Author: Estelrond

Disclaimers and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you.

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

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Part Eight

What the Wolf Cries

Aragorn chewed idly on a piece of grass as the three travelers sat around a campfire on the outskirts of Mirkwood. They had made the decision not to press on to Dale that night. Instead reaching the town the next morning. He felt very weary and sincerely wished for the millionth time that he had the stamina of an elf. And today had been wearying in more than the usual manner, and that was entirely due to his two traveling companions.

The first couple of hours had been filled with blessed silence, that is until Legolas' horse without any forewarning whatsoever, began to buck and hop, gleefully attempting to toss the rider from its back. It had been some while before the elf could get his excited mount calmed enough to continue the journey, and the irritated elf immediately blamed Farlest for the mishap. To which the other replied with an insult to the prince's horsemanship. This in turn resulted in a whole string of imaginative and very derogatory remarks. A great deal of which was devoted to calling the other's ancestry into question. This eventually disintegrated into a round of childish "Did not." "Did too". And Aragorn tried his best to ignore the bickering elves, but eventually, his temper boiled over and he gave them a long, and creative lecture at the top of his lungs saying just what he thought about the horse, the ride, the argument, and his two companions in especial.

Maybe not the most recommended method for diplomatic sessions, but the two stared at him for a while, stunned speechless. Satisfied, Aragorn had stalked back to his horse, only to hear what could only be recognized as a snicker.

He whirled around, ready to give another lecture to the guilty party. But the two elves glanced at each other innocently, and then turned big, doleful eyes on the ranger. Throwing up his hands, he had stalked back to his horse.

Things had gone downhill from there.

The two turned from being rivals to conspirators, and before the day was over the ranger lost count of how many times his horse had been spooked or how many stones and other small projectiles had hit him in the back. It made the ride very tedious and glares, threats, and other forms of non-violent communication seemed to have no effect on the pointy-eared menaces riding behind him, for Legolas had insisted that Farlest now ride with him. Aragorn hardly dared guess what devious things might have happened had the impish rogue been seated directly behind him.

They stopped early that night, the harried ranger insisting that they could make Dale in the morning and be no worse for it.

Aragorn built a fire, adding herbs to keep away the moths, and the three settled down, for a while they sat and discussed the next day's ride but once the that subject had disinterested all involved, a comfortable silence settled over the group. Farlest played idly with several twigs and Legolas watched him curiously, his blue-grey eyes hiding whatever impressions the other elf made on him.

Farlest could truly be called beautiful, with fine, angular features and a long, glossy-black cascade of hair that seemed to be tamed save a few disobedient strands that he was continually sweeping out of his eyes. But it was the eyes that caused Legolas' unease. He liked the dark-haired elf, he truly did, but his emerald orbs seemed to hide ancient secrets and torments worthy of Sauron's dungeons, and with the pain, wisdom, ageless wisdom and sorrows untold. There was a great tale in those eyes. One that, someday, Legolas hoped he would know.

But then, the elf, whose youthful body surely hid the weight of millennia, glanced up, searching the surrounding woods furtively.

"There's something out there." Farlest held a hand to stop the movement of his companions, who had made to rise. He rose from his crouch with a feline grace, "I'll go look, probably nothing." But, as if to defy his words, a mournful howl echoed through the woods.

Aragorn shivered involuntary, the sound had come from no warg, but a true wolf, and he seemed to sense the creature's sadness and turmoil. But then the ranger shook his head, for how could one sense that in a creature's wild call? He watched the as the elf, whose manner defied the ranger-like clothes he wore, disappear into the surrounding darkness.

Legolas turned to his friend, "What do you think of him, mellon-nin?" The elf turned on his side and propped himself up on his elbow awaiting the Dunadan's answer.

"He seems good." Aragorn admitted, "But there is something extremely unsettling about him as well, as if a darkness threatens to overshadow the good of him."

"Not overshadow, Aragorn." Mused Legolas, "I think the struggle is not from without, but from within. The darkness is somehow a part of him."

Aragorn sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, "Well, let us pray the light wins."

The wolf had called to him. He could almost feel it. There had been something bone-chillingly familiar to the mournful call.

The darkness was nearly impenetrable save the bulbous eyes that occasionally shone from the leafy canopy above him but they did not dare to disturb the lone elf's movements for something about him seemed to strike dread into even their evil minds.

The night did not frighten him, and it's creatures likewise, he had spent much of his life in more evil places than Mirkwood, and though he knew of more peaceful places, he found the forest almost comforting, the taint in its beauty providing almost a sense of the familiar and the trees called to his elven roots.

But there was a power in his blood that nothing could touch, save another of his kind or the Valar themselves. Well, he was, in essence, an elf, but there was strange blood in the family and it had manifested itself powerfully in Farlest, as his father before him. There weren't many things that could daunt him any more. No, he thought sadly. He had been through just about everything, and he knew the limits of endurance, and he had a clear idea of what exactly was worth fearing.

It was ironic really, having grown to maturity in such a place as Gondolin, full of light and beauty, that the darkness in Middle-Earth had made itself such a part of his life.

It was this ironic thought that had distracted him, so that as when the wolf appeared he was startled by it.

It was a large creature, with reddish fur and strange blue eyes. He'd never seen a wolf with blue eyes before. The animal cocked its head at the elf and the glance seemed almost condescending, as if it was mocking him for keeping so clumsy a watch. Farlest knelt on one knee, moving down to the wolf's level so as not to frighten it, though he sincerely doubted that anything much could scare such a magnificent creature.

If only he could touch it. It hurt to try and communicate to animals otherwise. Other elves could not, unless it was an elven-bred horse, communicate with animals in such a clear manner. Farlest reached a tentative hand towards the wolf, who stepped forward calmly and rested his chin on the elf's welcoming palm.

Hello Farlest.

The elf jerked back in surprise, "What?" shock was written clearly across his face, he could have sworn the wolf was smirking.

I said hello, the thought entered his mind gently, has it really been so long that you have forgotten me, brother of my heart and friend of the forsaken?

Then Farlest knew. Reaching forward, he wrapped his arms about the wolf's furry neck, "How can this be? You…you're here, and a wolf…but…but… you-"

Are dead? Yes, but now you may put that in past tense, I was dead. And I believe, he raised a paw and eyed it disdainfully, that this is a cross between judgment and a rather annoying prank on the part of the Valar.

"I wouldn't care if they sent you back as a crow!" Farlest grinned at his friend, "You're here, 'Ros, and you're alive."

That I am. Now, I must say that your companions will be quite worried by now.

"I almost forgot about them." Admitted the raven-haired elf, "Whatever shall I tell them?"

They'll take to me all right I think, but we can't tell them everything. And besides that, you and I need to have a chat. There are a few things you need to know about those two.

"Please don't, 'Ros, or I won't be able to keep my conscience clear, you see, I have too-"

I already know what you're up too, you rogue, and you simply cannot do what you planned. There have to be a few minor adjustments.

Farlest scowled, "'Ros, you're interfering again." He shook his finger at the wolf, who appeared to be grinning toothily.

That I am. But we you really don't know their importance, Farlest.

"I don't and I don't care. But…" he paused and longing seemed to pass briefly over his features, "I rather like them, 'Ros, they make me feel rather badly about this whole thing."

That's why we need to talk. 'Ros placed a paw on his friend's knee and gazed up at him. A look that made Farlest rather uncomfortable.

"Now?" Farlest's look was positively pleading.

But his friend's reply was firm, Now.