The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

OIOIOIOI

Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews. And also thanks to everyone who's added me to their Alerts/Favourites lists. Enjoy the latest instalment.

OIOIOIOIOIOI

Chapter 30 – You Only Speak The Truth

Legolas opened his eyes to a hand roughly shaking him awake. Lying awkwardly on his side, Legolas blinked to clear his vision. Much to his surprise it had turned dark out. He had unwittingly slept the whole day away. Rolling onto his back, he discerned that Janor was the inconsiderate one shaking him into awareness.

"We have some food if you would like some, Prince Legolas."

Still a little bleary after his prolonged sleep, Legolas nodded, resisting the urge to stretch out his aching limbs. His hurt shoulder pained him more than it had in quite a while and he didn't want to alert Janor to the discomfort it caused him, for surely then it would also get back to the commander and he would never hear the end of it.

Sitting up stiffly, Legolas looked about himself. The Rangers had lit the fire again and although this brazen breach of safety out in the Orc-infested wilds irritated Legolas somewhat, he found himself also pleased for it. He got gingerly to his feet, working out the stiffness in his legs and arms as he moved over to the fire where the men were gathered. Aragorn was not sat up with the Rangers but rather laid sleeping nearby, just as he had been when Legolas had left him. So, not wanting to disturb the boy without cause, Legolas went straight past him to join the others.

"Legolas! Awake at last!" Veron, a young and ever-happy Ranger who had gotten to be a good friend to Aragorn during their brief stay in Bree, enthused at his appearance. Despite his cheerfulness and inherent friendliness, the big man had had very little to do with Legolas so the Elf just stared blankly down at him until green eyes were lowered in defeat.

Kinnale nudged the abashed warrior in the ribs for the misplaced comment. "Sit down," he told the Elf, swallowing his mouthful of rabbit. "Help yourself to food."

Glancing around the numerous faces watching him in the flickering firelight, Legolas reached forward to pick a mouthful of meat from the rabbit secured on a spit over the flames. Before he ate the well-cooked morsel though, he looked again in concern over to where his ward slept.

"He ate earlier," Kinnale reassured the Elf quietly, knowing fully well that Legolas would ensure his ward was fed before he thought about himself.

Legolas looked up sharply in surprise. "He was awake?"

"For a short while, yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I am telling you."

"No, why didn't you wake me when he woke?" Legolas pressed in annoyance.

Kinnale shrugged. "Because you were sleeping," he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world – which to all the Men around the fire, it was.

For his part, Legolas thought the reply ridiculous and he told Kinnale so. "I am never so deeply asleep that I cannot be woken at need."

"That's just the point; there was no need," the Rangers' Commander said, voice raised slightly in his irritation at the Elf's stubborn attitude. "Aragorn woke up, drank some water, swallowed down some food, complained that his head still ached and then returned to sleep. He was awake less than five minutes." Legolas sat back a little at the tense tone of the Ranger. "What exactly could you have contributed to that?"

"I…" Legolas started but got no further than his first word before Kinnale interrupted.

"Look, be angry all you like but what's done is done. You needed to sleep yourself so I let you sleep and no one is any worse off for it. Let's just leave it at that."

Legolas looked at each of the Men gathered around the fire in turn and saw on their faces an identical mixture of amusement at the dressing down he'd just received from the annoyed commander and warning that he shouldn't challenge Kinnale any further on the matter.

Deciding that it wasn't worth the effort to argue, Legolas got up from his place and stalked back to the edge of the campsite, away from all the others in the group. It was times of disagreement like this that he longed for his solitary life on the Old Forest Road once more.

OIOI

"Lean on me if you need to."

Aragorn rolled his eyes at the Elf's once more repeated offer, finding comfort in the exasperated action even though Legolas could not see it. It had been three days since the battle in which he had been injured and Legolas had utterly insufferable ever since his waking. It was starting to drive him towards the brink of madness.

"I don't need to," Aragorn huffed, attempting and failing to drag his arm out of the Elf's secure grip.

