Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: To The Waters And The Wild (#2561)
Author: Jael
Chapters: 2

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings (Movieverse)
Description: Year 2951, Third Age. After a disappointment in love, Aragorn journeys into Rhovanion and rekindles an old friendship. Action/Adventure. Aragorn; Legolas; Thranduil. PG 13 for innuendo, dysfunctional use of alcohol, and some bathtub fun. 2006 FLAME OF ANOR WINNER (TIE) BEST FRIENDSHIP
Published: 17 Feb 2006
Updated: 17 Feb 2006
Warnings:
Type: General
Characters: Aragorn;Legolas;Thranduil


Chapter 1 - Part One: Into the Trees

Year 2951, Third Age. After a disappointment in love, Aragorn journeys into Rhovanion and rekindles an old friendship. Action/Adventure. Aragorn; Legolas; Thranduil. PG 13 for innuendo, irresponsible use of alcohol, and some bathtub fun.

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.

My thanks and gratitude go to my beta for this story, Lexin.


To the Waters and the Wild


Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
W.B. Yeats, from The Stolen Child (1886)

"Then bitter will my days be, and I will walk in the wild alone." Aragorn, from 'The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen,' JRR Tolkien, Return of the King


Part One: Into the Trees


He took leave of his foster father, bade a fond farewell to his mother and to the house where he had been raised, and he went out into the wild, alone and with a heavy heart. He did not set his feet towards the west, where of late he had performed many brave deeds of errantry with his foster brothers. Instead, he turned his face to the east, along a path he had not followed in many years.

The trail up to the Old Pass above Imladris seemed much as he remembered it, but the going was far easier. He stood a full three feet taller than the last time he had made the journey and his legs were long and strong even for a man of his height. The last of the winter snows had just melted, and the warmth of the spring was in the air, even high in the mountains. There were still a few orcs in the pass, but they were easily avoided by keeping to the sunlight. He did not fear orcs.

Once he had traversed the pass and reached the eastern slopes of the Misty Mountains, he could see the wide vista of the plains bordering the Great River stretching into the distance. The dark mass of Mirkwood Forest lay beyond. Even from the clean heights of the mountains, the forest did not look to be a wholesome place, yet it was to that dark mass of trees that he was headed. The woods stood between him and the lands to the east.

He followed the road down to the Old Ford, and, once across the river, he turned north. The Necromancer had recently been expelled from the tower of Dol Guldur in the southern reaches of the forest, but orcs and other foul things remained there. The Old Forest Road was still not a safe or prudent route. The library of his foster father held many old maps of the territory, and he had learned of a better way through Mirkwood farther to the north. It was this path he intended to take.

The journey took a number of days, but he found it no hardship. He had become used to sleeping under the stars and living off the land, and his long strides carried him faster than most other men on foot.

He traveled on, all the while coming ever close to the forest edge, and on a misty spring day in the early afternoon, he found himself at his destination, a dark archway between two leaning trees, where a narrow path led into the darkness of the woods.

Now that the entrance to the forest lay before him, he found he much preferred being out in the fresh air of the open plain, but he took a deep breath and plunged in beneath the overhanging branches. Once inside the wood, it became much darker, and the air felt damp with the mist. He moved as quietly as he could on the wet carpet of leaves, wondering if it might not be a good idea to leave the path and be less visible, for he felt a prickling at the back of his neck as if there were eyes upon him. A glance to right and left showed some spider webs strung between the trees, very large and thick webs, and where the webs were not, the undergrowth was so thick that he knew he would lose his way within twenty feet.

He had gone far enough into the forest to lose sight of the light of the forest gate, when he found himself staring down the shaft of an arrow. He had heard no sound of an approach, nor had he seen the archer until he materialized in his path. From the corner of each eye he could see two more arrows aimed at him from the side, and he did not have to look behind him to know there was one at his back as well.

"Who are you, Manchild, and what is your business in our woods," said a soft, musical voice. He had no trouble understanding the words, but they held an accent that sounded strange to one used to the speech of Rivendell. That slightly lilting inflection brought back a flood of fond memory.

"My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I mean no harm, only to find safe passage to the other side of the wood. After that, my business is my own."

"Safe passage is something you will not find if you go on as you have been doing," said the wood-elf to his right, in a faintly mocking tone. "Keep him safely here," he said to the others and melted soundlessly into the trees.

He was not likely to be going anywhere at the moment, Aragorn thought, for the other three arrows remained pointed at his head, and the bows of Mirkwood were large and powerful. The elf he could see was dressed in green and brown colors that made him nigh unto impossible to pick out from the forest background, and the warrior's hair was a fair color that faded to invisibility in the dim light.

"Wherever did you learn your woodcraft?" said the elf to his left. "You made as much noise as a troop of orcs on wargback."

"The sons of Master Elrond taught me," answered Aragorn. The elf behind him sniggered.

"There are none better in the skills of the wilderness than Elladan and Elrohir," Aragorn said indignantly. "And there are no fiercer slayers of orcs in all of Eriador!"

"Eriador is one thing," said the elf who stared him down. "Mirkwood is quite another. You will find worse things under these trees than orcs. You are fortunate we found you first."

"Stand down, you three," said the fourth wood-elf, reappearing from out of the trees. "The captain wants to speak to this one."

Aragorn's three captors let their bows relax. "Follow me," said the fourth, "and if you are so foolish as to risk an escape, it will be your own fault if a spider gets you." The elf headed off again into the trees, finding gaps that Aragorn could not have spotted had he not stayed close on the heels of his guide.

About fifty paces in, they came to a broad boled oak with a rope ladder hanging down. "Up you go, and may Mandos take me if I can understand why the captain would want to interrupt his sleep to talk to the likes of an adan barely out of his nap-cloths by the looks of it."

Aragorn climbed to a platform high above the ground. The flet was a small one, and the green cloth shelter seemed little more than a lean-to hung from an upper branch. The elf captain sat at the rear of the shelter with his back against the trunk of the tree and his arms draped over his bent knees. Aragorn could make out little more than a shadowy figure and a pair of eyes glittering out of the gloom.

"What brings you to our woods, my young friend?" said a soft voice, musical and very familiar.

"Legolas . . .? Legolas!" exclaimed Aragorn with the joy of recognition as the elf unfolded his body and stood to greet him.

"Aye, one and the same," he said, a smile illuminating his fair face. "By Elbereth, Estel, how you have grown! You are almost as tall as I am!"

"I do believe I am taller than you are," Aragorn insisted, delighted at seeing his friend again after so many years.

"No, I still overtop you by a finger's breadth," Legolas said with a laugh. The two stood eyeing each other as if to compare height and then embraced, slapping each other on the shoulder. "And I see you have the beginning of that beard you used to speak of."

"Aye, it sprouted during my nineteenth summer."

"I am pleased to hear that Master Elrond has finally gotten around to telling you who you are. What relief it is to call you Aragorn at last," said Legolas. "You have no idea how hard it was keeping it from you, curious and perceptive little scamp that you were."

"That, too, is since summer last. I had ridden out with Elladan and Elrohir. I fought my first orcs, and Master Elrond was so pleased with the way I acquitted myself that he showed me the shards of the sword, gave me the ring of Barahir, and told me my true name and lineage. I understand the need for secrecy now, so I suppose I must forgive you for the deception."

"If I must choose between incurring the wrath of Elrond of Imladris or that of a seven year old boy, I would have to choose angering the boy. No matter how good a shot you were with a handful of ripe berries. My father raised no fools," Legolas said. "You must tell me the latest news from Rivendell. I hear the Lady Arwen is newly returned from Lothlórien. And how is your mother? I cannot think she was pleased with your accompanying Elladan and Elrohir on their errantry."

"No, her face was like a storm cloud when she learned of it, and she was much relieved when I came home safely. She has become unhappy with me again lately, but this is not the time to speak of that." As he spoke, Aragorn averted his eyes, hoping to shield his troubled heart from the keen perception of the elf. "But indeed, Legolas, I had hoped to see you back at Rivendell before now. How is it I find you asleep during the day in a flet on the western marches of Mirkwood?"

