Another’s Guilt

Another’s Guilt by Númenora

Rating: NC-17, R (for violence) this chapter

Disclaimers and Summary: See chapter one.

Warnings: Remember, this is slash; AU, Mpreg, a bit OOC (Aragorn). Un-betaed, all mistakes are mine.

A/N: No Elven kin this or the next chapter—which I have already completed before this one. I realized that I would have to whip out two because I won’t be able to keep my promise for heat this chapter. It was just not possible given the state of Aragorn’s and Legolas’ relationship at this stage. The only way to get them together would be to either have Aragorn (or Legolas) dream another erotic dream (which I didn’t want to do) or have him force Legolas (which I refuse to do).

Aragorn may be arrogant and unreasonable and stubborn where Legolas is concern (Okay, he’s a bit of a brat!), but he would never rape or ravage Legolas (not in my fiction at least). So I’m giving them one chapter to get closer and next chapter they will be getting down to it! As I promised last chapter, I will be presenting my take on the miracle of Mpreg (Yay!) and I hope that it is believable (**smirk**) and that my readers approve. Much of the why and how was taken from Elvish ‘history’ found in the *Silmarillion*

The White Falls referred to in this and next chapter is totally fictitious (or non-Tolkien); I created it as part of another fiction that I wrote for the *Mistletoe In May Fic Swap.* It is as yet unpublished, but will be made available in May; it is set in a similar world as this one (kind of an AU of this AU).

Just one word on Aragorn’s horse for this fic; I like Brego (that was originally Théodred’s horse in the movie) and I am giving him to Aragorn. I know that Aragorn rode Hasufel during his time with the Rohirrim and that he was given Roheryn by Arwen (book-verse both), but this is AU, so Brego is in (Yay, Brego!)

I want to thank the wonderful and talented Aralas for plugging this story; I want to return the favor by highly recommending to my readers who have not already done so to read her wonderful fiction at fanfiction.net: ‘Guide to Action’ and ‘Guide to Completion.’

Thoughts and stressed words denoted **


Chapter Seven

“Conditional Freedom”


‘*Legolas will have to go to Gondor first.’ Aragorn informed them.

‘Why must I go there?’

‘You want to help Faramir, don’t you?’ Aragorn asked Legolas

‘Yes, of course, I wish to help him. But I do not know where these men are or how to track them.’ He glanced over to where Faramir lay sleeping still.

‘Perhaps not, but you saw them and as an elf, your sight is quite keen; you can give an accurate description of them and put your testimony on the record for when they are found.’ His explanation sounded quite reasonable (though thin at best).

Words were failing Legolas as he faced this dilemma...for he wanted to help the kind young man Faramir find justice.

‘Very well, Ernilen (My Prince)—I will go to Gondor*.’

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When Aragorn made his proclamation that Legolas would go with him to Gondor and the Prince reluctantly agreed, the elf was unhappy at the turn of events; thinking that since Faramir had exonerated him, he would be allowed to go home. But that was not the case and he looked resentfully over towards the Gondoran Prince.

Aragorn watched as Legolas occasionally glanced his way and he felt guilty for keeping the Elda from leaving. Every time he asked himself why, he could only come up with the same lame excuse of needing the Prince to give testimony about the thieves that beset his cousin and that Legolas would be safer with him; after all his own brothers had allowed him to become lost, putting him in harms way.

But his inner voice called him a liar, pointing out that Faramir was more than capable of describing his attackers and Legolas’ testimony could be given once they reached Outpost 40 at a special hearing; he just need call one. The only reason that he truly wanted to keep the Sindarin Prince among them was that Aragorn didn’t want to be parted from him—which made no sense. Since it made no sense, the Peredhel once again squashed his guilt along with his inner voice refusing to look any further into the matter.

Aragorn watched as Lord Marach handed Legolas a bowl of steaming stew; one of the Rangers had found some wild root vegetables and made supper for them all. By the looks on everyone’s faces, the Crowned Prince assumed that it was good, but he barely remembered tasting his as he struggled with his inner feelings. He vaguely registered that someone had sat beside him and only turned towards the person when they spoke.

“I am quite pleased at the turn of events; I didn’t relish the thought of having a Firstborn prisoner nor what would eventually happen to him at a trial.” Éomer informed Aragorn as he looked closely at his friend. “You seem troubled Aragorn. You do not still feel that the elf is guilty, do you?”

“Nay, I do not. I have no reason to believe that Faramir would absolve him if he were guilty. Besides, I had begun to believe in his innocence after speaking with Lord Marach and also after talking to the Prince himself. He is a gentle soul—I know that now.” Aragorn sounded so forlorn that Éomer draped his arm across the younger male’s shoulder.

“Then you are sad because he will be leaving us; I understand this for I would like to get to know him better myself.” The Third Marshal of the Mark was surprised at Aragorn’s next words.

“He will not be leaving us—he will accompany me to Gondor.”

“But why—if he is innocent?” Éomer was perplexed.

Aragorn felt himself getting upset; first it was Lord Marach, then Legolas and now Éomer was questioning him as to his reasons for taking the Prince to Minas Tirith (when he himself didn’t fully understand).

“Because I say so!” He bellowed, drawing several eyes to his and Éomer’s positions a few feet from where Faramir still lay sleeping. He calmed briefly when he caught sight of Boromir’s censuring stare, fearing the Prince would disturb his healing sibling.

