ARGH! I'm an idiot, and I removed my story, thus losing the reviews, in the process of trying to edit the first two chapters (such small stuff also!) Oh well… Its all reposted now…

Anyway, once again, I have to thank the reviewers! You guys are so encouraging! Honestly, I really didn't know what I was getting into when I first started writing this – I just had so many scenes in my head that I had to get out. Anyway, I know you guys like elvish humor, and I tried to get some of that in, but there is also quite a large bit of angst in this…. (Life's not all fun and games, right? ;)

Messages, Stories, and Archery Lessons

With a soft thud, the colossal wooden doors swung shut, leaving Aragorn and Legolas alone in the dimly lit passages.  The murky, flickering light contrasted with the bright radiance that warmed the throne room and Aragorn's eyes took a moment to adjust. His ears also found that sound traveled quite differently in the narrow, cramped corridors than in the capacious room from which they emerged. Melodious voices sounded distant and hollow though they were just around the corner.

 "And so we are excluded from the noble council of those higher than us, it seems," Aragorn murmured, slightly taken aback at how the resonance of his voice changed in these new surroundings.

Disappointment momentarily crossed the human's face at the thought of being shunned by Gandalf, but he knew the wizard meant no insult to him.  Besides, surely Gandalf would inform him later of all that had passed between himself and Thranduil.  The ranger had a notion of the matters that plagued the pair's minds - Gandalf was concerned about the growing threat of the shadow, despite Saruman's assurances that the One Ring had passed to the Sea and clearly the woodland King was not exactly comforted by the darkness overtaking Mirkwood either. Any specific concerns the two shared however, for now remained elusive. His eyes turned on the pale haired elf at his side.

"Aye, so it seems Aragorn.  Let the sages confer on our troubles and we instead can chase the sun. By the time we return, perhaps they will decide to include us," though his words were lighthearted, Legolas's voice, laced with sarcasm, betrayed his frustration. Does my father believe this shadow does not affect me as well?

"Well, I don't know about the sun, but there is much I desire to see of Mirkwood," the ranger laughed, relieved the elf too was annoyed at being eschewed.

"And there is much to set eyes on in Mirkwood! But first there is something of great importance I must have you deliver for me to Imladris."

His good humor restored, Legolas sprightly leapt ahead with Aragorn springing close behind. Once again, they passed through multiple elaborate passages, weaving in and out of the torches' glow.  Though Aragorn wondered how one could ever find their way through the entwining halls, Legolas reflexively strolled through them with an ingrained knowledge of their direction like a bird that always knows which way is south.

Finally, after climbing some flights of stairs and heading down more halls, they reached a door on the other side of which was a small room, furnished with a large ebony bed and dressers also carved out of the fine wood. The area was compulsively neat, with various colorful paintings, knives and swords hanging carefully on the wall. A few knick-knacks – carvings, figurines, jewels, and boxes occupied the surfaces of the dressers. Vines and small plants also graced the walls and furnishings of the room.  Aragorn assumed this to be Legolas's room.

Legolas purposefully strode straight towards a night table where he opened a small box adorned with elvish symbols and pulled something out of it.  Unsmiling and with a solemn look in his eyes, as if concealed in his grip was the One Ring itself, Legolas turned to face Aragorn. He did not speak right away, allowing the silence to testify to the great importance of the urgent task he was about to drop upon the ranger's shoulders.  Aragorn's face too drew serious. His eyes hardened and his body stiffened in an automatic reaction to any grave duty that was about to be bestowed on him. Finally, the elf reached out and grabbed Aragorn's hand, stretching out his fingers so that the palm was open. As he held the ranger's eyes firmly with his own, he laid his other hand on top of Aragorn's, dropping its contents into the outstretched palm. He then closed Aragorn's fingers around it and continued to grasp his fist, still binding Aragorn's gaze to his own.

"I trust you will deliver this successfully to Masters Elrohir and Elladan," the elf articulated, sounding very much like Lord Elrond when he entrusted one of his children with a serious task. 

Aragorn raised his eyebrows at this. Elladan and Elrohir? He certainly was not expecting his wily twin foster brothers to be the recipients of whatever it was Legolas wanted him to deliver. He cocked his head and released his stare from Legolas's, redirecting his eyes to his clenched fist. Slowly, he stretched open his hand, revealing the mysterious object in his palm.

