A/N: The title for this chapter comes from the song Jack and Diane by John Mellencamp. Here's a part of it:

So let it rock
Let it roll
Let the Bible Belt come
And save my soul
Hold on to sixteen as long as you can
Changes come around real soon
Make us women and men

Chorus: Oh yeah, life goes on
Long after the thrill of livin' is gone
Oh yeah, I say, life goes on

Long after the thrill of livin' is gone

"It's beautiful outside today," said Aragorn one morning in the dining hall of the citadel.

"Oh, yes," agreed Arwen with a happy smile as she placed some more strawberries on her plate. "The weather seems to be staying nice. I'm so glad that all of that humidity cleared up before Eldarion's birthday; although I can't say that I'm completely hoping that it will stay this way. If it starts getting all muggy and hot again going into July you two will be more inclined to stay until fall when the weather gets cooler again, will you not my dear brothers?"

"We will stay here for as long as you think that you need our company, Arwen," Elladan promised his sister as he sent a discreet but pointed look Aragorn's way. Despite the guilt that he still felt about the pressures he'd helped put on the Man as a child Elladan had invested too much of himself into being angry with him to just put it aside. Arwen had nothing to do with how Estel was brought up, he told himself repeatedly, and she didn't deserve to be at the receiving end of his quiet resentment.

Aragorn stirred restlessly under his foster brother's glare. He didn't feel like enduring his silent accusations anymore that morning; nor did he desire to sit there quietly while Elladan fussed over and coddled Arwen every time she asked them to stay longer. Did he honestly think that there was anything more to her requests than her innocent selfish belief that the lives of the people that she loved could actually revolve around her? Besides, the children had already gone to their lessons and he had consumed his food in all of five minutes – there was no reason why he should have to stay any longer. "I'm going out," he announced abruptly, practically leaping out of his seat. "I feel like taking a little walk through the city's gardens. I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"Have a pleasant walk, my love," Arwen called after him, getting out the last words just in time before he exited and closed the heavy door behind him.

She was not alarmed by her husband's curt declaration and found nothing suspicious or unusual about his hasty retreat. Aragorn always got like this during the summer, especially around this time of it: restless, preoccupied, and noticeably distracted. Arwen had witnessed this throughout all her years of marriage and had long ago simply assumed that it was at this time of year that her husband missed his life as a ranger the most. High white walls and the life of the formal court of Gondor never really suited Aragorn's personality well. Oh, he tolerated and endured them as best he could for the sake of Gondor and its people but he would never truly love them. In his heart the Man longed for the feel of wild land beneath his feet and wished that he had the freedom to do what he wanted, if only for a little while.

Arwen was only half-correct in her reasoning, although she probably could have easily figured out a little bit more if she had just endured her own pain long enough to really contemplate it. It was true that Aragorn felt more stifled and confined by the prison that most aspects of his life had become when the lands became sunny and warm, but he could do without being a ranger again. It annoyed him at times how his wife romanticized his decades of lonely wandering, hungry days, sleepless nights, and constant apprehension about the servants of the Enemy. No; if Aragorn had his choice he would be neither ranger nor king, but a simple Man living in a peaceful realm, having enough to be comfortable, the freedom to come and go as he pleased, and Legolas always by his side. In that was the true reason why the Man got so melancholy and distracted at that time of year: it was during the summer that he missed Legolas the most.

Summer, while always a meaningful time in their relationship, had become all the more significant ever since the elf vanished. It was around that time of year that Aragorn had laid eyes on his true love – 'for now; only for now, because you will find him again,' he told himself – and so somehow in his mind became the time that he imagined that Legolas would come back. Aragorn let out a long sigh as he stepped into one of Minas Tirith's most lovely gardens; it was six years since Legolas had last walked through that place and he found it easy to imagine the prince suddenly appearing there again, running through the trees and not stopping until he was back in the Man's arms.

It would only be fitting, as they had never before spent more than one summer together. The two had met again in Mirkwood when he'd delivered Gollum there in the season's dying days but he hadn't stayed for even a night before he had to leave again. Their true reunion hadn't happened until the night before the Council of Elrond and by then it had already been fall. Then they had set out with Fellowship during the winter, rekindled their romance in the time between winter and spring, and had been torn apart once more before the summer season had started. That was a tragedy in and of itself in Aragorn's mind, for it was during the summer that he and Legolas had met for the very first time.

