The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

OIOI

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed and anyone reading this. I appreciate them all. Enjoy the next chapter.

OIOI

Chapter 4

The Guardian

A red, quiet dawn broke over the dead copse of stripped-bare trees but the light was cold. The world around looked drenched in blood as the light filtered oddly through the thick clouds in the sky.

Legolas had spent a cold, uncomfortable night sat on the ground, keeping a respectful distance from Aragorn and his fallen father. The boy had cried long into the night but a couple of hours ago he had at last fallen silent, draped still over the cold lifeless body.

Despite the emotional distance Legolas tried to put between himself and the boy, he still recognised his pain and it physically hurt to think on it. It brought back too many memories of his own family's brutal demise. He felt pity for the child who in one day had lost everything he knew, everything he held dear. It burned in the pit of his stomach and stirred up that nagging pain of grief that had gnawed at his heart every day since the palace of Mirkwood had been taken by the Enemy and his people butchered. He felt desperate sorrow for young Aragorn for having to endure the same grief. The part of him that ached with sympathy wanted to go over and comfort the young boy, but what could he possibly say in condolence, his pragmatic muse questioned? Nothing could replace a lost parent and Legolas thought it would most likely be perceived as an insult even to try. So he sat in silence and watched the child grieve for what was lost.

In truth, as he watched, Legolas was almost in envy of Aragorn. He himself had never been granted the opportunity to say goodbye to his beloved father before the end. The King of Mirkwood, Thranduil, had been slaughtered in the midst of battle and Legolas had been unable to do anything but watch from afar through a haze of blood and smoke as royal blood flowed. And, before the king's ravaged body had hit the fine marble floor, Mirkwood's prince had fled.

Back in the grim present, Legolas shook his head to clear the memories. He had made a promise to Arathorn to care for the boy and as time passed and reality became stark once more in the light of day, Legolas felt the weight of that responsibility heavy on his shoulders. By now he could no longer recall why he had agreed to such a bargain in the first place. He hadn't meant to agree to anything at all and yet he had been unable to deny the dying man his final wish. How he was meant to do what had been asked of him he wasn't really sure. In the last day he had learned almost too much to process. More was at stake than merely the boy's survival. It would take some time for Legolas to get everything straight in his mind.

OIOI

Several hours later the Elf finally got to his feet, stretching out long, aching limbs. He never lingered in one spot for so long, knowing all too well the dangers, even in a place he deemed reasonably safe.

Walking over to Aragorn and his father, Legolas crouched down and said, "We cannot stay here any longer." Even to him his voice sounded loud and harsh and the boy startled at the sound. When he didn't move, however, Legolas explained, "We are too exposed here. We have to move on." He saw Aragorn draw in a deep, shuddering breath and he reached out his hand to lay it on the boy's back but changed his mind at the last moment and withdrew his hand. "We have to leave now. Aragorn?"

"I'm not leaving," the boy replied in a hoarse whisper.

"Well, you cannot stay here forever."

"Leave me alone."

"I can't do that." Legolas finally reached out his hand, although this time to pull Aragorn away from the body rather than offer comfort.

"Don't touch me," the boy screeched, ripping his arm out of Legolas' grip. Crying loudly, he hugged his father even tighter, burying his face in the man's shirt.

Legolas sighed heavily. He had absolutely no idea how to deal with a child. Not even before the end of freedom did he have any clue what to do around the Elflings of Mirkwood so he had almost no chance of getting it right now.

Not that the prince could especially blame Aragorn for his reaction. Had he been given the opportunity, he would have curled himself up into a tight ball and cried for all these long decades over the demise of his own beloved father. Surely he could bear to wait another couple of hours before dragging Aragorn away; maybe he would have become reconciled with the fact they had to leave by then.

"Alright," Legolas whispered, although it was so soft that he doubted the human would hear. He got to his feet and returned to his spot on the edge of the copse where he wouldn't be too noticeable to Aragorn but from where he could also keep a close eye on him. Perhaps he was finally going soft, Legolas mused, indulging the boy too much. There would be plenty of time to toughen him up later though. Legolas could do little else, could give little else, but this time to say goodbye to the man he loved, his beloved father.