Legolas shrugged. "I prefer the nighttime watch. I can see better in the dark than the others. We had some unexpected visitors come this way a few years back, and since that time my father has kept the path guarded. Not much comes through here, except for orcs, deer, and the occasional drunken Beorning who has lost his way. The orcs we shoot, the deer we let past, and the Beornings, we sober up and send home before the spiders make a meal of them. You are the most excitement we have had in months. What brings you here?"

"I have a hunger for new sights," Aragorn answered noncommittally. "I hear there are lands where the very stars are strange. I go first to Laketown and then southeast to Rhûn. After that, I may visit Gondor or even Harad. Who knows where my feet will carry me? But first I must pass through Mirkwood."

Legolas looked at him quizzically for a moment. "And so you shall," he said at last, "but you will not go alone." He whistled softly over the side of the flat, and soon the wood-elf who had escorted Aragorn came up the rope ladder.

"Heledir, I will be giving this adan safe passage through the wood. I leave you in charge."

"But my prince, what if your father . . .?"

"Heledir, what have I asked you to call me when we are on duty?" Legolas said sweetly, although Aragorn marked that his voice held an edge.

"I'm sorry, my . . . captain."

"Thank you, Heledir. If my father finds out, which he surely need not, for I am certain you are capable of guarding this path from the dread hordes of Beorning invaders as well as you did in the years before I arrived, you may tell him that this is a very important visitor. The Master of Rivendell would be most displeased if his kinsman came to any harm in our forest. My duty is best served seeing him through safely. If that does not satisfy my father, then I suppose you will be getting a new captain -- one who is more seasoned than the one you have now. And that captain will not be so understanding when his orders are questioned. Are we clear?"

"Yes, my . . . captain."

"Good. I'll be taking some of the waybread, but I'll leave you most of the wine." Legolas took some supplies from a chest and put them in a pouch at his belt before he and Aragorn descended the ladder.

"What was all that about?" Aragorn asked as the two of them reached the ground and headed back toward the path.

Legolas whistled again to warn the other three wood-elves that friends were passing. "Oh, nothing very important. There are still a few among my father's warriors who tend to treat me like a brainless elf-child. It did not help that my father got wind of my solo scouting trip to Amon Lanc and our small adventure with the orcs. I swear, he has eyes and ears in the trees. With the exception of one small respite when Adar needed every warrior he could muster, Legolas Thranduilion has spent most of the last fourteen years guarding the palace. As boring as the Forest Gate can be, this duty came as a heady draught of freedom for me."

"Guarding the palace?"

"At great peril to life and limb you may be sure," Legolas answered sardonically. "I was constantly twisting an ankle dancing with the lasses, and I got a wicked painful paper cut in the library three years ago. Seriously, Estel, I would have liked to come see you at Rivendell, but my father wished me close to home. It is ever thus in the world; kings rule, and princes serve."

"At least you have a father to worry after you. I had none."

"Aragorn, you said your mother was unhappy with you. Is there a shadow come between you and Master Elrond as well?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Maybe later, Legolas. I don't wish to speak of it now." He headed off down the path, feeling the eyes of his friend upon him.

"Wait, Aragorn. A trek through Mirkwood is not like a walk through the gardens of Rivendell. I see you carry a bow. May I have a look at it?"

Aragorn handed over his bow. Legolas took it and hefted it appraisingly. "This is a fine weapon. Not so much range as mine," he said after taking an experimental pull, "but distance is not so important here in the woods. Are you any good with it?"

Aragorn gave him a haughty look and reclaimed his bow. Without a word, he drew an arrow and sent it flying into a tree twenty paces down the path. Although the air inside the wood was breathless, the trees began to stir and rustle.

"Not bad." The two proceeded down the path. Legolas pulled the arrow from the trunk where it had lodged, stroking the bark gently as he did so. The rustling died down. "I have some advice for you, Aragorn. Never blunt your arrows just to prove a point. And when traveling through Mirkwood or any other forest, don't annoy the trees."

"Oh, wonderful! Next you'll be telling me I'm as noisy as a troop of orcs on wargback."

"Who told you that?"

"One of those four who stopped me." Again, Aragorn heard a barely stifled snort of laughter. "Is it some kind of elvish tradition to insult strangers?"

"Only among the Silvans," Legolas laughed. "Perhaps, it would help if you tried to avoid stepping on those small twigs."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. He had never seen a forest so old and unkempt as this one, and debris fallen from the branches above littered the pathway in a thick mat. "Perhaps I could learn to fly. It seems the only way." He paid close attention to the way Legolas moved up ahead, copying his friend's gliding toe to heel stride. As he did, he managed to step on another bit of fallen deadwood, which parted with a crack. "Curse it!"

"Next time, Aragorn, write ahead and I will have the path swept for you."

Aragorn smiled wanly. "I don't suppose you have a horse hidden around here. At least that way we'd be as noisy as a troop of elves on horseback, which is a much more pleasant thought, and we'd make better time."

"I am sure we would, but even though we have rebuilt the bridge, horses west of the Enchanted Stream are more trouble than they are worth, unless one means to journey outside the forest. We are on foot, and you must get used to it. I can promise you an easier form of transport once we reach the stream. That will be in about three days' time, if you keep up the pace."

"I walked all the way from Imladris, did I not?" Aragorn said.

"So you did. Perhaps when you have walked a bit more, you will be willing to tell me the reason behind this sudden wanderlust of yours. When I was your age, I would not have traded a warm bed in Elrond's house for the rigors of the wild. Especially when the lady Arwen was in residence."

That shut Aragorn up, and the two proceeded in silence through the misty wood. Two hours after leaving the forest edge, Legolas let out a soft whistle, and another whistle answered from the trees. They were passing another guard position, Aragorn realized, although he could spot no sign of the elves no matter how hard he peered into the forest depths.

Soon after, the mist turned to rain up above the forest canopy. Large drops began to pelt them at random as the water collected on the leaves above and fell to earth when it became too heavy to remain.

"Ai, what a dismal place!" Aragorn exclaimed in exasperation as a large drop landed on the back of his neck and ran down inside his shirt, staying cold until it had rolled all the way to his buttocks. "No wonder you are so serious all the time, having grown up in such depressing surroundings."

Legolas laughed. "It is not always quite so forbidding. Our foresters keep the western edges thick for a reason, but when we get close to the eastern woods where most of my father's people live, the woods open out a bit. The forest floor becomes visible, and you can see off between the trees. Winter is just ending, but in a few weeks the ground will be carpeted with soft grass and the blossoms of Nephredil. When the sun shines above, the light is far more pleasant to the eye, and in some places there are glades where the sunlight reaches the ground. It is always cool under the trees, and the wind is never harsh no matter how hard the gale that shakes the branches above. In summer the light is so green it almost blinds you, and in the autumn, when the leaves turn, it is like someone spilled rubies, amber and topaz from a generous hand. I hope you can see it some time. It is my home, Aragorn, and I have always accepted its beauty without question, even though each year the light grows darker and the mists grow heavier."

"What about the spiders?"

"Oh, well, the spiders." Legolas shrugged. "We hunt them to keep their numbers down. With luck, we will not see any."

"I think you exaggerate the spiders to keep outsiders ill at ease," Aragorn grumbled.

Legolas merely laughed. "Just keep close, Aragorn."

As he trudged along behind the elf, staying within a few paces as directed, Aragorn found himself bemused, not by the easy way he and Legolas had taken up their friendship against after so many years, for the Eldar do not feel the passage of time as much as men do. The fourteen years that had marked more than half of Aragorn's life were just the blink of an eye to Legolas. Nor did he marvel much at the way Legolas accepted him as an adult rather than the small boy he had been at their last parting, for Aragorn had seen that the elves of Rivendell took change in their stride, having experienced so much of it in their long lives. Rather, he was fascinated by the change in his friend. On his home ground, under the sheltering trees, Legolas seemed much more relaxed than he had been out on the grassy plains of the Anduin or even at Rivendell, which was the most safe and secure of locations. In this sinister place, with its spiders, lowering trees, and whatever other unimaginable dangers, Aragorn had seen more smiles and heard more laughter out of Legolas than he had in the number of weeks he had spent in his company before.

"Hush, Aragorn, and keep your hands at your side," Legolas whispered suddenly. "You shall see a special sight."

Aragorn took heed and froze. In the gloom on the path ahead, he could make out the figure of a white doe. Two others who had small white fawns at their side soon joined her.