O – Flashback – O

Estel Elrondion – not Aragorn son of Arathorn, along with all the other names and painful burdens that went with that moniker, quite yet – rode cautiously through the forest of Mirkwood. He was flanked by two wood-elves who had met him at the forest's borders where he'd bidden his brothers a difficult goodbye but their presence didn't comfort him or make him feel any safer. Not for the first time he wondered what his father could have been thinking when he'd decided that his mortal son should have to spend the summer in the Woodland Realm. While it seemed as of late that nothing that he did was good enough to live up to Elrond's stringent expectations – a fact that pained Estel greatly, though he didn't know how to remedy it – exiling him to a land where it felt like so many different things were hovering around, happy to kill him at a moment's notice, seemed like a cruel punishment to dole out because of it.

Dark, sinister whispers suddenly hissed all around him and Estel couldn't help but feel like it was all threats, all directed at him. For the first time in his life he could hear the trees communicate with each other and while the experience left him awestruck it also scared him to his core, for now he could hear how much they disliked his kind for what they deemed as Man's reckless destruction of the forests of Middle-earth. Or maybe the hisses weren't coming from the trees at all but from the creatures that lived within. They were passing by remnants of gigantic spider webs and these, along with the occasional strange track and what looked like the burnt remains of part of an oversized arachnid, led him to believe that Elladan and Elrohir had not been exaggerating as much as he'd originally thought when they had told him tales about the size of Mirkwood's spiders.

Perhaps none of this would bother him so much if it was his brave, supportive brothers who were making the final part of his journey with him. Why had their father deemed that they should turn back at the edge of the forest once Estel was safely with the wood-elves? Why had the twins readily accepted that without so much as an argument or a plan hatched to defy Elrond without the elf lord knowing it? Now that the young Man thought about it, his brothers had been acting…stricter as of late. They would quietly defend him to Elrond when Estel failed to live up to expectations, but then take him aside and explain to him that he needed to work harder, always harder. Maybe they were disappointed in him too, and that's why they left him with the two wood-elves.

Most uncomfortable of all was the way that Estel could practically feel the disdain that his new travel companions had for him. He'd been warned not to expect an exceptionally warm welcome, but never anything to this extent. The two wood-elves apparently hated having a Man in their land as much as said Man hated being there. Estel drew in a sharp breath when the whispers got particularly loud and then groaned inwardly when the expression on his companions' face grew even more unpleasant. Honestly, what had been so bad about his archery skills that his father had decided that he had to come to that horrible place for special lessons?

"Uh, I beg your pardon," Estel cleared his throat, timidly looking back and forth between the two elves. They both looked back at him with one eyebrow each perfectly arched up to let him know that he was disturbing them. It would have seemed quite comical if the young Man hadn't been in such a dour mood. "I'm sorry; I was just wondering how much farther it is to the settlement."

"It is just around the bend up yonder," one of them – he didn't know which, as neither had bothered to tell him their names when they introduced themselves to his brothers – replied, undercurrents of disapproval in his tone. He pointed ahead to where the path was noticeably turning and shook his head. "We should arrive there soon enough, I trust, even for you."

"You do seem rather impatient," remarked the other wood-elf, speaking to their charge as if he were a child or a simpleton that couldn't understand that he was being talked down to. "But I suppose that I would be impatient myself if I was mortal and only had such a short time to live. Tell me, is impatience a trait that is more or else just an individual one of yours or is it characteristic of all of your kind? I haven't met enough Men to know either way."

"Neither have I," said Estel, feeling very inadequate and ignorant at the moment. "Men come and go in Rivendell at times but they don't stay for very long and I haven't spent a significant enough time with any of them to know for sure anything about what is and isn't characteristic of their – my – race."

"Oh," commented the second elf, and he turned away. Apparently he had no further interest in the young Man if Estel wasn't able to satisfy his passing curiosities about Men.

Estel had never felt more insignificant in his life. He honestly would have felt better if they were openly rude, even spitting on him because then he would have something to brush aside and stand tall against; the backhanded comments, subtleties, and way in which they treated him not as an insult or enemy but an inconvenience was chipping away at his sense of self worth without giving him anything to fight back from. "I'm really grateful that Prince Legolas has agreed to be my archery instructor," he blurted out, desperate for anything say and hoping to remind them – and himself – that he was more than just some mortal Man who'd wandered into the Woodland Realm by accident.

