* Thanks to all who reviewed, particularly to the wonderful people who wrote such beautiful and thoughtful words. You all buck me up! And those who wrote what you felt, which bits meant the most and what you suspect for the future, etc. thank you! This helps me enormously! Any of you willing to be my second beta? ;) :P
Thanks also for the favourites, follows and kudos.
** Thanks to my writing buddy – doesn't feel write to call her a beta anymore. She is my sounding board and editor. She cracks the whip and soothes the insecurities. Thank you for all your support, my dear Frannel. And good luck with your own writing adventure!
*** For all the Thranduil fans, please have faith in me. Each time we touch on the happenings of the sixty-year gap, there is growth and strengthening – not only with me writing for him, but also in his relationship with Legolas. So, please be an elf and have patience. There is so much depth and complexity to his character, I can only try but never master.
**** There are no warnings for this chapter – unless you count my attempts at writing humour (if you can find them, it's a bag of M&Ms! Let the treasure hunt begin!)
***** As this chapter deals mostly with Aragorn and Legolas' elite troop, I've added some extra information; age, preferred weapon (doesn't mean only weapon, just preferred weapon) and what they're famous for amongst the Dúnedain folk
(There is no actual official set date for Legolas' conception anywhere (only an age-range), so I made up his age from the top of my head. It wasn't hard; that's where most things go!)
****** Poem: Wildflowers by Julie Andrews
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Dramatis Personae
* Aragorn/Strider - Male 86 years, long sword, smokes far too much Buckland weed
* Baradon/Sculls - Male 27 years, bow, sweet hearted boy
* Cordoves/Swan - Female 52 years, twin blades, hard enough to turn cream to butter
* Dagnir/Trout - Male 95 years, bow, poet and dreamer
* Faron/Dusk - Male 81 years, bow, tall, spindly and meddler
* Hathol/Anchor - Male 48 years, long sword, gambles the shirt off his back
* Laeron/Wren - Male 17 years, bow, younger image of Úrion
* Lobordir/Joust - Male 59 years, long sword, skirt chaser
* Oldhin/Flank - Male 66 years, axe, crafter of wooden toys for children
* Orthellon/Sweeper - Male 37 years, long sword, lonely heart
* Sindar (Legolas) - Male 2976 years, bow, Hero of the Women-Folk
* Sírdhem/Husk - Male, 62 years, long sword, family man (but no more; that poor man)
* Trîw/Jester - Male 35 years, twin short swords, madcap and prankster
* Úan/Ghost - Male 108 years, axe, chess master
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Within twenty minutes, Aragorn and Legolas had gathered twelve of their chosen elite rangers and galloped south along the Great North Road away from Carthal; only Úrion remaining behind to remain in command.
Morgulchon's report had been given quickly a blitz attack by marauders on horseback, well executed, quick, sweeping through the caravan's guard. Although the rangers stood their ground and repelled the thieves, four had been wounded. They'd been sent back quickly with Morgulchon to make his report and call for reinforcements. Morgulchon pleaded to return with Strider to the caravan, but being one of the more seriously wounded was ordered to stay behind.
Thus three hours along the well used road and finally they came upon the caravan's location in the southern mountains.
"(Fools!)" Legolas growled when they pulled up upon the hill top overlooking the sad state of the wagons and the raggedy looking Dúnedain protecting it. "Do they not see their error?"
Aragorn agreed grimly, "Perfect spot for an ambush. Come, we must get them out of the ravine." He waved them forth. Reaching the bottom, many of the rangers guarding the caravan watched them warily, holding their weapons aloft and ready to strike.
Legolas noticed and so did Aragorn, who signalled a stop. "It is I, Strider. Lower your weapons!"
Some of the rangers looked at each other. One came out from behind the rudimentary barricade, approaching warily, "Strider? It is truly you?"
Legolas looked to Aragorn in question. Aragorn though kept his eyes on the rangers with their bows aimed at them.
"Pegon? Order your men to lower their weapons immediately!"
The ranger waved and the soldiers stood down.
Aragorn and Legolas led their troop the last two hundred metres to pull up just before Pegon.
"Pegon?" Aragorn demanded, "Explain!"
The ranger came forth and bowed, "My lord, for the sake of our lives and the contents of the wagons, we could no longer trust our eyes."
Aragorn frowned but Legolas pulled Aglarebon around and away from them, his senses scanning around them.
"You cannot trust your eyes?" Legolas heard Aragorn continue to interrogate.
"Aye. There have been things, in the mist and shadow of the mountains. We dared not go after the lost wagon."
"Sindar?" Aragorn shot around to watch him.
Legolas continued his sweep but then shook his head, "There is no illusion here. If there were, it has long since passed."
"This illusion took a wagon?" Aragorn dismounted.
"A mist rolled in, shifting quickly, blocking out the sun and all turned cold." Pegon visibly shook, "and then was gone. With it went the last wagon and team."
"Joust?" Aragorn called to Lobordir, "get them moving."
Joust dismounted and set about getting the rangers and the Dúnedain back into guard formation.
Legolas stood listening, arms crossed as the ranger known as Pegon told them of the haunting mists. The marauders were no concern to them since they feared apparitions more than men with axes. And so Legolas listened, his ears sceptical. He knew there was at least one spell-castor in these lands, but spirit apparitions controlling water and air?
He remained very sceptical.
Aragorn though listened patiently until Pegon finished, then calmly called to Trîw at the lead wagon, "Why are the wagons not moving?"
"You stubborn old scrawny mule!"
Aragorn shot Legolas a reproaching look when he sniggered, but spoke to the ranger at the lead wagon's team, "That's Aragorn or Strider to you, Trîw."
"Why is it always me sent south with the wagons?!" Joust cried out, striding up from along the convey. "Go on, Trîw! Get them moving!"
Legolas walked over to Trîw struggling to get the horses to move. Gently stroking his hand over the back of the lead horse, he soothed, "(Why do you stand?)" Reaching the horse's head, he leaned in close, "(is the ill mannered man calling you bad names?)"
"They refuse to move," Trîw complained. "They won't answer my orders."
"So I see," Legolas growled, "They are frightened." Not taking his eyes from the two lead horses, he soothed, "(Why are you frightened? Come, we are homebound. Come)."
The two horses took up the slack, then so did the wheelers and with a small lurch the wagon moved, "(Go on. Soon you'll be home)."
Trîw let out a long pent up breath, "Finally."
Legolas watched the horses for a moment longer then narrowed his eyes at the man. "Have you forgotten how to speak to horses?" he accused hotly, staring down hard upon the youth, "Have you no sense at all?"