Legolas held out his hands. "Avo 'osto, my lovelies, I mean you no harm. I do not hunt this day. And you, little ones, not for many a year."

Slowly, he approached, with Aragorn trailing him, until they were almost close enough to touch the deer's pale flanks. The animals regarded them with no concern. One doe bent down to crop a bit of fallen greenery while another reared up on her hind legs to snatch a leaf from a high branch. Then, with one backward look, the does ambled out of sight into the trees.

Legolas turned to Aragorn with a joyful smile. "You see? Mirkwood has its beauties."

"They glowed," Aragorn breathed in wonderment.

"Yes, they do so in the twilight. Night is falling, and it is time for us to get off the trail and rest."

Legolas broke off from the path and headed twenty paces to the south. He looked about appraisingly. "This should be a good spot to spend the night."

Aragorn looked up in disbelief. "Legolas, we are under one of the largest spider webs I have ever seen. I doubt I will sleep a wink in this spot."

The elf reached up and stroked the web confidently. "Feel, Aragorn. The stickiness is gone from the web. This spider has been dead for several years. It was a big one, though. They leave a scent around their nests to warn to others off their territory, which lasts beyond the glue. We should not be bothered tonight."

Aragorn looked up and shuddered, imagining the size of the spider that had inhabited the web above his head.

"Trust me, Aragorn, I can judge the age of a spider web. We gather them and spin them into silk thread once they have aged enough. We weave it into cloth. The tent at the flet was of spider silk, and so is the shirt I'm wearing."

"Your shirt?"

"Yours too, most likely. Where do you suppose Rivendell gets most of its silk? It is wonderful stuff, really. It repels water, wears well, and it takes a dye better than linen."

Aragorn looked down at his own sleeve in horror. "But, Thranduil trades for his silk with the lands to the east!" He caught Legolas looking at him strangely.

"I suppose this would be a good time to swear you to secrecy about the origins of dyed Mirkwood cloth," he grinned. "A small amount of raw silk comes in, and a large amount of finished cloth goes out. Truly, Aragorn, why be so squeamish? It all comes out of an insect's behind to begin with."

Aragorn found himself grinning too at the idea of Elrond decked out in a scarlet spider web. He wondered if the noble lord knew of the origin of his robes, and whether his foster brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, and the other elves of Rivendell knew as well. Then, at the thought of one of the other elves, he grew gloomy.

"I suppose we will have no fire this night?"

"You know better than that. What, are you cold, or are you afraid of the dark?"

Aragorn shot the elf a dirty look. "It may be spring, but the ground is chilly. I doubt this plot of land has seen the light of the sun since the beginning of the Second Age."

"Would you like to come under my cloak, as you used to do?" asked Legolas with a wicked smile.

"No, thank you," said Aragorn, glaring even harder. "My own cloak will keep me warm enough."

"Well, take some of this," said Legolas, reaching up to the web and pulling down a mass of the silken strands, half of which he tossed to Aragorn. "This will shield those tender hach of yours from the cold ground."

Legolas tossed his own pile of web at the base of a tree and sat down with his back to the trunk. Aragorn did the same, and found the spider fluff to be not sticky at all. It felt soft and rather pleasant to the touch, once he managed to forget its origins. Legolas tossed him a chunk of waybread and held out his wineskin companionably.

Aragorn took the pouch "Dorwinion?"

"Hardly. When I am out on the marches, I drink what the other soldiers do. Much to my father's dismay, I have developed some plebian tastes. This is our own Mirkwood domestic, made from berries, cherries and whatever else falls into the vats. Try some. It's rather good."

Aragorn took a swig. "By Elbereth," he exclaimed, "That has a kick to it!"

"Take another. It will help you sleep in these trying conditions," Legolas chuckled. "Have no fear. I will remain watchful."

Aragorn did as he was told, took another sip and handed the wineskin back.

"Simple gifts," Legolas said amiably, taking a sip for himself. "Fresh air, strong wine, and a silken bed -- what more could a man or elf ask for?"

Aragorn could think of a few things, but already the wine had moved to his head and he felt his spirits lifting and his eyelids lowering. He leaned back against the tree and let himself drift. Legolas began to hum softly to himself, and that was the last sound Aragorn heard as sleep claimed him.

He awoke with a hand over his mouth preventing him from crying out. Legolas crouched above him, one finger to his lips signaling silence. Aragorn nodded, and the elf removed his hand. It was early morning, just becoming light, and Aragorn could hear the footsteps approaching from the east that had alerted his friend. Legolas sniffed the air and curled his lip. "Orcs," he mouthed silently.

The two crept silently to the edge of the path, keeping low. A group of orcs trudged westward in single file. Aragorn counted seven of them.

Aragorn remembered Legolas saying once that five to one was poor odds, even for a Silvan warrior. Seven against two was better, especially with the element of surprise. He flicked a glance at the elf and saw a cocked eyebrow as if to ask 'can we take them?' Aragorn nodded, and the elf's lips moved without a sound. "No mercy."

The two lead orcs fell simultaneously, transfixed by arrows, one from Legolas and one from Aragorn's bow. Legolas drew and shot again, and another orc fell. The remaining orcs began to whirl in confusion as their attackers erupted from the trees. Aragorn drew his sword and an orc swiftly parted company with his head, while Legolas set an arrow to his bow and fired another time, then took out his matched knives and slashed. The sixth orc, who had been reaching for the elf's throat with a dagger, halted in mid stride and dropped like a stone with his chest laid open and his innards spilling out. The seventh orc cut and ran westward down the path as fast as his bowed legs could carry him.

Aragorn began to run after him, but Legolas let out a weary sigh and shot the fleeing orc in the back.

"I always hate doing that," he said. "Until I remind myself what that lot was probably doing among our eastern settlements." He turned one of the bodies over to reveal crude leather armor stained with spots of reddish blood that looked to be only a few days old. Around the neck of the orc he had shot in the back, they found, on a leather thong, a tiny silver clip such as an elf woman might use to bind her hair. Legolas tore it free and put it safe inside his tunic. Then he retched and spat. "I'm sorry, Aragorn. You may think back-shooting cowardly, but that one was not worth risking your life over."

"I thought Thranduil had his palace in a cave along the Forest River," Aragorn said.

"It is, but many of the Folk live in the forests nearby, in huts on the ground and telain in the trees. Some like to hold to the old ways, before the coming of the Shadow, and dwell apart from the others. It leaves them vulnerable to raiding bands such as these. If there is one comfort, it is that eighty years ago my father decreed that any couple with a child must come to live behind the palace walls until the young one has grown. These orcs killed no children, at least."

"Does that not become crowded? Providing quarters for that many extra families, I mean."

Legolas looked at him strangely. 'No, Aragorn, even drawn together from throughout the realm, there are never more than a few at any one time. That is why we cannot afford to risk them. Here, help me get these foul creatures off the path. We will leave them for the spiders to deal with. They prefer live meat, but they will take it dead as well."

After recovering their arrows from the dead orcs, they left the corpses in the forest on the opposite side of the path from where they had slept. "There are no old spider nests here," Legolas assured him. "These bodies will be gone practically before we have turned around."

With the orcs disposed of, Legolas cleaned the black blood from his arrows and his knives. That done, he used handfuls of moist leaves to wipe the spatters of orc blood from his tunic and his skin. Watching him flick one last speck of blood from his hair, Aragorn laughed.

"What?"

"Truly, Legolas, you look just like a cat licking its fur when you do that."

"Do I?" said Legolas. Rather than taking offense, he seemed genuinely pleased at the comparison. "I like cats. They are very clean creatures. Would you like some breakfast now, Aragorn?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I will need some time to regain my appetite after such an awakening."

Legolas nodded, and they began their eastward trek once more. After an hour, Legolas spied some trampled undergrowth and turned aside.

"I had meant to chide the next guard position for their slackness, but I see it was not their fault. Those orcs came through the woods from the south and joined the path here, from the look of it. There must be a fallen tree across the Enchanted Stream somewhere to the south for them to have crossed it. Why they were foolish enough to risk the path, I suppose we will never know." He followed the obvious trail a few paces into the trees and halted. "We could backtrack the trail, but it is hardly worth taking the time."

With one last glance to the south, Legolas turned and then froze. "Aragorn, stay very still," he said softly, drawing his bow.