“Legolas is needed in the White City to give testimony about what happened to Faramir and I will not leave him alone in these Wood to fend for himself.” He could see that Éomer was going to echo what his mentor and Legolas both had pointed out to him, so he forestalled whatever the blond was about to say.

“I feel that it is best that Father contact Legolas’ kin through diplomatic channels. He can send an official delegation to Lothlórien to ask that Lady Galadriel pass word along to King Thranduil concerning Legolas’ whereabouts. That is the best way and the discussion into the matter is closed.” Aragorn stood up.

“I did not mean to question your judgment, Your Highness. I suppose that we do things differently in the Riddermark—I meant no disrespect.” Éomer stood, bowing slightly to Aragorn before going to join Boromir.

Aragorn chastised himself for his harshness to Éomer and he realized that if he kept this up, he will have alienated everyone that he cared for, which included the Greenwood Prince—that thought bringing him no pleasure for he realized that he’d already alienated Legolas from their first encounter.

*I will change that someday, Ernilen—I promise.*

He then went over to check on Faramir and he apologized to Éomer for his harsh tone. They were long-time friends (almost like brothers) and they could never stay angry for long—the Princes Band was ever strong.

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Lord Marach looked with concern at his Elven companion; he knew how sad Little Leaf was. He smiled briefly at this fatherly endearment. “I will try and make him change his mind about taking you to Minas Tirith.”

“But, he said that Faramir needs my help; perhaps it will not take long to give my account of things and I could be back with my brothers in a few days or a week.” He said innocently.

The elder Gondoran hated to add to Legolas’ sadness, but it was clear that the Prince had no idea of how far he would have to travel to get to Minas Tirith and then wait for word to reach Lothlórien and then Greenwood. It could take months before he saw his family again.

“Little Leaf...” Lord Marach paused at the trusting look Legolas gave him and he wanted to rage at Aragorn for putting him in this position.

“Yes, Hir-nin?”

“I’m afraid that it will take longer than a few days or even a week to get you home if you must go to Minas Tirith first.”

Legolas frowned. “How much longer,” He inquired hesitantly.

“It could take months, Child; Rohan is over two weeks from here and the border of Gondor weeks more. Gondor is quite large and the capitol city is further still; I am sorry—this must be a shock to you? Obviously, your studies did not include the realms of Men.” Lord Marach took Legolas’ smaller hand into his slightly larger, aged one.

“I studied where it pertained to history, but...” A sob escaped before Legolas could stop it; this was all so unfair.

“I will go speak with him right now, Penneth.” The healer gently squeezed Legolas’ hand before going to converse with Aragorn.

When he got the Prince alone, he talked to him until he was nearly hoarse, but it came to nothing; Aragorn’s stubbornness was legendary, taking after his grandfather King Arador, his Father Arathorn and his...Well, Lord Marach didn’t finish that thought for he didn’t want to feel compassion for his Prince right now. He squared his shoulders and returned to where he’d left Legolas. When he approached him, he saw that Legolas was fast asleep, walking in Elven reverie.

The Nobleman pulled the covers over the slumbering Elda, the child apparently exhausted from today’s events. The elf was over twice his age, but Marach saw him as little more than an elfling; an innocent lost child. The healer didn’t have any sons of his own, but he had always loved children, lavishing his fatherly feelings on the ones in his care like the Royal sons and daughter that he taught over the years (including the ones here minus Éomer).

He was never one for coddling or talking down to them, but he would never hesitate to embrace or comfort a hurting child and giving them advice where it was needed. And now, he had an Elven ‘son’ to add to his others and as he made his own bedroll, he realized that he would forever think of Legolas this way.

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The morning saw camp braking early the next day. Lord Marach didn’t hesitate to inform Legolas of his failure to sway Aragorn. The Prince took it quite well considering, but he told the healer that he hadn’t expected Aragorn to change his mind; and that if he had learned anything of the Gondoran Prince, it was that the man didn’t change in his beliefs or opinions easily.

The young dúnadan approached the elder Gondoran and Legolas as they gathered their things; when he stood before the blond prince, Legolas graced Aragorn with a look so ferocious, it brought him up short and caused him to back up momentarily. Lord Marach nearly laughed out loud at the sight.

“I would like a word, Your Highness,” Aragorn said mildly as Legolas maintained his quelling stare—reminiscent of his father King Thranduil.

The Elda raised his brow as if to say ‘well?’ and the Peredhel continued, “I thought that you would like to have your longknife back; I cleaned it and fashioned a sheath of sorts for it. It isn’t pretty, but it will serve until a proper one can be made.”

The Elven Prince gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, calming somewhat, though he was hardly friendly.

Cheered a bit by the lessening of the elf’s hostility, he finished what he’d come to discuss. “I would also like to offer you the use of my horse Brego; he is an excellent Rohirric steed and quite sturdy. He will have no trouble carrying us both.”

Aragorn’s optimism of a moment before was short-lived as Legolas once again looked at him most unpleasantly for this suggestion. Then, he smiled at Aragorn in such a way that was even more disturbing. It was one that didn’t reach the Sinda’s lovely blue eyes and had nothing to do with mirth.