Both elves looked back at him again and Estel felt sweat on his palms. 'You are the son of Elrond as well as a Man,' he reminded himself firmly. 'That should mean something to them.' "I've heard tales about his skills with a bow and arrow," he continued on as he hoped that the burning in his cheeks wasn't visible. "What is he like in person, the prince?"

"He is Prince Legolas Thranduilion, child of King Thranduil Oropherion" said the first elf, stricken by the youth's audacity in asking such a question. "He is of our noble line of kings and a credit to that blood. If that is not good enough for you, then take heart in knowing that he is also the most skilled archer in our realm."

"Nay – in Middle-earth," spoke up the second wood-elf, his eyes flashing. This was obviously a point of contention that the elves were very sensitive about and Estel was very sorry that he ever brought it up. "I know that there are some that dwell in Lothlorien who would claim that honorific for themselves, but they are vain fools."

"Aye, vain fools with fancy bows that do more than half of the work for them," agreed the first elf with a good amount of bitterness. "Prince Legolas could outshoot any one of them with his Mirkwood-make bow; and were he to use a bow of the Galadhrim he would be unstoppable. But that is the Noldor for you; no wood-elf could possibly be good enough to match their skills. Say," he added, suddenly remembering Estel's presence and giving him a suspicious look, "isn't your foster father's wife from Lothlorien?"

Fantastic – they remembered that he was Elrond's son all right, but now they were finding insults to their prince in how his father had been married to a she-elf that had left Middle-earth long before he had been born who happened to be from a realm that the young Man had never been to. "I suppose so," answered Estel, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle and wishing that he were anywhere else but riding between them at the moment. "I never met her. I've never visited Lothlorien either. I have met a few people from there but they were always in a hurry to talk to my adar and never had time to demonstrate their archery skills to me, so I wouldn't know how their archers would compare to the prince" –

"That is not for you to compare," interrupted the first elf sharply. He looked at the young Man as one would look at a pet that had just relieved himself on an important guest's finest garments. "We are not completely ignorant, as some in Rivendell may believe: we are capable of studying all the pieces of a puzzle and coming up with a logical conclusion. Lord Elrond was arrogant enough to all but demand that our prince be your instructor and Prince Legolas found enough cause beside his unfortunate attachment to the lord and his family to agree; so we understand that there is something special about you. But do not believe for one moment that this means anything to our people beyond the fact that now we have to witness our prince being inconvenienced by you when he should be able to put his efforts into tasks that would benefit his own realm and not that of Lord Elrond's."

"You are a guest here, Estel," the other elf saw fit to remind him, "and it is not for a guest to pass judgment on his host without due cause. Consider yourself to be unbelievably fortunate to have this unheard of opportunity to learn from Prince Legolas and do not question whether or not his skills are good enough to make him worthy to be your instructor."

This, of course, was the last thing that Estel was trying to do but he could see no use in telling those elves that – or anything else, for that matter. With his heritage, perceived ties to Lothlorien and real ties to Rivendell, and the way that he would be monopolizing the prince's time they were obviously primed to dislike him and there seemed to be nothing that he could do or say to change that. Oh, was this how things were going to be for the rest of the summer?

A terrible thought came to him: what if the prince turned out to be even worse? After all, if supposed challenges to the prince's reputation got his travel companions so up in arms why would it be any different for Prince Legolas, whose name it was that was perceived to be on the line? Estel could just imagine the prince looking at the Lothlorien-connected, Rivendell-reared Man whom he'd felt obliged to tutor when he didn't want to and despising him. Why couldn't one of the twins have been his instructor instead; they might be increasingly disappointed in how inept he was but at least they also loved him! Why couldn't Elladan or Elrohir just spoken up and spared him from having to come to that wretched forest in the first place?

As Estel was resigning himself to a miserable summer he and the two wood-elves continued to ride, around the bend and beyond until at last they came to the borders of the elvish settlement. Estel had half-expected to see the prince at least out to great him but no one was in sight. Only when they were almost ready to cross into the settlement did an elf spring out from his hiding place to greet them, but his clothing was not fine or fancy enough to be that of a prince. His travel companions reactions was all the confirmation that the young Man needed to know that this was but the guard stationed to watch over the path.