"You are yet recovering."

Through gritted teeth, the man told him once again, slowly and darkly, "I am fine to walk on my own."

"You are not fine. You are injured."

"Not so injured that I am unable to walk a mere ten paces on my own."

Staring intently at the man's feet to be certain that Aragorn wasn't going to trip on the uneven surface of the ground, Legolas ignored the grumbling, having grown more than used to it by now. He had his arm wrapped around the young man's back, one hand holding onto Aragorn's arm for extra support and he would not remove the support no matter how many times the man protested that he was perfectly capable of moving on his own and did not require aid.

The Elf had been proven himself to be completely insufferable all day long. The Rangers, antsy at being stopped in one place for an extended period of times after a major Orc attack, had insisted upon moving on that morning in spite of Legolas' fervent protests that Aragorn should be allowed a little longer to rest and recover. So, after a furious argument, which the still slightly dazed and increasingly frustrated Aragorn had been entirely left out of much to his intense chagrin, Legolas had finally agreed to move on, although only on the provision that the youth be carried on a litter until he was entirely recovered from his injuries. At this, Aragorn had finally chimed in, being coherent enough to maintain at least the last few shreds of his pride that remained. Legolas had shot him down instantly, brooking no protest until he had been silenced on the subject.

So, Aragorn's already bad mood, stemming partially from the fact that his head continued to ache cruelly, was intensified when he was loaded onto a litter that the none-too-happy Rangers had spent the whole morning constructing from what materials they could salvage scattered around. Legolas had tried in vain to placate his ward but to little avail. Aragorn wanted to be annoyed and nothing was going to sway him. After all, it was completely justified in this case. In his opinion, Legolas was going too far.

By the time they had stopped in the evening, Aragorn was tired and thoroughly miserable; fed up of being carried around by grumbling Men and even more irritated by Legolas' incessant mothering.

Once they had made their way behind the brown, dried out brush that served to conceal them from the eyes of the Rangers, they came to a halt, Legolas still on the alert for any enemies. They all remained skittish after the ambush a couple of days ago, understandably worried about a repeat attack.

"Alright, we're away from the camp; just like you asked," the Elf told his ward, removing his arm from around the man's waist but still keeping hold of his arm just in case he needed steadying. He then looked expectantly at Aragorn.

And the boy returned the look in kind, waiting pointedly for his guardian to leave.

Seemingly oblivious to the boy's unspoken plea, Legolas nodded curtly then asked brazenly, "Well, are you going or not?"

"Not with you watching me, I'm not."

Legolas turned his head to the side, face away from Aragorn. "Then I shan't watch."

"Legolas," the man moaned despairingly, rolling his face upwards to the skies in an act of exasperation.

"Just hurry up. We're outside the camp's perimeter, no one can see you."

"No. Leave me alone."

"You are not yet well enough to be left entirely on your own."

"Yes, I am! I'm fine. Fine enough, anyway, to stand on my own for one minute."

"Don't be absurd." Legolas looked back at the man in annoyance. "You cannot walk on your own. You have sustained a serious head wound and are not yet recovered."

"I'm standing right now, aren't I?" Aragorn spat at his infuriating guardian.

"Yes; because I am supporting you. Now, we can stand here arguing all night if you want; but if you have no intention of getting on with it then I'd prefer it if you'd tell me now so we can return to the safety of camp."

"Legolas," this time Aragorn sighed. "Just think for one moment: would you stand for someone hovering over your shoulder whilst you took care of your private business?"

Damn, that child knew him well. Perhaps he was concerned but he could not help but sympathise with Aragorn's point of view. He would be just as stubborn as Aragorn was being, were their positions reversed. Releasing a heavy sigh, showing the wavering in his determination, Legolas finally nodded.

"Alright. Fine. Have it your way."

Slowly, Legolas released the boy's arm, watching carefully for signs that he might topple over. But, although Aragorn swayed a little on the spot, he seemed reasonably steady without the aid of support so Legolas stepped away from him.