“I...*Appreciate*...your kind offer, Ernilen—but Sergeant Girion has offered me the use of his horse since he will help bear Faramir this morning.” The wood-elf’s voice was deceptively sweet.

Lord Marach was enjoying Legolas’ little display and he was sure that as he matured, the Sinda would be a force to be reckoned with—though he was doing quite well now.

Aragorn was not fooled, though; he knew that Legolas was not going to just forgive him and forget about what Aragorn had put him through. But the Gondoran was nothing if not persistent and he could be patient when the stakes were worth it and Legolas was worth it to him. He still didn’t fully understand why, but it no longer mattered—he was determined to be friends with the beautiful Prince from Greenwood the Great.

“Very well, Prince Legolas; I will leave the matter for now. If you both will excuse me, I must speak to Faramir ferriers.” He smiled, affecting Legolas’ tone with a secretive glint in his blue-green eyes.

Lord Marach knew that look. It was one that Aragorn had worn in his presence many times. Usually it meant that the Prince had come to some decision involving something very important to him. Or, sometimes it involved going after something that he truly wanted—which meant that he’d already figured out the solution or was very close.

Lord Marach personally has never seen him fail in those situations. He also realized why Aragorn had begun behaving oddly where Legolas was concerned—He was in love with the young elf. It all made perfect sense; but this also meant that Legolas was in for a fight—one much different than before.

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They traveled steadily for most the day, only stopping to rest the animals and to check on Faramir. But since he appeared stronger, they didn’t stop permanently except at night. This is how things progressed for the first two days, but by the third, Aragorn had begun to get agitated. He was not pleased seeing Legolas having to change horses every time the owner would switch places with another carrying the still injured Steward-prince.

Sergeant Girion had insisted that Legolas take his horse—content to walk or ride the other Rangers’ horses. But Legolas would not hear of that; besides, many of the other Rohirric guards and Gondoran Rangers wanted to make up to the Elven Prince for what he’d gone through, offering their mounts to him as well. And more than one (including young Walda who tried to feed Legolas that day) had become smitten by him as they attempted to get to know him better.

The Prince decided that it would be best if he honored each man’s request, having to only change every few hours. He did not mind, but Aragorn did; especially since Legolas had trouble those first few times mounting the animals—not being familiar with saddles. He didn’t like all the ‘helping hands’ that touched the beautiful Prince, lifting him up or allowing him to step into their cupped palms to get onto the horses’ backs.

The final straw came when they had stopped to water the horses and an extremely handsome Rohirric guard got a little too close when he tried to help Legolas. Something flew into the Prince’s eye and the tall blond soldier went to his aid. Seeing the man cup the elf’s face, tipping it up to look deeply in the attempt to spot the offending object, sent the Gondoran into a tailspin; and he went over and ordered the man back to his duties, helping Legolas himself.

He was incredibly gentle with the Sinda which confused Legolas, making it hard for him to maintain his ire at Aragorn. Of course, it didn’t take long for that to change as the Gondoran had a way of upsetting Legolas with his arbitrary behavior. Just when the elf had decided to afford the man (for he knew nothing of Aragorn’s mixed race) some consideration as he’d done with the soldiers, he grew furious at him again.

Legolas was preparing to switch horses again as Walda reminded him that it was his turn to help carry Faramir. The boy (well young man actually) took Legolas by the hand to lead him over to the dappled gray mare, smiling as if they were on a stroll. Aragorn came over like a thundercloud, glaring down on the younger man who stood nearly a head shorter than Aragorn (and Legolas for that matter), bringing him up short much in the same manner as Aragorn had that other morning before Legolas.

“Your...Your Highness! What—May I help you, sir?” Walda stammered.

Aragorn pointedly stared at the young Ranger’s hand still holding the wood-elf’s, making him drop it as if it had suddenly become hot as fire. “Does your horse know how to follow the other’s lead?” The Gondoran heir inquired.

“Aye, my Prince,” Walda said frowning, not understanding the point of the query.

“Good—because Prince Legolas will be riding with me hence forth; spread that among the other guards and Rangers as I don’t intend to repeat myself.” With that, he took Legolas’ recently dropped hand, leading him over to Brego.

“I do not wish to ride with you!” Legolas hissed trying to pull away from Aragorn’s surprisingly strong grip.

“I didn’t ask you if you did—but you will.” He said amiably, but brooking no argument.

“Why do you insist on treating me so callously? Do you hate me still, though I committed no crime?”

This made Aragorn stop and face Legolas. “No, Legolas—I do not hate you; I only want to keep you safe.” He looked earnestly at Sinda, thumb caressing the soft skin on the back of his pale hand.

Legolas was perplexed by the man before him; one moment he was being overbearing and short and the next, kind, tender and considerate. Legolas knew that he shouldn’t forgive the man so easily, but he was having trouble concentrating while Aragorn continued to caress him and gazing at him the way he was.

*Why is it hot?* Elves don’t feel heat or cold normally unless they were injured or impaired in some way. But he had healed of his injuries.

“Are you well, Ernilen?” Aragorn touched Legolas’ forehead and the back of his neck checking for fever. “You haven’t re-injured your ribs have you? Come over here and let me see.”

“No!” Legolas yelled, then softer, “No, Hir-nin, I am well.” He wished the man would not touch him so, for he did not like it—did he? It is quite hot.

