put on hold for a little while... don't get me wrong, fics will still hopefully come flowing through rain and shine [and I have a rather interesting, half- return to 'Vignettes' which expands on Boromir/Aragorn/Legolas friendship and involves rain and hunting, most likely called 'Three Hunters'! And a nice touching moment between Eowyn and Legolas at Helms Deep, most likely called 'Akin Only In Grief']. However, I have just gotten to a really rather crucial part in the run up to my actual exams in May/June where I'm panicking a little (my Art exam was given out the other week... eeep...), and because of the estimated length and bulk of 'The Return Of A Prince', I'll have to defer it a while, I think. You will get it in the end, however, and I promise you it will be worth waiting for. So stick with me.
More at end, but can I just say that the character Evylenn has no resemblence *at all* to me: I can most definately say that no Mary-Suism is authorized to sneak into *any* of my fics, as I hate that. Her character is not like my own, I'm pretty much at the *opposite* end of the spectrum to her when it comes to beauty etc, and let us not forget... she is a fictional character, whereas I, on the other hand, are unfortunately and unhappily real. Just clearing that up. Cheers!
P.S Keep your eyes open for a minor character from 'Bathtime' making a small appearance in this chapter! Little treat for ya'll!
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Aragorn walked down the corridor leading to Legolas' room easily and without haste, trying not to spill the contents of the plate he held hidden within the folds of his clothes, Evylenn was following a little way behind him, also strolling along at her own pace. The two looked at that moment like their minds were not attatched to the rest of their bodies, as their wandering was often not directed, and they weaved repeatedly right across the wide, bright corridors: but this strange behaviour was merely the product of the fact that, for the first time in quite a while, their hearts were not weighed down with unbearable worry, and their minds now had a chance to be light and carefree once more. Thoughts of Yuletide were even beginning to form, for Mirkwood forest was alive with magic at that time of year, and the elves could almost taste it on the frosty air.
The swooning did, however, eventually have to be called to a halt, and Evylenn bumped heavily into Aragorn as he came to an abrupt stop in front of her. "Ouch," the elf-maiden stated without much inflection, rubbing her small nose where it had banged into the shoulder of her human friend. She glared half-heartedly up at him, large hazel eyes holding a sudden flame, "Ai... warn me next time you to do that."
The ranger turned his dark head, and grinned weakly at her over the accused shoulder, "My apologies, mellon nin," he soothed, trying not to sound too patronising. "But we're here," he indicated the door to Legolas' chamber.
"Oh," Evylenn's pale hand fell away from her nose, which now had a faint pink hue to it. Her gaze flickered from the door to the human, wood to ranger, back and forth. Finally she lost patience: "Well! Go on with you, then!" Aragorn flashed her a full, handsome grin, stubbled cheeks drawing up and eyes crinkling, purposefully annoying her as he opened the door and ushered her inside - she rolled her eyes typically, muttering something in elvish, but still smiled prettily all the same as he held the door open for her, and she stepped into the bright room.
The chamber smelt clean and pleasant, and was lit with a wholesome glow that instantly cleared the mind and refreshed the body, glorious light of the Sun seemed to find every corner of the room, making sure no shadows strayed or played on the walls. The open windows let chilly air seep in, making the elf-maiden and the man breathe in deeply, filling their lungs with welcome freshness and the faint scent of athelas.
Nearing the large bed in the centre of the room, they found Legolas once more asleep. He was finally looking healthy again - shining in every sense of the word - and it looked as though he had been sitting up and waiting for them before he'd given into his unnatural tiredness, for he was propped up almost straight, sinking a little into the plush pillows supporting him upright. His injured arm was still held tight to his chest in a sling, but Lord Elrond had begun physiotherapy with Legolas the day before yester, and had been mildly startled by the determination of the prince to get up and about as soon as possible, and the progress he had made because of it, even if that meant exhausting himself with recovery exercises, or becoming so tired after a day of physio that he could not see straight.
Golden hair of silk fell in a single plait down onto his right shoulder, no longer dull with illness nor lank with sweat: Legolas had protested loudly the other day when Esladiya had taken it upon herself to wash clean and brush his tresses, saying that he did not need to be babied, if only they would let him up to do it himself in the wash-house... yet Aragorn believed his best friend to be secretly pleased with the result. Though the Last Prince was not vain, he took as much pride in his appearance as he did in the rest of his life, and Aragorn suspected the archer to be a bit embarrassed by his weakness when injured, and it was a fitting way to recover dignity. Furthermore, he'd spied Legolas' green eyes slip in and out of focus as Esladiya ran her gentle fingers through his pale hair, and knew that it couldn't have bothered him *that* much, if he was able to fall half-asleep with contentment.
Aragorn sighed in mock-exasperation as he turned to the petite elf-maiden at his side, "Weariness seems to be having a way of catching up with our brave warrior lately, doesn't it?"
Evylenn glared her disapproval, "Dina leadan [hush, you mortal]... let's see a human able to keep his eyes open after the events of late." At her friend's innocent grey eyes and smile, she whirled in a flush of deep- twilight velvet and starry blue skirts, 'flouncing' (as Aricesla liked to put it) indulgently to the bed of her best friend. Kneeling at one side, she gently brushed the soft, pale skin of his closest cheekbone with the back of her fingers.
Eyes the colour of the Great Greenwood flickered back into reality, and the fair archer fixed her a lazy grin as he spied her. "Mae govannen, lirimaer [well met, lovely one]," he greeted her with amusement as he stretched out slightly in the bed with contentment, extending his long legs and easing his back.
His best friend's laughter was enchanting and seemed to float upon the winter breeze as she dipped her head back, making her mahogany curls cascade further down her narrow back in waves when she returned with, "Aye, always the charmer." She sat quiet a moment after that, small hands folded in her lap, sparkling hazel eyes watching him as Legolas proceeded to loosen all the muscles in his body he was able to, twisting and groaning, wrapped up in sheets and disappearing into pillows. "Are you quite finished, aratonin [my champion]?" she eventually asked, sarcasm positively dripping from her sweet voice, when Legolas had finally stilled for longer than a breath.
"For the moment, yes," Legolas grinned cheekily back up at her, golden brow raised as if in challenge. Evylenn laughed fondly once more, taking his hand in affection, holding onto the strong thumb - powerful after lifetimes of practising archery - and littlest finger in an amusingly childlike manner as their eyes latched once more. To Legolas then, Evylenn seemed the most beautiful and enchanted being gracing the earth at that time: her long, dark waves were piled upon the top of her head, a few loose tendrils and bangs kissing her long neck and softly framing her oval face. Her ginger-snap eyes seemed to cast a spell upon his mind, shouding his senses and making his heart skip, shining starlight and framed by shadowy lashes.
Evylenn breathed in also: some emotion passed through the brightness of her best friend's eyes at that moment which exactly reflected her own feelings, and yet could not be identified nor understood. She saw it, however, as clear as day; as clear as the glow of his flawless skin; as clear as the sunbeams of his hair; as clear as the purity of his good heart.
Aragorn, watching all this from the outside, felt oddly and unnaturally like the spare gooseberry of the picnic, something he had never really experienced before... but he was able to forget this uncomfortable feeling for the next few minutes as he pondered the ridiculousness of the analogy he had used to describe the situation in his own head. Obviously, Evylenn and Legolas had been best friends long before the mortal made his appearance in the tapestry of Iluvatar, and many - family as well as friends - teased the two about the infamous notion that they would wind up as life-partners and the soul-mates they so obviously were, but still... then, they seemed more like Elves to him than ever before, and he was briefly unable to see the strong friendships he held with them both through the fact that they were both members of the Firstborn, and fine - almost definitive - examples of their race, as well.