Trîw, a young man usually full of mirth and good cheer, shrank away with a murmured 'Sorry Sindar'.
Legolas shook his head in exasperation.
Lobordir came over and spoke quietly, "My friend, Trîw doesn't speak Sindarin."
Legolas tensed, "I thought-?"
"One word here and there, but to calm frightened horses?" Lobordir shook his head.
"Why does he not when all other Dúnedain-"
"Trîw comes from a settlement far into the west. I and a few of the others have been teaching him to read and write but . . . he's not simple; he can read a map, recognise names he's familiar," Lobordir continued, "He will eventually learn Sindarin but these things take time."
Legolas closed his eyes with a grimace, "I had no idea." Trîw was an exceptional warrior and what's more - a sound tactician. Yet somehow it'd escaped Legolas' notice the man couldn't even read?
Further to his slight, he'd just berated him in front of his peers for not speaking Sindarin? "I must go apologise-"
Lobordir stopped him, "Why not wait awhile? He's the proud sort."
Legolas' honour wouldn't be stalled and went to brush pass, "What Dúnedan is not?"
Patient beyond Lobordir's usual impatience, he took Legolas' arm to stop him and spoke with great emphasis, "He wouldn't want his disability widely known or to change how he is regarded. Especially by those who lead him, for whom others will look to and follow."
Legolas eyed Trîw from the other end of the wagon caravan and reluctantly gave a nod of capitulation. "Very well." He eyes darted from Trîw to the others from their elite troop unit helping the rangers get the other wagons underway, "I have much to learn about them."
"You know their names. That's a start," Joust laughed when Legolas glared at him, "Why don't you just start talking with them. You did with me, and isn't your life that much richer for it?"
The oddity of Lobordir was that although he was so incredibly self-assured and cocky, at heart he was truly a good man.
Sometimes even wise.
"Rangers!" Aragorn shouted out to be heard by all, "Assume guard positions. Get this caravan home!" Aragorn pointed at Pegon, "Get them to a defensible position before nightfall and to Carthal before midday after tomorrow."
Pegon bowed low and then scooted away.
Legolas looked at the rangers and their horses quickly falling into proper guard formation around the wagons, "Are we not accompanying them?"
Aragorn came passed and retook his saddle, "Nay, we must discover the missing wagon and what of its cargo can be salvaged."
Lobordir shrugged and went for his own horse, "Beats wagon duty."
"It's still wagon duty," Laeron cheerfully pointed out.
"The difference, boy," Lobordir winked at the young ranger, "is the added spice of adventure."
Legolas climbed onto Aglarebon's back, "You speak of adventure - the rangers' speak of ghoulish mists."
"You don't believe in ghosts then?" Faron scoffed loudly, "To unconventional for your superior wisdom?"
"Actually, I know them to be real. I have seen the dead walk," with a patient glance back at Lobordir and Faron, Legolas surveyed around them again for any sign of trouble, "but tell me this? What want do ghosts have for food wagons?"
"Let's find out," Aragorn addressed them all, "The wagon left tracks; the mist didn't. Stay sharp!"
There was no sign of threat and at Legolas' small nod, Aragorn sped them off and out of the ravine, following the stolen wagon tracks heading southwards.
The hot wind swept across the southern plains, pelting horse and rider with showers of sand and grit. Legolas pulled his long hair out of his face, again, "Faron, what did we talk about bathing?"
The group chuckled, even Faron, who waved an armpit towards the elf.
"Enough," Aragorn ordered the rangers, "That's the rotting of flesh as you very well know, Sindar."
"They might smell the same," Legolas returned with a grumble.
"Something must've died nearby," Cordoves growled at them, "Could it be one of the marauders? Felled by one of rangers?"
"Even in this heat," Úan shook his head, his grey hair spilling out more sand to the wind, "we wouldn't smell it so soon."
"Well, maybe Sindar could?" suggested Baradon.
"Nay," Legolas told them, "the flesh is long dead."
"The horses smelt it," Aragorn pointed to the ground before them, "They've deviated from their course, which means . . ."
"Their under their own will and not some magic?"
"That's correct, Laeron," Aragorn approved, "Not far now."
"They've gone back into the mountains though?" Dagnir asked, "Why?"
"The minds of frightened beasts."
"Shelter," Legolas shot back at Faron.
"Come," Aragorn urged his horse forward and so too they all followed.
Not two minutes later, as the winds from the plains were cut short by the break of mountains, Legolas stood higher in his saddle for a pause, listening.
Then he heard it. "(Haste!)"
Startled, Aragorn quickly signalled for a hard charge around the spindly trees and bushes, back into the hills. Their troop rode hard, their path getting narrower, rocky outcroppings jutted out towards them, rising sharply towards the sky.
Legolas pushed Aglarebon forward, passing Aragorn, plunging forth in great speed and soon he came upon them. The wagon was on its side. Jumping from Aglarebon, Legolas ran around the wagon. Two of the horses were trapped, the wheeler left caught under the wagon and crying out in pain.
"Sindar?"
"(Take ease)" Legolas told the horses, nimbly navigating around the mess of ropes and straps, keeping clear of the kicking legs as the horses tried in panic to get up. "(Calm), he soothed.
"Sindar!" Aragorn and some of the others came around the wagon, "You should have waited for us!"
Legolas snapped his head back at Aragorn, "(Do not assume to command me)."
Aragorn set his jaw, then waved Lobordir and Faron through around him to the horses.
"Will you keep them still?" Lobordir asked Legolas, "Faron and I will unbuckle them, but if they try to jump up to their feet-"
"They will do more damage, this I know," Legolas snapped. "Rest assured, they will not move. Unbuckle quickly."
The two men started with the front standing horse, unbuckling the mare with practiced ease, while Aragorn and Legolas stroked and soothed the others. Quickly, they lead two of the horses out and back to the rest of their troop. Returning, both men kneeled on the ground and did what they could to release the first horse.
"Cut it," Aragorn nodded to the wicked looking hunter's knife at Faron's side. "There will be spare straps in the wagon."
"(Remain still)," Legolas commanded both horses, still stroking the neck of the injured wheeler.
Joust held up a hand to Faron, "Sindar, he's going to kick getting up."
Sindar nodded, "Do it." If he was right, the wheeler was done for already. A hoof to the neck or flank would be nothing now. "(Be calm)," he commanded gently, "(Stay still)."
Faron cut the last tether . . .
The lead horse kicked out, first striking the wheeler in the chest, and then found the ground, getting his front hooves into the rocky ground, shot up. Lobordir lead him around to where the other two horses waited.