The elf pulled away to get some distance, but it didn’t last as it was time to move on, Aragorn taking his hand again as they approached the beautiful black stallion. Legolas didn’t know why, but found himself thinking that the horse suited the Prince. But by the time he was seated on the animal before Aragorn, the man’s strong arms encircling, he rarely had a coherent thought again for the rest of the day.

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Two days later...

Boromir tucked Faramir into the bed inside the outpost commander’s chambers. They had arrived at Outpost 40 over an hour ago and after Faramir had been thoroughly examined by both Lord Marach and Aragorn, Boromir had personally bathed his brother, changing his travel clothes for a comfortable nightshirt, and had him all settled in.

Lord Marach watched in fondness as Boromir fussed over the younger Steward-prince. It had always been that way for as long as the healer had known them. Even as a young boy, Boromir had protected Faramir; the elder Gondoran knew that Lord Denethor cared little for the kind-hearted Faramir. He was also suspicious of the Steward’s affections for Boromir; his pride over the elder son’s military acumen seemed less a reflection of the young man’s talents and accomplishments as it was a feather in Denethor’s cap.

“Lord Marach, will you please convince Boromir to take some rest? He has slept very little since my injuries. No, Boromir; don’t even try to convince me that you have. Because I have it on good authority that you have not!” Faramir told him somewhat smugly.

“Éomer has a big mouth!” His statement was said wryly.

“Faramir is correct, young man. You should rest now; my assistant Erellont and the chief healer and several medics from this outpost are here to help look after our patient. Go get some rest so that he can rest peacefully as well.” Lord Marach said gently, but it sounded like an order. So Boromir relented.

“Very well—I shall go rest, but I will come check on you in a few hours.” He placed a tender kiss on Faramir’s forehead and walked to the door after wishing his brother pleasant dreams.

The Senior Healer followed Boromir out after speaking with the young medic who was assigned to stay with Faramir. Once outside in the corridor, Lord Marach called to Boromir.

“I would have a word, Boromir.” At the young man’s concerned look, he continued. “It is about Prince Aragorn and Prince Legolas.”

“How can I be of service, Lord?”

“Aragorn is quite determined to leave for Minas Tirith tomorrow morning with our Elven guest; I wish to convince him otherwise.” Boromir could hear the desperation from the healer.

“I don’t know what I can do. Éomer and I have discussed it with him and he is, as you have stated, quite determined. I don’t know what the hurry is or why he feels it necessary to take Legolas to the White City—but he does.” Boromir hadn’t given it as much consideration he normally would have as his mind had been so focused on Faramir.

“I believe that I know why; it seems our Prince Aragorn has become rather taken with the beautiful Legolas of Greenwood.”

Boromir’s green eyes grew large at that and he burst out laughing before clamping a hand over his mouth just in case should disturb Faramir.

“Is...” Chuckle, “It that all? Well, I suppose that I should have seen that coming; especially after Faramir cleared the fair Elda.”

“I believe that it may have started before that. I couldn’t understand his hostility towards Legolas; even with the suspicion of guilt. I mean, you of all had the right to be so, but your conduct towards him wasn’t nearly as aggressive.” The Lord finished.

“You are correct in this, Sir. If what you believe is true, this will make it near impossible to change his mind. If you wish, I will speak to him before supper tonight about Legolas; maybe together, we will be able to talk sense into him.”

“I pray that you are right, Prince.” Lord Marach hadn’t added that the potential of creating a dangerous conflict with a powerful Elven realm such as Greenwood the Great was a distinct possibility.

He was also worried that Legolas was becoming attached to Aragorn as well. He had noticed the clashes between the two on the trail; the fits of jealousy from Aragorn. He hadn’t really felt concern for Legolas as the elf seemed capable of putting the dúnadan in his place whenever he overstepped his bounds.

But that all changed when Aragorn had insisted that Greenleaf share his steed. Legolas seemed disoriented and...Not his normal self while being held by the Heir to Gondor’s Throne. And Lord Marach began noticing how the Sinda would follow Aragorn with his eyes when the Peredhel ventured far from him. Legolas was confused and Lord Marach knew that he’d been sheltered at home; in fact, the healer would bet his remaining years on Arda that Legolas was untouched.

The elf was no match for the younger, but more experienced Prince. He knew that Aragorn would die rather than force himself on Legolas, but the Gondoran could be charming and he was in love (whether he was aware or not); he could easily overwhelm the elf, seducing him without even trying hard.

And that is at the heart of the matter. Legolas is from a Royal blood-line and he had talked in depth to Lord Marach about his family; most especially about his brothers. He’d told the healer that his brother Arminas and he shared the same birth parent—a mother; while his eldest brother was born of his ada Thranduil’s body. This meant that Legolas and his brothers were all capable of bearing children. Lord Marach knew about male Elven pregnancies and had studied the phenomenon as a young man in Rivendell, though he’d never actually seen a pregnant male elf. What he had discovered was that this ‘gift’ had been bestowed upon the elves that had descended from Royalty sometime during the First Age.