Aragorn blinked. His brows furrowed in confusion and he blinked again. His head snapped up at the elf, who still wore the same grave expression, and Aragorn looked back down at his hand. He then looked up again, this time catching the amusement dancing in the blue elvish orbs and the smirk growing on the elf's lips. Aragorn decided to put his confusion into words. Or at least try to….

"What….," was all his baffled mind would allow him to verbalize. 

But even if the human could think of a more eloquent question, Legolas was quick to interrupt.

"Tell Elladan and Elrohir, my rise to power has begun and soon I will reign over the Misty Mountains for I have solved the riddle of how dwarves reproduce and I have in fact begun to breed my own. The object I send with you is proof of this great feat."

The elf was obviously referencing an old tale that dwarves sprang out of the rocks. Aragorn's eyes widened slightly as he fell into a deepening state of confusion. Again his eyes darted to the object in his hand. Indeed, this was not the One Ring or palantir or any other object of great importance, but a small stone figure of a dwarf. It was meticulously carved out of granite, and a ridiculous, lopsided grin was painted on the miniature face, along with crazed, bulging eyes. Had Aragorn been but a child, he truly believed the dwarf would have given him nightmares should he come across it in the darkness of night, gazing upon him with that ominous smile and wide-open eyes.  Aragorn glanced up once more at Legolas and his mouth opened to speak, but once again, he was at a complete loss for words. I do not think I really want to know anyway… He shook his head, imagining the delivery of this rather bizarre message and statuette to his brothers. Surely, they would understand of course, being a part of whatever twisted inside joke this was. They'll probably send me back with hobbits made of straw, with a message that they will soon be sovereigns over the Halflings. Ai… Elves….

Legolas chuckled at the human's bewilderment and grasped his shoulder.

"Come, now I will show you my home."

Aragorn nodded and dropped the figure into his pocket, proceeding out into the hallway on the heels of Legolas.

Their first stop was an elongated room, with an oval table, gilded with gold and surrounded by many elegant chairs with tall backs, ornamented with small jewels. On the wall were various murals laced with gold of elvish legends, both real and mythological. Glass cabinets housed spectacular jewels, including figurines carved out of diamonds and emeralds, holding globes of pearl and turquoise, and brilliant gold plated crowns. The head chair at the table had one very large sapphire embedded in the top and intricate gold designs embellishing the arms and back.  An ostentatious crystal chandelier swung over the table and extravagant candelabras provided additional light. Honestly, Aragorn found the motif to be rather garish, and preferred the natural beauty of the throne room, but he was still impressed.  Legolas's eyes wondered about the room, showing no sign of pride at the excessive ornamentation.

"This is my father's main council room… As you can see he enjoys showing off his collection of jewels…." The words were bitter on Legolas's tongue. The elf disdained his father's obsession with precious stones and his desire to ostensibly display them like this, knowing full well the intent was to awe with his riches whomever it was he was negotiating with. To Legolas, the idea was utterly pointless, as was this whole obsession with jewels in the first place.

"I take it you disapprove then of your father's collection?" the ranger queried, gazing at Legolas out of the corner of his eye.

"Let's just say they have caused more problems than they are worth. I often wish that my father had taken up weaving or gardening as a hobby instead. Our lives would be so much more peaceful..." Legolas sighed wistfully.

Aragorn grinned at the fleeting image he had of the formidable elf king weaving delicate tapestries or growing tomatoes in his own little square garden.

"Unfortunately it is our parents who raise us and not the other way around," the ranger replied.

"Aye, I wish not to raise him, only that he would listen to me from time to time. But come," and again Legolas turned, leading Aragorn to the library.

The library was a round room, with tall shelves boasting an extensive collection of dusty books, withered parchments, and ancient scrolls.  Aragorn scanned the titles until one caught his eye - The Annals of King Oropher. Carefully, he pulled it out and began flipping through the weathered pages, skimming its contents with a keen interest.

Meanwhile, Legolas lightly hopped to the top of a beautiful table made of birch wood, and from there to the head of a velvet armchair, and from there to a shelf to yet another shelf. The elf continued to nimbly climb up the shelves until he reached the top, where he shuffled through a pile of old books and parchments.  Apparently the border between furniture and trees was indistinguishable to a wood elf, and Legolas had no qualms about flouncing upon the fine upholstery in order to reach his destination.  Had Aragorn or his brothers attempted such a stunt in Rivendell, Lord Elrond surely would have burst a couple of veins in his forehead at the sight of feet that had previously trodden on Elbereth-knows what filth, tramping on his beautiful furniture.