Faron set to work of the remaining buckles and cuts. "He's broken his leg," the hunting master commented quietly.
"I noticed," Legolas lamented watching Faron made quick work of the leather. With a huff of forfeit, Legolas held his hand over the last strap. "Stop."
"Why?" asked Faron.
"Why cause more torment? Rising to his feet is unnecessary pain. Leave him."
"What are you saying?"
"Sindar?" Aragorn asked cautiously.
"He will not make it back, and we cannot leave him alive to wait for the wolves. We should end it now."
Faron stood up, "You can't be serious? The gelding is young, with Joust's medicine and tending he may recover."
Legolas shook his head and reached for one of the knives on his back, "I will not let him suffer your foolishness. He will not make it back."
"Stop," Aragon stepped up next to Faron to stare down at him, "This is not just an animal in pain. Horses are-"
"Valuable. Expensive," Faron finished.
Legolas glared up at them, "Your valued and expensive horse is in agony. I will stop it."
Aragorn sighed, "Sindar, you cannot. Four are needed for the wagon. The provisions in this wagon will feed-"
"Use another," Legolas stood, "You will not use this one."
Aragorn looked down at the gelding then nodded.
However Faron wasn't convinced, "You would kill a horse that can be saved? Where is superior elven logic?"
"How do you intend on getting him back?"
"Joust could use a splint-"
"Even with a splint the pain-"
"It's a horse, not a child!"
The horse at their feet started crying in earnest once more.
"Come, let's discuss this calmly," Aragorn waved towards the other side of the wagon, "Raising your voices will only distress him."
Faron went to follow Aragorn-
Only to jump back upon hearing the loose of an arrow.
"Sindar!" Faron cried, eyes widened at the arrow sticking out of the gelding's chest, piercing straight into its heart. The horse was dead and at peace. "How dare you?!"
"I do dare," Legolas kept a handily hold on his bow, "You will not torture any animal, or I shall see you suffer the very same."
Aragorn rubbed his face then continued around the wagon, "Laeron, your horse is about the right size, prepare her. You'll drive the wagon. The rest of you, get this wagon back upon its wheels. Check for damage. Secure the load."
Faron however did not move, "It must seem so easy for you, see a horse in pain and kill it. Never mind the cost to us. The price for that horse would've fed a family for three months. But what does it matter? We're only mortals, poor and ragged. Are you happy seeing us straggle? Would you enjoy watching us starve?"
"Faron!" Aragorn called from the other side of the wagon. "Now!"
Faron turned to quickly obey and Legolas watched him go angrily but he remained steadfast in his choice.
Faron could accuse him whatever he wished. What did it matter what Faron thought? The both of them never held much respect for the other.
Looking back down at the horse, his brows drew closer.
With a long breath, Legolas knelt down to finish removing the strapping from the deceased gelding, and retrieved his arrow.
With the help of the horses, all the men and lone elf, the wagon was righted. Laeron's mare strapped in easily to replace the lost wheeler and they were underway. Concerned about the return of the marauders as now their pace was languidly slower to make an easy target, Aragorn steered them instead into the desert-like plains; a shortcut he'd called it. The sun soon set completely, filling the horizon with bright red and orange and the company silently made their slow way north through the darkness, witnessed by a solo light in the sky. Legolas didn't look to the moon.
His mind was troubled.
Four hours before dawn, Aragorn finally called a halt; they would rest for three hours. Many of the rangers were keen to keep going, but Aragorn was adamant. The wagon team had suffered a lot yesterday and if they wanted the wagon to make it back to Carthal at all then a more limited pace must be maintained. They found water, filled every horse's belly first, then took ease on the hard, rocky ground surrounded by scraggy bush.
Legolas took the watch without word.
The hours passed without noise except from critters in the night; those men who didn't sleep remained silent. And those who slept did so with an open ear to the wind.
And in the silence, Legolas' thought back to eighteen years earlier . . .
The long corridors and walkways had not changed in pitch or depth in the thirty some years since his boots last brushed against the smooth rock and polished wooden roots of home. Seemingly of their own accord, his feet took the most direct route straight from his old quarters to where he knew his father to be.
Only arriving less than half an hour earlier, Legolas was filled with joy, and more than a little surprised to see Tauriel; captain of the guard once more and content with her life in Thranduil's court. She had been eager to recommence their friendship and recount the passing of the years with him. With a promise of a thorough debrief over a few bottles of wine they parted quickly; her for duty and he to refresh after his long journey.
Now marching straight on through the guards to his father's private audience chamber, he did not brace himself. He did not hold his breath. Whatever welcome his father deigned appropriate he would endure.
As he'd always done.
All conversation within the room stopped. All eyes turned upon him. Many of the room's occupants hastily bowed, holding themselves low until he passed. Other's stood, mouths agog, turning their eyes to their king.
Coming to stand in front of him, Legolas held himself up tall, fruitless really when compared to the truly insurmountable height of Thranduil. With a well practiced but rarely used bow of his own, Legolas greeted him crisply, "My lord."
"So you have indeed returned; I thought perhaps my guards were misled by fairies," Thranduil eyed him severely, then raised his voice, "Leave us!"
Quickly the room emptied; each one quick to leave, but not without shooting back eager glances. No doubt the gossip in the realm would run wild tonight.
"I ought to strike," he stepped in closer, his eyes beading down upon him.
Legolas held his ground, fully prepared to receive a strike if his father so chose. This he did not fear.
"Thirty-two years?" his father hissed, the long broad body Legolas never came close to achieving visibly tensing. "Have you nothing to say?"
"I have nothing to say."
Thranduil closed his eyes slowly and when he opened then, Legolas prepared himself for his father's ire.
It never came. Thranduil opened his eyes, then his arms and Legolas was abruptly pulled in a fierce embrace.
Eyes wide and paralysed with utter astonishment, Legolas could not remember the last time he'd been held, least of all by his father. His face felt hot and he didn't know what to do. Attempt to return the embrace? If he tried to free his arms, would his father think he was pushing him away and withdraw?
Unsure, he remained perfectly still, trying to ease the tension in chest.
"You have finally decided I have been long punished enough?"
"I did not leave to punish you," Legolas countered awkwardly, hard pressed against the rigid collar of his father's cloak, "Nor did I remain away to inflict injury."
Thranduil pulled back and Legolas immediately felt the loss, "Regardless, you have returned." With the smallest hint of smile, Thranduil looked over his face, "And you are . . . whole."
"I am," he nodded, still very unsure. "I am well able to take care of myself."