Despite his compromise to only linger for another couple of hours, it actually turned out to be much longer. Morning turned into noon before anything at all changed in the small wood. Legolas found himself watching Aragorn intently as he mourned, waiting for something to give.

And eventually it did. Very slowly, the boy dragged himself up from his position sprawled over his father's lifeless body. At the shifting, Legolas sat up straighter but did not get up himself. Perhaps the boy would run for him and there would be no cause for the concern about his future anymore; the whole thing would be off his shoulders for good. It was a terrible thing to wish for and yet he found comfort in it.

Moving as if stuck in slow motion, Aragorn turned away from the pale body and, as though caught in a daze, made his way over to where Legolas sat cross-legged. The boy made no effort to speak and never met Legolas' curious eyes. The Elf half expected him to wander away for a moment of true privacy or lay down on the ground so he could cry himself to sleep – after all he had been through, the child must have been exhausted – but instead Aragorn completely shocked the Mirkwood exile by climbing onto his lap and curling up against him.

It had been a long time since Legolas had been hugged by anyone and it felt very strange and more than a little uncomfortable. The boy shivered violently against him, partially from the cold but also because of the cries that were again wracking his small body.

For a painfully long moment Legolas didn't know how to react. He sat frozen stiff, hands held up to avoid touching Aragorn's shaking body, with the child curled up in his lap, face buried in his shirt. Really the Elf had no earthly idea of how to comfort anyone anymore, let alone a distraught, grieving child.

Perhaps though there was so innate paternal instinct in him that automatically kicked in at the sound of a distressed child and he tentatively gave into the instinct and wrapped his arms awkwardly around Aragorn, enveloping him in a hug. He thought that the boy might pull away from the increased contact but instead the child buried closer to him and pulled Legolas' arm tighter around his body.

Held tightly in Legolas' strong embrace, it wasn't long before the exhausted Aragorn fell asleep and Legolas, despite the ever-present nagging feeling in the back of his mind to keep moving, to never stop, just didn't have the heart to disturb him.

OIOI

Time passed slowly for Legolas. He sat in silence with Arathorn's son curled up against him, oblivious to the Elf who protected him or the bleak world around him. Legolas thought that it might have been nice, to be oblivious. He had not been so for many years.

He would have liked to let the bereft child rest for longer but the danger, which before was a mere shadow in the distance, now seemed disconcertingly close. He wasn't certain what the threat was exactly but he had been wandering this road long enough to have learnt to trust his instincts.

There was no way to wake the child gently that Legolas could think of, so he merely shook the boy awake. Aragorn opened his eyes suddenly, blinking blearily up at his guardian.

"We have to go now," the prince said bluntly, lifting the boy up so he was now stood on his own two feet, startled by the sudden change in position. Ignoring his skittish new charge for the time being, Legolas walked across the clearing and picked up both bags, going to sling them over his shoulder. He was anxious to get moving again, to get back on his favoured road. Never before had he stayed in place so long since the Shadow had descended on the world and it made him uneasy.

"But…" Aragorn's small voice went to protest.

"What?"

The boy's eyes swept sadly over to where his father still laid and then said, "We can't leave him here."

"Well, we can't take him with us," Legolas said without thinking. Tears filled Aragorn's eyes and he turned his head away, biting his quivering lip. "I am sorry."

"Can…can we bury…?"

"We don't have time for this."

"Why?"

"Because…" He couldn't actually think of any sensible reason that he could tell the upset child. Just because he wanted to get on the road again, to continue walking towards nothing, didn't justify prematurely dragging the boy away from his father – in much the same way as he had been separated from his own adar.

It did feel somehow wrong to him to just leave the man out in the open like this, exposed. Within days, something – or more disturbingly, someone – would have consumed the body. That was not a fate Legolas would wish on anyone and, in fact, it was amongst his greatest fears: to fall victim to that kind of depravity after his demise. Mercifully, it didn't seem that Aragorn realised this to even be a possibility. From what Arathorn had told him before his death, the child had lived a remarkably sheltered life and Legolas wasn't sure he was quite ready on this day to introduce Aragorn to all the gruesome realities of the world he would now inevitably be exposed to.

Sighing heavily in defeat, Legolas conceded, "Alright, I suppose we could…figure out something before we leave."

"Really?"

