The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

OIOI

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. My writer's block is still refusing to move but I am pushing onwards, unwilling to give up on this story despite the difficulties. Normally I have completely finished writing a story before daring to put it up but this remains a working progress.

Special thanks to Ziggy3 for your words of support.

Enjoy the chapter.

OIOI

Chapter 10 – Lineage

OIOIOI

Aragorn woke with a choking tightness in his throat that very nearly made him gag. Coughing harshly to clear away the discomfort, he opened his eyes to the bright orange light of a fire close-by. For a very brief moment, he panicked, thinking that he was still in the captivity of the madmen, that there was no hope of him escaping the same fate as that poor woman he'd witnessed being brutally devoured.

Then a firm hand was placed upon his shoulder from behind and he twisted suddenly under a thin blanket to see Legolas' worried face hovering above him, eyes glittering in concern.

"Legolas?" the young man mumbled, clearly confused. But he trusted Legolas and he instinctively calmed in his presence. Nothing could happen to him so long as Legolas was at his side.

"Yes, I'm here," Legolas said in a whisper. "Relax."

Struggling to do as instructed, to calm the erratic beating of his heart, Aragorn reached his hand up and without hesitation clamped it tightly around Legolas', which remained on his shoulder, wanting to feel the Elf close by. "Where is 'here'?"

"We're somewhere safe," the Elf reassured cryptically.

"But where?" Aragorn persisted, attempting to struggle up into a sitting position so he could be sure that the place in which he'd woken was indeed safe.

"Stay where you are. Your leg was badly injured," Legolas told him firmly, pressing his hand down ever so slightly in an effort to keep the boy in place.

As if on cue, Aragorn felt a horribly familiar stabbing pain in his right leg and he let out a cry. "Ah, it hurts," he told the Elf unnecessarily, tears gathering in his eyes. He went to reach out, as if to touch the pain, but Legolas' hand held him back.

"I know." Legolas flinched slightly at the memory of hearing Aragorn's delusional cries of pain as he lay semi-conscious whilst Legolas used the torn-up cloth of his own shirt to bandage the multiple wounds the trap's brutal teeth had inflicted. They had broken his heart to listen hear, knowing especially that he was the cause of the additional pain his ward suffered, even though he also knew that it was for the greater good. And yet, he had stayed loyally at the boy's side the entire time, held his hand as he called out for his deceased father in his confused, fevered state. "I am sorry, Aragorn; I wish I had something that could ease your pain," Legolas said softly, sadly.

Swallowing thickly, Aragorn blinked to clear his blurred vision then looked up into regretful blue eyes. "It's alright."

Legolas offered him a small smile and ran his hand almost tenderly over dark, ruffled hair.

"Legolas?"

"How are you here?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, how did you find me?"

The Elf smiled again and assured, "You didn't honestly think I would just let you wander off all on your own, did you?"

Aragorn frowned in confusion, not quite understanding the undertone of humour in the Elf's words. "But…What I said to you…"

Legolas shook his head. "We don't have to talk about this right now. You need to rest."

"Have I told you how sorry I am?" Aragorn ignored his suggestion and asked. Tears sprang suddenly to his eyes and this time spilled unchecked down his pale cheeks.

"Not in the past few hours but then you have been asleep so can be forgiven," Legolas smiled, wiping Aragorn's tears away with his sleeve.

Aragorn sniffed, offering his guardian a trembling smile. "I am so sorry."

"You are safe now - that's all that matters."

"No, it's not."

When Aragorn tried once more to sit up, Legolas urged him, "Stay still, Aragorn, you are hurt. Moving will only make the pain greater."

"No, I have to apologise for…"

"Aragorn, enough," Legolas told him firmly. "Now is not the time."

"But…"

"Once you have recovered sufficiently then you can apologise to me until you're blue in the face. In fact, I expect nothing less. But for now, you must rest. Lie back and try to sleep."

Wisely coming to the realisation that he was not going to win an argument with the Elf – and honestly feeling too guilty to even try to disobey Legolas' orders – Aragorn laid back down.