Some of the warmth left Thranduil's face and he raised his chin, "Indeed?"
Thatwas the father he knew. "I have to this day been amongst the men of the north-,"
"As news reached me," Thranduil walked to the table, "News coming from sources of my own, not from my son."
It was not a great surprise his father chose to keep an eye on him through his secret network of spies. Though he did wonder if the rangers knew their ally kept a close eye on them.
Legolas watched him pour two glasses of wine, "I have seen Tauriel."
"Of course you have."
"I was surprised to see her, glad but surprised."
"You thought I would execute her for her mutinous behaviour?"
Deep in his tone was the warning and so Legolas chose not to answer, "You gave her a full pardon."
"I did not do that for you if that is your concern," he came back with the two glasses and promptly handed him one, "Come, I wish to hear in great detail what has kept you from my side all these years."
Legolas took the wine, but still felt protective of his old friend. It had never been in his father's nature to be overly forgiving. "If not for me then why?"
Thranduil scoffed and walked back over to his chair, waving for Legolas to do the same, "A devious plot perhaps? Vengeance planned over centuries for my tarnished pride?"
He didn't move towards the seat, "It is a simple question, Adar."
"I considered the circumstance surrounding her actions," Thranduil's tone dropped and he waved to the seat with greater insistence.
"What do you mean the circumstance?"
"That dwarf," he breathed then his face softened once more, "There is much to be forgiven where love is concerned."
Legolas' face pinched. "Do not call it love; she only knew the Naugol (Dwarf) a few short days-" he broke off when his father laughed.
"You still know little of love?" Thranduil's laugh faded to a grimace, "there too the blame lies with me, at least in your eyes."
He advanced towards his father, "I know plenty-"
"You are noble Sindar and we Sindar are not so indecisive or fickle as mortals," Thranduil interrupted with a deep, long breath and Legolas knew a lecture at his expense was imminent, "A Sindar knows the nature of his own heart. He does not barter or ignore it. He does not try to coax feeling where none exists. Even the Sylvan pledge their hearts without need for rationalising or reasoning. And Tauriel? A dwarf? Is there no greater exhibition of the power of elven love?" Thranduil looked down upon him with a smirk, "Yet you? Did I take six hundred years to decide I might eventually come to love your mother?"
Legolas' insides clenched, and so did his fists, a wealth of hurt and regret bubbling to the surface, "Adar-"
"I am grateful to the dwarf. His influence saved me from having to save you. It is only fitting I in turn save his lover."
"I did not need you to save me from Tauriel!"
Thranduil took a slow sip of wine, his eyes unwavering upon him, "Your belief in a union with Tauriel was merely concessional, desperation even."
Though his father's suggestion made him angry his regret left him paralytic and cold, "H-how can you say that?"
"My understanding is far greater."
Legolas swallowed, hard. With cold eyes he watched his father finally give up waiting and took his seat.
"No contradiction? No defence?" Thranduil took a long draft of wine. Only when the glass rested on the arm of the chair did he continue, "It is within our souls to value love as highly as we value honour, duty, creation, and yet despite your years you have yet to engage a single prospect for proper courtship." Thranduil shook his head, "A marriage of friendship with Tauriel? You thought over the course of time you would become to love the one you married?
"Nay, Adar," Legolas disputed, once again feeling the elfling trying to account for some misdeed. One of plenty misdeeds. "Given the passage of time for formal courtship, I believed-"
"No, my son," his father firmly pressed, a hint of despair carrying into his tone, "You truly know so little? The path to love is as unmistakable as the first rays of new sunlight upon the dawn.
Thranduil looked down at his wine, an odd vulnerability coming to his face, "Love is mystifying . . . Shattering. As it was with your mother."
The mention of his mother, twice in the same night, three times in a century, had not happened for a very long time and Legolas found himself taking the seat his father offered in wonder, and desperate to hear more, "Bright light flew into every nerve, shattering, devastating." Thranduil turned away, and continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "There was no reprieve, no comfort. I could not sit or stand, remain close or journey afar, for all I did the torment endured. But for the pain cometh, never would I have chosen to do without it. Not even now." Thranduil turned back and saw Legolas watching him, his eyes narrowing, "for those we love all manner of torment must be taking in stride."
The wonder vanished. "You suggest I torture you?"
"Suggest?" the narrowing of his eyes told Legolas to be prepared, "Nay, Legolas, I accuse and righteously how! Tell me how you would describe thirty-two years without word if not torment and punishment?"
Legolas faced his ire as he'd always done, face forward, eyes staring directly into his, "I have kept watch over Arathorn's son, as per your suggest-"
"Yet not once did you think of your father and return. Do you not think your point proved long before now-"
"I did not come back to argue over this!" Legolas snapped and saw at once his father's face turn from anger to hurt. Frowning, he implored him, "Have you so little understanding or forgiveness for your own son when you have so much for others not of your kin?" Even though Tauriel's amnesty was wonderful news, there was no mistaking the jealousy ebbing into his heart.
"Understanding? Find anyone on this Earth who understands you more than I and you may gift them the entire contents of the treasury."
"If you are so sure-"
"Please," Thranduil waved forth, "do tell."
Legolas stammered. However much he wanted to say Aragorn or even Tauriel yet . . .
"I have forgiven you," Thranduil finally offered gently. "And I do understand your reasons. You should know there were times I might have sent for you to be brought back-"
"Truly?" Legolas demanded dangerously.
"Do not," Thranduil gave his own warning, sitting taller, "Had I chosen to do so it would have been within my right. You maybe my son but you are still the supreme commander of my army and prince to your people. The privilege of being of my house does not liberate from due allegiance, loyalty and duty to your realm."
Legolas knew this of course; No matter the distance or passing of time, his father could exercise his right and recall him at will. Yet to hear it spoken to such unbreakable terms was a bitter truth. "Yes, Adar," he submitted flatly.
"I did not because I wished not to force your return, only waiting upon each weary hour in hope of your approach."
Legolas set his jaw against the guilt his father was all too adept at provoking in him. "I was never certain the manner of welcome."
"Legolas," Thranduil reproached quietly, a frown touching his ancient face, "You must never doubt-," he paused, "No matter the manner of your return or the circumstance of your departure, my welcome will always be most . . . sincere."
He shifted on his seat but held his tongue. His father was never one to make overtures of affection.
Especially to him.
Thranduil breathed in deeply and lifted his chin, "You are my son, you should know better..."
And with those words the lid was once more shut and his father once more the elven-king. But their discussions did slowly become easier over the course of a few days and by the time Legolas next left Lasgalen, an agreement was ratified between them; no more than a handful of years would pass between return visits.