"Yes. It is the least we can do. Can you help in this task?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Go and collect some rocks or stones, anything we can use to cover the bod…your father," Legolas ordered, catching himself before he accidentally upset the boy all over again with his cold, unfeeling words.

Although he didn't know why exactly he was doing this, not seeing the relevance of stone in his father's burial, Aragorn followed the instructions given by his saviour. Meanwhile, Legolas set about preparing the man. With Aragorn out of sight for the moment, the Elf took the opportunity to pat Arathorn's clothing down, searching for anything on the man that might prove useful. He found a small but sharp knife tucked under his belt and he stuffed it into his bag. He considered stripping the man of his clothes, hoping that in some point in the future they might prove useful but with Aragorn with him he thought it might be a step too far so he begrudgingly left the man's clothing – and dignity – intact. Despite this, he wasn't above taking the man's jacket, socks and shoes, as well as folding up his own blanket that had been draped over the man in his final hours.

Whilst Aragorn was collecting the rocks, Legolas started digging the grave. Using an old and slightly crumbling branch from one of the long-dead trees would take a long time but with no other alternative to hand he had no choice. He could not incinerate the body; the large fire it would cause would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention to them. Burial was the only option as he was certain that Aragorn could not be persuaded to simply leave. This was, Legolas considered, a reasonable compromise.

By the time the boy, being purposefully slow apparently, returned with his final load of rocks and sticks, the grave, shallow though it was, was dug.

"Is that enough?" Aragorn asked of Legolas bleakly.

"I should imagine so," the Elf replied, inspecting the large pile of debris.

Legolas waited for a long moment, watching the boy as if expecting him to insist upon helping. When no such insistence came and Legolas realised that he would have to complete the macabre task himself, he went over to the stiff body and gripped the heavy man underneath the arms and rather unceremoniously dragged him to rest in the shallow hole he'd dug. With no one to help him, Legolas found it a little difficult moving the dead weight of the body and in his mind he grew annoyed at Aragorn's inactivity. Of course, he could not realistically ask the boy to bury his own father.

"Alright," Legolas mumbled grumpily, breathing heavily in exertion, once the body was in its place. He then proceeded to cover the body with the soil he'd just removed then piled the stones Aragorn had collected over the topsoil to make a proper grave. The sticks he used to disguise the grave, hoping it might offer a little protection from animals and humans alike. "There," the Elf declared once he was finished.

Now that that unpleasant task had been dealt with, Legolas was eager to get going but rather than following him over to the bags, Aragorn instead sat down, legs folded underneath him, next to the newly dug grave.

The Elf released an annoyed sigh of frustration at the continued delay despite having indulged Aragorn in what he wanted, and said sharply, "We have to leave now." The boy continued to completely ignore his command though and Legolas saw him shuddering with sobs again. "Aragorn."

Death had become so terribly commonplace in his life by now that it hardly even affected him anymore, so it was strange to watch the deep, painful grief others still associated with the passing of another. Even so, he couldn't understand Aragorn's desire to wallow rather than just move onwards. Moving made everything easier to bear. Standing still only allowed Legolas to dwell on that terrible aching pain deep in his heart and no good could come of that.

Dispassionately, Legolas strode over to him and hauled him roughly to his feet. "We can't stay here any longer. It's too dangerous."

"I don't want to go," Aragorn cried, fighting weakly against Legolas' comparatively strong grip.

"We have to leave."

Ignoring the boy's increasingly pitiful cries of protest, Legolas picked him up, avoiding his kicking legs, and carried him towards where the bags were resting, then dropped him back onto his feet, keeping one arm firmly wrapped securely around him so he couldn't escape no matter how much he struggled and, with his free hand, picked the bags up.

"Come on now," Legolas said coldly, dragging the child, quite literally kicking and screaming, away from the gravesite. "I am sorry," the Elf murmured more calmly, sympathetically, as he hauled Aragorn from where his father laid buried beneath the earth, knowing already that they would never return to this place.

Returning to the muddy road, despite the squirming, screaming child he dragged along beside him, Legolas felt a sense of peace returning to him. It never failed to amaze him how much familiarity soothed him. And he needed the familiar right then when everything else was so up in the air.