"Ah… here it is. Aragorn, I have something that may be of some interest to you," the elf called down from atop his perch. He then sat cross-legged, patiently waiting for the ranger to join him.

Aragorn calmly looked up from his reading. "You will have to return to the ground then Master Elf, for I am no wood elf and I care not to break my neck while attempting to climb up to meet you."

Legolas blinked before the words sunk in a moment later. He had grown up surrounded by wood elves, all of whom took their climbing skills for granted. Only on rare occasions did he encounter creatures that did not possess the agility of the elves. Thus, for Aragorn to point out that he could not so easily climb the towering shelves was like someone telling him they knew not how to walk on flat ground.

"Forgive me lord ranger – as my father said, you are so elvish in your ways, it is easy to forget you are merely a human," Legolas said as he noiselessly made his way back down.

When he reached the ground, Aragorn put down his book and pointedly looked at the elf.

"Merely a human, I may be, but at least I know my limits, Master Elf."

Legolas cocked an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting I don't?"

 "Well, I know better than to challenge a wizard," Aragorn stated simply, smirking at the look of innocence that the elf somehow mustered on his fair face.

Legolas shrugged nonchalantly and walked towards a small round table to show Aragorn the book he was carrying.

"I know not what you speak of Aragorn. I did nothing of the sort," he flippantly replied as he beckoned Aragorn to look at the book.

The House of Elendil. Aragorn frowned slightly when he read the title and his frown deepened as he opened the book.

"These are all the tales of your ancestors Aragorn… I have read them before, they are quite fascinating indeed…"

Before the elf could finish, Aragorn shut the book and laid it back down the table.

"I have no need to be reminded of my ancestor's tales," he said curtly as he returned to the book on Oropher.

Legolas eyed the ranger closely, stunned by this reaction. He is ashamed. Well, that is a story for another time then. Though Legolas was curious to delve deeper into Aragorn's thoughts and fears about his past and his future, he decided now was not the time to irk the ranger further, not when they had only just met a few hours ago. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something else that might interest Aragorn. There were plenty of legends and chronicles of Kings, both of Mirkwood and other elven realms, detailed studies of healing techniques, chronicles of the other races – hobbits, dwarves, humans, and even the dark races of goblins and trolls - and numerous fictional elvish tales. He glanced back at Aragorn, who appeared to be absorbed in the tales of Oropher.

"He was my grandfather you know."

Aragorn looked up, his prior irritation completely gone from his eyes.        

"Aye… I did know," he said softly.

Legolas searched around the room again, not much in the mood right now to elaborate on the tales Aragorn was currently encountering in the voluminous book. Of course he knew all the tales, both written and unwritten, about his grandfather by heart. But if he began to tell them now, he feared he may find himself unable to stop and he had yet to show Aragorn the best part of Mirkwood (in his own opinion that is) besides Thranduil's throne room– the archery grounds.  Finally Legolas' eyes rested upon something he thought might pique the ranger's interest. A map.

Legolas allowed Aragorn to finish reading before he brought the map to his attention. Several long minutes passed before the ranger finally set down the book and looked up at the elf who was watching him pensively. Had he not known better, he would have been rather disconcerted by the elf's watchful interest in him, but he knew Legolas meant no harm, discomfort or insult. When the elf saw that Aragorn had finished reading, he set the map down and again motioned for Aragorn to take a look.

"I doubt Mithrandir took the trouble to show you any maps of Mirkwood before escorting you here, so I thought you might take some interest in seeing where it was you had traveled."

Aragorn studied the map intently. Legolas was right – Gandalf had not shown him any map indicating where he was being taken, though he had inquired.

 'Map? Pah! I have traveled these trails more times in my years than a hobbit thinks of food in a lifetime. And you, young Dunadan, must learn to find your way around without foolish, outdated maps. You must use your instincts, Aragorn! Let your nose lead the way if you must!'

Of course, he had seen maps of Middle Earth and of Mirkwood before, but this particular one interested him since it was created by the Mirkwood elves themselves.  On it, the elves had marked down all the major battles they had been involved in with detailed dates and names of the leaders involved. Also illustrated on the map were the coming Oropher and his small following of Sindar elves. Finally, Aragorn noted a series of lines, starting at the edge of the forest and continuing towards the wood elves' dwelling. Next to the lines were dates.