After a moment, Evylenn stood again, breaking the moment, still holding Legolas' slim hand in both her own. She watched her prince for a moment before letting her pretty lips curve into a smile as she thought about how lucky she was to have him back with her, whole and safe. "Aye, well... I am glad you returned to me - to us - mellon nin. I think these shores would be missing yet one more of the Firstborn had you decided to leave when you were about to... I doubt I would have been able to bear living in this world long without you," she said these words quietly, making it all the more obvious that they came swift from her heart. A little embarrassed, she bent down, loose hair falling into a faint veil about them, and pressed her soft lips to the smooth flesh of Legolas' cheek, trying to communicate how thankful she was that he was all right, and how much she cared for him. As soon as she had done this she was gone, glowing with feelings she could not explain (but had no qualms about experiencing), leaving the room silent behind her.
Legolas' eyes diplomatically avoided Aragorn's, and instead fixed themselves with interest to the nearest wall as he himself struggled to keep the smile from his face. His best friend's jaw, on the other hand, seemed to be having trouble lifting from the floor. The ranger spluttered apoplectically for a moment or so, then cried out, eyes ablaze and voice ringing in supposed triumph, "You simply *cannot* mean to tell me that there is naught between you two, now... not after *that*!"
"I don't know what you mean, Estel," Legolas returned with indifference, shining face still turned firmly away from his best friend's.
"Don't you give me that, elf: you know what I mean," Aragorn's tone swiftly flowed into a challenge. Legolas suddenly made as if to stand, deciding he had dallied long enough in sluggary for the day, and the human unconsciously moved forward to help him. As he steadied the prince's left elbow, supporting the light weight for a time, he continued: "Now it is more than clear to me how your life will meet it's end- "
"You have developed the gift of foresight, my lord?" Legolas interrupted sarcastically, grinning as he sat upon the end of his bed, looking up at the mortal. His grin widened with mischeif inherent in all Mirkwood elves in particular, "Tell me - how is it I go? Warg or dragon? Orc or man? Sword or scythe? Do I, perhaps, fall from my perch in a tree? Or is it likely I will be stomped on by a Dwarf?"
Aragorn continued without acknowledging the interruption, and his eyes shone brightly with earnestness, articulating each word carefully and with intent " -*with her*."
Legolas held his gaze a moment longer, grin still in place and green eyes sparking with lightning, before his grin slipped a little, his eyes narrowed and he turned his head to break eye contact. "Yes, well..." he said dubiously. "Perhaps it is merely that she takes care of me more than you do... or mayhap *cares* for me more than you do?" he smirked wickedly, attempting to bait the human.
"Are you feeling neglected, my prince?" Aragorn returned, a look of mock concern furrowing his brow.
"Well..." Legolas hesitated uncomfortably, and then stood up with abruptness, "perhaps not 'neglected', but I'm definately not overly-happy." The ranger sensed some truth behind the words, and stepped closer, face falling. Legolas smiled, waving one slim hand, "Nothing to worry about, Estel - I am merely bored of staying in bed all day; I wish to be back outside, continuing my warrior-training; my arm hurts all the time; and, as much as I love her, Niandias' chicken broth becomes a bit wearing after a while... but adar will not allow me anything else until I have 'built up my strength'." The fair archer hated to think he was whining, but he decided to indulge in it for a mere second, as he never usually allowed himself to.
Aragorn's stubbled face, however, brightened suddenly at the last part. "Ahha!" he cried, glee in his tone, holding up a finger. "I can help you with that one!" And from the folds of his dark winter cloak and heavy leather tunic, he produced a plate, and upon that plate, there were piled high many honey-combed cakes, dripping in lemon and elderflower syrup, and bursting inside with honey, fractured with actual honey-comb. They were some of the most delicious things the Elves had ever created, and the whole of Middle-earth was thankful for such an achievement. The cakes were Legolas' favourite sweet, and yet he almost never ate them, feeling them to be too indulgent and sickly-sweet for a warrior such as he to eat on any sort of regular basis. He wasn't naturally fond of sweet food in any case, but he was far more than willing to make such an exception...
Legolas almost felt his knees go weak at the sight of these beautifully- golden, wonderfully-scented cakes, and his mouth watered immediately. "Estel," he stammed, glancing up at the beaming face of his best friend. "Have I told you lately that you're possibly the greatest Man ever to walk Middle-earth?"
"Greatest *man*?"
"Greatest *creature*. Greatest *being*.... ever."
"Hmmm... no. I don't think you have. Not lately, in any case."
"Consider it told."
Aragorn threw his dark head back and laughed a short bark of rugged laughter, so characteristic of him, and again offered the plate to Legolas, grinning widely. As the elf prince reached out and snagged a cake, revelling in the sticky texture, the ranger cautioned, "Do not let your father discover that I thrifted these from the kitchens... he'd have my hide if he knew I even let you see them, he's so determined to fatten you up with stodge. He'd skin me alive and then pin me to a tree by my boots."
"I shall just have to destroy the evidence then, won't I? Only for *your* good, of course... what a good friend I am." Legolas grinned, a sparkling twinkle of starlight entering his forest green eyes. And with that, he crammed the whole of the small cake into his mouth in a most un-Elvish fashion, mouth full to bursting as he struggled to chew.
Aragorn watched the event with astonishment, both amused and horrified. "And you call yourself a prince of elves," was all he eventually had to say on the matter.
And it was that precise moment that both King Thranduil, Lord Elrond and Head Guard Selmanias decided to enter the room, the door beginning to swing slowly open, as though the elder elves themselves were dallying, probably distracted by speaking with one another. Neither acutely sensitive elf archer, nor practised and confident dunedain had sensed them coming, and they whirled at once in fear.
It was as though time itself slowed to the pace of a snail, and all actions were made as though through mud. Aragorn's eyes widened in panic, and he mouthed '*Run*!' to his best friend, waving his arms, still holding the plate in one hand, desperately towards the bed in an effort to motivate Legolas to save both their lives. The prince, meanwhile, was having difficulty getting rid of the cake he had shovelled into his mouth - he now deeply regretted doing such a thing, as the honey was sticking his teeth together and the crumbs were catching in the back of his throat, making him cough and splutter debris all over the unfortunate ranger. He managed, however, to deftly scramble into his bed in any case, graced with natural speed and perhaps aided by some sort of elvish magic, he was under the covers faster than Aragorn could blink. The door opened fully, with Legolas finally swallowing the contents of his mouth *just* in time, and both of their fathers were revealed to them, along with Selmanias, framed in the doorway.
"What's going on?" Thranduil's large bluey-grey eyes narrowed in suspicion immediately as he beheld his son and the prince's best friend holding themselves very stiffly, young faces turned earnestly towards the newcomers, a disconcerting feeling of unnatural innocence tangible in the air all about them.
The human blanched. "Err... whatever do you mean, my King? What would make you ask such a thing?" Partly to avoid Legolas' father's intimidating glare and partly to avoid his father's own mocking one, Aragorn furtively glanced at Legolas to gauge his best friend's expression and manner, forgetting momentarily that breaking eye contact with the second party and doing exactly what he was doing was one of the most recognisable warning signs for the second party to spot a liar.