"I'll wait just on the other side of those bushes. Shout if you need me."

"I won't need you," Aragorn snapped, turning away from the Elf without a second thought. When he didn't hear Legolas walking away from him, the man demanded, "Are you going or not?"

From a distance, Legolas' voice surprised the man by calling from the other side of the dead bushes, "I'm already gone, Aragorn. Stop being so paranoid."

Aragorn was somewhat shocked. He hadn't heard the Elf's retreating footsteps. Normally Legolas wasn't so stealthy around him. "Oh," was all he could think to say in return.

After taking care of the call of nature, he walked back to Legolas, who admirably stood still as he approached, although Aragorn could tell that it was a great struggle for him to not rush forward and start fussing over his charge once more. Aragorn once more rolled his eyes at the Elf's obvious discomfort at not being allowed to help as they walked side by side back to the campsite where the Rangers waited.

Finally giving in, Aragorn held out his arm for Legolas to take. The Elf looked across at his charge in surprise at the gesture. "Go on," Aragorn stressed. "You know you want to."

Legolas gently took the man's arm with a small smile of thanks. The support was hardly necessary; they were barely ten paces from the camp, after all. But, as Legolas helped the young man to carefully sit down on his blanket, he looked satisfied that he had proved useful in some respect. He could do little else other than fuss over his young ward. No pain medication was available and out in the wilds Legolas could do very little but try to keep Aragorn as comfortable as possible. Little did he know that all his fussing was actually making Aragorn feel worse by constantly getting on his nerves.

"How are you doing, Aragorn?" Kinnale called over to him with a wide smile. He understood exactly how the younger man felt and he sympathised greatly with him despite his open amusement. Even now, Legolas was wrapping him up in a blanket - unnecessary in the warm evening.

"Great," Aragorn muttered sardonically, then smiled with false gratitude at Legolas.

Laughter came from the Men, which the Elf chose to completely ignore.

"Legolas?" the leader of the Rangers attracted Legolas' attention, motioning him with his finger to come to him. "Could you come over here for a moment? We need to talk."

Nodding shortly, Legolas got to his feet, pausing with his mouth open to ask Aragorn if he'd be alright in his absence. However, he thought better of it the next instant and withdrew his hand, poised over Aragorn's shoulder to instead stride to the other side of the camp where Kinnale waited wishing to discuss their route.

With Legolas gone from his side, Aragorn shoved the blanket from around himself, resisting the urge to lay his aching head in his hand. Such an action would only worry his guardian and then he'd end up being smothered again.

"And I thought my father was over-protective." Ciaran, Kinnale's son came to Aragorn's side offering a mug of tea to his friend.

"Legolas is not my father," Aragorn reminded pointedly, taking the proffered tin cup. "This coddling is killing me." He took a sip of the weak herbal tea, brewed from the stash that Legolas had taken from Lothlorien. "I miss the days when he left me to my own devices with a stern, 'you must learn to take care of yourself, child'."

Ciaran merely smiled at that, knowing fully well it was not true.

OIOI

The Black Lands…

"How could you let this happen? Are you all incompetent?"

The black figure, fairly emanating evil stalked around the black throne room. On the floor, knelt on their knees in humble deference were the commanders of both Orc and Uruk regiments, heads bowed as low as they could get.

"Master, we will find them," the superiorly intelligent commander of the Uruk-hai promised, a bold move given that he was looking at his potential death.

"You have failed so far."

The Orc captain, an ugly, horribly disfigured creature promoted to his position only because it had systematically rid Barad-dur of any potential competition for the command, grinned at his master's words, at the very satisfying dressing down the Uruk commander was receiving. Orc and Uruk, despite being descended from the same twisted place, were ever reluctant allies; they were bound together only by their loyalty to the Dark Lord and the rivalry and hatred between the two races remained intense. To see the larger, stronger and reputedly more intelligent creature who regarded Orcs as nothing more than grunts put on earth as fodder to shield the far superior Uruks was highly entertaining despite the fact that he also was knelt before the Master under the same charge of incompetence.

