A/N: 12 days since my last post :) Getting better my lovely reviewers and readers! Thanks a bunch for your support and kindness! *applauds you all* Hit the big one five yesterday, so I promised myself I'd meet deadlines for everything. Unfortunately that also includes homework... *grumbles* Ah well, this chapter was very fun to write. Especially after the load of exams (Maths went great by the way.) There's not a whole lot of angst, but the chapter after this will have plenty enough of that, so fear not for the whumpiness. I should also say that- as explained at the end of chapter 11 and beginning of chapter 12- Legolas' sight is affected by the light, he's not totally and completely irrevocably blind. But don't worry about that, I won't be mentioning his sight again anyways. Read on...

I

Starcrossed
Growing Hope

To say he was disappointed would be a lie. To say he was musing would also be a lie. To say he was angry would be an understatement. No, Aragorn, son of Arathorn was furious. A small pit of fiery coal formed in the ranger's stomach, threatening to become an uncontained rage as he restlessly stalked back and forth like a predator, a firm grip on the hilt of the sword at his waist. His rugged coat whipped behind him as he spun once again on his heels to grind his teeth in the opposite direction, resembling very much a brooding sorcerer to any who looked on- if there were any capable of it at present.

The others were resting just before the tree line, under the darkening sky as they made camp; Aragorn could hear them make the occasional banter as he paced, though cared not to listen. He'd excused himself not long before, using the reason of wood gathering for the fire and scouting for a water supply, neither tasks of which he had any intention of doing. The others most likely knew this, maybe realising when the ranger had purposefully seized Legolas' wrist as he passed the elf to reach the trees and pulled him into the forest with him, not even stopping to give reasoning for his strange behaviour.

Legolas now sat upon a rock, legs crossed and hands resting lightly on his knees palms up, face passive as he mentally followed Aragorn's pacing. For some reason this made Aragorn all the more angry: the elf's casual demeanour, as if he didn't know the meaning of this confrontation, or as if he didn't even care. Aragorn certainly cared.

"Why?"

Legolas simply cocked his head, hair trailing softly in the light wind as the ranger's pacing came to an abrupt halt.

"What do you speak of-" Legolas began nonchalantly, but only for Aragorn to angrily cut him off.

"Don't!" Aragorn growled darkly, stance shifting as he leant towards the elf, a finger pointing in warning as his face twisted and body shook in his fury, "Do not dare deny this, Elf."

Never had Aragorn addressed Legolas so, and never even spoken to him with such anger, but the ranger now had a just cause for the emotion. And he had no time for the elf's games. For a while there was silence, Aragorn seething as Legolas sat completely motionless, hidden gaze turned towards him.

" 'Elven prince'" Aragorn recited Saruman's words when the elf gave no indications of replying, "Such titles are not found easily, Legolas."

"There are many other-"

"Oh, do not take me for a fool!" Aragorn turned his face despairingly to the treetops as his arms raised then hit his sides uselessly, before taking a heavy step further towards the elf, voice fast becoming a snarl, "Surely, you know me better… ah, wait, forgive me, I am not close to your heart-"

"What?" It was Legolas' turn to interrupt as he cried out indignantly, suddenly on his feet as he faced Aragorn's wrath with his own desperation, "Never!"

"Then why must you keep secrets from me? Like a child sneaking from his brother." Aragorn's voice softened abruptly, eyes melting though the elf could not see their unshed tears, "Am I not like a brother to you? How could you even scheme to keep this from me?"

"I had not meant to hurt you, Estel!"

"Am I not worthy of being told?"

"You are-"

"Why did you not tell me!" Aragorn's bellow was desperate, and he knew that it was too loud, that surely the others had heard him, but discretion was far from his mind. "Why?"

The elf seemed to contemplate him for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line as he was torn in two. His hesitation was not long, nor was it obvious, but enough for a new wave of rage to hit the ranger.

"Because I know you would act like this…" Was Legolas' final reply, and Aragorn bit back a sob as he lowered his head, turning away from his friend. It was only then that he noticed the pain in his hand, and realised just how hard he'd been gripping his sword hilt. "Estel?"

Aragorn did not answer, instead staring at the pattern compressed deeply into his hand. A few cuts showed where the hard edges had bit into his palm, but around them entwined the clear indentation of leaves and vines, never seeming to end, blending into each other; funny, how such things in life were complicated.

"Estel?" Legolas' concerned voice snapped him back to reality, and he realised with a flush that the elf had called his name multiple times as he'd stared blankly at his hand. How does he know if I've not already left? Aragorn wondered briefly as he lowered his hand, sucking in a deep breath before turning his back on his friend and heading noisily back to camp, ignoring the curious eyes on him as he hunkered down by Gimli's roaring fire.

He knows now.

They sat at Parth Galen, the soft and steady ebb and flow of the Anduin washing through Legolas as he leant back on his elbows, long legs stretched out before him while birds tweeted excitedly in the far distance. The figure next to him watched with amusement, preferring instead to sit upright and follow the elf's movements with dark eyes rather than enjoy the world around them. After a short while, Legolas sat up, pulling his legs in and crossing them as he glanced uneasily at the Gondorian, a troubled frown settling over his fair face.