Unfortunately Thranduil, on the other hand, had not forgotten.
"Because I have known you both too long, Estel, to ever be fooled by you," the mighty elf king answered coolly, crossing his arms pointedly across his strong chest and shifting his weight onto his back foot, raising one dark brow pointedly, awaiting an explanation.
Aragorn was acutely aware of the plate of cakes he held behind his back, they seemed so heavy and obvious to him at that moment he secretly wondered how the King of Elven Archers had not spotted them with his keen, practised eyes. He turned partially to Legolas, indicating that the son should be the one to be killed by the father. Legolas, however, was trying very, *very* hard at that moment not to see the funny side of the situation. He could feel a muscle in his cheek twitching a little, and his firm, fixed smile had begun to shake as he himself almost started to quiver with laughter. The timing was awful, and he couldn't believe his body was going to betray him so, as his father would most definately not be as amused as he when he broke out into peals of giggles (as he felt he was about to). But he couldn't help it: he found the sequence of events really quite humourous.
Thank Valar for Selmanias, though. The Head Guard - behaving in a manner very similar to one that Glorfindel of Rivendell was sometimes wont to behave in - spotting the signs of an impending doom for the young prince, and not wanting him to have his recovery set back any further than was necessary (what with Legolas only just having survived and all), swiftly brought a guiding hand to his friend's elbow, and cleverly urged Thranduil away from the two trouble-makers. Legolas was eternally thankful for being blessed with having Selmanias as a sort of uncle, as this was not the first time disaster had been avoided in such a way... the silver-haired, silver- eyed guard had always been rather fond of the youngest prince, and decided to act upon this feeling at the most appropriate times, something Legolas never forgot.
The King was given time only to glare sharply at them before he disappeared down the corridor, leaving Lord Elrond in the room, Selmanias also throwing the young human and elf a half-reproachful, half-gloating look with his colourless eyes before he, too, could not be seen. The two friends visibly deflated as the danger passed, and Legolas began to chuckle, mouth still partially full of the delicious cake Aragorn had given him. The ranger, bringing the plate of the remaining cakes around to his front, just looked at his best friend as though he were mad to be amused at all.
Lord Elrond watched them, a small smile upon his noble features, "I shall say it again, you two are astoundingly lucky..."
Aragorn looked back to his father and nodded heartily, "That one was mainly my fault, though... to be fair." At the elven lord's questioning face, the young man simply waved a hand, falling in sudden exhaustion into the chair beside Legolas' bed, and running his other hand through his tousled locks with the stress he had just experienced: "You don't want to know."
"Aye, probably not."
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"Now, push out and reach for me... try to touch my hand."
Legolas felt a bead of sweat wind it's way down the side of his forehead, but was too distracted at that moment to wipe it away. He focused all his strength and concentration upon mentally ordering his arm to extend, and get the pads of his fingers to merely brush against those that Lord Elrond was holding out for him. If they just graced the same air as Elrond's, then Legolas would be satisfied... as it was, he was having trouble merely straightening his arm, the muscles still weakened and unable to support their own weight. Slowly however, the limb obeyed, raising haltingly, the muscles rippling and twitching under the pale skin with the effort.
Aragorn, watching anxiously from the sidelines, had to bite his bottom lip to refrain from calling out words of encouragement to his best friend - though it would make him feel better, Legolas would most likely not appreciate it, and the ranger would probably end up with a thick ear for his troubles. It was just so hard and frustrating to watch the prince having to work so much, merely to lift his arm and reach out, and Aragorn - who had known him since he himself was a very little boy - still couldn't imagine what Legolas was feeling... he had to applaud the archer, though, for not screaming with impatience. He knew his best friend couldn't wait to get back to his warrior-training, and was worried that this setback could damage his trade as an archer, warrior, guard (and whatever else he was) permenantly... whoever heard of an arrowsman who could not pull back a bowstring? And Legolas was not blessed with a Maia's patience in the first place. But either way, Legolas had clamped his mouth shut against complaint, and was merely getting on with it, and Aragorn felt a flare of pride and awe in his heart whenever the elf gained a little more ground over his injury.
Tantalizingly close, so very near to reaching Elrond's outstretched fingers, Legolas' hand began to shake violently, the strain quickly becoming too much for his weakened muscles. His eyes widened, and lightening bolts of silver-fury shot through them in his anger, and a noise of frustration made deep in the back of his throat escaped him before he could check it. Betrayed by his own arm! He tried desperately to calm down and regain his control.
Elrond, who had looked up when he had heard Legolas desperate grunt, watched as the prince seemed to centre himself, exhaling slowly and releasing all of his negative emotions, and began to once more lift the falling arm up to a stable level. He felt a smile begin to creep across his lips as Legolas, eyes still closed firmly shut, began to stretch his hand forward, bettering where he had been able to reach just a moment or so before, to meet with that of his own. The elven lord kept his hand completely still, and simply watched the slow progression of Legolas' hand, until he felt the warmth of the prince's smooth palm upon his own. He clasped his fingers around Greenleaf's, capturing and securing them, so even when the archer deflated in relief and triumph, his injured arm was still kept straight. Elrond had to chuckle as he heard his own son whoop in happiness from the other side of the chamber at the success of his friend.
Keeping the arm straight, Elrond ran his other hand along it's length, testing the strength of the taught muscles and probing for problem areas. Eventually satisfied that the arm was indeed gaining back it's strength, and this was no fluke, he lowered the limb and smirked at his son's pale best friend, who was leaning back in his chair, quite exhausted. Legolas managed to give him a shaky grin in return. Elrond reached out, placing a hand fatherly upon the younger elf's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Legolas' green eyes twinkled starlight as he nodded back. Things were most definately returning to how they had been.
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"Thankyou once again, mellon nin, for all you have done for us."
Elrond smiled fondly back at his good friend, and replied easily, "It was no trouble - I was happy to... anything to return Legolas back to health is completely worth it."
The two mighty elves were wandering through the open stone corridors of the snow-covered grounds, taking time to sniff the fresh air and wonder at the sparkling snow drifts. Thranduil, who's hands were shoved rather un-Kingly but firmly deep into the pockets of his rich blue robes to ward off against the coolness of the air, grinned boyishly back at Elrond, his dark eyes sparkling with happiness, "Aye... it's clear to me that our minds walk along the same pathways."
The Rivendell lord chuckled and began to say something further, but then looked up as his sharp ears picked up a distant noise. A sound like shouting - though impossible to recognise the tone used - had drifted towards them. At his side, Thranduil had obviously picked up the strange disturbance as well, and stood stock still and alert, unconsciously mirroring the stance his youngest son had taken many days ago upon first realising that Wargs were near.
"Shall we investigate?" suggested Elrond hopefully after a moment, dark brows raised. The King nodded vehemently in answer, inherent Mirkwood curiosity heightened and natural bravery evident - warriors were needed for such an excursion, and Elrond and himself were exactly the ones to do it... no stealth-warriors needed in *this* case.
Like stealthy predators they crept, crouched slightly down, along the open white-stone corridors, till they came to a beautifully-carved archway at the end of it that led out into the large courtyard beyond. The two renowned elves - known across Middle-earth for their wisdom, unnumerable years, fighting capabilities and leadership skills - pressed themselves close to the white wall of the archway, and peeked curiously round the corner, careful to keep out of sight of whatever horror they might be facing... ...
