Feud

A/N: Some have asked, so here is Feud in relation to the Books:

2941 - Battle of Erebor, Legolas' Judgement
2953 - Release of Annaldír
2956 - Aragorn meets Gandalf (Return of the King, Appendix B, JRR Tolkien)
2957 - Aragorn begins his years of errantry incognito (same as above)
2958 - Legolas baits the Nazgul, meets Elrond and Erestor, and meets Aragorn

Chapter 31: Gwain Erthad [New Alliance]

Gandalf's instantaneous mutation from creaking and aged grandfather to agile and wily Ainu caught Aragorn unawares. It was rather like watching a sun-dappled bit of leafy ground suddenly stand up and reveal itself to be a spotted hind before darting away before his eyes. The Man barely had time to snatch up the reins of the tawny horse before it bolted, unsettled by the wizard using its back as a springboard for his ascent up the tree. He secured the leather leads to his own saddle before dismounting.

There was no need to tie his charger, for the horse was well trained and knew better than to stray an inch without its master's consent. The bay stallion looked disdainfully and threateningly at its skittish companion and the gelding turned a walleye to the sturdy war-horse. The stallion chose to ignore this lesser of its kind and returned full attention to the human.

Aragorn strode over and stood beneath the tree, staring up into the branches to see where the Maia had gone. Just visible, he could make out the pale color of bare skin amid the green cover so high in the canopy that the figures swayed along with the movement of the wind blown limbs. The low murmur of voices met his hearing but he could not tell what was being said. The elf's voice held much emotion, however, while the wizard's maintained an even and soothing tone. It was clear they were arguing and the Man wondered what it was all about, for the elf was more unhinged than any he had ever encountered, and he had known many over his time alive.

The forest seemed to be watching him and he felt distinctly uncomfortable, as though the trees would break him if he so much as imagined an unkindness with regard to the feral Sylvan. Aragorn was unable to stifle the urge to peer over his shoulders as his back keenly imagined the sensation of sharp weapons trained upon it. His mind was invaded by images of oak trees five times the height of a Man uplifting themselves to squash him into the ground while sword-like limbs pierced him through. He shook himself to ward off the uncanny threat. {I am here to help him; I have never harmed elf-kind or green life,} he projected this thought and forced his heart to remain calm. The uneasy feeling abated somewhat and he relaxed again.

Up above, the Istar's voice rose imploringly as the First Born chided him in sounds of such absolute despair that the Man cringed to hear them.

He sighed; this was likely to take some time. Whatever had been done to this former royal had likewise undermined his belief in the wizard's loyalty. {Then again,} he realized, {what do I know of this wizard that causes me to trust him? I met him but two years hence while that archer may have known him centuries.} It was usually difficult to hide one's true nature from an elf. Was the Istar a cunning deceiver, or was this forest warrior grieved past reason?

Casting about for a way to occupy himself and relieve his thoughts of such conundrums, the human spotted the discarded staff and the pointed hat and knelt to retrieve them. The hat he tossed back up onto the pommel of the wizard's saddle from whence it had been dislodged by the Maia's leap into the oak. The staff, however, he approached with a blend of caution and inquisitive interest. The seemingly simple wooden pike fairly hummed as he touched it and his palms tingled as they did when being shaken back into circulation after falling asleep. The implement seemed to be more a weapon than an aid to an elderly man and possessed a greater weight and density than any form of walking stick he had ever handled.

{The gnarled pole is as hefty as my broadsword,} he realized with surprise and a wry expression touched his features. What he knew about the Istar was limited indeed. With care he reseated the staff, tucking it through the leather loop designed to hold it securely to the Maia's saddle, and then turned to his own baggage. He gave a loving slap to the shoulder of his charger, who blew a satisfied reply against the Man's neck and nudged his muzzle against the small of his master's back.

Aragorn smiled. He was about to search through his pack to see what he might have by way of a small treat for his horse when a low and somber groan of terrible grief and pain breached the solemnity of the woods. With a glance back toward the treetop, his pleasant expression vanished and a frown of worry creased his features. He reached instead for his supply of herbs and a small hide-bound booklet of various recipes for healing ailments and easing discomfort.