For one horrified moment, Aragorn thought his friend had taken true offense at the cat remark, because the elf's face was twisted in an expression of malice and disgust. Before he had any further time to react, an arrow flew past his left ear, so close it ruffled his hair. Aragorn heard a strange high-pitched hiss from behind, followed by a thump. He whirled and then jumped back in horror as the biggest spider he had ever seen lay writhing on the ground. It thrashed for a moment and then curled its legs in death.

"Elbereth's nipples! You were not exaggerating about the spiders," Aragorn said, somewhat shakily. "That one was as big as a mastiff!"

"Aye," said Legolas stooping to pluck his arrow from the spider's eye. "Next time I caution you about danger, perhaps you will listen."

So began Aragorn's second day in Mirkwood.

They reached the Enchanted Stream on the afternoon of the third day. After the incident with the spider, they had picked up their pace by mutual consent, moving at an easy run. Aragorn was young and fit and Legolas seemed tireless, so they made good time. The weather had improved too, and Aragorn saw a few scattered shafts of sunlight knifing down through the trees.

The stream looked as dark as ink, and Aragorn felt grateful for the newly built bridge of roughhewn logs that spanned the rushing waters. He saw boats tied to the bank on the other side. Again, Legolas let out a whistle, and Aragorn knew the crossing was being watched by elvish eyes.

"Have you ever been in a boat of this type?" Legolas asked as he untied the rope securing one of them to the bank.

"I cannot say that I have," Aragorn replied. The craft appeared strange to him, consisting of pitch soaked hides stretched over a narrow light wooden frame and seemingly having no bow or stern. "Which is the front end?"

"Neither. We call these craft canoes. They are best for maneuvering through the sort of streams we will be traveling until we get to the Long Lake. All you need to know is that they will tip more easily than a rowboat, so keep your body low. I am putting you in front. The stream is swollen with the spring runoff and the current is so swift we will not even need to paddle. Just let me steer and put your paddle in the water only when I tell you to. The last time I was splashed with water from the Enchanted Stream, my face felt numb for days."

"Is there some evil in the water?"

Legolas shrugged. "It flows from the Mountains of Mirkwood in the south, from a peak where we do not go. Do not drink the water or even trail your hand in it. You would sleep for days, and while I have heard it can be quite pleasant, I have not the time or the patience to watch you snore and dream of delicious feasts and willing maidens. Have no fear. By the time we reach the rapids, other streams will have joined this one and diluted the water."

"Rapids?"

"As we approach the Forest River, the land drops. The river becomes very much like the Bruinen, full of white water and rocks. You can expect a soaking, but enough of the enchantment remains in the water that you will not feel the chill of it so badly. Just paddle to whichever side I tell you and enjoy the ride."

Aragorn stepped carefully into the boat and knelt quietly as Legolas settled in behind him and pushed off from the bank. The trees on either side began to move past swiftly as Aragorn got used to the feel and balance of the boat beneath him.

"Did I not promise you easier transportation?" Legolas said gaily.

Aragorn could only nod. They were surely moving more swiftly than they might have done on foot or even on horseback. The scenery changed little that day, and they tied up along the bank to make yet another camp among the trees when night fell.

About midday the next day, the banks of the stream began to grow higher and steeper, and soon the stream ran through a deep cleft. Other small streams joined from either side, each from its own steeply wooded ravine, and the stream widened into a swiftly moving river. As the height of the cliffs about them grew, the river did indeed begin to remind Aragorn of the Bruinen where it ran past Rivendell.

The first rapids were easy. Aragorn paddled to right and then left as Legolas called out his instructions, and the narrow boat threaded the rocks with ease and shot into the calmer waters beyond. Aragorn began to see the genius of the design, for a broader, deeper drafted rowboat would not have done so well, nor would a person facing backward have been able to steer so skillfully.

They slid through the next set of rapids as well, although this time the boat bucked and plunged with the current, and the two of them were splashed with the water. Aragorn laughed aloud at the exhilaration of it. His beard tingled, and though he was sitting in at least two or three inches of ice cold water, his privates felt no chill.

"This is fun!" he yelled.

"One more set," Legolas shouted back. "We can portage if you wish."

"No, not for anything!" Aragorn exclaimed, and before he knew it, they were on him. Left and right, he paddled with all his strength through the white water. They went over one small set of falls that took them airborne, and then they smacked down onto water that veered to the east.

Laughing, Legolas steered them onto a spit of sandy bank. The river here was wide enough that the sun actually reached down to the beach. "Let us stop here to dry off a bit," he said.

They turned the light craft upside down to empty the water from the bottom and then laid themselves out on the bank to let the sun have a warming shot at their clothing.

"Will you teach me to steer one of those boats?" Aragorn asked, staring up at the patch of blue sky.

"I think you already begin to understand," Legolas replied. "It turns away from the paddle stroke, unless you hold the paddle still and use it as a rudder. The only truly difficult skill to master is to move a canoe through still water or against current with only one person paddling. I'll let you take the rear position and steer once we get to calmer waters."

"How soon will that be?"

"Two more days of paddling with the current, and we will reach the forest edge. The river changes there. After that, two more days until we reach the Long Lake and Esgaroth. No spiders will trouble us upon the river, and there are only a few more challenges I must get you past."

The banks continued to grow higher as they followed the Forest River east. The brief glimpse of sun faded between the high tree-clad cliffs. On the next day, they passed a fork in the river that cut off to the north. Legolas took the southern route, and soon thereafter, he laid up against the northern bank. A high hill, almost a mountain, rose to the north, and ahead of them a stone bridge spanned the river.

"This is it," Legolas said. "Under that mountain lie the halls of my father, King Thranduil. It is not quite the equal of Menegroth of old, but it is the closest he could come without asking for the help of Naugrim craftsmen. My father's own elves delved the living rock of the mountain into wondrous chambers. I was born and grew up there. I am one of the few elves you will meet who do not hesitate to go beneath ground."

"A cave," Aragorn said. "That sounds dark and dismal."

"Was Thingol's vast city a dismal place?" Legolas replied. "We have light and air in abundance. The lower chambers have shafts lined with mirrored glass to catch the light of day and bring it down. The upper chambers have windows concealed in the mountainside to let in the light and air. They are in such places as the orcs may not reach, and there are strong wooden grilles to keep out the spiders. You cannot see it from here, but my own room has a private balcony concealed behind a waterfall, and my father's chamber is directly above it, with a finer porch still under the same falls. It is truly a wondrous place. My father designed well."

"So may I ask why we are huddled up against the riverbank in stealth while such wonders of comfort might be had?"

Legolas sighed. "I will show it to you some day, Aragorn. Right now, it is complicated. If I were to take you inside and introduce you to my father, you would be treated as our honored guest. But then we would find ourselves proceeding on to Esgaroth at the head of an armed train of elvish retainers, as befits two lordlings, and any chance for our quiet enjoyment of our time together would be lost."

"So that's why we're sneaking past?"

Legolas made a face. "Sneaking is such a low term. We are proceeding with discretion. I happen to know the time of the changing of the guard, and it will happen soon. It is my own fault. Along with dancing with the lasses and reading in the library, my father gave me the job of improving the palace guard after an unfortunate escape of some prisoners ten years back. Merely forbidding drinking on the job made quite a difference. The bridge guards are now very attentive to their duty. So please shut up, Estel, and let us hope we can shoot the bridge when they are not looking."

Aragorn did as he was told. Soon, the vast stone gates opened and a pair of elves marched out onto the bridge and faced the two guards at the forest edge. They exchanged salutes.

"Now!" Legolas hissed, and he pushed the boat out of the cover along the bank. Aragorn paddled for all he was worth with Legolas doing the same behind him, and the boat shot under the stone bridge. They fetched up along the bank further down, behind some poplars.

"I think we made it," Legolas said. "Once we have passed the barrel cove and the huts of the raft elves, we will see no one until we have left the forest and arrived at the Long Lake."

"What will these raft elves make of the sight of the two of us paddling past?" Aragorn enquired.

Legolas laughed. "No doubt they will think their prince keeps some strange company, but they will say nothing about it. The raft elves are a good lot, though a bit rough around the edges from dealing with Men so much. I know a thing or two about their doings in Esgaroth and hold my tongue about it, so they will do the same when it concerns my comings and goings." He swung the boat out into the current and began to paddle again. "The cove is not far now, just a short distance beyond the eastern tip of the island."