... ... Aragorn was looking at his boots as he stomped about in the snow, relishing the creaking noise it made beneath the heavy soles of his black leather winter footwear, and staring happily as small piles of the sparkling water-crystals began to heap up upon the tops of his feet as he walked. He was in the process of trying to use up as much of the unblemished snow in the courtyard as possible: trophies of his success in this goal were already laid all about - snow-angels decorated each corner of the yard; he had written both his, his brothers', Legolas' and Arwen's names with a skilled stick in the formerly-blank drifts; and a snowelf - which Legolas still insisted was a snowman, and had deliberately made alterations to support this, making the creation shorter, heftier and uglier (which Aragorn did not appreciate at all) - stood upright and proud near the frozen fountain. Now he was merely stomping about.
"Come *on*, Estel... I wish to do something!" Legolas muffled, all-but whine met his ears from where the elf stood, accompanied by his three hounds, a few feet away. Aragorn looked up at him and had to suppress a grin: Lainathan, a kind she-elf who had been Legolas' nanny when he was an elfling (and was still an essential part of life to the archer because he loved her so and cared not unless she was about), concerned for her prince's health, had insisted upon wrapping the warrior up in many layers, so he looked almost as though he was adorned in swathling clothes. So there he stood, about three times bigger than his normal size; a soft hat drawn down over his shining blonde hair and covering his sensitive elvish ears; his gloved hands firmly wedged beneath each armpit; a fur lined cloak wrapped close to his body; and a plush scarf pulled up to his nose, covering his mouth and muffling his words. The only bit of the elf's flesh available to the world now Lainathan was through was the blushing skin of the tops of his cheeks to just below his golden brows. Legolas was not suffering this indignity with good grace, and so Aragorn had refrained till then of poking fun. Legolas was bored with simply watching his friend mess about in a decidedly-human way in the snow, while he himself was not able to, mending arm still in a sling and pretty useless.
Aragorn kicked the mounds of collected snow off the tops of his boots with funny little shakes of his feet, making it very hard for Legolas not to laugh, and turned to face the archer. He grinned rougishly, eyes crinkling, and decided that then was the time to make his mark, and unleash his weapons: "Oh, forgive me, Legolas - I had forgotten that you are still too weak and feeble to participate in anything more strenuous than lifting your head from pillows."
The next sequence of events happened so fast that it was only later, when Aragorn was bedding down for the night and could afford time to think, that the ranger was able to dissect exactly what had happened: all he had known at that moment was an intense cold feeling enveloping his whole face... he had known at that moment that his face had caught the snowball Legolas had thrown his way. The elf had moved so quickly - a combination of natural speed and a little bit of elf magic to aid him - that an unsuspecting Aragorn had not been able to even think about ducking or moving out the way. So he simply stood there for a few moments, stuttering his surprise, the bits of snow caught in his eyelashes and raggedy beard fast beginning to melt... all to the sound of Legolas laughing joyously at the outcome.
When he was eventually able to think again, and after he'd wiped the wet snow from his beard with a gloved hand, Aragorn did the only thing he could have done in those circumstances: he retaliated. "Take that, you elven demon!" he cried, launching himself at his best friend and slamming a considerable amount of snow into the prince's fair face with the whole of his hand, being sure to rub the glittering handful right into the archer's golden hair and aiming to get as much snow as possible under Legolas' hat before he replaced it.
Legolas gasped aloud, the freezing cold weapon assaulting him without warning, and he stumbled back when Aragorn's snow-laden palm met his face, so there was now some distance between them once more. And so began an extremely short-lived but wonderfully savage snow fight, in which anything went and there were no rules to speak of. Legolas, it turned out to the ranger's disgust, was able to pick up, roll, mould and throw snowballs extremely quickly; and yet in the same way, Aragorn's heavy-duty boots made light work of the snow all about, and he swiftly developed a skilled, shuffling technique in which he could flush masses of snow up into the air - and into Legolas' unsuspecting face - at any given time.
The shouts and desperate squawks and yells of the two made the three dark hounds (Blaith, Aklar and Silme) who had previously been sitting blithely by, awaiting their master's command, begin to fret, and they all now stood to attention, barking at the two friends and making their annoyance known. It occurred to Legolas just then how loyal his dogs were, and how they would do anything if he so willed it. They were, after all, decended from the great Wolfhounds of the Age of the Stars - those bred by the Elves of Beleriand to counter the evil of the Werewolves that infected the lands at that time: it was their natural duty.
It was then that he disengaged himself from the tangle of his best friend's arms, and took a few steps back. Triumphantly, he watched Aragorn's confused, wet and slightly blue face turn to him, he watched as the ranger's slate grey eyes widened in his realisation...
"Blaith, Aklar, Silme.... *Lyngwe lom* [Kill him]!" he cried, green eyes ablaze with silver vengeance.
And it was so that Aragorn disappeared under an army of wet snouts, huge paws, jet black fur and furiously wagging tails, making Legolas helplessly laugh all the harder, good arm wrapped around his aching sides and tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, till he himself had to sit down in the snow... ...
... ... Thranduil's dark head returned from peering round the corner of the arch and, attempting to ignore Aragorn's desperate cries of help, punctuated with hysterical laughter and occaisional yelps, gave his friend an amused, sheepish smile. He was about to explain the actions of his youngest son when he was interrupted by Legolas' own fair voice, filled with excitement and encouragement, shouting out distantly (supposedly to his hounds), "Gurth gothlye: mereth en draugrim [Death to our foe: the feast of wolves]!"
And in answer, there came Aragorn's voice, babbling out a lengthy stream of elvish in protest: "Nay, tampa tanya - ai, tua amin Legolas! Aiya! Tampa tanya, tanya awra! Kela! Kela, nadorhuanrim... Amin lava! Amin lava, tua amin! Legolas!! [No, stop that - oh, help me, Legolas! Ow! Stop that, that hurt! Go away! Go away, cowardly dogs... I yield! I yield, help me! Legolas!!]"
And there was not really much the King of Mirkwood *could* say after that, when he turned to find Elrond with one eyebrow raised, awaiting some sort of explanation... and so he grinned and placed a friendly hand upon Lord Elrond's arm, and led him gently away from the battle field, and began instead to talk about Yuletide as the snow began to fall again, insisting that the House of Rivendell spend the festival in Mirkwood, for it seemed to do them all some sort of good when they were together, though he could not explain it so.
The End.
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A/N: And so, we come to the end. It's been an absolute ball, and I'm so very glad you've all gotten up to dance at one time or another. Can't tell you how much your reviews mean to me, and so won't even begin to attempt to tell you all individually. Hope you've enjoyed the rollercoaster, I know I've had a belting time... know that you're all dead class and I really appreciated the support etc... now tell me what you thought!
Cheers for the last time... AliciA xxxx
This is it, my friends, the end - NO MORE SURVIVAL AFTER THIS! It's been wonderful and I am *so* very greatful for all the amazing reviews you have so kindly written for me... hopefully I won't lose any of you with the ending of this story, and you'll come with me to other adventures etc! Sorry for the massive delay on this chapter: it seems that work culminating to relatively the same amount I have *ever* done in the whole of my life was dumped upon me recently, and with the sweet promise of more. So, sorry, but it's here now. You'll all obviously be thrilled to know that I only failed one subject in my mock-exams: Physics... but that was only 'cause I didn't revise! excuse alert!