There had been no visible blood, no sign of bandaging, and no evidence of recent physical wounding on the Elda's body. At least, that much of it as he had seen in the brief seconds he had watched the wild one fleeing back up into the safety of the canopy. Aragorn did not think he would be called on to treat the sort of lacerations and contusions he normally dressed for his comrades after battles. The nature of this injury was much more difficult to heal and far more likely to be mortal for one of the fair folk than any cut by blade or arrow's piercing. He had never before attempted to cure a broken spirit and was fearful he was not up to the task. Only once had he even known such procedures to succeed: the healing of Celebrian through Elrond's skillful hands.

Attentively he perused the pages of the book and at last settled on a mildly sedative combination of pleasantly scented herbs. If he could get Gandalf to administer the drink to the Wood Elf, deep sleep should follow for several hours, allowing him peace from whatever tortures invaded his mind and plagued his body. This might perhaps prolong life long enough to figure out how to complete the remedy.

Mixing the ingredients with water in a small flask, Aragorn added a few drops of Miruvor for good measure. He was still agitating the stoppered bottle when the rustling and rattling of complaining limbs forewarned the wizard's descent.

Gandalf gathered the ailing archer carefully into his hold and started to maneuver back through the branches, downward towards the forest floor. Legolas held on, arms round the wizard's neck, legs dangling, and shut his eyes.

Aragorn slipped the flask into the scabbard of his sword for easy retrieval and watched the Maia's descent curiously, his gaze taking in the limp creature draped over Gandalf's shoulder. He was eager for a good look at this unfortunate being, and anxious to learn what Imladris had to do with his harried state of mind. Vaulting onto his charger, the Man gathered up the reins of the golden gelding and guided the horse back under the forest giant, speaking soothingly to the animal to keep it calm as its master neared. Soon Gandalf was just a meter or two above them.

"Aragorn!" he called down, confident his comrade was close at hand though unable to see for Legolas obstructed his view. "Come and take him from me; I do not think I can get onto the horse; his legs are tripping me as it is!" he wheezed from his unsuccessful attempts to get astride the animal and waited for the human to move in place. Aragorn stood in his stirrups and reached up to take the Istar's burden.

As soon as he felt the unfamiliar hands grasp his waist, Legolas tightened his grip around Mithrandir and stared angrily down at this unknown person. He quickly landed a solid kick into the human's stomach and the hands left him as a loud 'oof!' sounded out into the air.

"Sweet Elbereth's Tits! Was that necessary?" the Man demanded curtly and neither traveler understood why this caused the elf to flinch so sharply against Gandalf's chest.

"Do not harm him, Legolas. I vouch for his worthiness, though I know my esteem has fallen much of late. I need to get down and cannot do it while holding you," the Maia spoke gently against his friend's ear.

Legolas considered his options and found he had not the strength to even make such an evaluation. The pain drained him; the tears depleted him. He simply felt wrung out, as though he had been swimming against the rapids of the Forest River where it churned throuhe Che Central Mountains and could no longer keep up the struggle. He nodded against the grey cloaked shoulder and was aware of the hands again, holding him a little less assuredly this time, as Mithrandir lowered him down to the human. Legolas let his arms slide from round the wizard's neck.

Aragorn received the unresponsive body carefully, drawing him down and seating him upon his horse's whithers. He was privileged to a brief flash of blue brilliance as the elven eyes met his for an instant before the feral elf turned away and leaned upon the stallion's neck, whispering something in the horse's ear that he could not make out. The heavy tangle of golden locks slipped forward over the elf's shoulders, mixing with the dark strands of the horse's hair. Aragorn stared in horrified fascination at the ugly pattern scarring the bare flesh beneath the utilitarian quiver of arrows.

As soon as Gandalf was dressed back in his robes and seated comfortably on his gelding, he turned to Aragorn and motioned for him to hand Legolas over. The archer allowed himself to be passed back to the Maia, settling in front of the wizard, and leaned back with a sigh into the encircling arms. Without a word he promptly fell completely lax, losing consciousness without the aid of the draught the human had concocted.

Aragorn looked on in surprise; that kick had been sound enough yet the elf was in a complete swoon, even his eyes shuttered down in defeat. His healing instincts were all afire as he surveyed the bizarre creature in Gandalf's care. This did not seem like an adversary worthy of the Masters of Dol Guldur.

"Valar! That is but an elfling starved not the brave warrior so skilled with the bow as you have indicated! Gandalf, I doubt your archer will live another ten-day!" he forewarned as his inner sight scanned the wild one carefully.