A smaller stream joined the river from the left. Aragorn looked back to see a water gate into the side of the mountain, guarded by a portcullis. As he did so, he saw Legolas stiffen.

"Oh, turds!" Legolas exclaimed, under his breath.



To be continued in Part Two

* * * * * * *

Translations:
Avo 'osto: Have no fear


Chapter 2 - Part Two: To the Waters

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.

My thanks and gratitude go to my beta for this story, Lexin.




Part Two: To the Waters



"Oh, turds!" Legolas exclaimed, under his breath.

Aragorn could not help but smile. He had heard his share of Elvish curses from his two foster brothers, but none had conveyed such sincere dismay he heard now from Legolas.

Ahead of them lay a spot where the current had scoured out a shingled beach before sweeping around an outcropping of rock that extended into the river. A cloaked Elven rider on a large bay horse stood on the beach, regarding the two of them with a serene smile. Aragorn could see nothing about the horse or its yellow-haired rider to have provoked such consternation from his friend. The only other signs of life were a few barrels that had washed up against the north bank. The raft elves were nowhere to be seen.

"Eyes and ears in the trees, I swear it," Legolas began to mutter as he beached the boat. "Stay here and let me take care of this," he said as he stalked off across the muddy flat.

Understanding came to Aragorn when the rider dismounted. The elf was the same height as Legolas, although broader in the shoulders and chest, and his hair was a bright gold, three shades darker than Legolas's pale flaxen. The two of them together were like a slender birch standing in the shadow of a mature oak. The resemblance was unmistakable. So this, Aragorn told himself, was Mirkwood's king, Thranduil.

As a child, Aragorn had discovered that his Númenórean blood gave him far better sense of hearing than that of normal Edain. It had not taken him much longer than that to discover that most elves did not realize this and take into account how well he could hear when discussing things in his near presence. He had learned the most extraordinary things at Rivendell while listening to conversations that the elves thought were pitched far below his ability to hear.

So it was now. Although Thranduil spoke softly and Legolas spoke softer still, Aragorn had no trouble making out their words from where he sat, even over the sound of the rushing water.

"Mae Govannen, my son. A little bird came singing to me of your return from the western wood. Otherwise I might have missed your passing, for you seem to have taken much pain to hide it from me." The amusement in the older elf's voice was plain.

"It is good to see you too, my Lord Father," said Legolas. "A little bird indeed? I shall be having a word with that little bird when next we meet."

Thranduil laughed. "Do not be too hard on him for his loyalty to his king. How did you put it, son? His father raised no fools. I might ask as well, what is it about this adan that you would drop everything to see him safely through the forest when any of the other soldiers might have done so with as much ease and safety? Is not your first loyalty to me?"

"I am loyal to you, Father. But in this matter, I am under a higher bond. I once made a promise to a lady to look after Aragorn when it was within my power, and I do not take that vow lightly."

"A lady?" Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "So this is the boy you saved from the orcs only to need rescuing by good Radagast yourself. You have never been quite the same since you returned from that trip to Rivendell. Elrond's fosterling is grown to near manhood, I see."

Legolas nodded. "As Master Elrond's foster son, I felt he deserved safe passage through our realm and it should not be left to just any warrior. It warranted leaving my post."

"As a one so important to the Master of Imladris, perhaps he should have a stronger escort than just one Mirkwood warrior," Thranduil pointed out gently.

Legolas sighed, and his face became even more solemn. "Ada, I know Aragorn, and there is something that tells me he needs a friend now more than he requires a guard. Please . . . let me do this."

Thranduil nodded, somewhat reluctantly, Aragorn thought, and raised his voice to normal pitch. "Well, my son, you must introduce me to this friend of yours." He smiled and beckoned Aragorn over.

"My Lord Father, I present Aragorn, son of Arathorn, foster son of Elrond of Imladris."

Aragorn bowed. "I am most honored to meet Thranduil Oropherion of Mirkwood, about whom I have heard so much."

Thranduil let out a hearty laugh. "All of it good, I hope. I often find my reputation precedes me, and as with any ruler, so very much of it is exaggeration." To Aragorn's surprise, Thranduil held out his hand.

The grip felt surprisingly strong, as was Thranduil's undeniable charm. Aragorn felt the Elf-king's fingers rotating the ring of Barahir for a better look, and he could see Thranduil noting its significance. As with all elves, Thranduil's words said one thing while his eyes said something deeper. Aragorn felt himself being searched, and he detected something very strange in the demeanor of Legolas's father, almost a hint of fear. But this was Thranduil, who according to the histories in Elrond's library, had fought alongside Elrond and Gil-galad on the field of the Dagorlad itself. What could he have to fear from a twenty year old Dúnadan lad? Perhaps, Aragorn decided, it was not so much himself but something that he represented that made Thranduil uneasy, although he could not guess what it might be, and he put the conundrum aside for the time being.

"Any friend of my son's is a friend of mine," Thranduil said. "If ever you have need of aid or succor within my realm, you may consider it given. For now, Legolas tells me you merely need safe passage through the wood. It is granted, and you have one of Mirkwood's finest warriors to accompany you on your way."

At this, Legolas blinked and stared in surprise.

Thranduil nodded at his son. "You have my leave to go. As long as you do not start any wars or destroy peaceful relations with Esgaroth, I am content. I will await your return, whenever that might be." With another nod to Aragorn, he swung up onto his horse. "Enjoy yourselves," he called back as he cantered away to the west.

"That was . . . that was definitely something new," Legolas said slowly, shaking his head.

"He wasn't at all the way I had pictured him, from what you've told me," Aragorn said. "I like your father very much." Out of the huts at the forest edge, the raft elves began to reappear, now that the chances of fireworks between father and son had passed.

"Oh, I like him too, that is the problem," Legolas said. "Just wait until you have done something to disappoint him and he looks at you so sadly you just want to die from the shame of it. Then see how you like it. It is fiendish, Aragorn!"

Aragorn laughed. "At least Elrond was never so subtle. When he is displeased with you, you know it." At the thought of Elrond's displeasure, he felt his face fall again.

"Come," said Legolas, pushing the boat back into deeper water, "let us be on our way quickly before he changes his mind."

Aragorn hopped in, and the boat sped off downstream, with Legolas muttering something softly to himself about "doing this just to keep me off balance. I'm sure to pay for this later . . . ."

The forest ended suddenly after a few hours of paddling to the east. They rounded a spit of land from the north, the rocky cliff fell away, and Aragorn found himself in sunlight. Many miles to the east, Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, rose, with its summit hidden in a few wisps of cloud.

"The dragon lived there not so long ago," Legolas said. "Now the dwarves rule it. My father grumbles that it is hardly an improvement, but I think the folk of Dale would not agree. King Bard has made a good start on rebuilding at the foot of the mountain. Many have come to dwell there with him, living on the trade that flows from the mines. Dale is a fair land, now that it is recovering from the scorch of the Worm. Esgaroth is improving as well now that the trade flows north to Dale as well as west to Mirkwood."

Aragorn dropped his gaze away from the mountain. "Where is the river gone? I see it branching every which way among bogs and islands. How will we find our way through?"

"The earth shook often during the time of the dragon and the land dropped," Legolas said. "At the same time, the rains increased and the waters rose. You would not have found your way out through the old Elf Path. At least not without a guide. I know my way through it, though, Aragorn, by land or by water. I have traveled both."

The current had suddenly slowed, and Aragorn found they needed to paddle to make good progress. "Legolas, have you steered us away from the main channel?"

"I have, although the difference is subtle. The raft elves know which way to pole to catch the current going down to Esgaroth, and they know which other ways to take coming back upstream. I mean to take a small detour. Because it is so easy to get lost, these marshes are safe. The orcs avoid them, and we may have a fire tonight. I do not know about you, Aragorn, but I am growing tired of waybread."

A flight of herons burst upward from a grassy hillock, startling them. "They're back," Legolas said with a happy smile. "Each winter they leave for the south, seeking the warmth. Perhaps, Aragorn, you can tell me where they go, once you have journeyed to those far off lands where the stars are strange. They return in the spring to do their courting dances and to build their nests among the tall grass. They grow fat on the fish and feed their young, only to leave in the fall. And speaking of fish, I think I have found a good spot."