"Mae govannen, my friends," the guard said in response to the elves' salutations, nodding to the more familiar faces before letting his unreadable gaze settle on the newcomer. "Mae govannen, Estel Elrondion, and welcome to Mirkwood."

"Thank you," he said gratefully, happy to at last meet a wood-elf that wasn't treating him like a thorn in the side.

"Seldom do we have visitors in this realm and none of them have been Men since the Last Alliance of Men and elves," the guard went on as if he hadn't said anything. "Ever since the weakness of your race nullified the sacrifices made by our people the king has not seen fit to grant Men leave to come here. You are an exception to that rule, Estel; I trust that you feel most honored."

Apparently that gratitude and happiness had come prematurely. "I do feel honored, thank you," said Estel formally, trying to be as polite as he possibly could. Like it or not, this realm was to be his home for the rest of the summer and if he was going to make it through the next few months with his sanity intact he had better not do anything to give them cause beyond what he couldn't control to dislike him further. "I greatly appreciate the opportunity that your king and prince have graciously offered to me. Uh, may I know where to find King Thranduil and Prince Legolas? I do not wish to disturb them – I understand that they are both busy with the important business of this fine realm – but I would like to pay them my proper respects; and my father and lord had bidden me to greet them on his behalf."

"The king has ordered me to pass along his regrets for not being here but he was called into an unavoidable meeting. He will not be able to official welcome you until later," the guard informed him, bristling a little at the young Man's fawning. If there was one thing that he couldn't stand it was insincerity. "As for Prince Legolas, he too has been delayed, but he made it clear that he will meet you in his own time."

"Thank you," said Estel again, but he really didn't mean it. Prince Legolas would meet him in his own time? The elvish prince sounded insufferable and haughty already, like he wasn't expecting his new pupil to be anything great and so couldn't be bothered with going out of his way to meet him. Estel hadn't even seen his new tutor yet and he was already disappointing him. What was it about him lately that was making him let everybody down?

What he needed was to find some way to impress on Prince Legolas that he was worthy of his time and efforts. Perhaps if he could not do that through his skills he could do so through his dedication to improve. "Do you suppose that it would be all right for me to practice my archery until they are ready to see me?" he asked hopefully. "I would appreciate the chance to brush up my skills as best I can and not unnecessarily waste any more of the prince's time – after I tend to my horse, of course," he added, patting his faithful steed's mane. No matter what else he couldn't neglect his friend's care.

"The archery field is on the way to the stables," one of his travel companions interjected with a put-upon sigh. "I shall show you the way there and then tend to your good beast myself. I imagine that this has been a difficult journey for him out of the valley and through the mountains; he would most likely benefit more from an elf's care now that he could from a mortal's."

Normally Estel would have resented the elf's implication that he was either too clumsy, insensitive, or unskilled to tend to his own horse after a ride harder than a leisurely afternoon stroll but at the moment he could let it pass. After all, he wasn't losing anything from it: his horse would presumably be well taken car of; he could get in a little extra practice and so not dissatisfy the prince further; and he could finally get away from those elves and the way that they condescended to him since Elbereth knew that they didn't respect him any more than they would an empty-headed little elfling.

It felt so strange to be treated like an incompetent child. His father and brothers certainly made it known that he would now have a difficult time earning their respect but that was because they pushed him harder and farther tan what was usually required of people his age (or age-equivalent, as any elf who was twenty-years-old like him would still be in diapers). As Estel mumbled his thanks to the elf who had escorted him to the field before riding off to the stable at a speed that told the young Man that he was just as eager to be rid of him as Estel was to be left alone, the youth wondered bleakly what he could expect from the prince. It probably wouldn't be anything that he was hoping for.

Relieved to at last be alone with his thoughts Estel unbuckled the bow that he'd been carrying around strapped to his back, made sure that it was in proper shooting order, and quickly pulled an arrow out of his quiver. He readied his bow and took aim at one of the large free-standing targets, shooting again and again until the quiver was empty. Then he retrieved the arrows and used them over and over until he lost all track of time.

So focused was he on his practicing that he didn't know how long he'd been at it when a melodic voice spoke up from behind him: "You're not bad for a beginner."