Aragorn's protesting squirming did not last long and pretty soon they were far enough away from the place of Arathorn's demise that Legolas felt confident enough in letting the boy walk alone without the fear of him running back to the side of his father's grave. The boy did not so much as attempt to run though. He walked in miserable silence behind his new guardian, solemn and moping, his head bowed to the ground. Legolas didn't bother trying to talk to him; he preferred the silence no matter how sulky it was.

Legolas only looked back at the young Aragorn when his sharp hearing picked up the sound of faltering footsteps. He turned in time to see the boy catch himself just before he fell to the ground. Only then did Legolas realise that it was getting dark again. Night was descending and the Elf considered that the weakened human child would probably be getting weary by now.

"Are you tired?" Legolas asked evenly as Aragorn slowly caught up with him. The child made no attempt to answer; indeed he did not even look up at Legolas' voice. "Well, I want to keep walking so…"

Frustrated by Aragorn's stubborn continued lack of response to his words, Legolas turned sharply around and started walking quickly again, relieved, much to his intense surprise, to hear small footsteps on the sludgy ground behind him. Why should he change his decades-old, comforting regime for anyone? So he continued onwards, ignoring the darkness that was starting to blacken the land as night fell. Behind him, now Aragorn was crying softly again, as he had been doing intermittently throughout the afternoon. In truth, the sound was starting to grate on the Elf's nerves and he had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping in annoyance at the morose child.

This time, the crying did not cease as it had done previously, and Legolas heard him stumbling more frequently as they walked onwards. When the boy tripped in the now full darkness of night, Legolas stopped angrily and retraced his steps. Aragorn remained knelt on the ground, shivering slightly from the chill that had formed in the air, his arms wrapped tightly around himself and shuddering with unrestrained sobs.

Finally, Legolas took pity on the weeping child and crouched down in front of him to pull the blanket from his bag. He swung the thin fabric around Aragorn's shoulders then stood up, leaning down to pick the boy up from the ground.

When Legolas lifted the trembling child into his arms, he felt Aragorn immediately snuggle closely against his chest. The boy wrapped his short legs securely around Legolas' thin waist and buried his face in Legolas' shoulder with a dull cry. The Elf gently ran his hand over the boy's trembling back in response and started walking again. Aragorn's weight slowed him down a bit but so long as he was on the move his speed didn't really matter.

It wasn't too much longer before Aragorn's cries stopped altogether and Legolas felt him growing limp in his arms. The child had finally fallen asleep.

Despite the fact that he too was tired and Aragorn's weight in his arms was dragging him down, as he walked the painfully familiar steps of the Old Forest Road Legolas felt what he considered to be closest thing to contentment he was capable of feeling anymore.

In just a few hours, and after one stupid, reckless mistake, his world had been completely turned upside down. In a world where nothing was certain, he liked to keep the things he could control in his life constant, unchangeable. This had thrown him off balance. And yet he felt, for the first time in the twenty long years of his exile, like he had finally done something worthwhile. True, things had been dramatically changed but now his conscience was clear with regards to the human and his son. Legolas remembered, as he looked down at the bereft child in his arms, what it felt like to actively protect and preserve life rather than to passively watch it pass him by.

Legolas walked all night long without pause with Aragorn securely held in his arms. Only when the boy stirred with the dawn did Legolas finally stop and lay the child down on the side of the road. He had rather hoped that Aragorn would remain asleep a little longer – the boy was far easier to deal with when he was asleep – but he woke not long after they'd stopped.

Aragorn opened tired, heavy eyes to find that dull grey light now brightened the land. He was laid on his back on the cold, damp ground and he shivered slightly from the chill. For a moment, he was peaceful and untroubled. But then he realised that there were no blankets swathing him as when he usually woke and he could not feel the presence of his father nearby. His father never strayed whilst he slept.

Then he remembered all that had recently occurred and grief swept through him in a way he had not experienced before. Tears sprang to his aching eyes and he shuddered, this time not from the cold. He was all alone in the world.

No, not alone. Someone was with him, he remembered.

Aragorn sat up quickly with a gasp and his eyes darted around. No one was near and he heard no sound. There were no trees here, only dull grey damp rocks near the narrow muddy road that Aragorn recalled walking down recently with his father whilst they were held in the grasp of the monsters who'd ambushed them unexpectedly.