And you know that time near the beginning of this fic when I told you my brains were leaking out of my ears because I was drowning in coursework on American history and the 1920's boom? And I thought I was going mad? Well, apparently me slamming my head repeatedly on my desk was completely worth it, as I got two A-stars in History!!! Yey! English too! So, those are the extremes, with all the others landing in between. Be proud of your author, for I have worked moderately hard!!
Anyway, enough of this gloating, and I will get onto the story in just a second, but I have to tell you something first. You know the next saga- length Mirkwood fic I so fervently promised a while back? The one where Legolas returns home for the first time, birnging the fellowship with him, but more than that happens? Yeah? I'm afraid it's gonna have to be put on hold for a little while... don't get me wrong, fics will still hopefully come flowing through rain and shine [and I have a rather interesting, half- return to 'Vignettes' which expands on Boromir/Aragorn/Legolas friendship and involves rain and hunting, most likely called 'Three Hunters'! And a nice touching moment between Eowyn and Legolas at Helms Deep, most likely called 'Akin Only In Grief']. However, I have just gotten to a really rather crucial part in the run up to my actual exams in May/June where I'm panicking a little (my Art exam was given out the other week... eeep...), and because of the estimated length and bulk of 'The Return Of A Prince', I'll have to defer it a while, I think. You will get it in the end, however, and I promise you it will be worth waiting for. So stick with me.
More at end, but can I just say that the character Evylenn has no resemblence *at all* to me: I can most definately say that no Mary-Suism is authorized to sneak into *any* of my fics, as I hate that. Her character is not like my own, I'm pretty much at the *opposite* end of the spectrum to her when it comes to beauty etc, and let us not forget... she is a fictional character, whereas I, on the other hand, are unfortunately and unhappily real. Just clearing that up. Cheers!
P.S Keep your eyes open for a minor character from 'Bathtime' making a small appearance in this chapter! Little treat for ya'll!
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Aragorn walked down the corridor leading to Legolas' room easily and without haste, trying not to spill the contents of the plate he held hidden within the folds of his clothes, Evylenn was following a little way behind him, also strolling along at her own pace. The two looked at that moment like their minds were not attatched to the rest of their bodies, as their wandering was often not directed, and they weaved repeatedly right across the wide, bright corridors: but this strange behaviour was merely the product of the fact that, for the first time in quite a while, their hearts were not weighed down with unbearable worry, and their minds now had a chance to be light and carefree once more. Thoughts of Yuletide were even beginning to form, for Mirkwood forest was alive with magic at that time of year, and the elves could almost taste it on the frosty air.
The swooning did, however, eventually have to be called to a halt, and Evylenn bumped heavily into Aragorn as he came to an abrupt stop in front of her. "Ouch," the elf-maiden stated without much inflection, rubbing her small nose where it had banged into the shoulder of her human friend. She glared half-heartedly up at him, large hazel eyes holding a sudden flame, "Ai... warn me next time you to do that."
The ranger turned his dark head, and grinned weakly at her over the accused shoulder, "My apologies, mellon nin," he soothed, trying not to sound too patronising. "But we're here," he indicated the door to Legolas' chamber.
"Oh," Evylenn's pale hand fell away from her nose, which now had a faint pink hue to it. Her gaze flickered from the door to the human, wood to ranger, back and forth. Finally she lost patience: "Well! Go on with you, then!" Aragorn flashed her a full, handsome grin, stubbled cheeks drawing up and eyes crinkling, purposefully annoying her as he opened the door and ushered her inside - she rolled her eyes typically, muttering something in elvish, but still smiled prettily all the same as he held the door open for her, and she stepped into the bright room.
The chamber smelt clean and pleasant, and was lit with a wholesome glow that instantly cleared the mind and refreshed the body, glorious light of the Sun seemed to find every corner of the room, making sure no shadows strayed or played on the walls. The open windows let chilly air seep in, making the elf-maiden and the man breathe in deeply, filling their lungs with welcome freshness and the faint scent of athelas.
Nearing the large bed in the centre of the room, they found Legolas once more asleep. He was finally looking healthy again - shining in every sense of the word - and it looked as though he had been sitting up and waiting for them before he'd given into his unnatural tiredness, for he was propped up almost straight, sinking a little into the plush pillows supporting him upright. His injured arm was still held tight to his chest in a sling, but Lord Elrond had begun physiotherapy with Legolas the day before yester, and had been mildly startled by the determination of the prince to get up and about as soon as possible, and the progress he had made because of it, even if that meant exhausting himself with recovery exercises, or becoming so tired after a day of physio that he could not see straight.
Golden hair of silk fell in a single plait down onto his right shoulder, no longer dull with illness nor lank with sweat: Legolas had protested loudly the other day when Esladiya had taken it upon herself to wash clean and brush his tresses, saying that he did not need to be babied, if only they would let him up to do it himself in the wash-house... yet Aragorn believed his best friend to be secretly pleased with the result. Though the Last Prince was not vain, he took as much pride in his appearance as he did in the rest of his life, and Aragorn suspected the archer to be a bit embarrassed by his weakness when injured, and it was a fitting way to recover dignity. Furthermore, he'd spied Legolas' green eyes slip in and out of focus as Esladiya ran her gentle fingers through his pale hair, and knew that it couldn't have bothered him *that* much, if he was able to fall half-asleep with contentment.
Aragorn sighed in mock-exasperation as he turned to the petite elf-maiden at his side, "Weariness seems to be having a way of catching up with our brave warrior lately, doesn't it?"
Evylenn glared her disapproval, "Dina leadan [hush, you mortal]... let's see a human able to keep his eyes open after the events of late." At her friend's innocent grey eyes and smile, she whirled in a flush of deep- twilight velvet and starry blue skirts, 'flouncing' (as Aricesla liked to put it) indulgently to the bed of her best friend. Kneeling at one side, she gently brushed the soft, pale skin of his closest cheekbone with the back of her fingers.
Eyes the colour of the Great Greenwood flickered back into reality, and the fair archer fixed her a lazy grin as he spied her. "Mae govannen, lirimaer [well met, lovely one]," he greeted her with amusement as he stretched out slightly in the bed with contentment, extending his long legs and easing his back.
His best friend's laughter was enchanting and seemed to float upon the winter breeze as she dipped her head back, making her mahogany curls cascade further down her narrow back in waves when she returned with, "Aye, always the charmer." She sat quiet a moment after that, small hands folded in her lap, sparkling hazel eyes watching him as Legolas proceeded to loosen all the muscles in his body he was able to, twisting and groaning, wrapped up in sheets and disappearing into pillows. "Are you quite finished, aratonin [my champion]?" she eventually asked, sarcasm positively dripping from her sweet voice, when Legolas had finally stilled for longer than a breath.
"For the moment, yes," Legolas grinned cheekily back up at her, golden brow raised as if in challenge. Evylenn laughed fondly once more, taking his hand in affection, holding onto the strong thumb - powerful after lifetimes of practising archery - and littlest finger in an amusingly childlike manner as their eyes latched once more. To Legolas then, Evylenn seemed the most beautiful and enchanted being gracing the earth at that time: her long, dark waves were piled upon the top of her head, a few loose tendrils and bangs kissing her long neck and softly framing her oval face. Her ginger-snap eyes seemed to cast a spell upon his mind, shouding his senses and making his heart skip, shining starlight and framed by shadowy lashes.