Legolas broke his gaze away from the moon. For all his father's failings, he still forgave Tauriel for her mutiny and rebellion against him, something Legolas previously condemned him incapable.
And what of him? For all his vanity, Legolas was aware of his many failings too. Thranduil was not perfect. Aragorn was not perfect, yet he still loved them. What torture did Legolas inflict on Aragorn by refusing to accept him wholly, imperfect? What other tortures did Aragorn endure to be friends and brothers with him?
Maybe Aragorn was right. Lobordir was no purer than a rooster amongst the chooks, yet Legolas still found a friend in him. He thought of Arwen, and although they'd never met, he could only wonder at the strength of her love for Aragorn if she could look beyond his actions which were so damning to elves.
Over the opposite side of the camp, Aragorn's breathing changed; he was rousing from light slumber. Indeed Aragorn was the first to rise from the uncomfortable ground, only glancing briefly in Legolas' direction and went to relieve himself. Upon his return, Aragorn strode directly to the wagon and busied himself checking wheels, the leather covering, leather strapping and buckles.
Legolas looked back up into the heavens, then back to earth, his eyes making a full circle; Aragorn's brooding was as bad as any elf.
With a long drawn breath, Legolas stealthily made his way over. As the elder, and Aragorn's unwillingness aside, it was up to him to dissolve the situation. For all the darkness looming, this was time when they should be rallying, strengthening each other, not squandering time in dissent.
Aragorn was tugging at the rope ties, tightening, and Legolas stopped him with a quiet clear of his throat. "I cannot forget the past because it is you," he explained, "for you are different to me than the rest of men."
"I was merely a boy," Aragorn defended firmly, moving away from him along the wagon, "You and I hadn't even met."
Legolas ignored his protest and pointed to the men, "They I can absolve because it is their nature."
"You also believe it in mine."
"You think me unfair but I have not seen even the most honourable of men fall to their . . . appetites?"
"You think so little of me?" Aragorn whirled around on him, "That I would now do the same, knowing what I'd lose?"
"It is not how little I think of you," he revealed fondly, "but how highly. Of course I hold you to high expectation; we are brothers. What elder brother would I be if I could allow the liberal behaviours of men in my own kin?"
"You knew this about me before taking me as kin," Aragorn slowly moved away, easing himself around the wagon and away further from the camp, "Yet unlike a brother, I will never have your faith . . . or forgiveness."
"It is not my forgiveness you do not have," Legolas admitted to him slowly, and for the very first time, "I forgave you long ago."
Aragorn stopped, his eyes widening in surprise.
But Legolas continued, adamant all would be said for this was going to be the last argument upon the subject, "What I cannot get by is the fear you will fall again-"
"So I do lack your faith," Aragorn shot quickly. "Your fear is unfounded. I will not fall. I am for Arwen and none other."
He stared at his friend, nay his brother, with all the tender fondness of a blood brother, "You may know well of earning someone's love," he paused, but then forced himself to speak, "but I know the ruin when it is lost."
A silence grew between them.
"I understand," Aragorn finally answered softly, "I truly do. But what you must understand I was an aimless youth at that time," Aragorn's eyes glazed, falling far away into the distance, "Arwen and I, we weren't," his words faded and he swallowed, "I'd never betray her, a dagger to my own heart. You must have faith and believe in me. If you of all people do not-"
"Very well," Legolas declared tightly, keen to have done with this conversation; such subjects did not come easily for him, in so much he was very much like his father. "You have my faith ever unyielding, in this you must be never in doubt. Even so, I will always fear for you. That is perhaps my failing but it is the price of my affection. Now please, let us be finished with this matter." Legolas walked on, busying himself with checking the wagon as Aragorn had started.
A minute passed however and still Aragorn's eyes gazed unmoving upon him.
Legolas kept his focus on tightening the tie to the second rope. "(Speak if you must)," he gave in, tugging at the coarse leather covering from the wagon's load.
"There is more to love than fearing its loss."
Not looking back at Aragorn, Legolas moved away to the next rope before murmuring, "I am aware."
His tone was clear; the subject was finished. He heard Aragorn deeply sigh before moving around the other side of the wagon and began rousing the others.
Legolas glanced over hearing Aragorn laughingly break-up an argument between Cordoves and Dagnir and how close he'd chosen to sleep next to her. Of course Aragorn was right, there was more to love then fear. However when one suffered so acutely at its loss as Legolas had, he could not simply slide in a water-gate to stop the flow of his fears.
Aragorn suffered from his fears and doubts, as did Thranduil, as did Legolas. It was a part of who they were and a testament to the depth of their caring, however negatively, but it was the cost of being family.
'...for those we love all manner of torment must be taking in stride.'
At least now, with the resolution of their tiff, there was yet only one more difficult conversation remaining between them.
However, that particular discussion was not yet due. Not by a long stretch.
Spotting Trîw finish rolling up his blanket and heading for his horse, the time had come to fix up yesterday's misstep and Legolas quietly followed the young man.
Not even dawn yet and already this day was proving most humbling.
Tens of thousands of years of river-flow and thousands of years of harsh winters carved out the arid-like terrain, stripping away most of the top soil until exposing rock and bedrock. The water carved its own path, twisting and turning, digging in deep in one particular place to create a stunted but no less stunning gorge with a tiny lake at its centre. The haven was secret, only known to birds and beasts until the Dúnedain stumbled upon it in the more recent centuries. Far too isolated to be frequented the lake was a sanctuary.
The flat plains surrounding the gorge were harsh yet full of life. The wildflowers in this particular spot were highly prolific, a vibrant blanket of tiny mauve flowers in soft wide leaf grasses.
Legolas looked questioning at Aragorn.
Aragorn gestured to the lake, "(Lonely Lake). This far south, the plains are flat enough that from the top up there we can see a hundred miles in every direction. None can find this place but those who know where to look. It's been keep secret for centuries."
"Shall we?" Lobordir pulled his horse up beside them.
Aragorn waved them forth, "By all means. Laeron? You and Dagnir see to the wagon team. Let them rest too; they've earned it."
Legolas stared at him. "Do we not have more pressing matters? The caravan would surely be almost to Carthal by now."
"Then our duty is done," the usually quiet and reserved Orthellon dismounted and started unbuckling his horse's bridle.
"Orthellon's right. Come, melloneg, you cannot pass up an oasis this welcoming."
"Elves know little of fun and joy," Trîw rode passed, urging his horse straight into the water.