Elvish history is quite bloody; from the Kinslayings to the wars fought against Morgoth to the massacres perpetrated by the sons of Fëanor in Beleriand. Many elves died including those descended from the High Kings Finwë and Thingol. Whether Noldor or Sindarin, the Firstborn feared the loss of their Royal leadership. It is said that after the Great War, the surviving elves in Lindon prayed to the Valar to protect their rulers from extinction as many elleths as well as ellyn had already perished.

It was discovered some years after, that males with imperial blood had somehow become able to bear children. Many believed that the Valar had answered their prayers—which was quite logical. But there were a few who believed that the gift came not from the Valar, but from the Maia; namely Olórin who loved the Children of Ilúvatar and was said to walk among them, taking pity on their sufferings.

However it came about, Lord Marach learned that it was a secret not widely known outside of the Eldar. He had promised to keep that secret, so he didn’t relish having to break that promise. But he would if it meant keeping Legolas safe and unspoiled.

Later that evening, Boromir was true to his word and spoke with Aragorn concerning Prince Legolas; but as with Lord Marach and Éomer, Aragorn refused to change his plans to leave the next morning.

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A little later that evening...


Legolas pulled on a clean nightshirt; its original owner must be quite broad for it fell to the floor despite the fact that Legolas was tall as most elves were. He gave a silent thanks to his unknown benefactor for the loan of these and other clothing he would be carrying with him on the morrow, having grown tired of wearing the same clothes day after day.

He was still somewhat angry for having to travel so far and for so long; the entire situation so troubling. But now, Legolas was afraid as well. His fear came not from the possible dangers from Yrch or other fell creatures that they may confront along the way (though these were worthy of concern); but from some unknown danger he had yet to name. It didn’t help that Lord Marach had been to see him before he’d gone to spend time with Faramir, sharing hot broth and fresh bread with the young man instead of dining with Prince Aragorn as the man had requested.

The healer had asked him to be mindful along the journey, though he would be well-cared for by the Rangers as well as Prince Aragorn. But he then became somewhat cryptic, asking him to talk to Aragorn about Legolas’ family—his brothers and father as he’d talked about to Lord Marach. He explained that this would encourage the Gondoran to share his own family history, thereby fostering mutual respect and trust between the two of them. The encounter in and of itself was benign and straightforward and Legolas saw its sense and logic; but, Lord Marach himself seemed afraid for him and this made Legolas apprehensive beyond the latent fear that had been plaguing him these past few days.

He padded over to the bedside stand where his pack lay, returning his bar of soap and retrieving his treasured comb. As he began removing the tangles and snarls he’d been unable to remove during his bath, he began to sing quietly a song that his naneth always sang to him before bedtime; a song that his ada continued to sing to him after his dear mother died so long ago. He missed her terribly and knew that King Thranduil missed her as well; his ada had always told him that he was the very image of her made male. Legolas was well aware that this was the main reason that the King had kept him so sheltered all his life.

He had been afraid that Legolas would meet some tragic end as she had and as Oropher’s sire had. Tears came to his eyes as he realized that his ada was probably beside himself with grief over his loss; believing him dead at the hands of Orcs like his mother Eärwen or vile mortals like Edrahil. King Thranduil was a very strong and resilient elf, having survived tragic losses of beloved family members that included his own father and spouses; but he’d never had to lose a child and though he’d never said so aloud, all of Greenwood believed Legolas was dearest to his heart of his three sons (although the loss of any would be enough to kill him).

Legolas’ song ended on a sob, sorrow over his father overcoming the Prince. “Please feel me, Ada—know that I live and I am well. I will find my way back to you; this I swear,” he whispered.

A panicked knock sounded at the door followed by, “Legolas, are you alright? Please let me in!”

The Sinda frowned as he came to the door, recognizing Aragorn’s voice. Not opening it, he called out, “I am well, Ernilen.”

“But I heard sobbing; are you troubled? Please, please let me see you.” The young man’s concern touched Legolas despite his ambiguous feelings towards the dúnadan.

Legolas turned the key and pulled open the heavy door to reveal Aragorn’s distressed visage. The man’s eyes traveled over his face noting the tears and flushed cheeks. Pushing his way in, Legolas found himself pulled into a tight embrace, large hands wiping away tears and tucking still-damp hair behind pointed ears.

“What has happened—are you hurt? Please tell me.”

“I am not hurt, Prince Aragorn. I was singing a song that my naneth sang to me and became sad as I thought of her and Ada. I miss them terribly.” He pulled away from the strong arms holding him, becoming distressed for other reasons.

“You will see them again—do not fear. Your mother is in Greenwood?” He asked as he moved to stand near the elf again.

“She lies buried next to Edrahil, my ada’s first spouse who was murdered by cruel and ungrateful men.” Legolas’ voice became harsh as he said this; partly for the heartbreak he always felt on behalf of his father and partly for the anger he felt towards Aragorn for keeping him away from home.

“I am sorry for your loss, Prince Legolas. But, I am so very happy that you knew her for ever how long she was part of your life.” Legolas saw the sadness that passed over Aragorn’s handsome face.

“You lost your mother?” The Elda asked him.

“In the cruelest way,” he said bitterly. Seeing Legolas’ puzzled stare, he elaborated. “I was born elsewhere, my father didn’t know of my existence until my—she who bore me—sent me to my father. She didn’t want me and I remember her not; being an infant at that time.”