"We must not allow him to fade, Aragorn! It is good you are with me for your medicinal knowledge and your understanding of elvish ways will assist us in preventing his departure to Mandos.

"What I spoke to you about him is accurate, as you will come to see in time. Here is a worthy heart unlike any other, and a truer friend you will never have, could you win his trust!" the Istar admonished his comrade's scorn.

"I can not say what may help him. If his spirit is destroyed there is nothing that can repair such injury, and indeed he must be much depleted to fall so still so quickly! The drugs I had thought to use to induce rest I now fear to give lest he never wake from such a stupor!" Aragorn said. He decided to reserve further comment of the warrior's worth out of respect for the wizard's opinion.

The three set off once more on the thwarted path.

Tawar sought to prevent the travelers' further deviation into enemy terrain, but the body of evil infesting the area was strong, and grew greater with every step the horses took away from the elvish road. Little could the Greenwood do to protect the Tawarwaith when so many of its beeches, oaks, and myrtles had already fallen to shadow.

The day wore on until at last Aragorn decreed the dimming light under the forest eaves too slight for further travel. The elf had not stirred in all these hours of riding, his head bobbing sideways in time with the gait of the wizard's mount and now the human was worried Legolas would never awaken. He chose a likely campsite not far from a small running freshet spilling out of a spring-fed pond.

Taking the archer in his arms as the wizard dismounted, Aragorn then handed him back when Gandalf settled on the ground. The Man knelt to make a cursory inspection and removed the wild elf's weapons.

{This is the child of Ningloriel,} he thought and wondered if perhaps here was another foster brother, the blood offspring of Elrond. It was a topic he often sought to bury when he was with Elladan and Elrohir, for they argued it incessantly. Elrohir was convinced they had a baby brother that must be rescued from the clutches of the evil Thranduil and Elladan was appalled at the very idea of an illegitimate sibling. Arwen refused to discuss it at all, as had her mother, preferring to ignore the fact of her father's long association with the Woodland Queen.

Aragorn had always been the moderator of the twin's debates, keeping hidden his secret wish for this mysterious elf to come and diminish some of the attention he received as the youngest of the family. He remembered once, as a small child, seeing Ningloriel when in Lorien, but she had swept past him as though he did not exist. He had found her so beautiful then that he could never fault this hauteur. For long years after had fantasized that this glorious Queen would become his new mother and bring her infant elfling to dwell in Imladris, not realizing the 'child' was by then already several hundred years his senior. He smiled sadly, for long prior to his adulthood he had abandoned such notions, never thinking to actually see Legolas. Yet here was, broken and alone, outcast and forbidden to associate with even his own people.

For this was the infamous kinslayer, first to cause the deaths of elf-kind in over four millennia, a longer time than any kingdom of Man had yet continued. Many were the tales told in inns and alehouses of Erebor regarding the treacherous and fearsome traits of this Wood Elf. Aragorn appraised him; finding him beyond any description he had yet been told. Aboriginal and fey, certainly; dangerous and deadly he judged him as well. But was he cruel and cold, bloodthirsty and vicious as the stories depicted? Was this an evil being twisted to the will of the Dark One as many alleged? Seeing him defenseless and vulnerable, Aragorn could not believe any of the rumors.

Fingers touched the hairless chin and turned the elfin face towards him, and Aragorn could not help a small sigh departing from him, as the firelight played over the clean lines of the elegant features, for the beauty of his countenance was great. Like his mother, and yet there was something here she lacked. {And young, far younger than any other of the First Born I have met}, he realized and suddenly wished the eyes would open again so he could somehow restore the abused innocence he had briefly beheld within them early in the day.

The fingers moved into the strange texture of the long golden hair. Aragorn had never seen hair worn in this manner and wondered about it as he played with a lock absentmindedly. His gaze traveled with a healer's interest over the rest of the physical form, noting the lean and spartan flesh stretched firmly over the compactly muscled body. Not fit, exactly, for he was far too thin to be called that, but not consumed beyond repair of his health either, if his spirit could be rejuvenated.

His digits traced the fresh pink skin over the newly healed arrow cut only weeks old and Aragorn was surprised that this had left so bold a mark, for it seemed to his touch not to have been a very deep wound. With a frown and careful movements he turned Legolas on his side and explored the awful expanse of marring across his back. He looked up enquiringly at Gandalf.