There was a long moment of quiet, during which the only sound was the crackling of the fire.

Fed up with the lack of conversation, which was making the air increasingly tense, Aragorn broke the silence by asking, "Did you track me?"

"Sorry?"

"After I…left. Did you track me?"

"Oh. Yes."

Not exactly the full conversation Aragorn had been hoping for. "I never noticed."

"I stayed a day or so behind you," Legolas briefly explained.

"Why?"

"I didn't think you wanted to see me," the Elf said softly and Aragorn closed his eyes in sadness. "You were not hard to trace." Legolas smiled over at him in amusement that just hours ago as his ward lay unconscious and delirious he didn't think he'd ever be able to feel again. "We'll have to work on your skills of concealment in the future." Suddenly, the Elf looked anxious again. "That is, if you wish to stay with me now."

"Of course I do," Aragorn answered without hesitation.

Reaching out to touch his hand to Aragorn's still slightly fevered forehead, Legolas smiled, "Good."

Sighing in relief that Legolas was not completely unwilling to take him back as he had feared after their previous heated exchange of hurtful words, Aragorn let his eyes fall closed, listening to the soft crackling of the fire. This proved a big mistake because concentrating on the sound of fire instantly brought back the horrific memories of his short time with the Wild Men, of them cooking their gruesome catch over a roaring fire, celebrating the death of another as they consumed one of their own kind.

His eyes snapped open to find the fire had burned down to ash and natural light was now flooding into the safe haven provided by Legolas. At the memory of the cannibals – or had it been a dream, for so much time had passed? – Aragorn gagged, shifting awkwardly over to his side as he coughed and choked violently. Tears spilled from his eyes as his stomach heaved painfully.

Amidst the choking, the retching and the sobbing, Aragorn heard Legolas speak his name, the soft sound like a beacon of light in the darkness of fear.

Gentle hands pulled him up and he found himself wrapped in Legolas' arms. Crying hard, he pressed his face into the cool fabric covering Legolas chest, shamelessly clinging onto the Elf who was forever bound as his protector.

Rubbing Aragorn's back, Legolas soothed, "It's alright. Shh, shh, you're safe. I'm right here."

For a long while, the Elf calmly comforted his upset young charge until Aragorn's cries finally died down to nothing and he lay quiet in his guardian's arms loosely embracing arms. When Aragorn coughed gently and moved his hand to rest gingerly against his churning stomach, Legolas looked down at him in concern.

"Are you alright?"

Aragorn nodded against the Elf's chest but murmured croakily, "Thirsty. I wish we had some water."

"Oh, here." Legolas awkwardly disentangled one of his arms from around the boy and reached for the flask at his side. "I'd almost forgotten about this." Manoeuvring his arms again so that steady fingers could unscrew the canteen that Aragorn recognised instantly as his own, which had been dry as the desert last time he'd seen it before his capture. "Drink."

The previously dry flask was now filled to the top with water and Aragorn took it gratefully, wondering how it had come to be filled again as he raised it, with Legolas' hand keeping it steady as his own hands trembled still, to his lips.

The water was distastefully warm due to the heat of the haven they were tucked away in but to Aragorn's parched throat it was the most refreshing thing he'd ever tasted in all his life. Even so, he sipped carefully, still wary of his unsettled stomach, fighting the impulse to gulp the whole lot down in one go.

Once he was done, Legolas took the flask from him, screwed the top back on and laid the canteen carefully aside for later.

"Where did that come from?" Aragorn asked warily, watching the Elf's measured movements in almost fascination.

"There is a river nearby."

Aragorn peered up at him with startled grey eyes. "You left me?" he asked in a small, frightened voice, bordering on childlike.

Laying his hand on Aragorn's head gently to calm his rising panic, Legolas softly answered, "Only for a moment." Upon glancing down and seeing the look of sheer panic now on Aragorn's face, he gently assured, "Don't worry, I wasn't gone for long. You were safe."

"It could have been dangerous out there...for you."