Wrapping his arms tightly around himself to ease his shudders, Aragorn squinted out into the mist that had once more descended around him. He had could have sworn that someone had been with him before; certainly he had not gotten to the strange, unfamiliar place himself. Surely someone must have carried him here. Suddenly, he felt so terribly lonely. He had never been entirely by himself before and he found that he didn't like the feeling one bit. Even a complete stranger – which was all he could have realistically hoped for now that his father had left him – would have been better than this awful solitude in this strange and frightening place. Confused and scared, Aragorn buried his face in his knees and cried.

Aragorn sat crying softly to himself for what seemed to be hours on end, although he convinced himself that it wasn't actually as long as it felt. Slowly, his tears finally spent, the boy wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket and climbed to his feet. Now that he was all alone he thought that perhaps he should move off the roadside. It was walking so blatantly down the path that had gotten he and his father captured by the evil monsters in the first place; he didn't want to stumble across them again anytime soon.

Taking a step forward, Aragorn looked about himself skittishly but didn't move further. Despair welled up inside him again as he debated with himself what to do next. Should he stay and wait for the man who had rescued him from the monsters to return or should he run while he had the chance? Another despairing sob escaped him and he sat back down hard on the ground in defeat.

One thing he was certain of: he wanted his dad.

Wallowing in misery was oddly comforting so when Aragorn heard quick, soft footsteps approaching, he was vaguely disappointed. The time for decision-making was over; his guardian – if that was what one who just up and left with no word could be called – had returned.

The footsteps stopped but Aragorn did not bother looking up. No one spoke and after a while curiosity piqued in him. A soft sniffing sound came and Aragorn frowned as he opened his eyes and looked down to find a snuffling, wet black nose on the end of a rusty-brown snout sniffing his shoes. Startled, Aragorn lifted his head to find a dog looking up at him with big, kind brown eyes.

"Hello," Aragorn whispered, holding out his hand for the dog to smell.

The animal whined briefly, uncertain whether to approach further.

"Come on. It's alright, I won't hurt you," Aragorn encouraged, rubbing his fingers together in a beckoning gesture.

Once more the dog sniffed the air cautiously, judging whether or not it was safe to approach, then it stepped closer and licked Aragorn's fingers before rubbing its head against Aragorn's hand. Aragorn laughed softly at the friendly action and stroked the dog's ears, which although caked in mud from the road, were velvet to the touch. Moving closer still, the dog sniffed Aragorn's clothes and nudged at his pockets as if searching for food. As the curious creature tickled him with its twitching whiskers and licked his face, Aragorn chuckled softly, running its hands over its dusty coat.

Suddenly, the dog's ears pricked up and it backed away from Aragorn, its teeth now bared and a deep growl resonating from its throat. Aragorn, astounded by the sudden change, shifted onto his knees and reached out his hand imploringly towards his new friend. The dag barked fiercely and Aragorn flinched a little but still kept trying to tempt the dog closer, wanting contact with something that would protect him from the scary new place he found himself in.

As Aragorn slowly shifted closer to the dog, whose hackles were now raised in warning, a gloved hand suddenly grabbed his wrist and thrust it away.

"What are you doing?" Legolas demanded as Aragorn fell back in fright.

Legolas looked across at the growling dog, whose ears now lay flat back against its head and had its teeth bared. "Get out of here," the Elf commanded, kicking the dog in the side so it whimpered pathetically and cowered out of his way.

Aragorn reached towards the dog in horror as Legolas shooed it away carelessly.

"Keep away from it," Legolas shouted when he noticed the child edging towards the creature. "Damned mutts!" He picked up a handful of pebbles from the side of the road and threw them at the dog so it barked and hurried away into the mist. Legolas turned to Aragorn and commanded, "Don't touch those things. They're dangerous. What is wrong with you? Those filthy animals are crawling with disease and you don't even know if it's friendly or not. Are you so sheltered that you know nothing about the world?" Legolas yelled angrily. His anger was not potent enough to last long though and, taking a deep breath, he looked down at the child and when he saw him, exclaimed in annoyance, "Don't start crying for…"

Tears had pooled in Aragorn's eyes and he shuddered slightly. Legolas had just chased away his only friend in the world. Grief tore at him again and his tears slipped down his cheeks.

