Shoe Trouble (Part of the What-If? Series)
By Gwenneth

Disclaimer: Not mine...they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This is just for fun...I promise...no money is being made off the writing of this fic or any of the other fics that I write in the LotR genre. Or any genre for that matter...

Rating: PG

Summary: A what-if concerning Elrond and his trip to see Aragorn at the Rohan encampment, just before the Rohirrim set out for the battle of Pelennor Fields. This story is dedicated to my beta, Phoenixqueen, whom I guess likes the character of Elrond! Enjoy, mellon nin!!!

It was dark and the pathway treacherous. Normally, the Elf atop the beautiful steed would pay more attention to his surroundings, more attention to the horse beneath him. The horse that he was almost assuredly trusting his life to as they wound their way up the rocky trail. But not this time. No...this time the Elf's thoughts dwelt on the one he had left behind in Rivendell, and on the sword he now carried, and on the fate of the one whom he was seeking audience with.

Elrond was preoccupied. And being preoccupied when riding a dangerous trail at night was not a smart thing to be. Nor was allowing the horse's shoes to go so long without repair. Without warning, the horse bucked and neighed in pain, throwing Elrond from the saddle to the rock-strewn ground below. If the impact, atop sharp, jagged rocks, was not enough; then perhaps the fall of the horse's hooves on the Elf Lord's leg was.

The dark-haired Noldor let out a shriek of pain as the hoof came crashing down on his leg, crunching the bone underneath the whole of the horse's weight. The creature continued to dance around in pain, the slipped shoe gouging into the animal's hoof mercilously. Elrond, wincing in his own pain, spoke soothingly in the Grey Tongue, desperate to get the creature to stop stamping for fear it would land atop him again.

Soon, he had the horse under control and was able to grasp the foreleg with the slipped shoe. Seeing there was no way to salvage the metal shoe, he managed to relatively gently remove it, releasing the painful pressure on the horse's hoof. The source of pain gone, Brenuil calmed and stopped stamping angrily. Elrond, momentarily forgetting his own pain, tried to stand, only to fall back to the ground in pain.

Now that wasn't very graceful the Elf thought ruefully, fully hoping that none of the Rohan had seen this unfortunate mishap. He would never live it down if word somehow got back to Elladan and Elrohir. He frowned now. Thoughts of his other child blossoming in his mind. Arwen was on her deathbed. And all because she had chose a mortal life in order to live forever with her beloved. His own adopted son, Estel. To whom Elrond was now attempted to deliver Anduril, Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil, the blade that had cut the Ring from Sauron's hand during the Last Alliance.

Sighing, Elrond hauled himself to his feet; and then the bigger task, to the horse's back. He felt himself slipping down as he tried to vault onto Brenuil. But something stopped him. Or more accurately, someone. Turning his head around to see who his benefactor was, Elrond started in surprise, as did the other being.

"Legolas!"

The blonde-haired warrior was not as pristine as he usually was, rather he was quite grimy. And just as shocked as Elrond. "Hir nin!" The Elf said in surprise. "What are you doing here! I would have thought you safely tucked away in Rivendell."

Elrond smiled. "i do venture out from Rivendell on occasion, Legolas!"

The archer blushed. "Of course, hir nin. I had just thought that there was no reason for you to leave. What brings you here, to the Rohirrim encampment, on the eve of a great battle?"

Elrond sighed. "Something dire. But please, I was injured when my horse reared from a slipped shoe. Could you help me to find King Theoden's tent where I might await Aragorn, for there is something I must give to him. Both an object and news."

Legolas nodded and took the bridle of the horse Elrond rode. He led the animal along the path, easily weaving his way through the tents they soon found themselves amongst. Elrond was relieved that he did not have to dismount and ask for directions. And that he was not being questioned as to his presence. With Legolas as his escort, whom the Rohan had undoubtedly gotten used to, the Elf lord was not once stopped.

Soon they found themselves in front of a tent. Legolas spoke briefly to the guard, who went inside and returned with an older man. "Lord Elrond of Rivendell, you are most welcome in our encampment. Might I invite you inside to make yourself comfortable while Aragorn is fetched from his tent?"

Legolas helped the Elf Lord dismount, grimacing when Elrond winced and his leg buckled underneath him. The Elf Lord quickly waved off the help of the guards. "Legolas will suffice to escort me inside. I have need of only a chair."