Glancing to his side at the wickedly grinning Orc, Lurtz, Commander of the Uruk-hai, fought back the nearly overwhelming urge to shed black Orkish blood on the floors of Barad-dur. Only the Dark Lord's presence before them both held his fury in check.

"They were last seen in the Elven realm of Rivendell." The Uruk shuddered, as if the very name of the Elven refuge revolted him. But, then he too grinned, making sure his master was unaware of the disrespectful smirk. "We've received no reports from the Orc patrols since then." Good; an opportunity to deflect the blame onto his Orkish counterpart.

The robed figure stopped pacing and turned slowly to the two subservient creatures cowered before him.

Realising what had just happened, that the treacherous Lurtz had just placed the blame for their lack of success solely on the Orc patrols and thus on him, the Orc's gruesome, crooked grin dropped from his face and he fell suddenly onto his front, hands splayed as best as malformed fingers would allow on the polished floor beneath him.

"It's not true, Master."

Silence fell, so deep that both Orc and Uruk trembled. Then from behind the immense hood, Sauron spoke in a low, menacing voice. "Then you know the location of the child?"

"I…I…Master, I…please."

"Please what? Why is it so difficult?"

"Great One, we…we have many patrols…Only a matter of time," the Orc stuttered out.

The stillness in the throne room was beyond unsettling. The Dark Lord stared. Neither creature could see any eyes in the dark but they felt it. An intense stare that burned into them making it so that it almost physically hurt to bear.

Then, "Time." The Lord of Shadow moved again, limping back to the high throne at the top of the room, but he did not sit, merely continued to stare at those wilting in his presence.

Raising its ugly head, the Orc looked up pleadingly at its master, knowing that Sauron was severely displeased with him. "Master?" it asked in a pathetic squeak of fear.

But Sauron now appeared to be lost deep in thought and did not reply. Painfully slowly, he sank into the seat of his throne, hands gripping at the wide wooden sides. All anger had disappeared now and he was simply contemplative.

Their master was deciding his next move. A genius at work, the Uruk mused in awe.

Long fingers, wrapped in tightly wound, filthy bandages for reasons beyond the understanding of the two cringing slaves, drummed once on the broad arm of the throne and from the shadows in a flurry of black robes swept the master of speech, Sauron's official 'Voice'. Neither Orc nor Uruk had realised that another stood in the room with them and they did not like the presence of this particular servant. The Mouth of Sauron moved to stand directly before the Dark Lord's throne, unheeding of the cowering slave commanders, for the Voice had only time for the Master of the Black Lands himself and no other.

Its hooded head bowed slightly. It was not afraid. It had not wronged the Lord of All, so had nothing to fear from him.

For a long time, the silence, thick and almost unbearable, continued but the servants all remained unspeaking, unmoving.

Then the Dark Lord uttered the command that truly struck terror into the hearts of all others present.

"Summon to me the Nine."

OIOI

Legolas stared restlessly upwards to the skies. He could see nothing but darkness though. In the pitch black of night not even the clouds, always hanging low in the sky, were visible even to his excellent vision. These long, uneventful nights were endlessly frustrating for the Elf. Had he been on his own, or even just with Aragorn, he would have insisted upon pushing on through the night hours. But he was not alone any longer. He was constantly surrounded by Rangers and the trainee warriors from Bree. And Legolas found that he no longer felt the master of himself. He followed the command of Kinnale now, at least until the time came when Aragorn took over as the leader of these Men. He did not like feeling out of control – for the one thing in this hateful, unpredictable world he lived in he could control was himself.

The prince of Mirkwood was by no means unused to being under the command of another. All of his early military career he had answered to and followed the orders of his commanding officers and even when he became captain of his own patrol and eventually commander of the Mirkwood Guard he still diligently followed the rule of the king.

