AN: Man...first impressions can be so wrong. After I posted the story I was sure everyone would hate it, but it seems like a lot of people have liked it. Thanks for the reviews, everyone!
The opening section of this chapter was inspired by a review from Kelsey Estel the TolkieNarnian. So it was her idea...I just ran with it.
Chapter Two:
In which Aragorn regrets his words, Merry and Pippin battle some rather gullible wolves, and there is more angst than one would expect in the average parody
Legolas glanced worriedly over at Aragorn. The elf had been left on watch all night, under strict instructions not to make a sound. Normally he did not mind being left on watch all night, as it gave him a chance to contemplate the stars without being bothered by one of the hobbits or Gimli (of course, now that Gimli was off to finish the Quest it was unlikely he would ever be bothered by the dwarf again).
Indeed, he usually enjoyed being left alone at watch on a silent night—but this night was too silent.
He glanced again at Aragorn, wishing the man would simply wake up. Of course, even if he did Legolas had nothing to tell him except that he had a vague feeling of danger, and Aragorn would likely be impatient and huffy and rather grumpy at being woken up for such a thing.
Legolas sighed. Aragorn never put much credit into the elf's suggestions. It seemed every time he said he sensed danger near he was pointedly ignored, and not even given a chance to say "I told you so" when danger did strike.
Or perhaps this was simply a vague feeling of danger, nothing more dangerous than a predator on the plains seeking a meal. In which case, the Fellowship (or what remained of it) was far too large to be such a target.
The howl of a lone wolf echoed across the plain. Legolas swallowed nervously. He stared at Aragorn, hoping the combination of the wolf's howls and his own stare would wake the man up. It was no use, he simply rolled over and grumbled something about nasty little hobbits.
Another wolf joined in, and soon Legolas knew the pack was approaching. He stood up, unslinging his bow and stringing an arrow. This was no hunting pack—he could feel that.
He seriously considered poking Aragorn a few times to wake him up, but considering the man's tendency to sleep with a dagger in his hand that did not seem like a good idea. After all, it would be hard to alert the rest of the Company to danger if he was stabbed because he tried to wake the ranger.
Legolas could just see the wolves coming within firing range. He knew he should wake someone up...but before he could decide who, they attacked.
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Aragorn smiled happily in his sleep. He'd been having the most satisfying dream. He had reached the Prancing Pony to discover that Gandalf had actually beat him there and he did not have to escort the hobbits to Rivendell after all. Instead, he ran on ahead and was able to circumvent the whole Ringwraith incident and keep Frodo from being wounded...which, of course, kept the hobbit from reminding everyone else that he'd been wounded.
His dream took a strange turn, however, toward dawn (at least, he assumed it was dawn...that was always when dreams took strange turns, wasn't it?). It seemed his dream was filled with strange howls and whimpers and a general feeling of danger.
Aragorn tried to shake the feeling off. After all, Legolas had been on watch all night, surely he would alert them to any danger.
Legolas...Aragorn sat straight up, eyes flying open. Legolas was single-handedly battling a pack of wolves, mouth clenched shut in a thin line. Aragorn could have run himself through with his own blade—he'd completely forgotten that he'd jokingly ordered Legolas to be quiet.
"Boromir!" he shouted, springing to his feet. "We're under attack!"
Had the situation been less serious, he might have laughed at the sight of Boromir buried under a pile of hobbits. It seemed Merry and Pippin had decided that their new friend was a much better pillow than their cloaks. Strangely enough, Boromir did not seem to mind—perhaps he was more kind-hearted than Aragorn had first thought.
Boromir leapt to his feet, dislodging and awakening Merry and Pippin. The two hobbits saw the danger and pulled out their little swords, anxiously looking from Boromir to Aragorn for what to do.
Aragorn ignored them all, plowing instead into the pack of wolves, desperate to reach his friend. Legolas was barely holding his own, covered in scratches and bites and a fair amount of blood—though whether it was wolf blood or elf blood Aragorn could not tell. Many carcasses were piled around him, making Aragorn wonder just how long the elf had been fighting.
Long enough to run out of arrows, apparently, as he was fighting with his twin blades.
"Legolas! Can you pull back?"
The elf tossed him a strange look, shaking his head. Aragorn grimaced. Of course Legolas couldn't retreat...he was surrounded. He tried to battle through the wolves, but there seemed to be too many of them. He could barely hear Boromir shouting something in the background, and was startled when the wolves suddenly stopped fighting.
He whirled around, seeing with some concern that their focus was on Merry and Pippin.
"Help me, Merry!" Pippin shouted, as though terrified. "I'm afraid I lost my sword and I can't find it!"
"Hold on, Pip!" Merry shouted in reply—which was odd since they were standing next to each other—"as soon as I find mine I'll help you!"
The wolves stared at the hobbits, then looked at each other. Aragorn could nearly see their reasoning...one elf with two nasty sharp knives, or two tasty little helpless hobbits?
With a howl the leader of the wolf pack charged toward Merry and Pippin. The rest of the wolves followed him, tongues lolling out as they expected a rather easy dinner.
"No! Stop!" Aragorn yelled, afraid that the two hobbits were done for.
Suddenly, Merry and Pippin whipped their swords out from behind their backs, brandishing them at the wolves with a war cry. The wolves skittered to a halt, and Boromir charged them from the side.
Seeing the plan, Aragorn attacked the stragglers from behind, throwing the pack into confusion.
He heard a long, high-pitched howl, and looked up in time to see the wolf leader stagger away from the pack, terribly wounded. With their leader gone, the wolves were thrown into chaos and fled, nearly running over Frodo (who was holding Sting but didn't look as though he knew what to do with it) and Sam (who had thought to build up the fire in hopes that that would scare and confuse the wolves).
Aragorn watched the wolves flee with a sense of grim satisfaction. A slight thump from behind him reminded him that Legolas was likely injured, and he whirled around and ran toward the elf.
"Legolas?" he called, taking one of his friend's hands and patting his face gently. "Can you hear me? Are you all right? Legolas, speak to me!"
The elf's eyes fluttered open. "Ow."
"Ow?" Aragorn frowned. "You took on an entire pack of wolves without alerting anyone else in the Company, and all you can say is 'ow'?" He sighed, shaking his head.
"Honestly, Legolas...when I told you to be silent I obviously didn't mean to not say a word while we were under attack." He shook his head. He was not truly angry...just a bit frustrated.
"I'm sorry, I should have been there to help you. I can't help but think...what if I hadn't woken up? I could not bear to be responsible for your death, Legolas. And now you are injured! If only I hadn't been so angry about delaying the journey last night, this could have been avoided. This is all my fault...can you forgive me?"
Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), Legolas had passed out.
Aragorn sighed. "I should have told him to stay awake," he muttered, gently pulling a cloak up around the elf's shoulders.
He groaned, resting his head in his hands. Now he not only had the responsibility of his friend's injuries on his mind—but it would be another day before they could leave for Rohan.
At this rate, the war would be over long before they reached Minas Tirith.
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Coming up next: the Fellowship marches to the Gap of Rohan