"Truly?" Legolas questioned the man with a half-hearted glare, for he was glade since their 'talk' earlier, the young ranger immediately returned to his jovial ways, "This is news indeed. What have you for your authority?"
Trîw didn't answer, abandoning his horse with a less than graceful dive off its back to splash with a loud whack into the lake.
"Fool didn't even remove his saddle," Sírdhem's horse was tied up and he was unbuckling the saddle. "He'll be whining about his wet seat all the way home."
"Ugh," Cordoves muttered in disgust from behind the group, "If you men intend on swimming naked, I'll be over there." She dismounted and headed towards the other end of the pool screened by dozens of trees bright with green summer foliage.
"You don't have to, Swan, you can keep your clothes on."
"As always you are missing the point, Baradon. Why should I ever want to see the likes of you in the buff?"
Aragorn was already pulling at his vest ties and chuckled, "I'd tell them to keep their trappings on for you, Cordoves, but I'm not going too. This day the ground is shrieking with fire; man, woman and horse deserve a swim unhampered by clothing or straps and leather."
She snorted and spoke to her horse, "Come Suldal. A quiet, private swim awaits us," then led them both around the trees out of sight.
Legolas was glad for Cordoves' modesty. Despite his long years, Legolas had never actually seen a naked elleth or woman. Of course he'd seen sketches in books, his father's library alone possessed many detailing races, anatomy, and even marital-union instruction. Additionally he'd also seen artwork from some of the cruder cultures in Middle Earth. Never before, however, in the . . . flesh, the closest being women wearing naught but night-shifts.
Although Cordoves was a fine ranger and pleasant woman, he bore no wish to see her as only her husband should. His was generally not a popular opinion amongst men though who seemed only too eager to brag and boast about the number of the female folk they'd seen without clothes.
It was one of those conversations Legolas was ever bound to endure; patiently, silently, and praying for a quick subject change.
"You could do like Cordoves and find a private spot if you're worried 'bout being naked-"
"I have no such concerns," Legolas cut off Laeron's ridiculous suggestion sharply and got down from Aglarebon. Him, shy? Not in front of his fellows in any case. With a woman around? That was different and could be hardly considered decent or proper, especially given his royal rank.
Again, he was glad for Cordoves' absence.
He walked Aglarebon over to the large rocks, square like children's play blocks, pulled off his bridle and saddle, then shooing him away to go run free with the others. He swept off the dirt from another rock before laying his jerkin on top.
"Worried about getting your pretty clothes dirty, eh Sindar?"
He ground his teeth pulling off his tunic, "Or perhaps I have a healthy distaste for deer refuse."
Faron stopped laughing, "Ah! You might've said something."
"I just did." Setting his boots beside the rock along with his trousers, Legolas walked passed Faron with deliberate smugness, watching a half-naked Faron brush fresh deer droppings from his shirt. "Does a Hunting Master not need good eyesight?"
Faron dropped his shirt, "Then you will compete with us."
"Compete?"
"In a game of polo in the lake." Faron scoffed, "Or does your culture forbid you or are you too ashamed you're far too delicate against real men?"
"Elves aren't delicate!" cried Laeron coming back from the wagon.
"Keep to your own business, boy," Faron stepped in closer to Legolas, their heads almost level as Faron was the closest to Legolas in terms of height amongst the Dúnedain.
Legolas calmly stood his ground, "I am no man."
"Clearly. A man isn't meant to be pretty as a woman."
"Do you expect this posturing will achieve my submission?" he questioned whilst maintaining air of nonchalance.
"I don't insult you as a warrior," Faron clarified, "but this is a game and I think you just won't admit you cannot play."
His brow rose but so too did blood. Legolas was always a slave to his competitiveness.
Baradon passed them, grinning broadly, "Come Sindar. Let's drown them!"
Sírdhem, too, walked passed, his always narrowed eyes now directed at him, "Wasting your breath, Faron. Elves don't know how to have fun."
"Too bad," Faron clucked his tongue then he joined Sírdhem at the path down to the water, quickly shrugging off the rest of this clothes and tossing them in the direction of the rest.
"You're poking the fire with a goblin's foot," Aragorn warned with a sly glint to his eyes. "Elves do play games; they just take them more seriously. A lot more seriously." Aragorn nodded to them, "Faron, Laeron, Trîw, Hathol, Orthellon and I against Baradon, Sírdhem, Cordoves, Dagnir, Úan and Oldhin."
"How many times must I repeat; I'm not getting in the water with a bunch of naked men," Cordoves called from the other side of the bushes.
Baradon laughed, "You could play in your slip."
"Only if you play in yours," she returned to the great amusement of the others.
Aragorn shrugged, "Joust?"
"You know I can't swim."
Legolas frowned at him, "Truly?"
Lobordir eyed the water warily, "Well, not well. Can't let down the team by drowning now can I?"
Troubled, Legolas was quite firm, "This must not endure any further." Suffering a disability with water was dangerous, not only during missions but to his friend's life in general. "You will learn."
Lobordir huffed, "I knew you were going to say that."
"Well not now," Aragorn told him soothingly, "You can fix Joust later. Now, we play."
"Six to five," Baradon fussed, "Not exactly fair, Strider."
Aragorn directed the question at Legolas.
Legolas met his eyes but it was futile; there wasn't much he'd deny his friend. He did sigh heavily though, and with an air of exasperation. "Very well." He threw a glare in Faron's direction, "You must promise me I get to drown Faron."
The others all laughed and cheered.
Faron scoffed but waved to the lake, "Well come on then. Let's see just how well elves can swim!"
The two youngest men took off towards the bluff at speed, racing each other to the cliff top, jumping together and dived straight down into the water. They rose as one and splashed about. Faron, having taking the path down to the lake, threw them the 'ball'; nothing more than an emptied waterskin blown up with air.
"I never thought I'd see you playing a game of water polo," Aragorn chuckled from beside him.
"Then you forget how much I enjoy winning."
"You drown Faron and you'll owe me a ranger."
Legolas mirrored Aragorn's devilish grin, "Easily arranged."
The younger two, Laeron and Baradon swept out of the lake to run passed them again, leaving little droplets of water flying through the air in their wake. "Come, Sindar! The water's cold!" Baradon called from atop of the bluff, "and the depth deep. You can dive in!"
"You first!" grinning, Laeron pushed Baradon off the edge with a warcry then jumped in after him.
"You keep collecting puppies," Aragorn sneered.
"Still jealous? You were the first 'pup' after-all."
"I am not jealous. Makes for a welcome change; Joust was one of mine."