"I was fine," Legolas smiled simply, reminding Aragorn that his guardian was afraid of nothing.

Once again silence fell between them and once again Aragorn felt compelled to break it. "Legolas, those Men…"

"Yes?"

Never before had Legolas actually invited his charge's questions before; it was an oddity but Aragorn found that he was glad for it because he wanted to understand, even if the thought of understanding terrified him. "What…? Why are they like that?"

Legolas sighed deeply. Normally he would have simply dodged the question that was so distasteful to answer but so far that policy had not worked particularly well for him, having already scared Aragorn away once through the frustration caused, so he decided there and then upon a change of tactics. He told the truth.

"They are driven by need - and increasingly by madness. To survive, they consume their own kind. Hunger drives Men to do dreadful deeds, Aragorn."

"But…we go hungry all the time."

"Yes, we do."

A cold stab of nervous terror pierced Aragorn's heart in anticipation of the reply to his next question.

"Have you ever…?"

"No," Legolas answered without pause, knowing what his ward was getting at.

"Have you ever considered it?"

"No."

"Not even when you've been starving hungry; it never crossed your mind?"

"No."

"You've never once been tempted?"

This time, Legolas looked down and answered slowly, deliberately, "No. Never."

"And you never would, right?"

"Of course not. No matter how bad things get, I would never resort to doing such a terrible thing."

Aragorn nodded, trying hard to disguise his relief, for he had not been certain that Legolas would really answer in that manner. "I keep thinking…That poor woman. And so many more." Tears fell from his weary eyes again, soaking into Legolas' shirt. "What they did to her…If you hadn't have come for me, they would have…"

"But they didn't. I came. Everything is fine now." As Aragorn nodded, his cries were renewed and Legolas stroked his hair comfortingly. "Those Men were driven by insanity. I will never be as they are." Softly in the light of day, Legolas bent close to his young charge and whispered the assurance he knew Aragorn was craving. "And nor will you. They are weak, immoral, twisted by pain and desperation. In their hearts and minds they are evil, one more creation of the Shadow. But you are not like them. You have goodness in your heart; you will never be like them."

"I still don't understand how people could do that," Aragorn whispered tearfully.

Kindly, Legolas whispered, "I know you don't." He was immensely grateful that Aragorn did not understand the whims of the insane. To understand was to invite madness and above all else Legolas did not want Aragorn to ever experience that kind of depravity.

Still crying softly, Aragorn said, "I'm so sorry, Legolas."

"Shh, it's all alright now."

With nausea rising in his throat again, he choked out, "I can still smell…"

"Try not to think about it." Legolas held the boy close as he cried against him. "Ai, Aragorn, I wish so much that you never had to experience what you have. I have always tried so hard to protect you from it. Perhaps too much."

Wiping at his tears, Aragorn asked thickly, "What do you mean?"

Legolas paused for a long moment, staring intently into the smouldering remains of the fire. How he longed not to have to do this, to let the child live in blissful ignorance for a while longer. And yet he knew that Aragorn at last deserved to know the truth.

Pulling away from the boy – no, man, he corrected himself sharply – he said, "I need you to sit up and listen to me carefully. There is something I have to tell you – something I should have told you a very long time ago." Confused though he was, Aragorn did as he was asked without protest, sitting and watching Legolas' face in the pale light of the day as a range of troubled emotions flitted rapidly across his ever-serious features. He started speaking haltingly, reluctantly. "When your father…Just before Arathorn died, he made me swear to protect you."

"I know that," Aragorn interjected softly.

"No. He made me swear that no matter what I was to protect you above all else, because he knew of your importance, knew what you were destined to become."

"Destined?"

"He told me that I had to keep you alive. And that I had to prepare you."

Not liking where this strange conversation was leading, Aragorn asked hesitantly, "Prepare me for what?"

"For what you may someday have to face."

"What? Wait, you're talking about…the training you made me do?"

"No, Aragorn. I think your father meant for me to teach you more than simple swordplay. I was supposed to teach you so much more than fighting skills." He looked down in shame from the young man before him. "A task at which I have been failing terribly."