But he was not now under the authority of the wise and ancient king of his beloved homeland. He was following a Human, a man he respected but who was nevertheless a fraction of his age, who possessed only a fraction of his experience. Not that Legolas wished to lead; he wanted nothing more than to fade into blissful insignificance amongst these people, free of the pressures of command.

Turning away from such painful and confusing thoughts, Legolas shifted onto his side with a frustrated sigh. He simply could not get comfortable where he laid and sleep would not come to him no matter how hard he willed it. Close to his side, however, Aragorn slept soundly. The past week's travelling had been harder on the young man than the stubborn thing cared to admit. Only when he crawled under his blanket at night and fell almost instantly into exhausted slumber did it show that, even though his wounds were healing adequately, he still tired easily.

Still, the Rangers kept a steady pace and Aragorn refused to request that they slow it for his comfort. And, having learned his lesson the hard way, Legolas did not dare interfere anymore.

Finally admitting that he was unlikely to get any sleep that night, Legolas sat up, clamping his jaws down around a yawn, and ran his fingers roughly through his knotted hair. The Men were all asleep in their small camp and they no longer on high alert for fear of Orc attacks, so they hadn't bothered setting watches lately, meaning that Legolas was most likely the only one awake at this late hour.

Legolas got to his feet, being careful not to disturb Aragorn as he passed, and began wandering silently about, hoping to walk off his restlessness and maybe catch a couple of hours sleep before dawn. He snagged his flask from the bag lying on the ground next to Aragorn and downed half of the water in one go.

With nowhere to wander beyond the limited borders of the campsite, Legolas settled for pacing for a while amongst the sleeping Men, his footfalls so quiet that they did not once disturb those resting on the dusty ground. But that did not distract his mind for long. Seeking something more to occupy his mind and hands at the same time, Legolas sat back down and pulled out of his bag his twin blades and whetstone. The task was well known to him but one that he realised he had not performed recently. It proved a pleasurable relief to make the familiar moves once more. His fingers moved with practiced ease and soon he found himself suitably engaged in the task of caring for his weapons.

Legolas' pleasurable feeling of simple familiarity was interrupted by Aragorn's voice, hardly above a whisper.

"Why aren't you asleep?" the young man asked.

Startled by the unexpected break in the silence, Legolas looked sharply over at the Human. Grey eyes glittered brightly in the light of the fire but Aragorn did not rise. After returning his attention to the blade in his hand, and steadying his pounding heart, Legolas answered, "I could ask the same of you." No response came and Legolas knew that worry now clouded those same eyes. "You did not have another dream?"

"No," Aragorn replied immediately, disconcerted, it seemed, by the very thought. More quietly this time, he added, "Although the last still haunts me even now."

"You should turn your mind from it."

Aragorn snorted in derision and rolled over onto his back. "I wish it were that easy."

"It will get easier with time."

Such a matter-of-fact tone made Aragorn's heart ache with sadness for his guardian. Returning his voice to the level of a whisper, he asked softly, "Is that what you do? Can you so easily turn your mind from the past?"

His hands stilling in their task, Legolas looked up but failed to meet Aragorn's gaze, tilted intensely towards him, searching for what he knew would not be spoken. After a moment of thick silence, the Elf replied, "It is not me I speak of. And your nightmares are not born of the past but rather the future."

"You don't think that makes them more unsettling?"

"No."

Scoffing again and this time sitting up so he was suitably braced to plunge into the upcoming argument, Aragorn demanded, "Why not?"

Legolas abandoned his work then, giving the man his full attention. "Because the future is flexible; it can be altered at will. What you have seen can yet be acted upon and thus changed. The future is nothing to fear because only you can decide how it is to play out. The past, however, is entirely unchangeable. What is done can never be undone and that is what should haunt you." It was said with passion verging on anger and it surprised Aragorn.

"So you're saying that…that I shouldn't be at all concerned that to save your life I may very well surrender myself to Sauron?"