They had reached a spot on the swamp where the ground rose slightly higher. A few trees overhung the bank, giving some shade, and the water moved briskly enough for the bottom to be covered in gravel. They tied the boat and tossed what little gear they had on the ground in the middle of the island. Legolas moved to the water's edge and lay upon his stomach, trailing his hands into the stream.

"Watch this, Aragorn. I learned to tickle trout as a young boy. It is a useful skill for those with no lines and hooks. The water undercuts the bank, and the big ones like to sleep there in the shade. After a time, they will wake and come to your hand."

Aragorn laid himself down next to his friend and spoke softly. "Did the wood-elves teach you this?"

"I learned it from a mortal woman who used to live around here. She was my nursemaid for a time. She was a kind woman, and she loved me in her way," said Legolas, seeming to lose himself in memory. "I had no mother, you see, and this woman gave me a love and affection I shall not soon forget."

"I had no father either," said Aragorn. "Elladan finally told me how it happened. I understand much about my mother now. How did your mother die, Legolas?"

"I do not know," the elf replied. "All I remember is the softness of her arms and some dark hair, and then she was gone. I see my father's face when she is mentioned, and I dare not ask."

"This mortal woman, what happened to her?"

"She died. They all do," Legolas said matter-of-factly.

"How old are you, Legolas? How many mortals have you seen live and die?"

"Ah, no you don't!" Legolas laughed, managing to keep his shoulders still. "You are as bad as your mother. I am old enough to have seen much and young enough to yet appreciate it."

"What a strange folk you First Born are!" Aragorn grumbled. "To be ashamed of a youth that would seem to us like old age."

"I am not ashamed, just . . . discreet," Legolas protested. "I'm tired of being dismissed, as if my lack of years means a lack of wisdom or skill. Being the king's son makes it even worse, because they all assume that I have been given a task out of my father's fondness rather than my own ability to do it. I can assure you, Aragorn, that has not ever been the case."

"I suppose that is why you enjoy my company," Aragorn ventured. "Because I make you feel old and wise."

"Wrong, Aragorn," Legolas grinned. "I enjoy your company because you constantly surprise me. Aha! Speaking of surprises," he said, suddenly flipping a large trout from the river and onto the grass where it flopped about glistening in the afternoon sun, "here is our dinner. You light the fire while I find some rocks to cook this old fellow."

Legolas found a flat piece of shale, which they heated in the fire and used to grill the trout. As darkness fell, they broke bits of the flaky fish off with their hands and ate hungrily. Afterward, they lay back on the grass and passed the wineskin back and forth between them. There was no moon, and as ever, the stars shone like a multitude of bright jewels flung across the night sky. Aragorn stared up at the familiar shape of the Valacirca, whose two end stars always pointed to a bright star in the due north, and at the milky drift of foggy light that his people called the Great Road. He could scarce believe that there existed a land so far off that these same stars did not shine down upon it. Such a journey lay before him.

Legolas had become very quiet, and Aragorn wondered if he had fallen asleep. As usual, he lay with his eyes open and unblinking, even though he rested now on his back, a rare thing for the elf. Would he snore or begin to make all the other sleep noises that mortal folk do, Aragorn wondered as he pulled himself up on one elbow to look at his friend's face. To his surprise, when he caught the right angle, he saw that Legolas's eyes glowed with the reflected starlight, just as if he had been a cat or some other night-visioned creature. He jumped and shivered a little. Even growing up among elves as he had done, they still managed to surprise and mystify him at times. 'They raised me to think of myself as one of them, but I am not,' he thought to himself. The sleep of another elf and what she might look like in repose had been much in his thoughts of late, and this made him sigh.

"Are you ready to talk about it?" Legolas said quietly, making Aragorn jump once more. "This thing that shadows your heart, and has clouded the joy in your eyes since we met again?"

Aragorn shook his head.

"Then go to sleep. You just woke me out of a very pleasant dream with your staring. Tomorrow we paddle hard, and we will reach Esgaroth by evening."

It was near dusk when they paddled into the Long Lake the next day. The marshes had ended, and the river had veered south and reformed into a single channel. The majestic bulk of Erebor had shrunk and disappeared behind some hills at the north end of the lake.

They beached the canoe at the side of the lake and entered the town by way of a long narrow causeway. The guards, being used to the wood-elves, nodded them through, seeming to be only mildly surprised that this elf was accompanied by an unkempt young man.

"Every building rests on pilings, then?" Aragorn asked.

Legolas nodded. "It makes it very difficult to attack. There is much wealth in Esgaroth, which makes it an attractive target for orcs and brigands, but it has never been taken. Even Smaug himself could not do it from the air; it was only with his dying fall that he destroyed the old town. Come, I know a good inn where we can spend the night. No fleas and hardly any rats."

The inn proved to be a three-story affair in the center of the town, with a tavern on the first floor. "Sorry, our best rooms are booked by some merchants from Dale," the innkeeper told them. "You two fellows will have to share a room and a bed. I trust it will be no hardship."

"Do you know who this is . . . ?" Aragorn began, springing to his feet from a bench beside the door, where he had sat while his friend made the arrangements.

"Sit down, Aragorn," Legolas said mildly. He switched into Quenya. *They do not know me here, and I wish to keep it that way. Being unrecognized is a concept you will come to appreciate in time.*

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, briefly puzzled at Legolas's use of an obscure, ceremonial language, before realizing that the men of Laketown might well have understood Sindarin as well as the Silvan tongue from their dealings with Thranduil's raft elves. Just as quickly, he hid a grin. Although Legolas read and wrote Quenya well enough to get by, his pronunciation left much to be desired.

Legolas switched back to the common tongue and addressed the innkeeper. "That will be no hardship. As long as we may order a bath to be brought up. We are weary from our journeys and wish to be clean before we dine."

"As you wish," the innkeeper grunted, as if quite used to the elven insistence upon cleanliness in even the humbler guests. "Tell it to the wench. She will show you the room."

"It won't be a hardship, I hope Aragorn," Legolas whispered as they followed the girl up the stairs. "Am I such a disagreeable bed partner?"

"Other than the fact that you sleep with your eyes open, twitch like a demon, and talk to yourself, I suppose not."

"I confess, the only two spots in Ennor where I close my eyes to sleep are at Rivendell and in my father's halls," Legolas said. "At least I do not snore and break wind like some people I could mention."

"I do not!"

"Tell that to someone who has not spent the past week at your side. It is rather endearing, really."

"Break wind? Truly, Legolas!"

The elf laughed. "Now, that is just funny."

Aragorn glared and hoped that the chambermaid could not understand Sindarin. Their room was on the top floor. It was clean and well aired, and looked to have no rats as Legolas had promised.

"Please make the bath as hot as possible," Legolas said, handing the wench a gold piece. From the adoring look she gave him back, Aragorn thought that the gold might be entirely unnecessary.

The water and tub arrived in record time, hauled in by the maid and three footmen, one of whom also gazed on the elf with a look of unconcealed admiration, much to Aragorn's dismay.

"Who goes first?" Legolas asked, when the four had left the room.

"You," said Aragorn. "I am four weeks out of Rivendell, and once I am done with that water it will be so full of dirt that you might walk upon it. The grime never seems to stick to you, so I do not mind following."

"Thank you, Aragorn," Legolas said, promptly stripping off with a complete lack of self-consciousness.

Aragorn sat on the bed and tried not to look. Even growing up among the elves of Rivendell, Aragorn had absorbed the more modest customs of his mother, and he had never truly gotten used to the casual attitude toward nudity that the elves seemed to display. Although, he had to admit, if he possessed such a perfect body as any one of the First Born, and Legolas was no exception, he would not be very shy about showing it.

Aragorn had just been through an embarrassing time of imperfection where his body sprouted hair in unwelcome places and his skin had visited the humiliation of pimples upon him. The pimples had ceased, thankfully, but the hair continued to grow, and now Aragorn thought to his horror that it might be appearing on his back. He also felt that his muscles were thick and out of proportion next to such magnificent warriors as his foster brothers and the equally splendid Glorfindel. Legolas, although slender as a reed while dressed, looked fit as a coiled wire when stripped down.

