Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. This is the first LotR FPS I ever started, so I'm always really nervous about the quality of it. Dedicated, as ever, to Kittie Kittie Kittie who is my beta, cheerleader and one of the best friends I've ever had in my life. Love you, bebes. Rating goes up here to PG and I've said before, this is slash.
Also, it doesn't belong to me and I'm making no money from it. I have nothing but respect for Tolkien and his creations. This is just a little fun.
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Aragorn was several miles from the borders of Mirkwood when the sun began to rise. He walked for another hour until the landscape was brightly lit. The scene as far as he could see was mostly grassland, with a few sparse trees springing up here and there like skeletal signposts on the way. There was no road but the country was easy enough to cut across. Now though, he wanted to rest. He had been travelling for several days and weariness had finally caught up with him. Moving towards some longer grass, he sat down and filled his pipe. While he smoked, he took a drink of water from a leather canteen that hung at his waist and ate some of the lembas bread Lord Elrond had furnished him with before leaving Rivendell. He considered trying to catch a rabbit or some other creature to make a proper meal but decided against it, stretching out in the long grass instead, his eyes closed against the morning sun.
Legolas reached the borders of the forest and looked back for a moment. The branches of the trees were swaying slightly in the breeze and he felt a brief pang of loss. He had never been outside the borders of Mirkwood before and even though this trip outside would not take him long, the idea of leaving his beautiful home, even for a little while hurt somewhere deep inside. Running his fingertips over the rough bark of the nearest tree truck, Legolas bowed his head and took one more step. The step that took him outside of his father's Kingdom for the first time in his life. As he moved, the trees stirred, aware of their prince leaving. Legolas turned and looked back.
"I'll come back," he promised, his words lost to the wind.
Deep inside Mirkwood, in his chambers, King Thranduil stirred, his head tilted to one side. The trees were singing. In the lands of the elves, that was nothing unusual. Elves had an affinity with nature, and none more than the woodland elves of Mirkwood, whose connection to the trees surrounding them was so much a part of their identity that they barely noticed it. The songs of the trees were so much a part of life for Thranduil and had been since the earliest days of his Kingdom that he barely heard them now. Something about this song made him listen. The song was laced with urgency and sorrow. Thranduil listened intently for a long moment, utter silence surrounding him, broken only by the breathy song of the trees. Then he stood, fury blazing in his eyes. Calling for his attendants to ready his horse, he began to make preparations.
As dawn broke, Legolas was tracking Aragorn carefully. He had been trained as a warrior but because of the tight control his father exercise over the borders of his home, he had rarely had a chance to use his perfectly honed skills. Now, outside, a sense of freedom stole over the prince, a clarity of purpose that he had rarely experienced. The man's tracks were at some points hard to follow and Legolas felt a growing admiration for his ability to stay hidden, even on such open ground as this. The tracks that Legolas was following curved steadily west, toward the River Anduin. Idly, he wondered what Aragorn's planned destination was. Maybe he was heading to Rivendell to his foster home.
Wherever he was going, Legolas intended to find him and apologise for the way he had been treated before he could get much further with what must now be such a tarnished image of the woodland folk. The sun was bright in the sky when Legolas found the ranger. He was asleep in the long grass, his face looking far younger than it had in the soft light of the stars earlier. Unsure now of what to do, Legolas sat down quietly by the man's side, looking at him closely. Unruly dark hair made a pillow for his head that, in sleep, held none of the cares of the waking world. The stubble on his cheeks only served to accentuate the youth of the rest of his face. The stubble itself was something of a curiosity to Legolas who had grown up among smooth skinned elves. The only comparable thing he had ever seen was Mithrandir's flowing white beard on his ever less-frequent visits to Thranduil's hall, but the shade on Aragorn's face was something entirely different.
Stealthily, Legolas reached out and brushed two fingers across the stubble, looking quizzically at the Ranger when his touch produced a soft rasping sound and a tingling, scratched feeling on the sensitive flesh of his fingertips. Aragorn didn't stir at Legolas' touch although he did sigh in his sleep, his lips parting slightly, a delicate pink colour like the inside of a shell. The warm breath of his sigh ghosted over Legolas' hand. Legolas stared at the skin that had been bathed in Aragorn's breath and with two fingers of the other hand, stroked the patch lightly.