"I'm not a beginner," said Estel in a sour voice. It was one thing to endure the impoliteness of the people that he had to see; it was quite another to put up with someone that was going out of his way to be rude to him without trying to defend himself. "Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell have been my archery tutors for several years now."

"Those two?" the voice asked, clearly amused. "I take that back then; it's rather impressive that you can hit the target at all. You're sure to make an excellent archer once the damage inflicted by their teachings has been undone."

He could tell that the elf speaking to him wasn't being too serious about his criticisms of Elladan and Elrohir's teaching; but still no one had ever before implied that the reasons why he had become so disappointing was their fault instead of his. Intrigued, Estel turned to talk to the interloper and instead lost all ability to speak. The elf standing there was beautiful and, what's more, his kind eyes and admiring smirk made the young Man feel truly welcome for the first time since he'd set foot into the forest. He wondered what the stunning stranger would look like with a pure smile on his face and knew then that he would be happy spending the rest of his life making sure that one came to and stayed on his lips. "Thank you," he replied at length as he tried not to be obvious about his staring.

The elf wasn't as abashed about staring as he was, remaining quiet for several moments as he carefully studied the visitor to his realm. Only when Estel's growing discomfort became visible did he cease his scrutiny. "Forgive me," the elf requested- unnecessarily, of course, as Estel couldn't imagine ever being angry enough at him that such an appeal would be needed or rejected. "It's just that I've never seen a Man up close before. I've seen pictures, but pictures can never really do justice to what they're depicting, don't you think? I guess you really do have beards, huh?"

He shook his head and graced Estel with the one thing that he wanted to see more than anything else: a wide, genuine, and welcoming smile. "You're Estel Elrondion, correct?" the elf asked. The young Man nodded wordlessly. "I see that you're getting in a little practice before your official lessons begin."

"Yes; I wanted to make sure that I am at my peak performance level by the time of my first lesson," replied Estel, looking down at the bow in his hands – he was glad that he had that to hold on to so that he wasn't wringing them nervously – and then let his gaze shift back up to the elf's face. His new companion was watching him with a somewhat amused expression, as if he expected the young Man to say something more to him; however, Estel could only think of one thing to say. "May I ask who you are?"

"Yes you may, and I'll even give you an answer: I'm one of Mirkwood's archery instructors," the elf informed him casually, though there was a strange spark in his eyes. "I guess that means that you and I will be seeing a lot of each other."

"I'm afraid not," responded Estel regretfully. Damn! If he did have to spend his summer there why couldn't he have selected his own tutor instead of having his father insist on choosing one for him? "My adar has already arraigned for Prince Legolas to be my instructor and I was not given the impression that he would be sharing that task with anyone else."

"You're stuck with Prince Legolas exclusively?" the elf clicked his tongue sympathetically. "You poor thing."

Estel looked at him in alarm. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, trying not to sound like he was unnerved. "From everything that I've heard I should count myself blessed to have him as a tutor."

"Between you and me, you shouldn't believe that," confided the elf earnestly. "The prince isn't nearly as talented as people continually gush on and on about. And take it from me, he's an ornery and difficult tutor to boot. Oh, don't get me wrong, young Elrondion, he is a fair one too. He would never ask his pupils to do anything that he wouldn't do himself – but he is notorious for continuing to practice long after his fingers start to bleed; and he doesn't understand why others don't want to endure that level of self-abuse in order to improve."

"Fingers…bleeding?" repeated Estel faintly, unknowingly running his thumbs up and down each finger. He could almost feel the stinging pain and sticky moisture of the blood. "But why" –

"Greetings," the elf who had taken off to the stables with Estel's horse reappeared. The young Man was stunned when a respectful bow accompanied his salutation. "I just thought that you would want to know that your horse has been tended to, adan. Prince Legolas, I see you've already met our guest."

"We were just getting better acquainted," the instructor told him lightly as he placed a friendly hand on Estel's shoulder. "Thank you for your labors on my guest's behalf; you may now go about your business."

The young Man's eyes were wide as the other elf bowed once more and left. The respect had not been meant for him but for the beautiful, nice elf… the other elf's prince…. "You're Prince Legolas?" he asked, feeling quite foolish.

"Indeed I am," confirmed Prince Legolas with a pleased smile, clearly happy that it had taken him so long to figure that out.