Were they all as perfect, Aragorn wondered, as he watched his friend sink into the bath? The thought of another, very special elf and how that elf might appear naked, resulted in yet another humiliation. His gweth, which had been developing a mind of its own for the past several years, stiffened and jumped to life. He turned quickly away and put a pillow from the bed into his lap, lest Legolas notice his condition and get the wrong idea. For good measure, he turned his thoughts to the mental picture of the flyblown corpse of a marmot he had seen on the trip up to the Old Pass from Rivendell, killed by a falling rock and not yet discovered by the carrion birds. Control returned.

"Whatever is your problem, Aragorn? The most amazing parade of emotions crossed your face just now," said Legolas, sinking deeper into the bath. To get his hair beneath the water, Legolas had to put his knees high onto the air.

Aragorn gave a noncommittal grunt.

"I must thank you," Legolas continued. "This hot bath is a treat. For the past six months, I have had to content myself with wiping down my body with handfuls of snow or standing naked in the rain."

"That would have an unfortunate effect on me," Aragorn laughed in spite of himself.

"It has that effect on all of us," Legolas replied with a knowing grin. He stepped from the tub and wrung out his hair, shaking it like a wet dog and spraying the corners of the room with tiny droplets. "All yours."

Aragorn turned his back and removed his garments. Busy with his braiding, Legolas showed not the least interest. Aragorn sank into the water, which was still hot. Cleanliness felt delightful, and he realized that his decision to leave Rivendell meant such simple things might not be available to him in the future.

Aragorn enjoyed a long soak. Already dressed, Legolas lay on the bed, politely averting his eyes when Aragorn emerged from the tub. Aragorn toweled off, put on breeches and began to shave his beard, using his hunting knife. At the second scrape, Legolas winced.

"Please, Aragorn, give it up. It hurts just to watch. The whiskers look good on you. Just trim them and let it be. The lasses will like it, I can assure you."

Aragorn laughed and shrugged. "I remember once telling you that I would have to go bearded when I grew up, and it seems that time has come. I would have asked one of the Rangers that the twins and I rode with to teach me to shave, but they seem to go bearded as well. I will keep it short enough so that is does not trap my food and be content. My knife is sharp enough for that."

He trimmed his beard as short as his knife would allow and donned the rest of his clothing. The room had no glass mirror, merely a polished piece of tin hung on the wall. Aragorn squinted into it, could make out nothing. "Have I got it even?"

"Except for the spot where you took away the skin. You're a bit scruffy for the Hall of Fire at Rivendell, but for an Esgaroth tavern, you pass muster." Legolas swung his legs down off the bed and stood. "Come along. I am ready for a drink and a hot meal."

The tavern was dark and not very crowded. Legolas chose a table in a corner as far away from the pipeweed smokers as possible. Even so, errant streams of the fragrant smoke drifted past them, and Aragorn smiled to himself to see the elf wrinkle his nose and stifle a sneeze.

A serving wench came up to the table. "What will be your pleasure tonight, young masters?" she said, in a tone that suggested that anything could be had, including herself.

"What have you on the bill for supper?" Legolas asked.

"Cook has a flank of venison roasting, and a nice chicken."

"Chicken, then," said Legolas quickly, and Aragorn concurred. He had a feeling he would be having more venison in the coming days than he wished.

"And a flagon of our wine?"

Aragorn was about to nod the affirmative when Legolas stopped him. "We'll have a pitcher of that dark ale the dwarves of Erebor brew, if you have it on the tap."

"Aye, we have it. They are strange folks, those dwarves, but their coming to the mountain has brought much good to the town. There is gold from the mines and trade from Dale. The only ones I hear complaining are the young men, for they used to get the girls to give up their maidenheads for fear of becoming a feast for the dragon, dragons having a special liking for virgins, as is well known. Since old Smaug was killed, that ploy is lost to them." She gave them a saucy wink and sashayed off.

"Ale?" said Aragorn.

"The wine here is undrinkable. Trust me on this. My father's butler, Galion, says the dwarvish ale tastes like horse piss, but at least it is better than the wine."

"He knows the taste, does he?" Aragorn quipped.

"Knowing Galion, it would not surprise me in the least," Legolas grinned back.

The wench returned with their pitcher and two tankards. Another serving maid brought a platter of chicken. Both girls eyed them with sly glances from beneath lowered lashes before withdrawing.

Legolas sniffed at his ale and took a careful sip. "Ahh! Horse piss never tasted so good."

"I think those girls liked you, Legolas," Aragorn teased.

"Those girls like anyone with a gold coin in his pocket. But the way that red haired one was looking at you, Aragorn, I think she might be willing to forgo her price."

"The way the dark haired one is looking at you, she might even be willing to pay a stud fee," Aragorn laughed.

Legolas shrugged in good humor. "It is not my way. But, Aragorn, if you should wish to take some ease, I will be content to sit here and have another pint alone while you use the room."

Aragorn almost laughed at his friend's clumsy attempt at thoughtfulness. "Alas, Legolas, I fear I've been among you Elves too long. Your way has changed me in ways that are not customary for one of my kind." The ale had begun to go to his head and loosen his tongue. "Legolas, have you, yourself, never been tempted?"

The elf had a chicken leg, and he chewed pensively on it for a moment. "Tempted? Of course. I have the same bodily urges as any male, and I have had them since I came of age. I am sure you have had them as well."

"Yes, and this is why I have left Rivendell."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me, Aragorn, that you have not discovered you like boys!"

"No," Aragorn had to laugh, "it isn't that. Last year, a girl in one of the Mannish camps took me aside. I think Elladan and Elrohir put her up to it. She showed me a few things. Well, if truth be told, she showed me everything there was to learn. I liked it well enough, but something was missing. I did not know her, and she did not know me. Has that ever happened to you?"

Legolas sighed. "We are told that, for us, to consummate is to bond. I have never . . . consummated."

"But surely, there must be some things allowed?"

"I would have thought that your foster brothers could have explained these things to you."

"It is complicated, Legolas. The subject of how you First Born conduct yourselves in courtship never arose, and I can no longer ask them. So I ask you."

"Very well then. A kiss, a caress. Perhaps even a deep caress. These are allowed."

"Have you?"

"Even before I came of age, my father had The Talk with me, about hurt feelings and raised expectations in those I might dally with. I am the scion of the House of Oropher. It would not be seemly for me to be caught with my hand down half the bodices in the realm."

"And never on a codpiece, I presume," said Aragorn dryly.

Legolas rolled his eyes and laughed nervously. "Ai, Aragorn, do not even jest about that! Can you imagine my father's reaction? I am not saying that such things are unknown to us, but . . . not for Thranduil's son. Fortunately for me, I have never found a codpiece that was anywhere near as enticing as a bodice. But even if I did not have to be mindful of my position, I would not play with hearts as some of the young elves do. I do not like to start what I cannot finish."

"So you haven't?"

Legolas shook his head.

"I wonder sometimes at the wisdom of the Valar, to grant such long life at the cost of such rigid self denial."

"There is a reason for that, Aragorn. We do not love lightly, to avoid tying ourselves to fools for eternity. But when we meet our one true love, it is bliss indeed."

"But when you meet that special one and cannot have her, it can be pure hell." Aragorn saw a look of pain flit through his friend's eyes and had only the briefest time to wonder what it was about before he continued. "This is why I said I've spent too much time among you Elves. I have found her, Legolas, my one true love, and I may not have her. No other will do, and it is killing me."

"So this is the sorrow that weighs your heart and sends you from Elrond's house. Have you finally drunk enough ale to tell me who it is?"

Aragorn stared off into the corner, where he could see the two barmaids eyeing him. They were beautiful women, and he knew he could have either of them by crooking a finger, yet it would mean nothing. Nor would the most lovely and highborn lady of all the lands of Men.

"Arwen," he said. He heard a soft cough from behind him and turned to see Legolas wiping his nose with his sleeve. The elf had also spilled his ale. "Do not mock me, Legolas. Please."

"Never. The man or elf who would mock you is a fool." Legolas's voice still held a raspy note, as if he had accidentally inhaled some of his drink. "Arwen. Elrond's daughter. The Lady Undómiel. How did this come to pass?"