It was so warm. And slightly moist like morning dew. Feeling slightly self-conscious, Legolas raised his hand to his face and inhaled. The scent of Aragorn's breath was laced with pipe weed, the kind that Mithrandir smoked in his carved brown pipe. Tilting his head to the side, Legolas stared down at the ranger for a moment, looking at his sleeping face. So peaceful, so young, so innocent. Again, he was struck by how different Aragorn was when compared with the legends of his ancestor.
Struck by curiosity, Legolas leaned down, brushing his lips over Aragorn's. The ranger didn't stir. Emboldened, Legolas flickered his tongue out to run it over the man's lips. The taste of pipe weed was stronger here, more concentrated. Almost before he was aware of the movement, Legolas felt the sharp point of a dagger pressing into his ribs. Freezing at once, the elf moved away from Aragorn who was on his feet in seconds.
"Who are you?" the man demanded. Legolas was surprised and then remembered the cloak's hood and the shadows that the daytime sun was casting. "Answer me!" Aragorn demanded, shaking Legolas' arm. The elf's hood fell back; revealing his face and Aragorn stared in disbelief, sliding the dagger into a barely noticeable leather sheath low down his leg near the top of his boot. Aragorn took a drink of water from his canteen and then turned his eyes back to the elven prince. "You should not be here," he said simply.
"I followed you to apologise, Estel," Legolas said softly.
"An apology is not needed," Aragorn said, not looking at the elf but turning his gaze instead to the western horizon, to the Misty Mountains that he knew lay there. "Your father's law is clear and justified."
"It is not!" Legolas said furiously. "It is the single most unjustified thing I have ever heard. You saved me, Aragorn! You fought side by side with me and instead of recognition and thanks you received banishment from my land."
"My name is not Aragorn," the man said, his jaw tightening. "At least, I would prefer not to hear it."
"Very well. Estel. Whatever your chosen name may be, you are still a hero, not a petty criminal. You are not Isildur, I see in your eyes that you would not cause harm to a living being unless it could be helped."
"You see nothing, Legolas," Aragorn said harshly. "Weakness does not disappear, it does not fade, it does not diminish. It remains to haunt those who by virtue of lineage are guilty. I am Isildur's heir. His weakness is in my blood and try as I might to fight it, I can not deny my nature."
"That is not true," Legolas insisted. "I know, I see..."
"You know nothing and you see only a hopeless dream. Go back to your home, Legolas. I am nothing that is worthy of your time."
The party from Mirkwood rode hard towards their destination, anger spurring them on. The trees had told of Legolas leaving Mirkwood, crossing the northern border and slipping into the shadows of the night. Thranduil was determined to find his son and punish the heir of Isildur if any harm had befallen the prince. They spotted the two figures in the distance, their keen elven eyes making out the closeness between their bodies and the tension in the air around them. Watching his son as they drew closer, Thranduil could see that every fibre of Legolas' being was focused on Aragorn. His elvish senses would be of no use to him; Thranduil had seen Legolas this way several times and it worried him somewhat. Legolas could become utterly focused on one thing, to the exclusion of everything else in the environment around him. It was a special skill and a curse to be able to close off one's senses to the outside world, to focus on one sole thing. It made Legolas a deadly warrior and left him so very vulnerable.
The party grew close enough that their elven ears could hear what the two were saying to one another. The man's voice rose and the words he spoke filled Thranduil with rage. Others around him tensed in anger and more than one warrior trained arrows on the man. The King shook his head briefly and they continued riding, Aragorn's words ringing in all of their horrified ears. "Now, hurry. I am not welcome in your land. Your father has his view of men and I would not like to face him should he be proved right," The clipped tone in Aragorn's voice, along with the tension pervading Legolas' form left them in no doubt that their prince was here against his will.
Spurring their horses on, the riders advanced on the two figures. Aragorn was the first to sense their presence and when he looked up, Legolas was distracted from their argument by the change in Aragorn's demeanour. At a nod from their king, the party of woodland elves surrounded Aragorn, two elves dismounting to separate him and Legolas from one another for a second time. Legolas strained to see but between himself and the ranger was an impenetrable wall of Mirkwood's finest warriors.