Legolas sighed, this time in frustration, at himself for losing his temper so easily. It hadn't been his intention to make the boy cry. Running his hands over his face to cool his anger, Legolas crouched in front of Aragorn and said in a softer voice, "I am sorry, but you have to be more careful."

If Legolas was expecting an apology in return then he was disappointed, for although Aragorn stopped crying, he made no effort to speak at all.

"Would you like some water?" Legolas asked, holding out the peace-offering for the boy.

With tears still in his eyes, Aragorn reluctantly stretched out his hand for the flask. He didn't like this person his care had been left in, so abrupt and seemingly cruel, but he was desperately thirsty so he drank greedily from the canteen, ignoring the fact that the water was stale. He swallowed thickly, then went to hand the flask back to Legolas but he had already wandered off again, searching through his bags for something.

"Stay here," Legolas commanded the boy, drawing what looked to be a small bow and two dart-like arrows from inside the bag.

Before Aragorn had a chance to stop Legolas from leaving, he'd already vanished into the mist. Aragorn sat up straight again, tempted to run after the strange man who'd rescued him from the monsters but he found himself afraid to venture into the unknown.

He didn't know how long he waited alone but by the time Legolas returned, Aragorn was laid down again. He didn't bother to move as Legolas came close to him and dropped the heavy corpse of the dog on the ground. He only let out a horrified cry, which Legolas completely ignored and knelt down, whipping a hunting knife from the leather belt beneath his jacket and started skinning the brown dog who had been Aragorn's friend so briefly.

As Legolas skilfully and heartlessly skinned the canine carcass, Aragorn laid down wretchedly on his side, facing away from the gruesome scene, covered his ears with his hands and closed his eyes. He didn't want to know what was happening, didn't even want to think about it. He didn't want to have anything to do with this horrific new world he found himself in.

It was some time before Legolas spoke again. "We have to find shelter. There is rain coming." When the boy remained curled up in the same spot, Legolas walked over to him to pick up the forgotten canteen of water and prompted impatiently, "Now, Aragorn!"

Slowly, Aragorn unfurled his body and climbed to his feet. His head was bowed but he found that he had to rapidly avert his eyes when he caught sight of the remains of his canine friend, who had been so thoroughly butchered by Legolas. Nausea rose in his throat but he took a deep breath, and without looking back, hurried after Legolas, who was already striding away.

Aragorn had to run to keep up with his guardian, so by the time they veered off the road itself he was struggling to remain at his side.

"Keep up," Legolas snapped back at him, glancing over his shoulder at the boy.

Tears of anger and frustration welled up in Aragorn's eyes but he did not allow them to fall this time. He didn't want Legolas to see him cry again – not over his words anyway.

"In here." Legolas led him into a hollow, naturally dug into the side of a steep bank about a minute's walk from the main road. The space was nowhere near as pleasant to be in as the cave Legolas usually used to avoid the inclement weather but he had been here before when absolutely necessary and it was good enough to keep them dry for a while.

The hollow was unpleasantly damp inside and smelt heavily of the wet earth. Tree roots hung from the ceiling and tracked vein-like patterns on the muddy uncomfortable ground. Aragorn was just about able to stand up straight in the centre of the hole but behind him the much taller Legolas had to bend and crouch to be able to stand inside. The Elf shrugged off the bags – now heavier due to the meat he wrapped in cloth for later – and sat down in the centre of the small hole where there was most room.

Meanwhile, Aragorn retreated to the very back of the hollow and laid down, curled up on the cold, damp earth. He pillowed his head on his arm and watched as Legolas shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, revealing yet another layer of clothes underneath. Aragorn frowned and squinted in the dim light, trying to make out the symbols emblazoned on the clothing. He didn't recognise them as meaning anything but he was fascinated nonetheless. In his mind, he reached out and traced the intricate patterns. They were in gold thread on dark green fabric that was ripped and torn almost to the point of being useless and, even in the poor light of the dug-out hollow, glittered ever so slightly as if enchanted in some way.

Legolas realised after a moment that Aragorn was staring at him but, as he looked over, the boy's grey eyes swept away.