"It is unusual for an elf to carry permanent scars from wounds, unless they are life-threatening, for healing is so rapid. What can you say of this?" he asked quietly.

"I do not know all of it, but it was allowed under the Laws of the Woodland Realm as part of the Judgement. The one responsible has since been banished, but not before the damage was already done," the wizard sighed, shaking his head. He had held his peace as Aragorn made his inspection, curious how he would react to this phantom come to life, this ever-present yet unseen interloper in his family's home, but trusted the Man's good judgement would guide him to the right conclusions about Legolas.

Aragorn's features contorted in disgust for such an appalling definition of justice. "If it was lawful to do it, why was the perpetrator expelled?" he asked and grew more horrified to hear the tale behind the chastisement and its culmination. This confirmed his earlier diagnosis. "So the real malady is grief, and all else springs from that," the human mused to himself and felt a greater respect for the wild elf's strength. Legolas had been bearing his guilty burden a very long time and was reaching the limit of his perseverance. He found he was profoundly saddened that the former prince would succumb to the turmoil that sought to steal his fëa.

Gently he turned the archer back over upon the Maia's lap and settled his head in the crook of Gandalf's arm. Aragorn softly slapped the insensible patient's cheek to rouse him, but not even an eyelash fluttered in response. He cautiously placed his palm over the old chest wound and this elicited a feeble moan and a virulent shudder from Legolas. With deep concern Aragorn's gaze met the wizard's. He removed his hand and rose, letting Gandalf see to the elf as he set about securing their position and picketing the horses.

The animals, he noted with satisfaction, displayed no greater fidgets than one would expect respectable beasts reared in Imladris to feel when wandering through such a pernicious land. This he took as a positive sign their area was clear of dangers. The human quickly collected enough dead wood to supply them through the night and lit a large bonfire, more to ward away prowling wargs and spiders than to provide for warmth in the stuffy jungle. These tasks complete he returned to his companions with a water flask.

"Should he stir, give him as much water as he will take but nothing more," he said. "I will go see what can be found in this dread place to serve as food."

"Is there nothing else to be done?" Mithrandir studied his human friend with anxious eyes, but Aragorn only shrugged.

"If you know any chants of power for such curing among your order, then say them," he said bluntly as he rose. Leaving the camp, he took to hunting for a time, reluctant to hurry for he feared he would discover the immortal lifeless on his return.

He had been gone some hours before suitable game crossed his path and even this was meager by his standards: four small grouse and a quoll. Little in the way of healthy herbs grew in the murky illumination under the canopy, and so a handful of edible fungus was the best he could provide to accompany the meat.

Stepping into the firelight Aragorn halted, for the elf was still senseless and Gandalf was bent over the prostrate form. The wizard was bathing Legolas' forehead with water to try and make him respond, and the Man detected the refreshing scent of king's foil in the fluid. The Maia was so intent upon his task that he did not hear the return of his friend.

"Aina Manwë, aina Varda, ilyar valainar Valar!
Á hortal Erukyemenya: I Iluisa, I Iluvala, Iluvatar.
Maquetin envinyatalië an sína Laiquendë,
Sína cundu aldion, sína taurë orato, I Tirno Taurion, Laiqualassë!
Áva lavil nwalmerya na taituva. Án antol indorya estel ar fëarya tuo.
Á envinyatal se! Á envinyatal se! Nucumna, maquetin sína.
Valar Valuvar.

[Holy Manwë, holy Varda, all divine Valar!]
[Speed my prayer to Eru, the all knowing, the all powerful, Iluvatar.]
[I ask healing for this Green Elf]
[This prince of the trees, this forest champion, the Watcher of the Great Wood, Legolas!]
[Do not allow his torment to be prolonged. Give his heart hope and his soul strength.]
[Heal him! Renew him! Humbled, I ask this.]
[The will of the Valar be done.]"

The wizard reverently murmured these words of a healing spell.

"Valar Valuvar," Aragorn added with a brisk nod of his head and laying down the night's meal approached the two eternal beings. "No change?" he queried and Gandalf shook his head dejectedly, despondent after having tried every incantation he could recall and some he invented on the spot with no response from his comatose friend.

"Perhaps there has been more improvement than is apparent," spoke the Man. Aragorn's eyes twinkled just a bit as he surveyed the sickly Elda, detecting what the Maia, lacking healing insight, could not. "Á cuiva, Legolas!" [Awake, Legolas!] He uttered the command softly but the elf heard him and stirred, shifting as though struggling against it. Seconds later doleful eyes gazed accusingly up at him and the confused warrior shoved himself up into a seated position.