"I wasn't," Lobordir groused, walking with great trepidation waist deep at the water's edge. "I was chasing Thalion's sister, Strider, you happened to be around those years."
Aragorn shook his head in mirth, "Thalion never would've permitted you of all men to court his sister."
"Sindar?" Baradon called from the middle of the lake. "Will you jump off, do all those fancy tumblings?"
"I am not inclined to, no."
Sírdhem snorted, "Since when do you refrain from showing off?"
"Since there are no maidens watching!" shouted Trîw, "Everyone knows you showed off for Eryndes the day of the funeral!"
"Cordoves?" Lobordir laughed. "Sister? You've got to come back this side and make Sindar show off!"
Legolas glared down at Lobordir and Trîw, "I am hardly amused."
"Neither am I," called Cordoves, far closer from behind the trees than expected. "I'm no maiden nor do I have any wish to watch anything any of you do naked. I dearly loved my husband and won't have his memory spoiled by beholding your inferior male figures."
"Inferior figures!" Laeron cried amongst the other shouts of outrage, "Surely we are but the finest amongst the Dúnedain! Nay, all of men!"
Cordoves' answer was a single, condescending laugh.
"Why between Strider, Sindar, Laeron and me, the world has never seen better manly magnificence!" Lobordir quickly smirked up at Legolas, "Sorry, not a man."
"What about the rest of us?" Trîw demanded.
Lobordir answered being handsome was a requirement to qualify and so another argument broke out, but Legolas' attention returned to Aragorn when he quietly cleared his throat. "Tell me, was Eryndes the reason you took up the challenge against me that day?"
Aragorn's question made his stomach fall out from beneath his feet. Legolas kept his face nonchalant as he turned rigidly to look at him, his elven body burned with an intensity no hot day out on the plains could ever inflict. His friend was staring at him openly.
He was waiting for an answer.
"If you need a reason," Legolas said calmly with a wry smile he did not feel, "then let it be her. I for one never tire of dropping you on your backside."
The speed of Aragorn's answering chuckle loosened the tension in his spine and Legolas turned and jumped, somersaulting three times before hitting the water cleanly. The water was crisp and clean, and although not affected by the hot day as the men were, the cool water against his skin was still welcome.
Rising languishingly to the surface, he slowly stroked over to the others. Aragorn also swam over to them having followed him in and gave no indication he'd not been satisfied with Legolas' answer.
"The rules Sindar-"
"Thank you Baradon, but I am well acquainted with most of the games men play."
Baradon looked at him curiously.
"I lived amongst men in the Wild for sixty years."
"There are swimmable lakes in the Wild? I thought it was mostly wallows and marshes."
"In a lake or on the ground, the game does not change. Fight the object to the opposite end through the opposition team to win."
"Sindar?"
Legolas looked over at Aragorn's head floating above the water, "Yes?"
"Try not to drown Faron."
With a laugh from all, Faron's being the loudest, the game began.
"By the time we get back, the games will be almost over. Perhaps none remaining by the Ranger's Challenges and then the feast."
"So I gathered," Legolas lay on his back in the hot sun, staring up into the deep blue sky, nearly as deep a blue as her eyes. They were all lying or sitting on the smooth rocks beside the lake. Orthellon, whose skin was very pale sat in the shade of the trees, quietly humming to himself as he often did.
Lobordir, having taken a bag from his saddle, handed out the bushel of apples within then gone past the treeline with his hand covering his eyes to give a few to his sister. He left them the promise a tussle with his sword should any take a peek at her through the trees while he wasn't there to stand guard.
Cordoves simply made a sound of sweet endearment at her younger brother then told him to hurry up.
Instead of peeking, the men plundered from his apple bag with a gay but muted laughter.
The game of water polo had been a disaster. After an equal amount of success for both teams, the game soon descended into chaos with far too much laughing, splashing and dunking.
In the end, both Legolas and Faron had been told to lighten up; it was only a game. Aragorn reminded them; he'd warned them about elves and games, and then declared the game a draw.
"Did you plan on taking part, Sindar?" Laeron asked, sunning his back lying tummy down on the flat rock. "In the Ranger Challenges I mean."
"I see no reason why I should."
"There are prizes."
Legolas didn't answer.
"What prize would entice an elf more? A wreath of flowers or a wreath of orc heads?"
Legolas looked over at Sírdhem, "Depends on the orcs."
"Is there nothing you would have as a prize?" Laeron pressed.
"I want for nothing," he told him shortly. However as the silence grew heavy, Legolas took a breath and tried to be conversational, "What prize would you have?"
The boy's face lit up, "Camaenor's new sword. He's been telling everyone how even you think it splendid."
"You are so unimaginative, Laeron," Baradon teased.
"Oh? Then tell us, what would you have?"
Baradon's face turned wistful, "A kiss from a fair maiden."
"Laeron has no need to win prizes for kisses," Trîw threw an apple at Baradon, "He gets plenty already."
"Do not," Laeron said but none could doubt the smugness of his tone.
"You would have a kiss as a prize?" Faron shook his head, "What a waste."
Baradon smiled coyly tossing the apple in the air and catching it, "I'd like to be married. Perhaps she would marry me if I asked for a kiss when I could have asked for anything."
Legolas closed his eyes in disgust.
"You have a lass in mind?" Lobordir asked, his footsteps coming back from around the trees, wandering back to his spot.
"Maybe," Baradon admitted bashfully, "Yes-"
"Where are all my apples?!"
The men sniggered and Lobordir sat his large body down heavily onto the rocks, "Thieves!"
"Disgusting," Legolas muttered finally.
A heavy silence followed and Legolas opened his eyes to find them all staring at him in question. "To force another to kiss you as a prize? It is vulgar."
"Can you see now?" Oldhin pointed at him, "Elves have no sense of fun."
Baradon looked down, "You really think I'm disgusting, Sindar?"
Legolas saw the shame on the young man's face and felt regret fill his apple happy belly, "We are simply of two different cultures. To an elf, kissing one you do not love or who does not share your love is nigh as bad as wedding without vows."
Baradon was lost, "W-wedding without vows?"
"Sindar, you're confusing him," Lobordir pointed out with a knowing chuckle, "He means bedding, Baradon."
"Oh," A blush quickly grew on Baradon's young cheeks, "But he said wedding."
"For elves it's the same; they cannot do one without the other," Lobordir reached over to snatch an apple from an unsuspecting Trîw who cried in outrage. Before Trîw had a chance to retaliate, he took enormous bite and spoke around his mouthful. "Elves are impotent until they wed; they can go thousands of years without ever even kissing a woman, let alone bedding one."