"We'll rest here for a while," Legolas said, breaking the silence, startling Aragorn slightly. The boy just nodded, resting his head back down on his arm.

To busy himself until the rain stopped, Legolas reorganised the bags, even though he did so every time he stopped so it wasn't strictly necessary. Next time he stopped outdoors he would build a fire so he could cook his feast of dead dog. True, the overly-sensitive Aragorn might not eat it – the boy looked thoroughly disgusted by the whole thing – but Legolas knew by now that it was imperative he took every possible opportunity to eat whatever came his way. Over the years, he had learned to be squeamish about nothing. And if the child would not touch it then there would be more for him. Why should he care if the boy starved because of his own foolishness? If that happened then at least he would not be burdened with the responsibility of the child. No, he would not lament being rid of this particular burden despite his previous feelings towards him.

Legolas sighed and glanced over to Aragorn, who was laid in the mud as far back as he could get. It hadn't taken long for the boy to fall asleep and Legolas had left him alone. If he wanted to sulk then at least he kept quiet as he did so.

Legolas' frown softened, however, as he watched Aragorn. In his sleep, the child looked so innocent, so utterly oblivious to what awaited him in his future; the fate that would one day inexorably destroy him. Arathorn had confessed before his demise what his son represented. He had spoken in hushed, secretive tones of Aragorn's heritage, his place in the world of Men and of his hopes for the child's future. He had spoken with fading optimism, undeserved, of what Aragorn would achieve when he grew up. But, how, Legolas wondered, could such a small, seemingly feeble child be one day as powerful as Arathorn hoped?

Shaking his head to rid it of all these confusing thoughts, Legolas refocused his gaze once more on the young child in his care. Right at that moment, he wished the boy no harm. He could not.

Noticing Aragorn shivering, Legolas realised that it was cold in the hole under the ground and he replaced his jacket on his own body before reaching over to his bag and retrieving his blanket to lie over the boy. As he tucked the threadbare blanket around Aragorn, he wondered at his own actions, seeming so horribly foreign to him. Surely this was not the action of someone who was indifferent, who did not care.

He scoffed quietly at himself and sat back against the earthen wall. The past few days had been eventful to say the least and they had left him feeling drained. Hunger gnawed painfully in his belly but he was used enough to that by now that he found it easy to ignore. He shivered slightly from the cold and adjusted the gloves on his hands, rubbing them up and down his arms in a futile attempt to banish the chill.

Outside the shelter of the small hollow the rain pounded the land just as Legolas had predicted. For a while, he watched as it streamed down in front of the opening. Reaching over, he pulled out the two flasks he carried – one of them stolen from Arathorn's belongings – and uncapped them both before crawling towards the hollow's entrance and planting both flasks in the mud out in the rain. This was not the destructive acid rain that had fallen from the skies just a couple of days previously but rather the vital, fresh water that remained rare and he knew to take advantage.

Once one of the flasks was full to the brim, Legolas retrieved it and drank long of the refreshingly cool water. It felt good to be able to drink like this as it filled his stomach, giving the sensation like he had eaten a full, satisfying meal.

After completely draining the canteen, Legolas returned it outside to refill.

The rain did not cease as darkness fell and Legolas found the chill in the air deepening. Normally when it was this cold he would wrap up in his – albeit thin – blanket and wait for the dawn. But tonight Aragorn possessed his only source of warmth.

He glanced over at the boy, who had curled up even tighter and was now facing away from him. Legolas remembered a time when he had been able to sleep that peacefully, remembered the luxurious feel of his own large bed in Mirkwood and being tucked in at night by his mother or father. He remembered peace and warmth and what it felt like to be looked after and protected. How he now longed to feel those things once more. The desire ached in his chest and he absently raised his hand to his heart, closing his eyes with a pained sigh. He hated these quiet, still moments when he had chance to reflect on the way things used to be. Even the world as it was was better than these imaginings of what used to be, of what could never be again.

Aragorn came back to awareness slowly. First, he smelled the unpleasant earthy smell around him and an image of his dream of being buried alive flashed through his mind, making him sit up too quickly, banging his head on the low ceiling of the hollow with a soft yelp.