"What are you two doing here, Mithrandir?" he asked, and glanced around their camp, frowning in bewilderment. "And if we must stop then at least let us get up into the trees for the night," he complained and a strange expression traversed his visage. "This is more of your underhanded manipulation! How did you bring me here, what magic have you done to me?" he suddenly shouted as he scrambled up onto his feet and scanned the area frantically for his displaced weapons.

"What? What are you talking about now?" the Istar sputtered in frustration. "Hours have passed as I toiled to restore you and yet your first words are more insults!" the wizard's eyes flashed in exasperation. "That is entirely rude! Surely someone in that dreadful catacomb you call a home must have tried to teach you proper manners! The words ‘Thank-you’ occur to me!" he scolded, but this served only to irritate the over-stressed archer.

Legolas snatched up his quiver and bow, making for the nearest tree with a low growl of malcontent. "I have naught to thank you for, and that accursed place was never a home to me! Stay on the ground if you like; I will shoot as many Orcs as I have arrows in your defense from above, even though I have ample reason to leave you to be killed!" and so speaking he disappeared into the foliage.

Aragorn grinned; realizing that to Legolas it seemed he had merely napped a few minutes after their initial encounter rather than the hours he had been unconscious.

{The wizard must have been chanting unceasingly to bring about so thorough an erasure of the young one's earlier agony,} Aragorn thought and was truly encouraged for the archer's recovery in light of this new development. The Man was softly laughing and turned back to the fire to prepare the meal, shaking his head at the perturbed expression the Istar turned to him.

"Do not blame him for his faulty memory, Old One!" he said. "The poor creature seems not to recall much of the day's earlier events so complete was his descent into oblivion! Whatever grudge is between you was never settled as far as his retrospection knows, and I fear you have displeased him further by your display of affronted sagacity!" he chuckled at the forlorn look that replaced the wizard's previous haughty one and resumed his culinary task.

Gandalf walked to the base of the tree and stared up into the darkness, unable to detect Legolas until a very lividly furious Wood Elf plummeted down beside him and stomped over to the fire.

"You called me a poor creature? Who are you to come here to my lands and belittle me?" he shouted as color rose rapidly up to his ears and he pointed at the Man's chest with his dagger. The human backed away a few steps and held up apologetic palms.

"Careful! Your recovery was forced and I suspect your wrath is using up whatever energy the wizard garnered for you with his magic!" he cautioned and this remark maddened Legolas even more.

"Ai! It is unbearable! I should have left you both to face the Orcs and find your deaths!" he was beside himself and turned to fling the dirk away so that it ploughed deeply into the dirt rather than into the human's heart. "What are you doing in my woods? Go back to whatever country you derive from and leave me in peace!" he railed and began pacing round the camp in agitation, for the human was correct; he had only a vague remembrance of how he came to be with these two. He recalled fully what had driven him into the tress, however, and a fresh wave of burning anguish assailed him. He crossed his arms round himself as he began shivering and could not stop, struggling to maintain his composure as the pain built to its crescendo. Abruptly he leaped back up into the trees and vanished from view, fearful to be on the ground with them in such a vulnerable state.

"Legolas," the wizard called and stared up into the blackness uselessly. "Please come down and I will explain what is going on." But no reply came back.

"There is nothing for it, Gandalf! You will simply have to go back up in the trees, apologize again, and coax him from cover," Aragorn quipped and settled near the fire, leaning against his pack. "You should do so now, while the blade is buried there in the ground," he encouraged. "What does he hold against you, anyway, wizard? Should I be mindful of your mien in light of his reaction?" Aragorn added, only sarcastic in part, and turned to search through his luggage, taking out his clay pipe and filling it.

Mithrandir gave a grunt expressing his appreciation of this remark but refrained from encouraging further discussion.

Soon drifting smoke rings and the aroma of the tobacco caught the Maia's attention and he delved in his saddlebag for his own briar bowl. They smoked quietly together as the stew simmered and added its inviting odor to the musty surroundings.

"Will his mind clear?" Gandalf asked and was relieved to see the Man nod assent. The earlier confrontation had been horrible, and he truly wished the fallen prince spared the reliving of it, and had no desire to do so himself either.