Also, it doesn't belong to me and I'm making no money from it. I have nothing but respect for Tolkien and his creations. This is just a little fun.
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Aragorn was several miles from the borders of Mirkwood when the sun began to rise. He walked for another hour until the landscape was brightly lit. The scene as far as he could see was mostly grassland, with a few sparse trees springing up here and there like skeletal signposts on the way. There was no road but the country was easy enough to cut across. Now though, he wanted to rest. He had been travelling for several days and weariness had finally caught up with him. Moving towards some longer grass, he sat down and filled his pipe. While he smoked, he took a drink of water from a leather canteen that hung at his waist and ate some of the lembas bread Lord Elrond had furnished him with before leaving Rivendell. He considered trying to catch a rabbit or some other creature to make a proper meal but decided against it, stretching out in the long grass instead, his eyes closed against the morning sun.
Legolas reached the borders of the forest and looked back for a moment. The branches of the trees were swaying slightly in the breeze and he felt a brief pang of loss. He had never been outside the borders of Mirkwood before and even though this trip outside would not take him long, the idea of leaving his beautiful home, even for a little while hurt somewhere deep inside. Running his fingertips over the rough bark of the nearest tree truck, Legolas bowed his head and took one more step. The step that took him outside of his father's Kingdom for the first time in his life. As he moved, the trees stirred, aware of their prince leaving. Legolas turned and looked back.
"I'll come back," he promised, his words lost to the wind.
Deep inside Mirkwood, in his chambers, King Thranduil stirred, his head tilted to one side. The trees were singing. In the lands of the elves, that was nothing unusual. Elves had an affinity with nature, and none more than the woodland elves of Mirkwood, whose connection to the trees surrounding them was so much a part of their identity that they barely noticed it. The songs of the trees were so much a part of life for Thranduil and had been since the earliest days of his Kingdom that he barely heard them now. Something about this song made him listen. The song was laced with urgency and sorrow. Thranduil listened intently for a long moment, utter silence surrounding him, broken only by the breathy song of the trees. Then he stood, fury blazing in his eyes. Calling for his attendants to ready his horse, he began to make preparations.
As dawn broke, Legolas was tracking Aragorn carefully. He had been trained as a warrior but because of the tight control his father exercise over the borders of his home, he had rarely had a chance to use his perfectly honed skills. Now, outside, a sense of freedom stole over the prince, a clarity of purpose that he had rarely experienced. The man's tracks were at some points hard to follow and Legolas felt a growing admiration for his ability to stay hidden, even on such open ground as this. The tracks that Legolas was following curved steadily west, toward the River Anduin. Idly, he wondered what Aragorn's planned destination was. Maybe he was heading to Rivendell to his foster home.
Wherever he was going, Legolas intended to find him and apologise for the way he had been treated before he could get much further with what must now be such a tarnished image of the woodland folk. The sun was bright in the sky when Legolas found the ranger. He was asleep in the long grass, his face looking far younger than it had in the soft light of the stars earlier. Unsure now of what to do, Legolas sat down quietly by the man's side, looking at him closely. Unruly dark hair made a pillow for his head that, in sleep, held none of the cares of the waking world. The stubble on his cheeks only served to accentuate the youth of the rest of his face. The stubble itself was something of a curiosity to Legolas who had grown up among smooth skinned elves. The only comparable thing he had ever seen was Mithrandir's flowing white beard on his ever less-frequent visits to Thranduil's hall, but the shade on Aragorn's face was something entirely different.
Stealthily, Legolas reached out and brushed two fingers across the stubble, looking quizzically at the Ranger when his touch produced a soft rasping sound and a tingling, scratched feeling on the sensitive flesh of his fingertips. Aragorn didn't stir at Legolas' touch although he did sigh in his sleep, his lips parting slightly, a delicate pink colour like the inside of a shell. The warm breath of his sigh ghosted over Legolas' hand. Legolas stared at the skin that had been bathed in Aragorn's breath and with two fingers of the other hand, stroked the patch lightly.
