Chapter Thirty

~ Aragorn ~
I stormed away from Legolas, my mind boiling with both surprise and anger. Surprise because firstly I would have never expected Legolas to say such things, even in Elvish, and secondly – well, I would never have thought that I would actually snap at Legolas like I had either. And I was angry that Mithrandir was gone, leaving no wisdom behind to help; angry at Saruman for betraying us and possibly causing the deaths; angry at Legolas for bringing out my fears and shoving them in my face like that, right in front of everyone.

In short, I was a mass of confused, roiling feelings that made me feel like I was floating down that river again.

I came back to myself a short time later. I was sitting on the stairs, feeling tired and run-down and – the scariest of all – feeling actually my real age of eighty-seven human years. The reason I came back: someone called me, someone whose voice was familiar.

I turned vaguely in the direction of the voice to find Eldarion sitting there. He was already dressed in preparation for the battle tonight, with a sword buckled at his waist and a bow and fully stocked quiver on his back.

"Aragorn, is something wrong?" Eldarion asked worriedly.

I shook my head and forced a wan smile on my face. "No, everything's fine," I lied, striving to keep my voice normal. Eldarion already had enough burdens on his shoulders; there was no need to add mine to his.

"Really?" Eldarion's voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. "And I suppose that would be why you and Legolas just went storming down the hall in opposite directions?"

I blinked in surprise. I hadn't noticed Eldarion in the hallway. Usually I'm better at this than that, I thought ruefully. I suppose I am a bit more rattled than usual.

As if he had heard my mental confession, Eldarion continued, "You have a really good mask, Aragorn, but . . . well, I think I can guess what you're thinking."

Now it was my turn to be sarcastic. "Oh, really, Scion of the Eldar?"

Eldarion ignored the nickname. "You're angry on the surface right now, but really, deep down inside you're confused. You've always known where to go before, which direction to take, which choice to select. But now things are complicated. Mithrandir's gone looking for the Rohirim; Saruman is sending an army of ten thousand bred especially to kill the lot of us; and know even Legolas seems to doubt you." He paused for a moment before asking, "Am I right?"

I stared at him. Eldarion was young, only about a third of my age and newly come to manhood, yet he seemed to completely understand and even empathize with what was going on.

"I'm guessing that I'm right," Eldarion decided when I gave him no answer.

His words finally wrangled a dry smile out of me. "You assume much, young one," I said, somewhat surprised that my voice was calm and steady; I'd expected it to be croaky from my lack of speech.

Eldarion rolled his eyes. "Well, when you old ones don't say anything, we young ones have to start somewhere, don't we?"

"So I'm old now?"

"Not for a Ranger. But to Men – yes, you are."

"Thank you for the compliment," I said dryly. "If I may ask, how did you guess?"

Eldarion understood my question at once. "You seem to continually forget, my lord, that Estel and I know what will happen, and we also know you. When we saw you and Legolas storming off like that . . . well, it wasn't that hard to guess that you two had argued about something."

I frowned. I was not disturbed by Eldarion's mentioning of his knowledge of our future, but rather I was actually concerned about the first part – Estel. "Where is Estel, then?"

"Trying to find Legolas," he answered with a sigh. "I had a hard time finding you, and you're no Elf – I'd hate to imagine what my sister is going through right now."

I smiled at Eldarion. He'd known exactly what to do and what to say to me without pushing me, and had ever so gently guided me back to what was at hand. So young, yet already so wise, I thought regretfully. What I wouldn't give to have seen them just grow up as I did – with innocence and freedom. . .

~ Estel ~
I jumped in the air, startled. My heart pounded like a thousand war drums, and my breathing speeded up to ten times its normal rate.

Then I relaxed, only to stiffen as a sharp twack sounded once again.

Opening the door I had passed by just seconds ago, I was unsurprised to see Legolas there. His expression was fierce as he nocked his arrow and aimed at the target; so fierce, in fact, that I could almost believe that he was actually fighting right now, right here.

His aim was true, despite the unrest that played out so clearly on his face, and it pierced the target with enough strength to rip someone's limb off. He didn't hesitate and didn't even check to see if his arrow had hit the bull's eye; he just drew, aimed, and fired yet another arrow.

I waited patiently in the shadows. If Legolas knew I was here already, then he would speak to me when he was ready. If he didn't, then I would step in before he exhausted himself. And the way it's going, I doubt he's realized I came in. . .