"What are you?" The elf asked curiously, not even hesitating with the blunt question.

Boromir simply chuckled, the deep sound pleasing yet confusing in light of the situation as the man smirked at the elf. He cocked an eyebrow at Legolas, but replied nonetheless with a patronising air.

"Why, I am everything and anything." He chuckled, as if the answer had been obvious.

"And what, pray tell me, does that mean?" Legolas enquired dubiously, annoyed that even even the pragmatic and blunt Gondorian had caught Gandalf's habit of riddle speaking.

Boromir looked away for a moment, contemplating a far away object as he cocked his head lightly and frowned as he thought, lips pursed.

"Well," He began slowly, "I am… a figment of your imagination… or a kindred spirit… or, indeed, a ghost of the past- rather, your past."

Legolas nodded as if the answer was one he'd expected, silently looking out over the water with his hands clasped lightly in his lap.

"Then…" He chose his words carefully, "if you are of my own impression, must we have the presence of the… arrows?"

Again, Boromir cocked an amused eyebrow, grinning.

"It is a reminder." Boromir's grin widened as he considered Legolas' uneasiness, before shrugging nonchalantly, "You prefer we would be rid of their company?"

It was more a statement than a question, but Legolas nodded nonetheless, watching with alarm as the Gondorian seized one thick shaft and wrenched it from his shoulder with a grotesque sucking noise, taking a chunk of bloody flesh with it.

"I didn't quite mean like that…" Legolas mumbled faintly as he turned his attention elsewhere, nausea rising in him as two more 'suck's followed the first. By the time his attention was refocused, the arrows were on the ground beside them while Boromir crossed his arms over his broad chest, one side of his mouth quirked as he gazed readily back at the elf.

Legolas took a deep breath, running a shaky hand over his face, before resting both arms on his knees, letting his hands hang limply as he turned his eyes back to the man. He examined him for a moment, taking in the once stern grey eyes- now alight with mirth- and the smirk amidst the lightly bearded, strong jaw.

"Why are we here?" Legolas asked, "You and I?"

Boromir did not immediately reply, simply shifting to lie flat on his back, arms resting over his chest as he looked lazily up at the elf. With a pang, Legolas recognised the position as the last he'd seen Boromir in flesh and blood, disappearing in a boat over Rauros.

"I think you already know, my friend." Boromir simply replied.

"Elvish wine, on the other hand, is developed more for delicacy than strength."

"Ah, yes! I've often heard of the famed taste of Lord Elrond's wine in particular."

"Of course, Aragorn has stolen enough of the stuff in his youth to be rather familiar with its taste…"

Aragorn laughed aloud, his joy echoed by the wizard and the king as the soldiers and women around them drank and danced to their heart's content. Rohan was in a period of celebration, the victory of Helms Deep a well-earned addition to hope and the mead a well-earned award for all. Merry and Pippin danced merrily on one of the tables, their singing enjoyed by all soldiers and encouraged by those seated at the table around them, a pint in each of their grasps. Aragorn was meanwhile conversing with Gandalf and Théoden, discussing the subtle and not-so-subtle differences between the quality of the Rohirrim and Gondorian wines and Elvish wine.

"Now, the wines of my forefathers, on the other hand, are notorious for their strength!" Théoden roared with laughter, a tankard of ale in his own hand as the wizard and ranger laughed with him.

"Doubtless the Hobbits will have the courage to face their potency!" Aragorn replied, gesturing to the singing Hobbits.

Instead, what he saw past the Hobbits stopped him: a large ruckus, originating around a single spot in the dim hall. Looking closer, he could see a snoring Gimli fast asleep, slumped on the floor with his short legs high in the air, dangling against the wooden bench he'd most likely fallen from.

What was more, at least a dozen other men were fast asleep around the table: some also on the floor, some slumped over the table. And in the heart of the ale-binge sat Legolas, eyes bleary and lithe body swaying as he sat at the table, chin resting on a hand as he attempted unsuccessfully to glare down another mortal contestant, a mug poised in his hand. As Aragorn watched, the elf waved the mug vaguely in the air as his lips moved sluggishly, before suddenly laughing raucously and slapping his hand hard on the table- to Aragorn's horror, the other men joined in the laughter as the elf's words drifted over.

"And then- ha!- and then he fell into the pond!" The elf practically collapsed in a fit of giggles as the men around him exploded with even louder laughter. The ranger gulped.

"Well, I must say, your friend can certainly hold his liquor…" Théoden murmured in amaze as he followed Aragorn's gaze, but Aragorn was already moving off towards the table, face flushed in embarrassment as Gandalf chuckled after him.

His sudden presence at the table elicited a few sniggers and chuckles- one man even nudged the one beside him and gestured to Aragorn, before both roared with laughter- all of which he ignored as he faced the elf.