Shaking his head vehemently, the boy tearfully protested, "You've taught me so much."

"No," Legolas said softly, shaking his head. "I have been neglectful. And I am deeply sorry for that. I confess that I was…I was afraid of what your father had entrusted me with."

Scared? Legolas was speaking of being scared. To Aragorn, Legolas had never seemed afraid of anything. What was it about him, a simple boy who by sheer coincidence had fallen into the lap of the Elf, had frightened the brave Legolas so much? Anxious about what Legolas might say, Aragorn asked in fear, "Am I some kind of…monster?"

Legolas looked up to meet Aragorn's eyes sharply. "Monster? Why would you ask that?"

"Am I?" Aragorn demanded, frustrated that his anger brought tears with it.

The Elf quickly reached forward and encased Aragorn's hand in his own, displaying his sudden confidence to the nervous boy. "You are not a monster," he told him firmly, leaving absolutely no room for doubt. "Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact." Aragorn met Legolas' eyes, which he noticed were now dancing with an almost vivacious light as he explained, "Before your father died he told me of his – and thus your – bloodline, your heritage. Aragorn, you are descended of an ancient and powerful line of Men. The Human blood that runs in your veins is blessed, Aragorn; royal."

The word rang loud and clear in Aragorn's mind and yet he couldn't seem to make any real sense of its meaning. "Royal?" he croaked out.

Of course, his father had told him stories of the kings of old who had ruled over the lands before the Free World had fallen to Shadow. Arathorn had spoken often of great Men who had been hailed as mighty and benevolent leaders, presiding over distinguished courts and commanding vast armies. Aragorn had listened in awe, marvelling that such people could ever have existed in the world of decay in which he had grown up, where the most powerful men he knew of were the commanders of the Ranger army he lived amongst. The disorganised, scattered ranks of the Rangers were a far cry from the images his father had implanted into his mind of the ancient kings.

And yet, for all his stories, Arathorn had never once even eluded to the bloodline of kings to which they were apparently attached.

"I'm a king?" Aragorn asked Legolas quietly after a long while in silence.

"No. There is no Gondor left – as far as I know," Legolas answered him in sombre tones. "The cities fell before even the weakest of the Elven colonies succumbed fully to the Shadow. The Men were besieged and divided by Sauron's armies."

Aragorn shook his head, for some reason greatly saddened by the news of the fall of a world that he hadn't even really known existed just moments before. "So, what does that mean – for me?"

"I don't know for sure. But your father told me the truth for a reason. Can I tell you what I believe?" Aragorn nodded numbly. "I believe that Arathorn ran with the Rangers for so long in order to give you the chance to grow up learning the ways of your people. I also believe he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the eyes of evil and from your…enemies."

"Enemies?" Aragorn asked sharply. He only knew one person now in this whole wide world and he was sat opposite him listening to him laying out his destiny, so how could he possibly have made enemies?

"I think your father had planned to return with you to Gondor and reunite you with your destiny upon the throne. He meant to establish you as king. Had he succeeded, had you and Arathorn been allowed to reunite enough human stragglers who were willing to fight for freedom, you could have proven a great threat to the Dark Lord in Mordor."

"Dark Lord?" the boy repeated in quiet horror.

The world had fallen to the Dark Lord Sauron thirty years ago after twenty long years of war; that was all Aragorn really knew of the oppressor. He did not relish the thought of getting to know any more of him.

Sensing the child's fear, Legolas squeezed Aragorn's hand gently and assured, "That is not for you to worry about right now."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I will not let anything happen to you, Aragorn. I swore to your father that I would protect you at all costs and I will. No matter what."

Nodding, Aragorn wiped at his wet face with his sleeve. "Why are you telling me this now?" he asked shakily.

"You were right before."

"What about?"

"I am a coward."

"Legolas, no. I didn't mean any of what I said."