"These lines…"Aragorn began, pointing at the map, "they show how far the shadow has spread?"

"Aye they indeed show the movement of the shadow over the years. They're not fully representative of course, since no solid wall divides the shadow from non-shadow. But they do show a rough estimation of how it has grown," Legolas answered, his voice saddening at the last part of his statement.

Aragorn unconsciously traced with his finger each line up to the very last one which disturbingly looked a little too close to the halls of the woodland king.

"Whatever it is Gandalf and Thranduil are currently discussing, we better hope they will have some success in formulating a plan against this," he muttered. 

Legolas nodded in agreement and peered over Aragorn's shoulder.

Suddenly, Legolas' reluctance to tell the tales of his people fled him.

"Would you like to hear of the other stories told in this map?" the elf asked."For Mirkwood is more than just a land taken by shadow."

Aragorn turned and nodded, his eyes revealing a sincere curiosity.

Legolas then moved beside him and proceeded to gracefully point to various spots on the map, narrating each with either a tale of battle or one detailing the arrival of the first elf lords. There were the great battles of course – the War of the Last Alliance for example – but there were also numerous, valiant fights against evil by lesser known elves – ones that sacrificed themselves for their lovers or children, or fought a band of orcs with nothing more than a small knife to save their home. The more the evil threatened them, the fiercer the elves fought, with whatever weapons they had at their disposal, though they could only hold back the shadow for so long. Legolas's voice was musical and comforting, and Aragorn found himself lulled by the enchantment of these elvish tales (always best when told by an actual elf, for only the first-born have the mystical power to make both the mirth and melancholy of their stories penetrate the listener's soul).  Aragorn's mind absorbed every word uttered by Legolas, storing them so that one day he too could pass on these tales to one willing to listen.

One tale stood out, for Legolas' voice, though stable, softened considerably and took on an entirely different tone. His eyes darkened as they rested upon the spot where it had supposedly taken place. The tale was one of two brothers that hunted on the outskirts of Mirkwood, nearly 1900 years ago, when Dol Guldur was made a stronghold by what was thought to be the Nazgul.  The brothers, born in the Second Age, were two of the finest warriors in Mirkwood, though, much to their father's distress, they were known for allowing their fiery stubbornness to drag them into situations that were clearly over their heads. The brothers came from a rather large family – they had two younger brothers, an older one, and a younger sister. But since they were closest in age – only fifty years apart - they spent nearly all their days and nights together in lessons, play, and mischief-making, thus developing a bond that could not be broken with the strongest of weapons or the farthest of distances. One could never be found without the other.

As they were hunting, an icy chill suddenly replaced the warm summer breeze, and a stifling darkness fell over them as the sun abruptly disappeared into a midnight sky, though it was still early afternoon. They then heard an ear-splitting wail. The cry was so terrible it seemed as if it had fingers reaching into them, scratching and grating at their throats and in their chests, reaching down through their trembling arms and legs, to every limb in their body, poisoning their veins and causing their hearts to swell in fear. Like a serpent, it tantalizingly wrapped around their minds, taunting them and satiating their heads with foul, sinister thoughts, choking their very souls. One brother collapsed to his knees, his nails tearing at his face, his hair, his ears, struggling to stop the cry and to rip out the burning iciness than froze his insides. The other, older brother grappled with his own pain, but because he was somehow less affected by the horrible evil that befell them, he strove to help his other half. But nothing seemed to mollify the heaving, retching elf as he continued to tear at himself, now drawing blood from his wrists and face.

Finally, the cry stopped. A suffocating, heavy silence fell over them. The younger brother lay deathly still on the ground, his face a sickly shade of gray and coated with tiny beads of sweat, eyes squeezed shut.  But before the older one could examine him, a dark, cloaked figure suddenly appeared before them. The older brother's limbs became heavy as if they were trying to run through water. His entire body remained rooted to the ground, petrified, and despite his struggles, the only sound he could make was the terrified scream in his mind. The hooded figure slowly glided towards them, like a snake slithering towards its cornered prey. As the creature approached, the older brother could see and feel its misty, haggard breath. At last it halted and the deafening silence now seemed worse than the cry, as the creature stood patiently still, watching with unseen eyes. A cloud of breath flowed from the abysmal darkness hidden beneath the hood, its light sigh the only sound to break the silence. It let out another breath. A bony hand then slowly reached into its cloak and gradually pulled out a long, jagged sword. Time moved in slow motion as the sword was raised above its head. As the older elf finally found his voice to let out a blood curdling scream, the figure swiftly stabbed his supine brother not far from his heart.