"Yes, that is what I am saying. Because you have been offered a glimpse of this course of action, you can now avoid it."

"And let you die?"

"I've already told you that that's not going to happen."

"How do you know?"

"Because, no matter what anyone tells you, the future is not set in stone. Prophesies are not always reliable, Aragorn."

"Oh, so I suppose I should just ignore it then," Aragorn snapped, uncaring at the volume, which would be enough to wake the Rangers sleeping around them.

"No, you should not ignore it. Learn from it, know what you must do and change the outcome if the time comes when you're presented with the choice," Legolas answered so calmly that it only served to aggravate Aragorn further.

"That easy, is it?"

"The concept is simple – the action itself, I cannot vouch for." Disbelief kept Aragorn mute as he stared openly at Legolas. Picking up his tools once more, the Elf continued softly, "Do not trouble yourself with what lays beyond this night, or behind it. To dwell on either is senseless."

Finally finding his voice again, the bitter retort flew off of Aragorn's tongue before he could think to stop it. "But dwelling, wallowing in the misery of your own past is just fine, is it?"

Once more, Legolas stilled, his eyes trained on his own thin, pale hands and Aragorn knew that what he'd said had been cruel, for Legolas had endured much in his dark past, had suffered more greatly than Aragorn could comprehend at the hands of the Shadow he now so viciously fought.

The night remained quiet and still until Aragorn again shattered the peace. "I didn't mean to…I'm sorry, Legolas."

Legolas did not look up but Aragorn could feel his pain in the wake of the flippant comment. After a while, the Elf shook his head softly and after uncomfortably clearing his throat, said, "It's alright."

"No." Aragorn shifted onto his knees, leaning closer to his clearly upset guardian. "It is really not alright. I had no right to speak to you in that way."

At last, Legolas looked up from his stilled hands, boldly meeting the boy's twinkling eyes. "You've nothing to apologise for. You speak only the truth."

This saddened Aragorn greatly, to hear such defeat in his mentor. Sometimes he wondered how Legolas managed to sustain his usual surety when it seemed that secretly, deep down in his heart, he was consumed by the pain of his past.

"I'm still sorry," Aragorn settled for saying.

"Go back to sleep."

Knowing fully well that further arguing would be pointless, Aragorn laid back down beneath his blanket, although he did not return to sleep. Instead, he watched in silence as Legolas resumed the rhythmic motions of sharpening his blades after a moment.

Legolas paid his ward no attention for the rest of the night. Still, the man could tell that the Elf remained deep in thought. What those thoughts dwelt on though, Aragorn did not know and would probably never know.

OIOI

"Excellent stance," Veron complimented, lowering his sword.

Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Aragorn dipped his own weapon, Anduril, which Legolas had finally told him that it was safe to use in front of the Rangers. When the men and women of Bree had first laid eyes on the magnificent sword of kings, they had been mightily impressed for although all the weapons they possessed were extremely well-maintained none of them were as bright and new as Anduril. Also, they could feel the power, the ancient, mystical magic running through the flawless rune-engraved steel blade. They had been curious about its origins and, after Legolas had given him the nod of approval, Aragorn had told his companions the story of how the sword had been re-forged in Rivendell from the shards of Narsil and how the Elves had infused it with their curious magic to make it powerful once more. The Men had been rapt, never having heard such a tale before. They had then taken turns in handling the long sword but it had felt so heavy, so…wrong in their hands that they had quickly passed it on then it was handed with no small amount of relief back to its rightful owner.

At Legolas' persistent urging, the moment Aragorn was back on his feet again after his injury, he had asked for the chance to learn the Rangers way of fighting, to refine the techniques taught by his guardian.

For three weeks now, every time they paused to rest in the evening, Aragorn would spend a couple of hours practicing with his sword, getting used to the weight of it in his hands. The Rangers proved themselves to be excellent teachers, having had many years of practical experience, and Aragorn found that he learned a lot from them, perhaps more even than he'd learned from Legolas.