Theoden nodded and led the way inside. The tent flap was opened for Legolas and Elrond, the latter clinging to Legolas' shoulder as the archer led him inside to the nearest chair. Elrond thanked Legolas, who promptly took his leave. Then Elrond turned his attention to the undoubtedly broken leg in front of him. Sighing, he felt the limb and determined it would need setting. He might just have to get a little help with this after all.

The tent flap opened and Theoden greeted Aragorn saying under his breath, "I take my leave."

With his hood up, Elrond was indiscernable to the man, who looked to the Elf with confusion. Until Elrond shoved himself to his feet and pulled the cloak from his head. Aragorn's eyes widened. "My Lord Elrond," he said, bowing to the Elf in reverence.

Elrond, quietly and solemnly, trying desperately to hide the pain in his leg, spoke. "I come on behalf of one whom I love."

Aragorn looked up at that, confusion in his eyes. He waited patiently for Elrond to continue. The Elf did so, though his voice was shaking lightly. "Arwen is dying." He continued strongly now, his emotions getting the better of him and hiding the pain. "She will not long survive the evil that spreads from Mordor. The light of the Evenstar is failing. As Sauron's power grows, her strength wanes. Arwen's life is now tied to the fate of the Ring. The Shadow is upon us, Aragorn. The end has come."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "It will not be our end, but his."

Elrond grew suddenly weary and he slumped into the chair, gripping his leg. Aragorn moved forward, concern in his face. "Are you well?" He asked tentatively, noticing the iron grip Elrond has on his leg. But the Elf waved him off.

"You ride to war, but not to victory." He grimaced, but decided to get it all out while he could. "Sauron's armies march on Minas Tirith, this you know, but, in secret, he sends another force which will attack from the River. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the South. They'll be in the city in two days. You're out-numbered, Aragorn. You need more men."

Sighing, Aragorn shakes his head and says quietly, "There are none."

Elrond, looking up from his grip on his broken leg, replies, "There are those who dwell in the mountain."

Aragorn frowns. "Murderers, traitors, you would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing? They answer to no one!"

Elrond flung himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg, moving forward. "They will answer to the King of Gondor!" He flings back his cloak, revealing a bloody leg and a sheathed sword. Aragorn takes in both, but is mesmorized by the sword he is being offered, momentarily blinded to the blood. "Anduril, Flame of the West, forged from the Shards of Narsil!" The Elf lord says loudly, his eyes wide with determination.

Aragorn accepts the sword. "Sauron will not have forgotten the sword of Elendil. The Blade that was Broken shall return to Minas Tirith."

Elrond, again loosing strength from his blood loss and his wound, slumps a little, but continues to speak. "The man who can wield the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth. Put aside the Ranger. Become who you were born to be. Take the Dimholt Road. Onen i-Estel Edain."

Aragorn sighed. "U-chebin estel anim." Then he notices the blood. "You are hurt!" Pushing Elrond back down toward the seat, Aragorn sheathes the sword and slips it unconsciously into his belt loop, kneeling on the ground in front of Elrond who is wearily slumped in the chair.

"My horse slipped a shoe and threw me, then somehow managed to land on top of me to top it off," the Elf joked.

Aragorn frowned. "This is a bad break, hir nin."

Elrond placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Aye, it is. But I am a skilled healer and I am certain there are others here who might heal it for me as well. You have a journey to take and you must not linger long. For if you wish to reach Minas Tirith in time to save the city, you must embark on the Dimholt Road tonight."

The man frowned and looked down, not taking his hand from Elrond's injured leg. The Elf lord did it for him, gripping Estel's hand and tilting the man's chin upward so that they were looking each other in the eyes. Aragorn smiled lightly. "I understand. I must make haste. I shall leave immediately. But let me take you to the healer."

Elrond acquiesced and allowed Aragorn to take him to the healer. The Elf Lord, slightly more perceptive than Aragorn despite his injury, noticed Legolas lurking at the corner of the tent. He smiled, knowing inwardly that the Elf had heard every word that had been spoken in the tent. And he felt assured that Legolas would not allow Aragorn to make this journey alone. It eased the burden in his heart to know this.

Their parting, Aragorn and Elrond's, was quiet and calm. But both were full of inner turmoil. Both had thoughts that dwelt on Arwen, the fate of Middle-Earth, the impending battle between Good and Evil. Elrond bid farewell and luck to Aragorn, who then went off into the night to prepare for his journey along the Paths of the Dead. Elrond nodded lightly to Legolas, who stole off after Aragorn after making eye contact with Elrond.

He would follow.

Elrond sighed.

Good luck to you all and may Good over take and break Evil on the morrow.

THE END