Estel had absolutely no idea what to say next. "So," he fumbled awkwardly for words. "You say that the prince isn't as good as people claim he is?"

"Of course I'm not that good – if I started to believe all of that my head would swell so much that I wouldn't be able to get my clothing on in the morning," scoffed Prince Legolas good-naturedly. His enthusiastic expression dimmed somewhat, much to Estel's chagrin. "I didn't just put you off with all that teasing, did I? I couldn't help myself, especially after I figured out that you had no idea who I was. Don't worry about insulting me if you're finding me difficult to like – I've been told more than once that I have a personality that takes time to get used to."

"Oh no," said Estel quickly and not only because he longed to see the prince's face light up again. He knew that the elf hadn't been cruel in his teasing and it seemed to the young Man that he'd simply been treating him as he would anyone else. "Although that part about the blood was a bit much. Is it true?"

"Aye – but it's only happened once," replied Legolas, quick to point out that mitigating factor when Estel looked at him with clear distress. "I was trying to perfect that shot where you use one arrow to split another one in half; which I did manage to do. Afterwards Ada took one look at my hands and threatened to burn all of my bows and lock me in the cellar until the world ends if I ever 'tortured' myself like that again."

"You won't be expecting me to do that, then," said Estel.

The prince wrinkled his brow. "I don't expect anything from you, Estel, beyond your best effort and the usual things like getting to practice on time with all of your equipment," he told him. The young Man suddenly felt as if a great weight had been removed from his shoulders. "You do your best and don't be an insufferable snot and we'll get along just fine."

"Deal," said Estel with an exaggerated shudder. He peered over at his new tutor and gave him a lopsided grin. "Not that it would have come down to me practicing for that amount of time. I would have been done long before the blood began to flow."

"So either you are exceptionally cocky about your skills, afraid of a little hard work, or else I've finally found myself a worthy verbal sparring partner," noted Prince Legolas. He eyed Estel and apparently liked what he saw in the young Man because he smiled brilliantly at him. "This will prove to be a very interesting summer. I'm looking forward to it."

Estel's heart fluttered. "As am I, Prince Legolas."

"Legolas," the prince – Legolas – corrected him. "The rest of the children of Elrond don't use my title; why should you be any different? You may call me Legolas, Estel."

O – End Flashback – O

"Estel?" a voice jarred the Man out of his happy memories.

Aragorn blinked rapidly, cursing under his breath as he pulled himself into the present. "What is it?" he asked wearily, turning to face his intruder.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," apologized Elrohir kindly. He couldn't help but notice the stress that his younger brother had obviously been dealing with for months now and he regretted that he couldn't just leave him alone when he was finally relaxing. "Lord Faramir just arrived at the citadel. He says that he must speak to you at once about a personal matter."

"All right," said Aragorn, forcing a joking smile onto his face as he fell into step beside the elf lord. "I suppose that I've had enough peace and quiet for one day."

He'd meant to make Elrohir chuckle but instead the elf looked decidedly uncomfortable. Now didn't seem like quite the right time to bring this up but he could see through the Man's light-hearted façade; and he found that he could not look directly into the unhappiness there and hold his tongue. "Estel, I" – he grimaced and began again. "I've been watching how you're doing for awhile now and it's plain to see that things aren't as they once were between you and Elladan."

True – Aragorn's relationship with Elladan had been strained since the elf had confronted him at Solstice. Elladan was displeased with how he refused to try to put the past behind him and Aragorn cared just enough about how he felt about him to resent Elladan's continuing assumption that he and not Aragorn knew what was best for the Man. "He's not happy with me," he responded vaguely.

"He's not happy with a lot of people," Elrohir blurted out, stopping short and grabbing the Man's arm so that he would do the same. "Estel, I know he said something to you at Solstice about giving up your search for Legolas; but that's only because he's very angry at Legolas for vanishing like that. I think Elladan sees him as the first of many people he loves who has abandoned him in the last few years; then Ada, Grandmother, Grandfather, and Gandalf took the ships; and even you and Arwen moved here and away from him."

"I don't think it's the same," said Aragorn quietly.

"It's not just you, Estel," insisted Elrohir. "Elladan's been acting like this since a little bit after Ada left, muttering to himself about Legolas, Ada, you, and Arwen when he thinks that I don't see it." He put a friendly arm on Aragorn's shoulder. "What I'm trying to say, Estel, is – well, remember that you have more than one brother."