Tonight Aragorn was sparring with Veron, one of the well-muscled twin brothers who'd joined them in Bree. They were undoubtedly the muscle amongst the Rangers; brutes towering well over six-feet tall – taller than Kinnale and only just scraping Legolas' height. Good fighters, they were well-trained in all types of weaponry and were good and patient teachers.

Aragorn liked the brothers. Despite their formidable size, they were friendly, quick to smile and highly amusing to be around.

Their story was like so many others during the times of war. Born just after the Final War that saw the fall of the armies of the Free Peoples, they were taken by their parents to live in the lands just south of the Ranger-protected town of Bree. There, their father had built suitable shelter and planned to raise their children away from the reach of the Shadow. But it was not to be. One night their humble home was raided by Wild Men, their parents murdered and they were left orphaned. For two days, the young boys – just three years old at the time – had hidden away, too scared to move. Terrified and starving, the twins had at last been rescued when a patrol of Rangers came upon them entirely by accident. After their rescue, they had been taken to Bree, at that time little more than a temporary refuge for the Rangers, and raised there until they too became old enough to defend their world and protect others the way they had themselves been protected as children. Indebted to the Rangers, Veron and Carion had become useful members of Bree's ever-growing community, helping to farm and build, offering their services wherever they were needed most. And yet in fighting they had found their true calling, like so many others, wanting to make the Shadow pay for what had been taken from them.

When they had first told Aragorn this story, he had cried for them, understanding all too well the pain of losing a parent and how it felt to then find safety in another. But, the brothers had explained to him in an atypically sombre tone, their stories were by no means unique. However, they were still the lucky ones. They had found a place in the world.

"Not bad, Aragorn," Legolas called to the boy from where he watched at the side lines.

"Thank you." The man took a long drink of water then handed the canteen to Veron.

After drinking his fill, the older Human called between heaving breaths of exertion, "How come you never spar with us, Legolas?" The Elf turned serious blue eyes towards him but didn't get the chance to answer before Aragorn started laughing. Bemused by the unexpected response to his serious inquiry, Veron looked to the younger man. "What?" he demanded. "What's so funny?"

Moving to stand at his guardian's side, Aragorn rested the point of his sword in the dusty ground and answered cockily, "You wouldn't stand a chance."

"Aragorn," Legolas warned his young ward in a low voice, dropping his eyes to the ground again.

Laughing at the response from both the Man and the Elf, Veron raised his sword to his shoulder, nonchalantly asking, "Is that a challenge?"

At the same time as Aragorn exclaimed, "Yes," Legolas sternly answered with a, "No."

Veron laughed and pointed his sword playfully towards the Elf. "Scared?"

Legolas looked up, not at all intimidated. "Of many things, but not of you."

"Then take up the challenge."

Slowly, Legolas' frown morphed into a soft smile and, after casting a quick glance up at his grinning ward, got to his feet. Stooping to retrieve his twin blades, Legolas frowned in annoyance at Aragorn for starting this whole thing in the first place. When Aragorn simply grinned widely at him, the Elf rolled his eyes and walked to the waiting Veron.

"Rules?" the Elf asked, as if he had done this many times before and was simply following proper procedure.

As Veron took up his stance, he explained, "First contact is the winner. No drawing blood."

Still holding his twin knives limply at his sides, Legolas nodded in acceptance of the sparse set of rules. He watched Veron start to move, slowly crossing the Elf's path as if to gauge his reactions. Legolas, however, remained unmoving, weapons not yet even raised. He was very aware that by now the other Rangers had gathered around, eager to see the sparring between Man and Elf for the very first time.

It was a while before Legolas even moved. In the face of Veron's constant movements apparently in an effort to confuse the Elf, Legolas remained perfectly still, watching and waiting. So he was ready when the man finally made his move. Veron lunged suddenly at him but Legolas, much more quick and agile than the big Human, side-stepped and also struck at the same time. The man was an undeniably excellent swordsman though and a second later his blade finally clashed with Legolas' blades and the fight properly began.