“I am sorry, Sir; I cannot imagine someone not wanting a child. Perhaps there were extenuating circumstances that she could not avoid. You should seek her out if she still lives; ask her why.” Aragorn’s back was to him, having turned away to hide his tearing eyes.

The Peredhel had sworn to himself, as he grew, to never shed tears over the faithless ‘vessel’ that had housed him for a year (assuming his birth took as long as full elves). Aragorn baulked at Legolas’ suggestion and grew upset at the idea. He swung around causing Legolas to pull back a comforting hand he’d been about to lay upon Aragorn’s forlorn shoulder.

“I would not give her the satisfaction! She has had all these years to find me and explain her actions; she was the adult and I the child. Nothing that she could say will make up for abandoning me—nothing!” He turned away again, shoulders heaving as he fought old feelings.

“I...I am sorry; I did not mean...” Legolas’ remorseful statement pulled Aragorn out of his own self-pity. He’d come inside to speak to Legolas about the next day’s travel and found him in tears. Now here he was causing the beauty more anguish.

“No, Ernilen—it is I who should apologize to you. I have no right to burden you with the circumstances of my pitiful birth.” He reached up to caress Legolas’ perfect cheek with the back of his fingers before dropping them to his side.

“I am sorry if I am intruding; I only wanted to tell you that I missed you at supper tonight and to let you know that we will be leaving quite early before sunrise. Perhaps...Perhaps we could break fast together ere we leave?” His customary self-assuredness was missing and Legolas felt that he was seeing the abandoned child the Prince still was at heart.

Perhaps this explained much of the Gondoran’s personality; his harshness when confronting those he felt had committed some wrong against him or those he loved and his inflexibility when he felt that he was right.

“Very well, Prince Aragorn—I will be ready to leave when you say; and I will join you for morning meal, though I do not know the way to the hall.” Legolas had sent word through Girion (who had come to escort him to supper) that he would be visiting with Faramir, so he had not been shown the way to the outpost’s large dining hall.

“I will come fetch you, if you wish or I could send Girion if you’d prefer him.” Aragorn knew that he still needed to gain Legolas’ trust, so he didn’t want to be too insistent where the wood-elf was concern (more than he already was).

“I would appreciate either, Ernilen.” He smiled at Aragorn then and the dúnadan realized that it was the first time that Legolas’ lovely smile had been gifted to him. His heart turned over as it sang in happiness.

He didn’t realize it, but his own answering handsome grin had a similar affect on Legolas though the elf didn’t realize the true reason, thinking that he was merely relieved that Aragorn and he were not clashing angrily for the moment. Of course, that didn’t mean that they were fast friends, but for now, at least they weren’t enemies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning found Aragorn at the Elven Prince’s door early as promised. He couldn’t help the broad smile that graced his face as he greeted Legolas. The elf had always appeared beautiful to Aragorn even when he’d thought him a vicious killer. And last night, he was a true vision standing there in one of Aragorn’s nightshirts, with damp hair and tears in his eyes. This morning showed a new form of Legolas’ loveliness; he was wearing some of Faramir’s traveling clothes that had been stored there at the outpost, the young diplomat having left them there when he’d come in search of his Brother, Aragorn and their party before his attack.

It was amazing to the Gondoran that Legolas could look perfect regardless of his garments or his (or their) condition. Covered in grime or freshly washed as he was last night and this morning, Aragorn had never seen anyone, male or female, man or elf as lovely as he.

“Good morning, Prince Legolas. Faramir’s clothes suit you, though you must find them strange from your own.” Aragorn came inside the room as Legolas stepped aside for him.

“I must admit that I had trouble at first deciding which piece came first; but after trial and error, I managed.” Legolas’ husky laughter sent a thrill through Aragorn, the sound rare and precious to him.

“You look beautiful.” It was said simply, but it pleased Legolas to hear though he was at a loss to understand why. Perhaps it was only because he was now accepted by his Gondoran captors—*yes that must be it,* he surmised.

“Hannon le, Hir-nin,” he said shyly.

They left the room shortly thereafter, handing the wood-elf’s things to the guard waiting in the hall (for Legolas’ protection, only) and joined Boromir, Éomer and Lord Marach for breakfast; they wanting to say their goodbyes and farewells to Aragorn and especially to Legolas (Lord Marach more than the others).

After breakfast, while it was still dark, Aragorn, Legolas and a party of thirty Rangers and Rohirrim prepared to mount their horses. Aragorn was sorely tempted to ride with Legolas on Brego, but he resisted. As he greeted his horse, Lord Marach pulled him aside.

“I am charging you with keeping Legolas safe, my Prince, since you insist on taking him to Gondor. If Faramir did not need me, I would be going along to make sure he’s protected.” Aragorn had never seen his mentor so anxious except when he was worried over a patient that was not recovering as he felt they should.

The fact that his teacher (his friend) was directing these admonitions to him upset him greatly and he was hurt as well. “You will promise me that this will be done, Aragorn.”

“Why would you say these things to me, Lord Marach? Do you expect that I will get him in the Woods and slay him or allow him to meet with some tragedy?”