Evylenn breathed in also: some emotion passed through the brightness of her best friend's eyes at that moment which exactly reflected her own feelings, and yet could not be identified nor understood. She saw it, however, as clear as day; as clear as the glow of his flawless skin; as clear as the sunbeams of his hair; as clear as the purity of his good heart.
Aragorn, watching all this from the outside, felt oddly and unnaturally like the spare gooseberry of the picnic, something he had never really experienced before... but he was able to forget this uncomfortable feeling for the next few minutes as he pondered the ridiculousness of the analogy he had used to describe the situation in his own head. Obviously, Evylenn and Legolas had been best friends long before the mortal made his appearance in the tapestry of Iluvatar, and many - family as well as friends - teased the two about the infamous notion that they would wind up as life-partners and the soul-mates they so obviously were, but still... then, they seemed more like Elves to him than ever before, and he was briefly unable to see the strong friendships he held with them both through the fact that they were both members of the Firstborn, and fine - almost definitive - examples of their race, as well.
After a moment, Evylenn stood again, breaking the moment, still holding Legolas' slim hand in both her own. She watched her prince for a moment before letting her pretty lips curve into a smile as she thought about how lucky she was to have him back with her, whole and safe. "Aye, well... I am glad you returned to me - to us - mellon nin. I think these shores would be missing yet one more of the Firstborn had you decided to leave when you were about to... I doubt I would have been able to bear living in this world long without you," she said these words quietly, making it all the more obvious that they came swift from her heart. A little embarrassed, she bent down, loose hair falling into a faint veil about them, and pressed her soft lips to the smooth flesh of Legolas' cheek, trying to communicate how thankful she was that he was all right, and how much she cared for him. As soon as she had done this she was gone, glowing with feelings she could not explain (but had no qualms about experiencing), leaving the room silent behind her.
Legolas' eyes diplomatically avoided Aragorn's, and instead fixed themselves with interest to the nearest wall as he himself struggled to keep the smile from his face. His best friend's jaw, on the other hand, seemed to be having trouble lifting from the floor. The ranger spluttered apoplectically for a moment or so, then cried out, eyes ablaze and voice ringing in supposed triumph, "You simply *cannot* mean to tell me that there is naught between you two, now... not after *that*!"
"I don't know what you mean, Estel," Legolas returned with indifference, shining face still turned firmly away from his best friend's.
"Don't you give me that, elf: you know what I mean," Aragorn's tone swiftly flowed into a challenge. Legolas suddenly made as if to stand, deciding he had dallied long enough in sluggary for the day, and the human unconsciously moved forward to help him. As he steadied the prince's left elbow, supporting the light weight for a time, he continued: "Now it is more than clear to me how your life will meet it's end- "
"You have developed the gift of foresight, my lord?" Legolas interrupted sarcastically, grinning as he sat upon the end of his bed, looking up at the mortal. His grin widened with mischeif inherent in all Mirkwood elves in particular, "Tell me - how is it I go? Warg or dragon? Orc or man? Sword or scythe? Do I, perhaps, fall from my perch in a tree? Or is it likely I will be stomped on by a Dwarf?"
Aragorn continued without acknowledging the interruption, and his eyes shone brightly with earnestness, articulating each word carefully and with intent " -*with her*."
Legolas held his gaze a moment longer, grin still in place and green eyes sparking with lightning, before his grin slipped a little, his eyes narrowed and he turned his head to break eye contact. "Yes, well..." he said dubiously. "Perhaps it is merely that she takes care of me more than you do... or mayhap *cares* for me more than you do?" he smirked wickedly, attempting to bait the human.
"Are you feeling neglected, my prince?" Aragorn returned, a look of mock concern furrowing his brow.
"Well..." Legolas hesitated uncomfortably, and then stood up with abruptness, "perhaps not 'neglected', but I'm definately not overly-happy." The ranger sensed some truth behind the words, and stepped closer, face falling. Legolas smiled, waving one slim hand, "Nothing to worry about, Estel - I am merely bored of staying in bed all day; I wish to be back outside, continuing my warrior-training; my arm hurts all the time; and, as much as I love her, Niandias' chicken broth becomes a bit wearing after a while... but adar will not allow me anything else until I have 'built up my strength'." The fair archer hated to think he was whining, but he decided to indulge in it for a mere second, as he never usually allowed himself to.
Aragorn's stubbled face, however, brightened suddenly at the last part. "Ahha!" he cried, glee in his tone, holding up a finger. "I can help you with that one!" And from the folds of his dark winter cloak and heavy leather tunic, he produced a plate, and upon that plate, there were piled high many honey-combed cakes, dripping in lemon and elderflower syrup, and bursting inside with honey, fractured with actual honey-comb. They were some of the most delicious things the Elves had ever created, and the whole of Middle-earth was thankful for such an achievement. The cakes were Legolas' favourite sweet, and yet he almost never ate them, feeling them to be too indulgent and sickly-sweet for a warrior such as he to eat on any sort of regular basis. He wasn't naturally fond of sweet food in any case, but he was far more than willing to make such an exception...
Legolas almost felt his knees go weak at the sight of these beautifully- golden, wonderfully-scented cakes, and his mouth watered immediately. "Estel," he stammed, glancing up at the beaming face of his best friend. "Have I told you lately that you're possibly the greatest Man ever to walk Middle-earth?"
"Greatest *man*?"
"Greatest *creature*. Greatest *being*.... ever."
"Hmmm... no. I don't think you have. Not lately, in any case."
"Consider it told."
Aragorn threw his dark head back and laughed a short bark of rugged laughter, so characteristic of him, and again offered the plate to Legolas, grinning widely. As the elf prince reached out and snagged a cake, revelling in the sticky texture, the ranger cautioned, "Do not let your father discover that I thrifted these from the kitchens... he'd have my hide if he knew I even let you see them, he's so determined to fatten you up with stodge. He'd skin me alive and then pin me to a tree by my boots."
"I shall just have to destroy the evidence then, won't I? Only for *your* good, of course... what a good friend I am." Legolas grinned, a sparkling twinkle of starlight entering his forest green eyes. And with that, he crammed the whole of the small cake into his mouth in a most un-Elvish fashion, mouth full to bursting as he struggled to chew.
Aragorn watched the event with astonishment, both amused and horrified. "And you call yourself a prince of elves," was all he eventually had to say on the matter.
And it was that precise moment that both King Thranduil, Lord Elrond and Head Guard Selmanias decided to enter the room, the door beginning to swing slowly open, as though the elder elves themselves were dallying, probably distracted by speaking with one another. Neither acutely sensitive elf archer, nor practised and confident dunedain had sensed them coming, and they whirled at once in fear.
It was as though time itself slowed to the pace of a snail, and all actions were made as though through mud. Aragorn's eyes widened in panic, and he mouthed '*Run*!' to his best friend, waving his arms, still holding the plate in one hand, desperately towards the bed in an effort to motivate Legolas to save both their lives. The prince, meanwhile, was having difficulty getting rid of the cake he had shovelled into his mouth - he now deeply regretted doing such a thing, as the honey was sticking his teeth together and the crumbs were catching in the back of his throat, making him cough and splutter debris all over the unfortunate ranger. He managed, however, to deftly scramble into his bed in any case, graced with natural speed and perhaps aided by some sort of elvish magic, he was under the covers faster than Aragorn could blink. The door opened fully, with Legolas finally swallowing the contents of his mouth *just* in time, and both of their fathers were revealed to them, along with Selmanias, framed in the doorway.