"Thousands of years?" Laeron mewled. "I cannot imagine waiting so long to be with a woman!"
Faron sniggered loudly, "Rumour has it you're not one to wait,"
Legolas waited a moment before challenging quietly, "Impotent?"
Lobordir unleashed his best smile of innocence, "Isn't that correct?"
"No, it's not," Aragorn, who up to that point been attempting to nap, grunted, "Just because they don't doesn't mean they can't."
"How do you know it works if you've never tried?" Lobordir winked at him.
Legolas gaped. "I assure you-" he stopped, a little too flustered to finish speaking, and then becoming even more flustered realising his intension to finish.
Regaining himself, he sat back and countered, "How can you ever expect to give yourself to an honourable woman in matrimonial union when you have already shared with so many?"
Lobordir grinned, "Women don't expect men to be chaste."
"Yet you expect the opposite of women?"
"Absolutely. Who'd want to marry a woman who's already deflowered by another man?"
Legolas hissed between his teeth, but Lobordir's smugness only increased.
"But you'll bed one?"
"Come, Úan, I'm not so immoral to chase virgins. But when I marry and I am expected to keep to only one woman, she'd better be unspoiled."
Legolas stared once more at the blue sky and murmured, "Your kind can be so unaccountably barbaric."
"All hail the superiority of elves."
Legolas turned his head on the stone expecting to see Faron's glare as patronising as his words. Instead he found the man waiting; as if the Hunting Master was studying his prey, waiting for the moment to strike.
The meek surrender of a troubled breath drew Legolas' attention away from Faron and he rose to his seat; Baradon was sitting low, arms braced on his legs, his head hung low.
Legolas eased the tension in his jaw Faron's unnerving gaze gave him and spoke gently to the young man, "Baradon, if you think this maiden will wish to marry you after forcing a kiss from her, then by all means. I wish you every success. However do you not think it prudent to seek a private audience first and ask permission? Or risk humiliating her in front of all the folk if she is not receptive?"
The young ranger's head rose and slowly a smile lifted his shame.
"No wonder you're not married."
"You're not married either, Faron," Úan snickered.
Legolas stood, pulling his tunic over his head and then reached for his other clothes, "One does not need to be married to realise the ramifications of unduly humiliating the one whom you wish to gain favour."
"Have you ever wished to gain favour from a lady?"
Trîw's question stopped him but then resumed pulling his leather jerkin over his head, "I have."
"You have?" he heard Aragorn ask in surprise.
"As I said," Legolas confirmed sharply, wondering at his own liberal tongue. Perhaps deciding to become more conversational with them was not so wise after-all.
"Yet you're not wed?" Laeron asked the obvious.
"Perhaps it escaped your notice," he said acidly, waving the lack of significant ornamentation to his fingers.
Laeron was as unflappable and intrinsically intrusive as his father, "Why not?"
"Haven't found one yet who could stand being married to you? Fancy that," Faron sniggered.
"Don't be cruel," Legolas was surprised to hear Sírdhem's voice and coming to his defence no less. "No man, or elf, is immune to love and there be nothing in this world to render one so easily broken, so completely torn when it is lost."
Legolas finished belting his trousers and turned back to face Sírdhem. But the man wasn't looking at the group, he was looking far out into the sky. All the others too stared at Sírdhem, sadness and pity in their faces.
For all Legolas' misgivings about Sírdhem, it was wise to remember why the man was the way he was; and just what the man had lost.
Not speaking, he pulled on his boots and left them to go explore around the lake. Perhaps a small bunch of the wildflowers might make a humble gesture of affection?
In the end none of the wild-flowers spoke to him. They were too small and wiry. They were lovely in a blanket of purple across the plains surrounding the hidden lake. Yet what did flowers of odd shape and limited coloured petals say when given as a gift?
Surely a flower of long flowing petals bursting with vibrant colour and bright green leaves would be a better choice?
"Wildflowers," he whispered, "how my envy flows,
So bravely here you stand.
Casting seeds by the wind
To land where they may
There to remain
And hold
Against most hot, most cold.
You persevere, roots shallow
Yet fierce and free.
You epitomize to me
All that I sometimes
Yearn to be."
The wind blew, gently dancing the flowers in a wave of pretty purple. With a defeated sigh, Legolas left the flowers undisturbed and continued on his walk.
When he returned to the others and they asked him where he went, he simply said he was contemplating the shapes and colours of wildflowers.
Strangely, none questioned him further. Or perhaps it was not strange. Men often thought elves odd and considered anything he did as ordinary.
It was then Aragorn announced his intention to spend the night, "Break out our packs and get a fire going. Faron? Sírdhem? Take Cordoves and Úan and see if you can find us something better than rations for supper."
"But-"
"No buts, Baradon. It's too late already; we were never going to get back in time for the games." Aragorn took the young man's shoulder and spoke softly, "There are other ways to make your intentions known. Right?"
Baradon nodded grimly and Aragorn slapped him fondly on the shoulder, "Come, let's get some fires going. Down low on the rocks surrounding the lake; I don't want the light journeying any further to attract unfriendly eyes. Trout? Toss in a lure. Orthellion? Go with Trout and stop humming. You'll scare the fish."
When Aragorn had the rangers moving to his orders, Legolas approached him, "Why are we remaining?"
Aragorn used his flint rock against his sword, sending sparks over the dried grass and twigs, "No sign of quarry or the marauders, a tranquil oasis under a peaceful night's sky. I thought you'd like the change."
Legolas looked up at the sky, the sun creeping ever slowly towards the horizon and was now grateful he'd left the flowers unpicked.
"There's some reason you wish to return tonight?"
Legolas looked back down at Aragorn crouching on the smooth rock, watching him. "I simply did not see the need to remain," he told him, pulling his bow from his back, "but since your mind is set, I will find something better than the rodents Faron's bow is capable of felling."
"Melloneg?"
Legolas stopped walking, "What is it?"
"Are you certain?"
Frowning, he faced his friend who still crouched watching him curiously. "Of course. What engagements would I have?"
There was no mistaking the smug hue to his smile, "I have no idea. These last few weeks you've become quite popular amongst folk. Who can guess what my people will have you doing next."
Still frowning, Legolas raised an eyebrow and continued on his way, "There is nothing which cannot wait another day in any case."
He was almost to the path of broken stones leading up to the ground level when he heard Aragorn call, "Such as?"
Legolas didn't stop but quietly answered, low enough not heard by anyone but the breeze, "Preparing vegetables. Late night strolls."