Seeing the hurt and despair in the young healer’s eyes, Lord Marach relented, patting Aragorn on the shoulder in his customary way. “I did not mean to suggest that you would harm him personally; at least not deliberately. It is just that regardless of his physical age, Legolas is like an innocent elfling. Were he a Peredhel as you are, he would be more mature. But he is not, Aragorn. You must keep him safe—for me and for his family who must be missing him terribly.”

“I promise you that I will—by my life or death, my Lord.” Aragorn embraced Lord Marach and wished him well. He then hugged Boromir who had walked out with them, Éomer electing to say his goodbyes inside before going to sit with Faramir. Aragorn smiled when he saw the relieved look on Éomer’s handsome face as Legolas said goodbye to the young Steward-prince, glad to have him gone and having Faramir to himself.

Their first few days’ travel was uneventful and they made good time, Aragorn expecting that they would reach Rohan and then Meduseld in little over a week. To say that they had been blessed to go unmolested by any possible enemy before reaching Outpost 40 and up to that moment would be accurate. But all good fortune must come to end and it was the end of Aragorn’s party’s good luck.

They had passed through Dunland, had gone past Isengard and were just a day from the Gap of Rohan when the scouts signaled that a large party of Orcs was headed for them. At their present position, it was impossible to avoid them and Aragorn and the seasoned warriors knew that the Orcs had no doubt picked up their scent. Aragorn decided that their best chance was to lay in wait for the beasts. Choosing the best position from which to attack, they waited. Aragorn had ordered Legolas to take to the trees and to wait until the fighting was done. He knew from the morning discussions that Legolas’ battle experience was limited to the one where he got separated from his brothers, though he told them of his skill as an archer.

Aragorn had asked the guard at the armory to allow Legolas to choose a bow and some arrows. He also gave Legolas a small dagger to put in his boot should he need it. These things and his longknife had the Elven Prince well-armed, but Aragorn didn’t want him placed in danger among these evil creatures so he pushed Legolas towards a large tree, the Sinda feeling a sense of déjà vu. When Aragorn was sure that he was safe, he joined his brethren.

Legolas waited in something of a daze as the Yrch beasts came near, reliving that awful day again when his life changed so drastically. The mortals were quite skilled and he watched as they battled with the dark, evil creatures. Aragorn’s prowess as a warrior was impressive and Legolas found himself quite proud of the way he defended himself, though the viciousness of the whole thing was something Legolas had yet to get use to. He himself was not idle hiding in his protective bower; he felled many of the shrieking fiends as they attempted to overwhelm the humans, using the same tactics that caused Legolas to get cut off from his brothers.

There must have been at least sixty Orcs, but the Dúnedain and Rohirrim made short work of their enemy in due course. Legolas climbed higher into the ancient tree, it spurring him to be more careful. But his concern was not for his own safety, but for Aragorn who he’d lost sight of. Before long he spotted him, the man surrounded by three Yrch; fear gripped Legolas before blinding anger followed and he shot arrows in rapid succession, killing two orcs as Aragorn decapitated the third.

When that Orc fell, Aragorn glanced up briefly to look for Legolas, but was unable to see him. He didn’t have time to seek the blond out as he was needed to finish off the last few beasts that were moving away in retreat. Aragorn and the other warriors whooped wildly in pursuit; their Dúnedain and Elvish blood burning in their eagerness to rid Middle-earth of these abominations once for all.

As the battle moved off, the clearing grew quiet and it was a moment before Legolas realized that he was alone. His first emotion was fear, remembering well his being on his own in the wilds a mere few weeks ago. But following close on this was the feeling of freedom; he was free. The tree in which sat spoke to him, this one not young like the ones he had encountered those first days alone. It told him of Fangorn Forest which was so very close to Lothlórien where he would find Lady Galadriel and his dear friend Haldir. This friendly tree could show him the way.

The joy he felt was all consuming but then he became conflicted; he had promised Aragorn that he would go to Gondor. He had never in his life broke faith with anyone, but he wanted to go home; he wanted to see his brothers and he wanted his ada. Once he reached Lórien he could send word to Aragorn that he would come to Gondor when those men were found or he could send his testimony by messenger promising the same. Legolas pushed aside his guilt and asked the tree to show him the way to Fangorn. The Ents there were kind and were friends of the Firstborn; it would be nothing for one to ferry him to his Elven brethren. Legolas had made his decision. He said a silent apology to Prince Aragorn and began his climb higher into the tree. But his progress was halted as he heard his name being called.

*Aragorn.*

The Gondoran’s voice became panicked when Legolas failed to answer him. “Legolas! Legolas, where are you?!”

Legolas felt vile for not responding, but this was his one chance to go home. Aragorn had no right keeping him prisoner! He may no longer be tied in ropes or chains, but he wasn’t free either. No, he was not going to answer; he would wait until dark high up in this tree until they gave up. Just then Aragorn came into view, hair and clothing in disarray, his face covered in black blood. But none of this affected Legolas; what touched him was the despair his elf eyes saw in the man’s own.

Aragorn ran over to the tree that he’d sent the blond into, peering up. His sight was keen, being part elf, but Legolas was a wood-elf; they learned early how to keep out of sight among the leaves and branches. Hearing Aragorn’s frantic calling, the others, led by Girion came to his aid.

“What has happened, my Prince?” Aragorn was moving from tree to tree.

“Legolas—I cannot find him! Have any of you seen him! Well, have you!?” His eyes were those of a Wildman.