"What's going on?" Thranduil's large bluey-grey eyes narrowed in suspicion immediately as he beheld his son and the prince's best friend holding themselves very stiffly, young faces turned earnestly towards the newcomers, a disconcerting feeling of unnatural innocence tangible in the air all about them.
The human blanched. "Err... whatever do you mean, my King? What would make you ask such a thing?" Partly to avoid Legolas' father's intimidating glare and partly to avoid his father's own mocking one, Aragorn furtively glanced at Legolas to gauge his best friend's expression and manner, forgetting momentarily that breaking eye contact with the second party and doing exactly what he was doing was one of the most recognisable warning signs for the second party to spot a liar.
Unfortunately Thranduil, on the other hand, had not forgotten.
"Because I have known you both too long, Estel, to ever be fooled by you," the mighty elf king answered coolly, crossing his arms pointedly across his strong chest and shifting his weight onto his back foot, raising one dark brow pointedly, awaiting an explanation.
Aragorn was acutely aware of the plate of cakes he held behind his back, they seemed so heavy and obvious to him at that moment he secretly wondered how the King of Elven Archers had not spotted them with his keen, practised eyes. He turned partially to Legolas, indicating that the son should be the one to be killed by the father. Legolas, however, was trying very, *very* hard at that moment not to see the funny side of the situation. He could feel a muscle in his cheek twitching a little, and his firm, fixed smile had begun to shake as he himself almost started to quiver with laughter. The timing was awful, and he couldn't believe his body was going to betray him so, as his father would most definately not be as amused as he when he broke out into peals of giggles (as he felt he was about to). But he couldn't help it: he found the sequence of events really quite humourous.
Thank Valar for Selmanias, though. The Head Guard - behaving in a manner very similar to one that Glorfindel of Rivendell was sometimes wont to behave in - spotting the signs of an impending doom for the young prince, and not wanting him to have his recovery set back any further than was necessary (what with Legolas only just having survived and all), swiftly brought a guiding hand to his friend's elbow, and cleverly urged Thranduil away from the two trouble-makers. Legolas was eternally thankful for being blessed with having Selmanias as a sort of uncle, as this was not the first time disaster had been avoided in such a way... the silver-haired, silver- eyed guard had always been rather fond of the youngest prince, and decided to act upon this feeling at the most appropriate times, something Legolas never forgot.
The King was given time only to glare sharply at them before he disappeared down the corridor, leaving Lord Elrond in the room, Selmanias also throwing the young human and elf a half-reproachful, half-gloating look with his colourless eyes before he, too, could not be seen. The two friends visibly deflated as the danger passed, and Legolas began to chuckle, mouth still partially full of the delicious cake Aragorn had given him. The ranger, bringing the plate of the remaining cakes around to his front, just looked at his best friend as though he were mad to be amused at all.
Lord Elrond watched them, a small smile upon his noble features, "I shall say it again, you two are astoundingly lucky..."
Aragorn looked back to his father and nodded heartily, "That one was mainly my fault, though... to be fair." At the elven lord's questioning face, the young man simply waved a hand, falling in sudden exhaustion into the chair beside Legolas' bed, and running his other hand through his tousled locks with the stress he had just experienced: "You don't want to know."
"Aye, probably not."
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"Now, push out and reach for me... try to touch my hand."
Legolas felt a bead of sweat wind it's way down the side of his forehead, but was too distracted at that moment to wipe it away. He focused all his strength and concentration upon mentally ordering his arm to extend, and get the pads of his fingers to merely brush against those that Lord Elrond was holding out for him. If they just graced the same air as Elrond's, then Legolas would be satisfied... as it was, he was having trouble merely straightening his arm, the muscles still weakened and unable to support their own weight. Slowly however, the limb obeyed, raising haltingly, the muscles rippling and twitching under the pale skin with the effort.
Aragorn, watching anxiously from the sidelines, had to bite his bottom lip to refrain from calling out words of encouragement to his best friend - though it would make him feel better, Legolas would most likely not appreciate it, and the ranger would probably end up with a thick ear for his troubles. It was just so hard and frustrating to watch the prince having to work so much, merely to lift his arm and reach out, and Aragorn - who had known him since he himself was a very little boy - still couldn't imagine what Legolas was feeling... he had to applaud the archer, though, for not screaming with impatience. He knew his best friend couldn't wait to get back to his warrior-training, and was worried that this setback could damage his trade as an archer, warrior, guard (and whatever else he was) permenantly... whoever heard of an arrowsman who could not pull back a bowstring? And Legolas was not blessed with a Maia's patience in the first place. But either way, Legolas had clamped his mouth shut against complaint, and was merely getting on with it, and Aragorn felt a flare of pride and awe in his heart whenever the elf gained a little more ground over his injury.
Tantalizingly close, so very near to reaching Elrond's outstretched fingers, Legolas' hand began to shake violently, the strain quickly becoming too much for his weakened muscles. His eyes widened, and lightening bolts of silver-fury shot through them in his anger, and a noise of frustration made deep in the back of his throat escaped him before he could check it. Betrayed by his own arm! He tried desperately to calm down and regain his control.
Elrond, who had looked up when he had heard Legolas desperate grunt, watched as the prince seemed to centre himself, exhaling slowly and releasing all of his negative emotions, and began to once more lift the falling arm up to a stable level. He felt a smile begin to creep across his lips as Legolas, eyes still closed firmly shut, began to stretch his hand forward, bettering where he had been able to reach just a moment or so before, to meet with that of his own. The elven lord kept his hand completely still, and simply watched the slow progression of Legolas' hand, until he felt the warmth of the prince's smooth palm upon his own. He clasped his fingers around Greenleaf's, capturing and securing them, so even when the archer deflated in relief and triumph, his injured arm was still kept straight. Elrond had to chuckle as he heard his own son whoop in happiness from the other side of the chamber at the success of his friend.
Keeping the arm straight, Elrond ran his other hand along it's length, testing the strength of the taught muscles and probing for problem areas. Eventually satisfied that the arm was indeed gaining back it's strength, and this was no fluke, he lowered the limb and smirked at his son's pale best friend, who was leaning back in his chair, quite exhausted. Legolas managed to give him a shaky grin in return. Elrond reached out, placing a hand fatherly upon the younger elf's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Legolas' green eyes twinkled starlight as he nodded back. Things were most definately returning to how they had been.
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"Thankyou once again, mellon nin, for all you have done for us."
Elrond smiled fondly back at his good friend, and replied easily, "It was no trouble - I was happy to... anything to return Legolas back to health is completely worth it."
The two mighty elves were wandering through the open stone corridors of the snow-covered grounds, taking time to sniff the fresh air and wonder at the sparkling snow drifts. Thranduil, who's hands were shoved rather un-Kingly but firmly deep into the pockets of his rich blue robes to ward off against the coolness of the air, grinned boyishly back at Elrond, his dark eyes sparkling with happiness, "Aye... it's clear to me that our minds walk along the same pathways."
The Rivendell lord chuckled and began to say something further, but then looked up as his sharp ears picked up a distant noise. A sound like shouting - though impossible to recognise the tone used - had drifted towards them. At his side, Thranduil had obviously picked up the strange disturbance as well, and stood stock still and alert, unconsciously mirroring the stance his youngest son had taken many days ago upon first realising that Wargs were near.
