In the Early Morning,

Sometime Before the Second Breakfast of the Hobbits

In the halls of my fathers, I lived as a prince. I lusted after certain elves... I remembered, briefly, of chance encounters in those same, marble halls. Whether with elvish men or women, it didn't really matter. When one lives to be immortal, age is but a number, and gender is considered even lesser than age. But Aragorn and Boromir lived in a different world. They reigned over a world of men, little more than prey to the society to which they were confined. I liked to think that being an elf meant something. It showed that we were born to be something greater than warriors. I liked to entertain the thought that elves were built to become the stars. I feared the gray curtain once, when I was younger. In my youth, I had thought that Death was a gateway to a world of oblivion. But then, I grew older. And with age came wisdom. With this wisdom, I saw starlight. I felt the cold fingers of the night lessen in its hold upon my throat. I felt the small, blue bird of hope perch within the depths of my mortality. Yes... I may have been born an immortal, but one sword blow would cause my end as quickly as it would any other mortal. Should the blade run deep and true enough, my heart would stop just so.

"Legolas!" The ranger strode over the hill leading to the forest valley in which I lay, inert, upon the grass. He came so close to me that he could reach out and touch me on the shoulder, "Man cerig?" What are you doing?

I shook my head mightily, as though awaking from the deepest of slumbers, "Goheno nin, a lelyalmë..." Sorry, let's go.

I meant to move out of Aragorn's path when the man stopped me by putting his hand entirely upon my chest. Almost instinctively, my fingers itched for my bow. I had to spend a good amount of time unclenching my jaw as I exhaled in order to calm myself, "Brother," I replied, switching patiently to the common tongue, "I'd advise you not to touch me for I nearly killed you then."

Aragorn smirked, the lighthearted gesture proving to be a stark contrast against his darkened, stubble-ridden features, "My friend!" He backed away slowly, nodding to the dagger concealed below his fingers with a playful smile, "I would have stabbed you before you could!"

I shook my head, "Rhaich..." I muttered, "I'm getting slow."

Aragorn's smile was lost then as he dropped the meaningless banter, "Peditham hi sui vellyn?" May we speak as friends now?

"Náto." It is so...

He licked his lips, his fingers reaching for his sword as he attempted to drop his air of discomfort. His dark eyes flicked momentarily to the west, and I followed his gaze with some discretion. He was gazing off at Myra, her silken hair tied up for the trials of the day. She had changed into one of Gandalf's spare robes, the cloth cinched tightly to her petite waist in a manner that made her look more like a dwarf than Gimli. I smiled at the image of Gimli wearing a dress, and was quite preoccupied with this before remembering that the subject of Aragorn's discontent was Myra. I frowned then, all traces of banter had disappeared.

I narrowed my eyes at my brother in arms, wondering what the human warrior meant to say. I had been told in years past that I had been very good at guessing what others meant to say to me, but I had taught Aragorn how to avoid this trick well. He gave no signal as to what he was trying to say this morning. I bit the inside of my cheek and then quickly stopped fidgeting again. It was certainly unlike me to act nervous about anyone or anything. Rhaich... I would rather face a whole horde of Orcs rather than sit here and talk about this situation.

"Gandalf advised me to give advice only in the realm of Men," The warrior looked troubled as he said this. We all had much to be troubled about these days, in the times of the Ring, "He told me that a single elf knew more in a nanosecond of his life than I would in a lifetime of mine." He unsheathed his sword then, and took a clod of dirt from the ground below and began to wipe off some old blood from the blade, "Trouble is that I wasn't much good for listening, Legolas. I'm not much good at that at all."

He finished quickly and put his sword back in its proper place, now pretending to pick out a splinter from his skin, "The time of choosing is upon us, Legolas." We both looked at Myra then. She was chasing a butterfly and laughing as Gandalf trapped it by folding his hat over its wings. The pair began to study the Monarch with a ferocious scrutiny when Myra caught my eye. I turned away, my skin growing hot as my mind began to imagine Myra as a serving girl in the halls of my fathers. If she knew how she was affecting me and my throne, would she act differently? "As a half-breed, she must choose to which race she belongs to, Legolas. She must choose whether she will be my queen, or yours..."

My gaze shot up to his then, and all thoughts of my disturbed fantasies dissipated at the statement, "I beg pardon? My queen?"