Legolas' moves were more fluid than those of his human sparring partner. Blades clashed elegantly as the pair danced around each other. In the heat of the day, sweat poured from both of them but the temperature didn't hinder either of them as it had Aragorn during his practise session. They were seasoned warriors.

The Rangers gathered around them watched with a mixture of anticipation and amazement at the impressive display being performed in front of them. Aragorn, however, watched with abundant pride. He'd sparred with Legolas enough in the past to know his perfected moves well, although if he hadn't known better, he'd have said that Legolas was posturing before the Rangers; showing off for the crowd. It was heartening to see the glint of amusement returning once more to Legolas' eyes.

In the mock fight, it seemed that the two were evenly matched. While Veron had the physical body strength, Legolas was by far the more agile. Still, it was a fascinating match to watch.

Legolas would have won, of that Aragorn was sure. He had gained the upper hand by pushing Veron back with his own sword, his own blades already positioned for the take-down. But suddenly, the Elf froze, his hands dropping to his sides, eyes almost glazing over, as if he was in another place in his mind. So stunned was Veron that he skidded to a halt in the dust mid-attack, uncertain as to whether the Elf was hurt or whether this was some kind of tactic he had not predicted.

"What are you doing?" Veron demanded breathlessly, looking to Aragorn on the side-lines for an explanation for the curious behaviour. However, the younger man could only shrug cluelessly.

Slowly, Legolas then turned on the spot, tilting his face upwards to the skies as he did so. It seemed as if the Elf was in a completely different place now, seeing something invisible to the others. Aragorn had seen that look before, when he had on occasion seen Legolas slip into the state he had called 'reverie', sometimes used instead of true sleep. But surely, the Elf was not sleeping now.

Cautiously, Aragorn stepped over to his guardian, peering into his pale face. "Legolas?" he called softly but his mentor did not so much as blink. "Legolas, what's wrong?" He laid his hand on the Elf's shoulder but still received no reaction whatsoever. Turning to Kinnale, who had also come forward, he looked panicked. "Uh, Legolas? Please, you're scaring me," Aragorn whispered. Then he tightened his hand on Legolas' shoulder and shook the Elf as violently as he could manage, shouting, "Wake up now!"

At this command, Legolas blinked rapidly as if in confusion and looked down at the young man stood before him. Then, suddenly, confusion was replaced by panic and he gripped Aragorn's arm so tightly that it hurt.

"We have to leave," the Elf announced in a shaking voice.

"Leave?" Kinnale echoed.

"Why?" the young man asked even as Legolas strode away to collect their bags.

"Now, Aragorn!"

"Wait a moment, what is going on?" Kinnale asked firmly, trying his best to remain calm in the face of Legolas' obvious state of panic.

Striding towards Aragorn again, Legolas answered cryptically, urgently, "Something has changed."

"What?" Kinnale demanded as Aragorn was roughly dragged away by his guardian.

"I don't know," Legolas breathed shakily and then they realised that Legolas was scared and this unsettled them greatly for they had not seen it before. Aragorn knew better than to doubt his guardian and he took his pack without question when Legolas handed it to him, no longer needing to be pulled along.

"So, you're just going to leave?" Kinnale called after them.

"Come if you want; we're leaving this place now."

For a long moment, the Men stared after the retreating pair, dumbfounded at what had just occurred. In just a little more than a minute they had gone from friendly sparring to mystifying confusion and dread. However, Kinnale quickly gathered his wits about him and turned to his men, calling for them to pack up their things and hurry along. Whatever had spooked Legolas seemed serious enough to take note of and they had to stay near Aragorn anyway.

Legolas walked quickly, frantically even, desperate to simply be moving. He wasn't certain of what he was running from but he recognised, somewhere deep within his Elven subconscious, what had called to him from across the lands and it made his blood run cold. He wanted nothing more than to reach Rohan, their destination, as fast as he possibly could – before whatever was coming caught up with them.

To Be Continued…