The stab released the older brother from his spell and he ripped his feet from whatever force it was that held him down. In a passionate, deranged fury, he tackled the creature.  Despite his frenzied, determined efforts, the creature proved to be a slippery, impossible foe to hold down and eventually it slid from his grip, striking the side of the elf with the butt of his sword, and then mercilessly hitting him again in the stomach. The elf withered to the ground, bent over in pain, but the creature chose not to finish off his opponent. Instead, for cruel reasons that were yet to reveal themselves, the figure disappeared, leaving the elf on his knees with the feeling that he was drowning as he desperately grasped for breath. Suddenly, the darkness lifted, and the warm breeze returned, like a swift summer storm that rapidly dissipated leaving in its wake a fresh, blue sky.

When finally the elf overcame the searing pain in his side, he moved towards his brother who still lay prone on the ground. Tearfully, he turned him over, and to his great surprise, his brother's blue eyes were wide open and his chest rose in a slow, but steady breath.  The elf was too overjoyed by this to realize that it would be impossible for any being to survive such a wound and something must have been amiss. Indeed, his relief was tragically short lived. For a moment later his brother let out an agonizing scream and his eyes darted about wildly not looking at anything in particular, but still desperately searching for something. The older elf tried to cradle his brother – he tenderly stroked his drenched, matted hair, held tightly to his balmy hands and spoke soothing words to ease his brother's pain. But despite his efforts, the elf only continued to wail, his eyes all the while searching. Then, miraculously, the older elf made contact with his younger brother. As he gently held the elf's pallid face in his trembling hands, their eyes met and the younger elf was momentarily subdued. But the hollow words that replaced the screams ripped apart the other elf's heart.

"You must end this. You cannot let me become this," the elf begged, his voice so weak and raspy, it barely rose above a hoarse whisper.

"We will, my brother, we will. I will take you home. We will heal you, I swear it on my life. Father will of course have both our heads anyway for wandering out so far, but you will be ok, I swear it, I swear brother…I will take on this sickness that ails you myself if that is what it takes."

"No! No, you don't understand, it will be too late and it will be for naught, my brother, it will be for naught…" the younger elf gasped and pleaded. His eyes glazed over, becoming vacuous orbs. He retched as his entire body erupted in powerful spasms. Then, in a sudden burst of strength, he tore himself from his brother's grasp, causing him to fall back.  His hand bolted for a knife, which during the older one's struggle with the hooded creature, had fallen to the ground. As the suffering elf grabbed the knife, his brother wrestled him down, but crumbled in shock when his younger brother dug and twisted the knife into his shoulder. The brothers' eyes locked again, one pair tearful and wide in fright, the other empty and black like two bottomless pits. But the two pits flashed, and for no more time than a single twinkle of a star, a mournful blue light glimmered, expressing in that moment more than could be expressed in a lifetime of sorrow and regret. The elf pulled the knife from his brother's shoulder. Then the eyes went blank as he collapsed in a pool of crimson blood after driving the sharp edge into the heart that the creature had cruelly missed. Neither a scream nor a shudder would pass from the elf ever again.

The older brother howled in agony. He shakily held onto his brother's body, oblivious to the blood soaking his clothes and unable to even bear the thought of ever letting go. He had known no other life than the one he shared with his brother. Horrible guilt wreaked havoc on his battered soul - guilt at not stopping the creature from stabbing his brother, not being able to kill it afterwards to avenge his brother, guilt for not being the one chosen to face this awful fate in the first place, guilt for the moment of infinite sorrow he saw in his brother's eyes before he ended his life. Forgive me, my brother, please… forgive me…too many seasons that have yet to come you will now never see…Ai! I cannot bear to face them alone! How could he continue with his life, his eternal life, without his brother, his other half, at his side, always laughing and scheming? How could he ever forgive himself for allowing this to happen, for the sorrow, the horrible sorrow he saw in those once glittering eyes? It is said an elf could die of heartbreak. This elf's heart shattered into a thousand pieces that day, and within minutes, his soul left for the Halls of Mandos, to join his brother in an eternal peace.