"It's alright, Aragorn. I am a selfish coward. I've been wandering this same strip of road for so long that I can't even imagine leaving it anymore. I suppose I was…scared. After the fall of Mirkwood it was all I could do and I stuck to it. Then habit became routine and routine became compulsive and I couldn't break it after that." The confession came as a surprise even to him. And yet, he felt oddly liberated by speaking the words he feared so.

"But…" Aragorn started when Legolas seemed to become lost in his own thoughts.

"I know where we have to go now," he told the boy with such confidence that Aragorn felt all his previous fears simply fall away. At last Legolas knew what he had to do.

OIOI

Aragorn's mind was buzzing. Even as he walked - after two months, now only with a slight limp - he found it hard to concentrate on where he was placing his feet. Fortunately, Legolas was walking ahead of him so he didn't worry too much. Legolas would not let him fall.

His distraction was understandable. Since Legolas had told him the truth about who he really was and what he was destined to do, the Elf had begun their training again. The moment he had been able to walk, Legolas had unceremoniously thrust a sword into his hand and begun teaching him advanced swordsmanship, far more complex and gruelling than anything he had been teaching before. But more than that, Legolas had also started tutoring him in the lore of Middle Earth, passing on all the knowledge he had gained from his own Elven teachers during his youth in Mirkwood.

Naturally, it had started off with the history of Man. From the first blessed Numenoreans to Gondor and its outlying settlements, through famines, floods and plagues and wars, the Elf missed nothing out. He spoke of alliances between Men and the Elves and the eventual downfall of Aragorn's line through the weakness of Isildur on the battle fields during the War of the Last Alliance and how the realm of Gondor had then passed into stewardship, weakening the kingdom and making the Men easy prey to Sauron in Mordor.

And Aragorn had relished the knowledge, soaking up every last drop Legolas could provide him with. Although the thought of what he was still scared him immensely, he was eager to learn about his history and ancestry.

There was still a lot to process though. Legolas' idea of teaching was blunt and on occasion mind-numbingly detailed; a far cry from his father's fanciful tales.

"So," Aragorn broke the now rare silence that had fallen between them as they walked across muddy ground, "tell me where we're going again."

"To Lothlorien," Legolas answered patiently, having already explained several times before where they were now heading towards.

"Why?"

"To speak with Lady Galadriel."

"Why?"

"Because she is a great seer. She can tell us what to do next."

"What do we need to learn from her?"

"You know what," Legolas snapped. But a moment later, he continued, "The Lady can help us."

"Alright," Aragorn sighed. Legolas may have warmed to him a little over the past couple of months but that didn't mean that he was any less prickly than before. "How long will it take?"

"I don't know."

"I meant how long will it take to reach Lothlorien?"

"I don't know."

Finally, Aragorn looked up at his mentor, concerned. "Do you know where you're going?" he asked flatly, for the first time doubting the Elf. He hadn't even considered before that Legolas wouldn't know the way.

Legolas shrugged. "Roughly."

"Roughly?" Aragorn demanded incredulously, rushing to catch up with the Elf. "What does that mean?"

"Things have changed a lot since I last travelled to the Golden Wood."

"So you are…guessing?"

"An educated guess," Legolas corrected with a smile.

"Educated?"

"Yes."

"But a guess all the same?"

"Aragorn, please; I know where I'm going."

The boy nodded softly, looking down at the ground as he mumbled, "Roughly."

Legolas turned to face him, although there was a small smile on his face. "Would you stop! Have I led us astray so far?"

"I suppose not," Aragorn relented begrudgingly as they started walking again. The words Legolas spoke were true, Aragorn supposed. Despite the Elf's continued reluctance to venture off the familiar safety of the Old Forest Road, he had led Aragorn confidently over the Misty Mountains once the boy had recovered enough to walk. Although he still walked with a slight limp, it was a relief to them both that he had pulled through with relatively little damage in a surprisingly short space of time. In their first week of travelling, Legolas had gone easy on his young charge, stopping more often than they ever had in the past and the Elf had allowed him more rest than he was used to.