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully, nibbling at his pale, lower lip, "Aye, or mine."

"I don't understand..." I stared at the ground, imagining the fragile grass beneath me bursting into flames, "By the rules of ancient law, half-breeds get the choice of becoming either a human or an elf. She can choose between mortality or immortality, but no one said anything about her becoming queen!"

"By the rules of ancient law," Aragorn clarified, staring hard into my own eyes, "She will become as queenly as any blue-blooded royal out there should she happen to marry a king."

I looked carefully at the blade that lay between us, wondering how swift my dear brother might be should I try and shoot him. He might have been a decent swordsman, but one arrow to the heart ought to do it... No, what was I thinking? Aragorn taking Myra as his queen would be a good thing. After all, a half-breed turned queen had no business ruling beside me. I had to honor my lord and my kingdom. I could not even comprehend marrying a woman of so low a status.

"What about the Lady Arwen?" I challenged Aragorn by standing my ground and addressing the matter head-on, "Should you abandon the woman you love as soon as a better offer comes around?"

The dark-haired human braced himself against my words, his voice strained as he hissed, "Myra gets closer to Gandalf every day that passes. It is rumored amongst the Fellowship that he will give her the Ring to take to Mordor should Frodo one day crack beneath its weight." He slowed his tongue as he realized the bitterness that spewed forth from it, "And with that Ring, she and I should rule all of Middle Earth and I would divorce her quietly and marry her off to my brother. At which point, Arwen and I should be more powerful than even Sauron himself."

"Nai... So it comes to this. You are without heart... My lord, you hath betrayed me.

I whispered this with an air of disgust in my tone. I had realized that the Ring affected us all, but for its power to have gotten to Aragorn's head... Sauron must be so powerful after all.

"My brother you are sick," I saw the swollen redness in Aragorn's eyes and dismissed his threat as the ramblings of a madman, "You will ride in the back with the hobbits this evening. You are unfit for the struggles of a worser travel. I shall guard Myra in the front today and for the rest of the journey till nightfall. Speak to me again when the walk hath yet cleared your head."

I watched Aragorn go with sadness deep within my heart. He threw the weight of his shoulder into mine, hard enough so that the gesture stung though it did not wound me. I would have to speak to Gandalf of the warrior's transgressions.

I looked off at Myra then, coughing into her hand and having her soft skin come away damp with her own blood. Oh, if only I could take her illness from her and into my own body. She must be cursed, yes, that must be it. Only the greatest of dark magic could have cursed her, a woman of elven blood, to remain so ill without healing. It was possible that Sauron, the Necromancer's, magic could have reached so far as to touch my Myra and cause her injury. If dark magic was a possibility, then that meant Myra was dying even as we prepared for the arduous journey ahead of us.

I whispered to soothe her, even as we stood so far apart and yonder. "Nin gwerianneg," Do not be afraid...

:Nin gwerianneg...Melda tári."

Do not be afraid... My Queen.

An Hour into the Journey

I breathed harshly into Myra's ear, reaching out for her still form as the outer world died away in the heat of battle. I saw her go down and cover her head when the first volley of arrows fell. I saw the Hobbits form a sort of protective circle around her as we heard the growls of the miserable beasts out in the distance.

I saw the Red Moon rise high in the sky above us.

I smelled the scent of rot in the air, and curling my lip in distaste, I drew my bow.

"Nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer."

They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die.

Aragorn stood by me then, and our eyes met in one moment of brief clarity as the dark-haired man shouted out in warning for Gimli to draw his axe and Boromir, his sword.

"The Orcs!" The human cried, "The Orcs are coming!"

Author's Note

Thank you for all who have reviewed thus far, and hopes for many more. For those who have been reading from the start, I thank you from every inch of being there be in my person. I am writing this late at night, so I apologize for any typos that you may find. If you can do anything, ANYTHING at all to support this little story, it would be greatly appreciated. I realize that there wasn't anything romance-related in this little chapter, but do not fear! There is always more to come in the way of things. It is rumored that blood red moons are viewed as awfully romantic these days...

May the stars shine upon you on this Merry, Merry Christmas! (And a Happy New Year amongst many other equally amazing Holidays!)

-Signed your Lady,

Sherlockium