It was so warm. And slightly moist like morning dew. Feeling slightly self-conscious, Legolas raised his hand to his face and inhaled. The scent of Aragorn's breath was laced with pipe weed, the kind that Mithrandir smoked in his carved brown pipe. Tilting his head to the side, Legolas stared down at the ranger for a moment, looking at his sleeping face. So peaceful, so young, so innocent. Again, he was struck by how different Aragorn was when compared with the legends of his ancestor.
Struck by curiosity, Legolas leaned down, brushing his lips over Aragorn's. The ranger didn't stir. Emboldened, Legolas flickered his tongue out to run it over the man's lips. The taste of pipe weed was stronger here, more concentrated. Almost before he was aware of the movement, Legolas felt the sharp point of a dagger pressing into his ribs. Freezing at once, the elf moved away from Aragorn who was on his feet in seconds.
"Who are you?" the man demanded. Legolas was surprised and then remembered the cloak's hood and the shadows that the daytime sun was casting. "Answer me!" Aragorn demanded, shaking Legolas' arm. The elf's hood fell back; revealing his face and Aragorn stared in disbelief, sliding the dagger into a barely noticeable leather sheath low down his leg near the top of his boot. Aragorn took a drink of water from his canteen and then turned his eyes back to the elven prince. "You should not be here," he said simply.
"I followed you to apologise, Estel," Legolas said softly.
"An apology is not needed," Aragorn said, not looking at the elf but turning his gaze instead to the western horizon, to the Misty Mountains that he knew lay there. "Your father's law is clear and justified."
"It is not!" Legolas said furiously. "It is the single most unjustified thing I have ever heard. You saved me, Aragorn! You fought side by side with me and instead of recognition and thanks you received banishment from my land."
"My name is not Aragorn," the man said, his jaw tightening. "At least, I would prefer not to hear it."
"Very well. Estel. Whatever your chosen name may be, you are still a hero, not a petty criminal. You are not Isildur, I see in your eyes that you would not cause harm to a living being unless it could be helped."
"You see nothing, Legolas," Aragorn said harshly. "Weakness does not disappear, it does not fade, it does not diminish. It remains to haunt those who by virtue of lineage are guilty. I am Isildur's heir. His weakness is in my blood and try as I might to fight it, I can not deny my nature."
"That is not true," Legolas insisted. "I know, I see..."
"You know nothing and you see only a hopeless dream. Go back to your home, Legolas. I am nothing that is worthy of your time."
The party from Mirkwood rode hard towards their destination, anger spurring them on. The trees had told of Legolas leaving Mirkwood, crossing the northern border and slipping into the shadows of the night. Thranduil was determined to find his son and punish the heir of Isildur if any harm had befallen the prince. They spotted the two figures in the distance, their keen elven eyes making out the closeness between their bodies and the tension in the air around them. Watching his son as they drew closer, Thranduil could see that every fibre of Legolas' being was focused on Aragorn. His elvish senses would be of no use to him; Thranduil had seen Legolas this way several times and it worried him somewhat. Legolas could become utterly focused on one thing, to the exclusion of everything else in the environment around him. It was a special skill and a curse to be able to close off one's senses to the outside world, to focus on one sole thing. It made Legolas a deadly warrior and left him so very vulnerable.
The party grew close enough that their elven ears could hear what the two were saying to one another. The man's voice rose and the words he spoke filled Thranduil with rage. Others around him tensed in anger and more than one warrior trained arrows on the man. The King shook his head briefly and they continued riding, Aragorn's words ringing in all of their horrified ears. "Now, hurry. I am not welcome in your land. Your father has his view of men and I would not like to face him should he be proved right," The clipped tone in Aragorn's voice, along with the tension pervading Legolas' form left them in no doubt that their prince was here against his will.
Spurring their horses on, the riders advanced on the two figures. Aragorn was the first to sense their presence and when he looked up, Legolas was distracted from their argument by the change in Aragorn's demeanour. At a nod from their king, the party of woodland elves surrounded Aragorn, two elves dismounting to separate him and Legolas from one another for a second time. Legolas strained to see but between himself and the ranger was an impenetrable wall of Mirkwood's finest warriors.