After Legolas had fired six more rounds, I noticed that the pauses between his drawing the arrow and his firing were becoming bigger, so I decided to step in. With a few quick steps, I was by his side. "~Legolas, you need to rest,~" I said softly, restraining his arm gently. "~Don't exhaust yourself.~"

Legolas's blue eyes showed his surprise, but he quickly buried it. "~I can last much longer than humans,~" he said curtly, shaking away my hand.

I flinched at the implied meaning. I had never heard Legolas slight Men so cruelly before; in fact, I had never really even see Legolas truly upset before either.

"~Lasting doesn't mean anything if you wear yourself out beforehand,~" I replied shortly, being just as curt as he had. I had wanted to try the gentle way of letting Legolas calm down, but it seemed I'd have to take the harder route. "~Killing yourself won't make the emotions go away, Your Highness.~"

My intentional use of his title caught his attention. He lowered his bow and stepped closer to me, suddenly broadcasting a dark, threatening aura that one of the Elder Race can display to one of the Secondborn. He was stronger, faster, wiser, older. I could not best him if this came to blows.

"~My father is immortal,~" he growled. "~He has no need of an heir.~"

"~Does immortality mean you do not need love?~" I shot back, surprised that Legolas had drawn his father in. Apparently, King Thranduil and Legolas did not have the best father-son relationship.

"~My father – I – That is completely unrelated, Engwar!~" he spat, using the highly disrespectful and very insulting term that the Elves sometimes called us humans – Engwar meant "the sickly", referring to our mortality and our susceptibility to disease. The term was especially insulting when he applied it to me, for I was a daughter of the Houses of the Edain – the Elf-friends, we were called.

In short, by calling me that, he was saying that I was just like every other human – stupid, worthless, short-lived, and one who had fallen out of Valinor's graces during the Fall of Númenor.

I stiffened. "~Sickly I may be, Legolas Thranduilion, but a mere human I am not,~" I said icily. "~Do not insult my House by the use of that term, for we of the Elendili have not earned it. We alone of Men stood by your father and the Elves 3,000 years ago at the foot of Mount Oroduin.~"

"~And you failed to cast the Ring away, which would have ended the conflict!~" he retorted.

"~Am I responsible for the choice of Isildur?~" My question challenged him, and his eyes flashed in response, darkening with anger. I could see that Legolas's usual control over his emotions was lessened, and that in turn he was not as careful with his tongue as usual. Every emotion he had buried away was coming out, and it seemed most of his negative emotions involved his – and his father's, no doubt – opinion of Men. "~For if I and my kin am responsible for the choice of Isildur, then you and your father are responsible for the choice of Oropher!~"

Legolas's eyes widened, and he took a step back, unprepared for my own words. Oh, I knew how to argue with him. As one of the Believers, I had been trained in my history. Oropher, Legolas's grandfather, had been the King of Mirkwood during the end of the Second Age, and he, along with Celeborn, had fought alongside the High King Gil-galad. But he had charged ahead during the last battle, either having been misinformed or just arrogant, and he and all of the Elves he had called to his side were slain, leaving Thranduil the new, bitter, and sad king.

I decided that I had gone on the offensive long enough. Softening my voice, I said, "~Legolas, I do not blame you – nor, I believe, does Aragorn – for your words. We all must learn to swallow our pride and apologize at least once in our lifetime.~"

All of his anger seemed to fade away, and Legolas's shoulders slumped. He gave a rather bitter smile. "~It seems that every day I learn a lesson in morality from you humans,~" he said, a trace of amusement in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. "~As I learned it from my own parents,~" I reminded him. "~I am no different from you in that regard. . . Legolas, I – ~"

"~Do not apologize to me,~" he interrupted. "~I know that your words were not spoken with the intent of harm. But I cannot say the same for my own.~"

I waved it aside. "~Words spoken in anger are never from the heart.~" It was an old lesson, one that all of the Believers had learned from childhood. We had to, for often had our parents spoken ill of King Elessar in order to remain alive when questioned.

He smiled, and his eyes cleared for the first time since I'd found him. "~Where is Aragorn?~" he asked lightly, the musical accent back in his voice.

"Um . . .wherever my brother is."

One of his eyebrows rose. "~Your brother? What does your brother have to do with this?~"

"~I tracked you down – and let me tell you, you are really hard to find when you're upset – and my brother went chasing after Aragorn.~"

"~Estel . . .~"

"~Yes?~" I turned to him.

"~Thank you.~"