"I will," Aragorn assured him, surprising them both by embracing Elrohir like he used to before he knew that he was Isildur's heir. It felt so nice to have the love and support of someone whom he actually wanted those things from. "I will, thank you."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A very harried-looking Faramir was pacing to and fro across the dining hall when Aragorn and Elrohir entered. Arwen and Elladan, looking at the frenzied Man with concern, seemed relieved to see the king come back; and Faramir was doubly so. "My king," said the steward, spring forward anxiously. "I'm afraid that I must ask for your leave to go to Edoras at once."

"You have it, but why do you need it so suddenly?" asked Aragorn worriedly. "Is something wrong with Eomer?"

"He's getting married," replied Faramir. He grimly regarded the responding shocked gasp from his liege lord. "I see that you weren't aware of or expecting this either."

"It's been several month since I've heard from him in anything but an official capacity," said Aragorn, trying to wrap his mind around the news. "I didn't know that he was involved with anyone at all, let alone on such a level that he was considering getting married."

"Don't feel too bad; Eowyn didn't even know that he was involved with anybody," Faramir told him and everyone else in there, looking very tired as he remembered his wife reaction to the news. "Then a little over a week ago this messenger from Rohan came with a letter from Eomer saying that he was getting married. He didn't even say who this person is or anything about when and how they met. Needless to say, she left with the messenger to get to her brother as soon as possible and try to make sense of all of this. I couldn't go with her; I had to set things in order in Ithilien and now I'm here. I hope that you understand."

"Yes, of course I understand," agreed Aragorn without hesitation. "Wow; I can't believe that he would do anything like this. Eomer is usually so grounded."

So shocked was he that Aragorn almost missed the knocking on the dining hall door. "Enter!" he called.

A young Man – an errand runner of the city – opened the door and peered inside. "My king, my queen, good lords," he said, bowing properly. Then he straightened up and stuck out his hands to reveal that he was brandishing two messages in each one. "A messenger from Rohan just dropped these off at the gates with his apologies for having to leave before he could deliver them himself."

"I take it those are to me from his king," said Aragorn, gesturing to the rolled up pieces of parchment.

"Kind of," replied the errand runner, looking a little perplexed. "It was quite odd, my king; the messenger asked if the lords Elladan and Elrohir were still visiting. When I told him yes he said something about their messages that were sent to Rivendell not being able to reach them in time. I didn't understand what he meant and he didn't explain; he simply told me that both this one that is personal in nature and this one that is an official announcement is for them as well as for you and the queen."

"That's unusual," said Aragorn, taking the one that the young Man had indicate to be the personal one from him but leaving the official one – presumably the wedding invitation – with him. Perhaps it wasn't so strange that the twins would receive an invitation, as they were rulers in their own right, but the Man was at a loss to explain why Eomer would be sending them anything personal. "This will hopefully be enlightening. Well, let's get the business out of the way first; young Man, please read the invitation – the official message there – out loud so that we all may hear it since it's for all of us."

Breaking the Rohirric royal seal and unrolling the parchment the errand runner cleared his throat. "Good people of Middle-earth," he read formally. "It is with great honor and pride that the kingdom of Rohan announces that on the fifth day of July" –

"My, that's a little less than two weeks away!" exclaimed Arwen.

-"King Eomer Eadig of Rohan will be married to" –

Elladan and Arwen rose to their feet and all five of the people in the hall gathered together, staring half expectantly and half in horror when the errand runner let out a strangled choke. "Well,who is it?" demanded Aragorn.

No wonder the messenger – had – to leave! "To…Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Eryn Lasgalan," the young Man stammered, his cheeks ablaze. He dared not look up but he heard the queen's shocked cry, the sharp intakes of breath all around him, and eyes that he somehow knew were his king's burning a hole into him. "You are cordially invited to attend."

To be continued…

A/N: Taking some more inspiriation from Tolkien, I've decided to write 1-2 appendices for this story once I've reached the end (which will come between chapters 35 and 40; although I don't see it lasting as long as 40 chapters). The guaranteed appendix will be the hobbits' reactions to Legolas contacting them; I do want to include that in this somehow but adding it to the main text would break the momentum of the story. Whether or not I add a second one will depend on where I decide to end the story.