"I was walking in the gardens at Rivendell, and I had been singing the Lay of Beren and the maiden Tinúviel. I saw her on the path and cried out the name Lúthien, for I thought I had strayed into a dream that my song had brought to life, she was so lovely. She smiled at me, Legolas, and we talked, and in time, we kissed. She likes me too, I think."

"If she kissed you, she likes you," Legolas said bluntly. " She more than likes you. Then what happened?"

"I told my mother that I had found my true love, and when she found out who it was she said . . . ." Aragorn paused to drink. The pitcher of ale that had been almost empty had somehow been refilled without Aragorn noticing that Legolas had signaled the wench. "I'll not tell you all she said, Legolas, for it was harsh and she was most displeased with me. She does not feel that an Adan should aspire to the love of a daughter of the Eldar, most especially not the daughter of our host."

Legolas sighed and drank even more deeply than the sigh. "Yes, I can imagine she would have said that."

"Not long after, Master Elrond called me in. This was not my mother's doing, for he had seen it as well, the looks that passed between Arwen and me. He said that I would be plighted to no one for many years, and to his daughter, never, for he told me of the Doom of the Peredhil and the choice all his children must face. Legolas, I am in misery. My desire for Arwen is like a knife twisting in my chest, and they treat me like a silly child."

"They are right, Aragorn." Legolas held up his hand at Aragorn's stricken look and continued. "And they are wrong. Elbereth knows they have been treating me like a silly child for so many years now that I will never do it to you. But Elrond is correct. You have only twenty summers. When I had just come of age, I barely knew east from west or up from down. You need to make a man of yourself before you go wooing any lasses and expecting them to bind themselves to you. And that goes tenfold for the Lady Undómiel."

Aragorn hung his head. Elrond had spoken truly. Next to Arwen, he was but a callow youth.

"But here is where they are wrong, Estel. You must not put aside your hope. I see the promise of the man in you, and that man could be worthy of her. This was apparent to me when you were a small boy, and now Arwen must have seen it too, for let me tell you, she has never shown a wish to kiss me or any other elf that I know of, and there are many who have desired it."

Aragorn stared sadly into his ale. "Legolas, how dare I do such a thing? What could there ever be about me that Arwen should give up her immortal life for me? What could I ever give her to repay such a sacrifice?"

"The very fact that you could say such a thing is a good beginning," Legolas said bluntly. "But I will give you an answer to that question, Aragorn, and it is a hard thing for me to say. You may be able to give the Lady Undómiel something that a male of her own kind cannot."

"What could that be, other than a short life with crushing grief at the end?" said Aragorn bitterly.

"You noticed how few children there were at Rivendell. I have told you how few young ones there are in my father's realm at a given time. My parents were wed for over two and a half thousand years before I was born, although my father assures me this was from no lack of interest or . . . effort." Aragorn noticed Legolas colored slightly as he said this. "The time of my people in Ennor is coming to an end, and our strength is failing us. Not our virility, mind you, but our . . . fecundity. The First Born have always prized children above all else, and our lack of young ones is a sorrow to us. If you can give Arwen a child, it will make it worth every other loss she will have to endure. Your race is claiming the Earth, Aragorn, and a child of Arwen's means that a little of our people remains with you when we are gone."

"I never thought of that. The Edain take children for granted Such a simple thing."

"Not so simple," Legolas said. "For I think convincing Elrond will be the more difficult task. You have come between a father and his child. If Arwen's heart is won, it is already won. However, the quest for her hand may be a long and arduous one. There are no Silmarils around anymore to be recovered, but if I know Elrond, he will find an even more difficult task for you. It may be that you will fail in the end. But at least you will have tried."

"You are a true friend, Legolas. None of the others has given me any cause for comfort." The ale had made Aragorn somewhat maudlin.

"Elladan and Elrohir might see it differently, "Legolas said, with a trace of humor. "If they knew I was encouraging you in this they would probably hang me by my feet from the highest balcony in Rivendell and threaten to drop me on my head."

"They have done that to you? They did that to me many a time," said Aragorn, stifling a yawn. "I am going to miss those two. Ai, Legolas, the ale pitcher is empty. How many did we drink?"

"Three," said the elf with a grin.

"I don't remember drinking that many," said Aragorn rising from the table and discovering that the room was no longer quite as steady as when he had sat down.

"'You won't remember much of anything in the morning," said Legolas good-naturedly. "Too bad it took that many to loosen your tongue and let an older wiser friend give you some good advice. Next time maybe you will not be so close-mouthed. All you need to remember is to believe in yourself and trust to hope. Come now, King of the West, I think it's time for you to get some sleep."

Aragorn felt himself born up as the elf put an arm around him to steady him and lead him toward the stairs. They got a few strange stares from the other patrons, which Legolas answered with a wink and a mischievous grin. The stairs were too narrow to go abreast, so with a brief, "No kicking this time please, Estel," Legolas tossed him over his shoulder and carried him upstairs with the same ease with which he hefted his bow and quiver.

Reminded yet again of how strong these deceptively graceful beings were, Aragorn made a note to himself never to try to push his weight around with Legolas or any other elf. He felt himself deposited gently on the bed and he fell into the first untroubled sleep he had known since leaving Rivendell.

* * *

It was almost noon the next day when the two of them reached the falls at the south end of the lake. Aragorn had awakened fully clothed but with his boots off. An annoyingly cheerful Legolas had brought him a cup from the tavern below, filled with a nasty looking drink he referred to as Elvish medicine. Aragorn had remarked sourly that it smelled like the other output of a horse, and it tasted even worse, but once down, Aragorn's head had begun to feel better. He had to admit that, of all the folk in the world, the elves of Mirkwood knew the best cure for a hangover.

Head aside, Aragorn felt the best he had in weeks. It was as if Legolas had lanced a festering wound and drawn off the poison, and his words of hope had been like a balm of Athelas. If his friend thought him worthy of Arwen, then by the Valar, he would fight to make it so. He found himself looking forward to the long trail ahead.

They beached the canoe on the western bank and went to the edge of the plateau. Aragorn could see the bright ribbon of the River Celduin below the falls, curling far off into the haze of the distance as it ran southeast to the sea of Rhun.

"There is a portage path that will take you to the bottom. From there, follow the river. It is a fortnight to the inland sea, or so I am told."

Aragorn looked at his friend in surprise. "You mean not to follow?"

Legolas shook his head.

"I had thought for the past few days that you might come with me."

"I had thought, for a time, that I might do that -- run away from home if you will -- but I cannot, Aragorn."

Aragorn could see an almost naked longing in his friend's eyes as he looked out over the strange land to the south. "Why not? Your father all but gave you leave. And what of that promise to my mother to look after me?"

"You heard that?" Legolas seemed slightly surprised. "I did promise her that, but I promised her more -- that I would see you happy, and with your confession last night, you have just made my job far more complicated. If it were just a matter of keeping your body safe, I would throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to Thranduil's halls, where you would be safe until your dying day. This is what my father would wish to do to me, has tried to do to me, and only now do I begin to understand the temptation."

Legolas turned away and stared at the lake. "There are worse tragedies than a short life, Aragorn. There is the waste of a long life lived without ever having achieved happiness or fulfillment. You have a chance at a magnificent fate. If I were to come with you now, to solve your problems and shoot your spiders for you, you would never come into your own manhood. At least not the manhood it will take to win Arwen. I would only hold you back. In time, you will have the need for wisdom, and you may find someone to teach it to you. But I am not that one."

"I would have liked you at my side, Legolas."

"And I, as well," Legolas sighed. "If you survive this test, Aragorn, there will come a time when you will need your friends, and I promise I will be there, at your side, watching your back. But this is not that day."

"You are right, Legolas. This is something I must do alone." He turned to leave.

"Hold, Aragorn! Let me look upon you one last time, for I know you will be much changed in body and spirit ere my eyes behold you again; as changed as you were from the last time we met. I fear this is the last time I shall see your face unmarked by care."

The two stood staring awkwardly at each other for a time until Legolas pulled him into a swift embrace. Aragorn could feel the elf's heart beating and the almost fierce love that radiated from him, and for the first and only time in his life he did not feel fatherless.

"By the stars above, I hope I am not making a mistake. May Elbereth protect you, Aragorn. Now go!"

Aragorn smiled and turned his feet to the south.


For he comes, the human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.
W. B. Yeats, from The Stolen Child (1886)

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