Rubbing the top of his throbbing head, Aragorn blinked his eyes, trying to see where he was or at least where Legolas was but the hole was so completely dark and he couldn't see more than a couple of inches in front of him. Night had obviously fallen as he slept.

From outside he could hear only the soft pattering of rain. He strained his hearing but couldn't hear anything from inside the shelter. He wondered again where Legolas was. Quite possibly, he was sat right next to him, it was impossible to tell in the dark. Or had his guardian left him already?

Aragorn went to stand then and realised with surprise that at some time he had been covered in a blanket; the same one that had so recently shrouded his father and despite the rather macabre nature of it he appreciated the relative warmth and comfort it provided him.

However, he now pushed the blanket aside and, purposefully minding his head this time, got up onto his knees. He was cold and hungry and thirsty, so decided to deal with the easiest complaint first. Vaguely, Aragorn recalled Legolas dumping the bags somewhere along the unevenly carved walls of the hole so he got up, being careful not to stand up completely straight until he was roughly in the centre so he didn't hit his head on the sloping roof. Legolas was no longer sitting in the middle of the hollow as he had been last time Aragorn had been awake and again the boy squinted in the darkness in an attempt to make out even the outline of his guardian.

Deciding that he would worry about Legolas later if he had to, Aragorn continued his blind search.

He didn't get very far though, as after just a few awkward, shuffling steps, Aragorn tripped on something. At first he thought it to be just a tree root but this particular root emitted an irritated grunting noise and shifted on the ground. Roots didn't tend to do either thing.

"What are you doing?" Legolas asked through the darkness. Of course, he knew it could be no one but Aragorn stumbling blindly around.

"I was looking for the water," Aragorn answered, attempting to position Legolas by the sound of his quiet voice.

The Elf forced himself up from where he'd been laid on the ground, trying to determine when exactly he'd fallen asleep. It was pitch black in the hollow so it was almost certainly still night. At least he hadn't slept past dawn.

Easily, he picked up the flask from his side and shook it so Aragorn could identify from the sloshing its whereabouts in the dark.

Almost blindly, Aragorn reached out towards the sloshing sound until his hand collided with Legolas and he awkwardly took the flask.

Legolas, meanwhile, stretched over and extended his hand out of the entrance to feel cold rain still falling reasonably steadily. "Have as much as you like. We'll actually have plentiful chance to refill them for a change."

Aragorn did not reply to him so Legolas laid back on the cold soil and closed his eyes. After a minute, he heard Aragorn quickly gulping down the water and he couldn't resist and unseen smile. At least the child was quiet, he mused. In his mind, the noise of boisterous, young, energetic Elflings still echoed from his thoughts before he'd fallen asleep and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, at once both grateful that the noise wasn't real and disturbed by the ghostly memory.

Legolas listened as the boy finished drinking and screwed on the top on the canteen, then as he carefully placed it back on the ground.

"Did you sleep well?" Legolas murmured awkwardly, attempting to make conversation.

There was a long silence during which Legolas seriously wondered whether his ice-breaking question would petulantly go unanswered, but then Aragorn, so quietly Legolas would have had to strain his hearing had he not been of Elven blood, said, "Yes."

"Good. We have to get moving again at the break of dawn."

"Why?" Aragorn whispered curiously.

"Excuse me?" Legolas asked, sitting up and opening his eyes even though he could only see the outline of the child.

"Why do we have to leave at dawn?"

Legolas shrugged in the darkness and fumblingly replied rather tersely, "Because…Just because."

"Oh."

"Hey, if you want to do something different, go right ahead; see how far you get on your own," Legolas snapped in irritation, which was most definitely unjustified. A moment later he heard Aragorn haltingly making his way to the back of the hollow beneath his blanket, followed by the unmistakeable sound of shuddering cries. "Uh, why must you always cry?" he ground out.

"Leave me alone," Legolas heard Aragorn breathe fiercely.

Feeling a little like a petulant child, for which behaviour his late father would have severely berated, Legolas rolled onto his side, his back to the boy. He knew he should not have been so cruel to the child. He remembered all too well the burning pain of loss and how hard it was to bear. Patience was a virtue he had once possessed in abundance yet now eluded him completely. How this world had failed him, had changed him beyond all recognition – and he wasn't entirely sure he liked this person he had become.

To Be Continued…