A very quiet but nonetheless discernable gasp of misery reached them from above and frowning dismay met worried care as the two travelers exchanged glances. But the power of the wizard's spells held and the current distress was certainly far less severe than was the afternoon's.

"He will not come down?" the Man asked, curious. Gandalf shrugged. "Not even to eat?" Aragorn pressed and the wizard slowly shook his head as they both stared into the empty blackness of the thick canopy.

"He would not eat this kind of food anyway," said the Istar.

"Does not seem to eat very often."

"No, probably not, given the region he has been in for the last few years."

"Tell me," the human said and listened to the recount of Legolas' history, making appropriately shocked and indignant sounds over the significant events he had survived to date. Mithrandir did not reveal the intrigue regarding Legolas' true father however, for he did not wish to violate the wild elf's remaining confidence in his character. Besides, Aragorn no doubt had enough information on that from his side of the mountains.

The two remained quiet for a time, as Aragorn seemed to be assimilating the full import of the tragic tale.

"I believe that is a worthy and brave hearted warrior, hidden above us," the Man finally said, gazing shrewdly at his companion. "The stories I have heard are lies; this is not the Kinslayer of Mirkwood. Surely, this elf is the same called the Archer of Erebor in Bard's kingdom, that aided the destruction of Blog and thus made safe the roads and byways for leagues and leagues far from the borders of his own lands. Now he seeks to take on, singly, the most noisome of the Dark Lord's creations! A worthy ally and I hope I shall be able to count him as such."

Gandalf understood his intent and nodded sagely.

"Yet, you name one and the same being with these appellations. Difficult it must be to bear both titles: hero and outlaw. His strength of will is most uncommon even among the fair folk. We are fortunate he is with us, for the way leads us astray and Eru knows what awaits at trail's end!" he joined in the irregular style of apology.

They both knew elven hearing made all they spoke clear as spring water, and Gandalf understood the wild one's disposition. Legolas was not one to bear grudges or remain angry for very long in the face of sincere remorse. Also, many were the blessings of the Valar he had called down upon the Wood Elf; these must surely relieve some of his understandable mistrust. Mithrandir was convinced they had not encountered Legolas to no purpose.

High in the lightless canopy, the woodland warrior listened. His memory had returned and he knew he had accepted the wizard's previous apology and relented to his care willingly. {Mithrandir, trying to talk his way out of his falsehoods with pretty words!} he thought with a quirky smirk. But Legolas noted how the wizard held his tongue and kept his ugly secret from the Man's knowledge.

And the human, Aragorn the wizard called him, hoped to undo his insults with lavish praises. Still, the mortal had not sought to harm him even when threatened at dagger point, and the Man's steady eyes had looked upon him kindly when he had awakened from the darkness. At least they wished these kind words to cancel the harsh ones so that a fresh start could be attempted, and the feral elf accepted this peace offering.

As the two travelers had hoped, the wild elf dropped down right beside them and crouched on the ground looking from one to the other seriously.

"All the more reason to get into these trees!" he joined the conversation at Gandalf's last point. "You are both open to easy attack and I do not think I have enough arrows if a full patrol of the monsters arrives!" he was almost pleading with them, for every instinct he possessed warned that the Orcs were already on the march toward the encampment.

"Your council is wise, Legolas, yet we cannot heed it," the Man said quietly. "We are not elves and in the upper reaches, where you would have us climb, the branches will not suffer our weight upon them for such a long period."

Legolas frowned; he had forgotten about this problem.

"We will set watches, confident that you are above keeping guard as well," the Istar added. "And perhaps we will have a peaceful night."

Legolas could not think of any plan better and remained silent, watching as the Man went to the stewpot and ladled out their miserly meal. He smiled at the Wood Elf but received no answering uplift of the firmly set lips in the fair one's face. Handing a bowl to Gandalf, he turned back to his new comrade.

"I am Aragorn, a Ranger," he said, extending his hand Man-style to his companion. "I have recently made acquaintance with our mutual friend here," he added with a nod to Gandalf.

"Legolas, Tirn-en-Tawar,\me tme the reply as the slender hand gripped the sturdy one and pumped it once as he had seen the woodsmen do. "And I am not so sure one can call a wizard 'friend'. Definitions vary so from one kind to another," he smiled a little and let his gaze slip sideways to the Istar, who exclaimed in aggravation at this cut. TBC