"Shall we investigate?" suggested Elrond hopefully after a moment, dark brows raised. The King nodded vehemently in answer, inherent Mirkwood curiosity heightened and natural bravery evident - warriors were needed for such an excursion, and Elrond and himself were exactly the ones to do it... no stealth-warriors needed in *this* case.
Like stealthy predators they crept, crouched slightly down, along the open white-stone corridors, till they came to a beautifully-carved archway at the end of it that led out into the large courtyard beyond. The two renowned elves - known across Middle-earth for their wisdom, unnumerable years, fighting capabilities and leadership skills - pressed themselves close to the white wall of the archway, and peeked curiously round the corner, careful to keep out of sight of whatever horror they might be facing... ...
... ... Aragorn was looking at his boots as he stomped about in the snow, relishing the creaking noise it made beneath the heavy soles of his black leather winter footwear, and staring happily as small piles of the sparkling water-crystals began to heap up upon the tops of his feet as he walked. He was in the process of trying to use up as much of the unblemished snow in the courtyard as possible: trophies of his success in this goal were already laid all about - snow-angels decorated each corner of the yard; he had written both his, his brothers', Legolas' and Arwen's names with a skilled stick in the formerly-blank drifts; and a snowelf - which Legolas still insisted was a snowman, and had deliberately made alterations to support this, making the creation shorter, heftier and uglier (which Aragorn did not appreciate at all) - stood upright and proud near the frozen fountain. Now he was merely stomping about.
"Come *on*, Estel... I wish to do something!" Legolas muffled, all-but whine met his ears from where the elf stood, accompanied by his three hounds, a few feet away. Aragorn looked up at him and had to suppress a grin: Lainathan, a kind she-elf who had been Legolas' nanny when he was an elfling (and was still an essential part of life to the archer because he loved her so and cared not unless she was about), concerned for her prince's health, had insisted upon wrapping the warrior up in many layers, so he looked almost as though he was adorned in swathling clothes. So there he stood, about three times bigger than his normal size; a soft hat drawn down over his shining blonde hair and covering his sensitive elvish ears; his gloved hands firmly wedged beneath each armpit; a fur lined cloak wrapped close to his body; and a plush scarf pulled up to his nose, covering his mouth and muffling his words. The only bit of the elf's flesh available to the world now Lainathan was through was the blushing skin of the tops of his cheeks to just below his golden brows. Legolas was not suffering this indignity with good grace, and so Aragorn had refrained till then of poking fun. Legolas was bored with simply watching his friend mess about in a decidedly-human way in the snow, while he himself was not able to, mending arm still in a sling and pretty useless.
Aragorn kicked the mounds of collected snow off the tops of his boots with funny little shakes of his feet, making it very hard for Legolas not to laugh, and turned to face the archer. He grinned rougishly, eyes crinkling, and decided that then was the time to make his mark, and unleash his weapons: "Oh, forgive me, Legolas - I had forgotten that you are still too weak and feeble to participate in anything more strenuous than lifting your head from pillows."
The next sequence of events happened so fast that it was only later, when Aragorn was bedding down for the night and could afford time to think, that the ranger was able to dissect exactly what had happened: all he had known at that moment was an intense cold feeling enveloping his whole face... he had known at that moment that his face had caught the snowball Legolas had thrown his way. The elf had moved so quickly - a combination of natural speed and a little bit of elf magic to aid him - that an unsuspecting Aragorn had not been able to even think about ducking or moving out the way. So he simply stood there for a few moments, stuttering his surprise, the bits of snow caught in his eyelashes and raggedy beard fast beginning to melt... all to the sound of Legolas laughing joyously at the outcome.
When he was eventually able to think again, and after he'd wiped the wet snow from his beard with a gloved hand, Aragorn did the only thing he could have done in those circumstances: he retaliated. "Take that, you elven demon!" he cried, launching himself at his best friend and slamming a considerable amount of snow into the prince's fair face with the whole of his hand, being sure to rub the glittering handful right into the archer's golden hair and aiming to get as much snow as possible under Legolas' hat before he replaced it.
Legolas gasped aloud, the freezing cold weapon assaulting him without warning, and he stumbled back when Aragorn's snow-laden palm met his face, so there was now some distance between them once more. And so began an extremely short-lived but wonderfully savage snow fight, in which anything went and there were no rules to speak of. Legolas, it turned out to the ranger's disgust, was able to pick up, roll, mould and throw snowballs extremely quickly; and yet in the same way, Aragorn's heavy-duty boots made light work of the snow all about, and he swiftly developed a skilled, shuffling technique in which he could flush masses of snow up into the air - and into Legolas' unsuspecting face - at any given time.
The shouts and desperate squawks and yells of the two made the three dark hounds (Blaith, Aklar and Silme) who had previously been sitting blithely by, awaiting their master's command, begin to fret, and they all now stood to attention, barking at the two friends and making their annoyance known. It occurred to Legolas just then how loyal his dogs were, and how they would do anything if he so willed it. They were, after all, decended from the great Wolfhounds of the Age of the Stars - those bred by the Elves of Beleriand to counter the evil of the Werewolves that infected the lands at that time: it was their natural duty.
It was then that he disengaged himself from the tangle of his best friend's arms, and took a few steps back. Triumphantly, he watched Aragorn's confused, wet and slightly blue face turn to him, he watched as the ranger's slate grey eyes widened in his realisation...
"Blaith, Aklar, Silme.... *Lyngwe lom* [Kill him]!" he cried, green eyes ablaze with silver vengeance.
And it was so that Aragorn disappeared under an army of wet snouts, huge paws, jet black fur and furiously wagging tails, making Legolas helplessly laugh all the harder, good arm wrapped around his aching sides and tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, till he himself had to sit down in the snow... ...
... ... Thranduil's dark head returned from peering round the corner of the arch and, attempting to ignore Aragorn's desperate cries of help, punctuated with hysterical laughter and occaisional yelps, gave his friend an amused, sheepish smile. He was about to explain the actions of his youngest son when he was interrupted by Legolas' own fair voice, filled with excitement and encouragement, shouting out distantly (supposedly to his hounds), "Gurth gothlye: mereth en draugrim [Death to our foe: the feast of wolves]!"
And in answer, there came Aragorn's voice, babbling out a lengthy stream of elvish in protest: "Nay, tampa tanya - ai, tua amin Legolas! Aiya! Tampa tanya, tanya awra! Kela! Kela, nadorhuanrim... Amin lava! Amin lava, tua amin! Legolas!! [No, stop that - oh, help me, Legolas! Ow! Stop that, that hurt! Go away! Go away, cowardly dogs... I yield! I yield, help me! Legolas!!]"
And there was not really much the King of Mirkwood *could* say after that, when he turned to find Elrond with one eyebrow raised, awaiting some sort of explanation... and so he grinned and placed a friendly hand upon Lord Elrond's arm, and led him gently away from the battle field, and began instead to talk about Yuletide as the snow began to fall again, insisting that the House of Rivendell spend the festival in Mirkwood, for it seemed to do them all some sort of good when they were together, though he could not explain it so.
The End.
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A/N: And so, we come to the end. It's been an absolute ball, and I'm so very glad you've all gotten up to dance at one time or another. Can't tell you how much your reviews mean to me, and so won't even begin to attempt to tell you all individually. Hope you've enjoyed the rollercoaster, I know I've had a belting time... know that you're all dead class and I really appreciated the support etc... now tell me what you thought!
Cheers for the last time... AliciA xxxx