How was this story known in such detail? Alas, because the brothers were not alone. Their younger sister had followed them, tagging along so that she could learn of where her brothers constantly traveled, always leaving her behind despite her whines and protests. She witnessed the entire hideous struggle, hidden high in the branches of a stout oak, but her terror would not permit her small body to move. After her two brothers departed from this world, she sprinted home, hysterical with fear and grief, to tell her parents of all that had happened. The mournful sadness that ensued proved to be too much for the young elf and her mother to bear, but because their bodies did not release their souls to depart for the Halls of Mandos, they instead sailed West. The oldest brother soon followed them, having heard the sea long ago, and not being able to handle both its calling and the grief that consumed him. Left behind were the two youngest brothers and a father to carry on with their lives and duties under the looming, heavy, relentless shadow of loneliness and sorrow, in addition to the strengthening one growing out of Barad-dur.

***

Legolas did not expect to be recounting the innumerable Mirkwood tales when he began his tour of the palace with Aragorn.  But as he predicted, he had no control over the deluge of stories when he saw how sincerely interested Aragorn was in the map's illustrations. For reasons that could only be known by fate, Legolas felt the inexplicable and unyielding desire to teach the eager ranger all there was to know about Mirkwood and to share with him his people's experiences, both tragic and joyous.  Perhaps it was due to the way Aragorn immediately and wholly showed interest and concern about the fate of a people and home that was not even his own. The future king indeed was wise enough to see that whatever disease infects one corner of Middle Earth will soon spread until all the world is ailing and thus the struggles of one people could not disregarded.

Such a quality is rare among any race – to sympathize with the plights of other people of cultures alien to one's own. It is far easier for most to retreat into the comfort of a familiar, sheltered existence, denying that another's troubles could soon become theirs. Aragorn was part of the rare few who not only sympathized with another's troubles, but cared more about them than his own – regardless of whether those troubles belonged to an elf of Imladris or one of Mirkwood or a human of Gondor or one of Rohan. Aragorn did not have to think twice about sacrificing his own well-being if he thought that by doing so, he would be assuaging another people's woes.  Legolas sensed this and as a result, the Dunadan had secured the respect and admiration of the elf. Whether he realizes it or not, fate has already determined he shall be king, for how else can one explain her decision to grant him with such a selfless soul, the elf thought.

After an hour, (or perhaps it was two or three? Aragorn did not know, for long ago had he lost track of time) Legolas described the last battle shown on the map and fell silent, his hands falling to his sides. "Thank you mellonin," Aragorn broke the silence reluctantly, not wishing to undo the enchantment generated by Legolas's stories. The elf looked up and smiled, not completely without sadness. He put away the map and strolled towards the door.

"Would you care to see the archery grounds now Aragorn?"

The ranger raised an eyebrow. "Need you even ask?"

***

"I should like to see how you fare with a bow and arrow.  I presume Elladan and Elrohir were your tutors – a shame of course, but perhaps despite their clumsy efforts, you gained an inkling of skill," Legolas said as the two emerged from the caverns into the late afternoon sun.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, but his mouth twitched. "I do not know how my skills compare to your own, Master Archer, but I assure you they are to be reckoned with. A sword however, is the weapon of choice for me."

"Yes, well one must resort to the sword when one does not have the skills to fend off the enemy from afar with his arrows."

"Or if one chooses to face his enemy in an ultimate contest of agility and wits," Aragorn pointed out.

"A foolish act of pride indeed, human." Legolas retorted.

A smug smile developed on the rangers face. "I do believe, Master Elf of the woodland realm, that you are purposely belittling the skill and grace of a swordsman because you lack such skills with the sword yourself."

Now Legolas turned, his eyebrows as high as they could reach into his forehead, as if Aragorn's statement were the most absurd, most incredulous, most utterly ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his thousands of years on Middle Earth.

"You know not what you speak of Master Ranger! My skills with the sword are unprecedented. I could slice off the tongue of a troll, the beard of a dwarf and the head of an orc before they even realized I had a sword in the first place!"

"I should like to see you prove it then," Aragorn goaded, his arms crossed against his chest, the smug smile still firmly in place.

"You dare to challenge an elf to a duel then? You are most foolish human!  But I suppose that could be expected given your mentors. Well, then you shall have it, though I warn you, I will not suppress my skills for your own sake."