"Estel!" Legolas exclaimed cheerfully, throwing his arms wide in delight and spilling half of his drink in the process. When the elf brought the mug back to his lips he froze, peering into the mug as if he'd no idea where the ale had fled to, or as if he could even see into it, "I was just telling," He continued regardless, completely forgetting the loss of his ale, "these fine men," he giggled, "of the time you were convinced that you could-"

Aragorn tried his best to ignore the rest of Legolas' explanation, his eyes travelling instead in exasperation to an amused Éomer, leaning against the barrels of ale beside Legolas. The younger man merely shrugged, struggling to suppress a grin as Aragorn rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the inebriated elf.

"Yes, yes, Legolas, I know of the story, I was there- there is no need to retell it." He interrupted the elf quickly, lest he continued to the more embarrassing details, putting a hand on his slender shoulder, "And I think that is quite enough ale for you, mellon nîn."

Legolas' face immediately dropped, brow creasing as he pouted.

"But I haven't won yet." He said timidly, sounding very much like a stubborn child.

Aragorn threw up his hands and looked despairingly over to Éomer, who quickly stood upright and wiped the smile from his face with a small cough before turning to the men and raising his arms in the air, his own tankard in hand.

"I declare Legolas Thranduillion the winner of these, ahem, many drinking games!" He called loudly, eliciting a groan from Legolas' drunk opposition and cheers from the other men and Théoden. It may have been Aragorn's imagination, but he was certain he heard a wizard's cheer amidst the others…

Putting no more thought to it, Aragorn proceeded to lug Legolas from the hall and away from the cheering men, the drunken elf stumbling and giggling along.

"I won, Estel!" Legolas whispered excitedly to Aragorn, hot breath tickling the ranger's ear as they stumbled into the corridor and towards the room in which the three hunters would sleep that night.

"Yes, I know, Legolas." Aragorn told the elf, releasing his grip on him only to have Legolas come close to walking into a wall. Hastily, he dragged the elf away, again taking up his grip and leading him.

However, the problem this brought was that Legolas then threw his arm over Aragorn's shoulders, taking him into a playful headlock that consequently ended with Aragorn on his back and the elf lying on top of him, in the midst of yet another fit of giggles.

"Ahem." A small, polite cough sounded and Aragorn tipped his head back to see Éowyn peering curiously down at them, a small smile on her lips. "Do you require any aid, my lord?"

With a groan- and an embarrassed cough of his own- Aragorn pushed Legolas off to the side, getting to his feet as he brushed the imaginary dust from his clothes and faced the fair lady.

"Thank you for the offer, my lady, but I'm sure I will manage." He declined politely.

Éowyn nodded, before blushing and ducking her head with a hand on her lips as she suppressed a laugh. Confused, Aragorn looked behind him to see Legolas was still on the floor, giggling uncontrollably and rolling about as he clutched his sides. Again gulping in embarrassment, he graced Éowyn with a sheepish smile before quickly striding over to the mirthful elf, helping him up from the ground and leading him- still giggling- past the smirking lady.

Fortunately for Aragorn, there were no other embarrassing incidents for the remainder of the short journey, and Aragorn was soon laying Legolas down on the elf's bed. Legolas sighed, relaxing as Aragorn drew only a thin blanket over him- for the days were hot- before sitting back on his haunches and contemplating his elven friend, lips pursed. He gladly allowed his thoughts to swiftly consume him.

How could he have not seen it? He, a seasoned ranger, had failed to see past the elf's desperate lie. And he, raised amongst the elves of Imladris, had failed to see the elf's true ailment. Warg attack? Surely, he should have realised that a Warg attack would have meant the elf would be totally and completely blind. What kind of Warg wound meant the victim could see in the dark and not the light? What most riled Aragorn was just how painfully obvious it was, how stupid the lies were, how blind he was- oh, the irony…

And now, as he examined Legolas closely, he could clearly see the ravages of the poison: how the elf's skin was paler than what was healthy, even for the fair folk; how his clothes seemed to hang from him thin frame; how there were imprints of bandages, subtle yet something he, as a healer, should have noticed. He lifted the elf's tunic, ignoring the resulting protesting moan, to inspect the mass of bandages.

"'Tis –hiccup- Gandalf's work, Estel." Legolas slurred, pushing his hands away and patting his tunic back down, "Leave it."

Aragorn relented, again arranging the blanket over his friend. He was turning to leave when a hand caught his wrist, halting him.

"Estel?" Came Legolas' soft and heartfelt whisper, "Forgive me…"

Aragorn's heart twisted. Nay, forgive me. Carefully, he tucked the stray limb beneath the blanket, gripping Legolas' shoulder firmly and watching as Legolas' head lolled towards him.

"There is naught to forgive." He said softly, before rising to his feet, "Now, rest. I would not want to be you in the morning."

But Legolas was already fast asleep, chest rising and falling steadily, lips slightly parted.

Aragorn left the pleasant sight with growing hope.