Following Legolas' confession to Aragorn about his life and what it would one day prove to be, Aragorn had been quiet; much too quiet for Legolas' liking. And yet the Elf had allowed the silence, not pressing Aragorn for anything. He'd let the boy wallow in confusion and fear until he felt ready to leave it behind him. During those days of silence, Aragorn had surreptitiously watched the Elf watching him. Legolas had seemed like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders; even more tense than usual as he watched Aragorn's continued sulking.

And yet, when Aragorn had broken his silence, telling him that he wanted to learn everything his Elven guardian had to teach, there was a light in Legolas' eyes that Aragorn had never witnessed before. The Elf's whole demeanour had changed then. Even though he seemed afraid to leave the comfortable routine of walking the road, Legolas seemed almost relieved too at finally moving on.

The snow-capped Misty Mountains they had had to cross had been a challenge to both but they had managed quite well, considering. Legolas had been overly anxious the entire time, as if at any minute expecting an attack. He travelled with his knives always to hand, something he'd never done on the Old Forest Road. It had concerned Aragorn at first but when he'd voiced his anxiety, Legolas had simply smiled at him and implored him not to worry.

By now, things had settled down between them. They travelled relentlessly again, stopping only when absolutely necessary. Rarely did Legolas allow them to light a fire anymore. Although some things had changed between them now. Legolas was a lot more relaxed – not exactly chatty but not as dour as he used to be, at any rate – and he had considerably more patience with his young charge than in the past. He had upped Aragorn's training regime, pushing the boy to learn complex, more involved techniques that were more distinctly Elven and fluid than previously. He'd also started to allow the boy to hunt with him, teaching him how to shoot a bow and arrow rather than merely how to make the flights and maintain the bow. It had become oddly comforting to be taught – and indeed to teach – the ways to work the devastated earth to an advantage.

"So, this Lady Galadriel," Aragorn broke the silence, "how exactly can she help me?"

"Us," Legolas corrected, glancing back at the boy. "I am hoping she can tell us what we should do next."

"What should we be doing?"

"That's what we need to ask," Legolas stressed.

"Oh, alright."

Legolas sighed at the dejected reply. "I am sorry, Aragorn, but I don't have any answers yet. I am just as in the dark as you and we need help. Galadriel is the most powerful queen who walks this earth. If anyone knows how to set you on the right path to achieve your potential, it is she."

Aragorn stopped dead in his tracks. "My potential? Wait, you…You mean she'll tell me how I can…"

"Become king, yes."

"But…I don't even…Legolas, no. I cannot be."

Legolas stepped close to the boy, laying his hand on his shoulder. "What did you think we were going to do?" he asked softly. "This is your purpose, Aragorn."

"No."

"It is what your father wanted, what you were born for."

"Legolas, please, we can go back…We don't have to go to Lothlorien."

"Yes, we do."

"I don't want to be a king!" the young man shouted, shrugging Legolas' hands off him.

"Calm down," Legolas soothingly told him. "You don't have to decide anything yet. Speak to the Lady Galadriel, hear what she has to say. That is all I ask."

Swallowing down his panic, Aragorn nodded. He could do that. Once he had spoken to the Elven mystic that Legolas seemed to have so much faith in, then he could wriggle out of this unwanted responsibility and things could go back to normal, just him and Legolas travelling like before.

"Alright," he agreed in a small voice.

"Alright," Legolas smiled in relief. "Come on, we have a few hours before dark," he said, walking onwards again.

Aragorn followed sombrely then said, "Can we keep walking tonight?"

"You're not too tired?"

Really he was tired. His legs ached, his feet were cramped in his boots, his ankle was starting to hurt again. It had been days since he had eaten satisfactorily and he was worn out. And yet, he wanted to keep on the move. That restless energy that drove him onwards raced through him, making him blind to the aches and pains of his body.

So he answered, "No, I'm not tired."

"Alright. As long as you're sure."

Aragorn nodded numbly. "I'm sure," he said quietly, following after Legolas.

As he always did when he felt lost or scared, he discreetly dipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket, his fingers caressing the golden ring his father had given him. It always made him feel better.

To Be Continued…