"Nor will I," Aragorn answered ominously.

The two locked eyes and though both tried to muster a threatening glare, neither could control the smile tugging at their lips.

"I accept your challenge Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Immediately following our visit to the archery grounds, we shall see who possesses the greater swordsman skills – elf or human."

"It is agreed then, Legolas, son of Thanduil. I eagerly await this duel." At this, the two firmly shook hands, no longer pretending to hide their grins and they headed in the direction of the archery grounds. 

A short walk through a dense group of beeches, brought them to a large clearing. As they approached the clearing, voices, unaware of their approach, traveled toward them, along with the sound of arrows striking trees and targets, though apparently, not their intended targets…

"Sweet, dear Elbereth, what in the name of all that is good and decent in Middle Earth did you do that for?! Are you blind? A troll could do better than that!" one exasperated male voice groaned angrily.

 "Prince Ciédron, please don't get mad, I thought I would get it that time… I do believe the target must have jumped out of the way of my arrow!" another voice, belonging to what sounded like a young girl nearly cried.

"Jumped?! And I suppose the targets have been jumping and flying about all afternoon, the way you've been shooting! No, Alasse, they are not, but you are clearly too dense to listen to anything I teach you. How many times have I told you? Keep both eyes open when you aim! Do not blink, not for a second, and for Elbereth's sake, keep your eyes focused until the arrow strikes the target.  Now you will try again, doing exactly as I say," the first voice rose in fury.

"Again!? But Prince Ciédron you promised! You promised we would only practice until late afternoon! And look! The sky is pink with the setting sun! Soon the stars will peak out and the day will have been spent! I am so tired, Prince Ciédron, I do not think I could ever hit a target… Couldn't we just wait until tomorrow?" the young voice begged, on the verge of tears.

"No! Your performance has been too awful today to quit now. We will practice until the stars and the moon come out!"

Legolas halted in his tracks and his eyes became slants.

"Ai! That oaf! Listen to how that troll torments that poor girl. She will never hit the target with such a wicked, pigheaded, imbecile excuse for an elf abusing her and pontificating as if he is the king of all elves himself," he said through gritted teeth.

"He is rather harsh…" Aragorn was interrupted by a flood of curses as another arrow missed its target.

"Alasse!!! By orc and warg! All the ents in the world can read aloud the 20,000 annals of Gil-galad, before you even hit the proper tree on which the target was placed! Are you sure you are even an elf!? That is it! Forget the stars and moon! We are NOT leaving here until your arrow hits that target. "

Legolas's eyes widened. "And to think! Should the Valar forbid, anything happen to my father, he will be king! We would be better off with a dwarf!"

Aragorn was about to respond, but Legolas interrupted him and grasped his shoulder.

"Forgive me, but I must leave you for a bit. Stay here, and do not let yourself be seen – I don't want that orc to know of our presence." Legolas uttered these last words as he hopped up and grabbed a branch above him. A second later, the elf virtually disappeared in the branches, with only a small tremble in the leaves as he leaped from the first branch to one higher up. Aragorn sighed and decided to move closer to the field so that he could watch whatever it was Legolas had planned.

On the archery ground stood two elves. So entrenched were they in their argument, their elven eyes did not catch the stealthy ranger calmly leaning against a tree, close to, though not quite at the border between the clearing and the wood. One looked remarkably similar to Legolas, so much so that Aragorn thought for a moment it was Legolas.  But when he studied him more carefully he saw that this one had a haughtier air about him, and his features were less youthful looking. He resembled Thranduil more so than Legolas in his forbidding, hardened stance. Immediately, Aragorn knew this must be Legolas's older brother. The other was a young elf girl, in human years looking no older than twelve. She trembled with a pent up rage and frustration and was currently pulling back her bow as Legolas's brother spouted orders.

Her arrow was released, gearing off far to the left of the target, clearly off course. But then there was a second whoosh as another arrow tore through the air from the surrounding trees, straight at the first arrow. In a move that seemed physically impossible, and had Aragorn not witnessed it he would not have believed it at all, the second arrow grazed the first, just enough so that its course altered and it perfectly hit the center of the target.

Apparently Ciédron and Alasse could not believe it themselves. For both stood still as stone, with their mouths agape and their eyes practically bulging out of their heads.  But a second later, at once realizing the implications of what had just happened, Alasse danced and sung gleefully.

"It hit the target! My arrow hit the target, Prince Ciédron! We can stop now, just as you said! My arrow struck the target so now we could put to rest this endless lesson!" She was about to run off, when Ciédron bellowed.

"The lesson is not over! You did not hit the target! Your arrow… that other arrow…." Ciédron stuttered, still stunned by what just happened, though he had a hunch from whom the second arrow came from. "Let's just see if you could hit that target again!"

Alasse's mouth quivered, but she obediently raised her bow and let fly another arrow. Again, there was another whoosh and her arrow was redirected, striking the target so perfectly, it split the first arrow.

Aragorn by now had made his way to the edge of the wood, in clear view of the two elves, though neither noticed him. He was too astonished to remember Legolas's urging to remain hidden.  In fact, for a moment, Aragorn even believed he was hallucinating. How could anyone shoot an arrow so swiftly and accurately as to anticipate the path of another wayward arrow and on top of that, graze that arrow at an angle so perfectly it actually changed its course and hit an intended target? To Aragorn this seemed to go against every known law of nature.

Ciédron was less impressed. In a very un-elfish manner, he stomped over to the base of one of the trees where the shooter must have been hidden.  A second later, he was in the branches, out of sight of both Aragorn and Alasse. 

A few quiet moments passed during which birds chirped and a light breeze tickled the air.  Aragorn crossed his arms and leaned again against the trunk, waiting patiently for what he predicted would be quite an altercation. No doubt the amusement Gandalf had alluded to was about to commence. Alasse watched the trees as well, though much more anxiously than Aragorn. She then decided to take advantage of this opportunity to escape her lesson, and she swiftly ran off.

As Aragorn predicted, after a couple of peaceful minutes a loud scuffle erupted in the branches. The entire tree shook violently and some strangled curses escaped through the rustling of branches. Then the scuffle seemed to bounce from one tree to another, causing each one to sway and shake tremendously. A shower of leaves and acorns fell and birds scattered throughout the air while squirrels scurried away on the ground, escaping the violence overtaking their homes. 

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow when one of the elves actually fell out of the tree, though like a cat, he still managed to land on his feet. Legolas brusquely brushed himself off before looking up to watch his brother jump down from the tree after him.  Both elves were rather disheveled, even by Aragorn's standards. Their clothes were ripped and stained and their straight hair was tousled in a nest of knots and leaves.  Dirt streaked their scratched cheeks and their hands. For a moment, all was silent as the two elves glowered at each other. They then lunged at each other and collapsed ungracefully to the ground as they wrestled and yelled. Though most of it was incomprehensible, Aragorn caught snippets of the angry elvish screams.

"You irresponsible fool! How dare you!"

"A fool am I? Well you are a thickheaded cross breed of a troll and an orc!"

As the fighting continued, Aragorn debated whether he should perhaps step in and stop it. But breaking up fights was never one of Aragorn's favorite pastimes. Many times had he attempted to do so with Elladan and Elrohir only to find himself tousled and thrown about, with a host of cuts and bruises to reward his efforts. Luckily for Aragorn, just as he was about to risk his neck to pull apart the two brothers, they stopped of their own accord.

Panting, they continued to glare at each other.

"Legolas, you idiot, you may think you are helping her, but you only hurt her by interrupting her lesson like that and you know it." Ciédron seethed, his face absolutely livid.

"Do you really think she was going to learn anything the way you were abusing her? You could not teach a hobbit to eat you are so intolerant and mean spirited!"

Ciédron's eyes flashed and he growled at his younger brother. "Father will surely not be pleased with your actions today Legolas…"

Legolas's eyes widened at this. "Nay Ciédron you coward! I cannot believe you would tell father! Why bring him into this, you know he has enough to worry about!"

"Aye, he does! Including the safety of his people, and I highly doubt he will be pleased to learn you are preventing them from learning to protect themselves!"

Legolas's mouth dropped open at this train of logic. "Well I am sure he will not be pleased to learn how abusive you are to your pupils!"

The two stared fiercely at each other, testing each other's wills.  Aragorn mentally counted down. Three...Two…One…

On cue, the brothers bolted towards the palace, racing to get to Thranduil before the other.  Aragorn grinned.

The ranger then casually followed the sprinting elves, eager to witness Thranduil's reaction to all of this.

TBC

Phew ok, that's it for now…. Coming soon – a very angry king and a duel…