“No, Your Highness,” was echoed around him.

“Then I want each of you to spread out and find him; he is alone and inexperienced!” Then a thought occurred. “The Orcs—did any escape?”

“No—none that we saw,” Girion said, praying that none had spirited the fair Prince away.

“Go make sure. I want every tree, every rock searched! If...If anything has hap...” His voice broke and Legolas could hear the pain in it. The men spread to do their Prince’s bidding

But why should Aragorn be in pain, Legolas asked silently; anger, Legolas could understand for the elf had disobeyed Aragorn’s instructions of staying put as far as the man knew. But this was not anger reaching Legolas’ perfect hearing. This sounded like grief. It was then that he saw Aragorn falter as he ran to another tree—stopping in indecision—before returning to the one where he was last seen; where he was now. Then Legolas’ heart nearly stopped as Aragorn grabbed his chest over his heart before crumbling to his knees.

As he fought for breath, his tear-stained face upturned towards the sky, Legolas saw and heard the Prince’s raw anguish before Aragorn collapsed to the ground. Legolas quickly climbed down, coming to the last branches, calling as he descended.

“Aragorn! Aragorn, no!” Girion and a few of the Rangers came when they heard Legolas’ call, reaching the clearing as he dropped soundlessly from the big oak. He ran over to the supine male, lifting his head to rest in his arms.

“Please, Aragorn—please open your eyes.” Legolas’ tears fell onto the handsome, blood-stained face as the Sinda rocked him. “Please...Please...Please,” chanted over and over.

Girion and the others stood dumb-struck and sad; the heart-breaking sounds coming from Legolas brought tears to their eyes, their own fear of what had befallen Aragorn making them feel helpless.

“Legolas—what has happened; is he wounded?” One of the men asked.

“I have killed him—I have killed him!” None there had ever heard an elf wail before, but many had heard the stories of the beauty and poignancy of the sound. Nothing prepared them for this.

Girion’s training spurred him to move and he knelt next to Legolas, lifting up one of Aragorn’s cold hands. He smiled relieved when he found a pulse at the Prince’s wrist and then at the side of his throat. Both were weak, but steady.

“He lives!” He shouted to his comrades and then gently to Legolas, “He is alive, my Prince.”

Legolas looked at him in disbelief until the Gondoran Sergeant placed his pale fingers against Aragorn’s pulse-point; the answering smile rivaled any beauty present in Arda.

“Bring me water and a clean cloth,” Girion shouted over his shoulder.” Soon, someone handed him a cool cloth, setting a waterskin nearby. When the Gondoran had passed the cloth several times over the Prince’s brow, he quickly rinsed out the orc blood and wetted it again.

As he repeated this ritual, Legolas brushed back Aragorn’s damp hair, running his fingers over his closed eyelids and full lips; as his soft hands brush past Aragorn’s nose, the Peredhel caught the scent of honey and warm cream.

“Legolas,” he breathed before a sob broke free. Then his blue-green eyes flew open and he lurched forwards, “Legolas!”

Both Girion and the wood-elf held him in place. He attempted to pull away, but he caught the elf’s scent again a split-second before he saw him, looking as if he wasn’t sure if he was actually there or was a dream conjured by his grieving mind.

“Legolas?” He asked in wonder.

“I am here, Ernilen—I am here and I am safe. Forgive me for frightening you. I...I am so sorry.” Tears fell freely down Legolas’ unblemished cheeks.

Aragorn sat up, shrugging off Girion’s restraining grip; he ran his hands over Legolas’ face, his hair, arms and legs, checking for injuries. “You are well—unharmed?” At the blond’s nod, he pulled Legolas close, nearly crushing him.

“I thought that Orcs had taken you from me—that I had lost you! If I had lost...If I...” His sobs were as pitiful as Legolas’ had been, affecting the gathered men deeply.

“But you are both safe, now.” Girion’s voice was joyous as he felt Aragorn’s pulse returned to near-full-strength.

But, then Legolas’ next word made them pause, “Blood.”

Aragorn began to search him again thinking that he must have missed something, but Legolas said, “No—not me; you are bleeding.” He touched Aragorn’s inner arm.

“Tis but a flesh wound, Legolas; It will heal.”

“But it could be poisoned; I have heard that Yrch sometimes use poison on their blades. Elves have been known to survive it, but it has been proven to kill mortals, including Dúnedain.” Legolas remembered his lessons concerning Yrch strategies, though the term was almost a misnomer. But the fell creatures that had inhabited Dol Guldur with Sauron before the White Council cast them out had proved to be much wiser that other Yrch.

“Then I should be safe—at least half as safe!” Aragorn chuckled, but ceased when he saw that Legolas was still worried. “Fear not, Fair One; I am not poisoned. Had I been, my arm would be quite numb and I would be ill right now.”

“But you were ill—you fell. I saw you fall.” Legolas’ blue eyes were wide with fear and concern. Aragorn knew that it was wrong, but the sight filled him with happiness to know that he mattered to the elf.

“That had nothing to do with my wound; that was my fear that I had let you come to harm. It was my grief, Legolas.”

The Elda hadn’t realized that mortals felt grief in the same manner as elves; physical pain being a sign of fading. But there was much about humans he had yet to learn. “I did not realize that it was possible for mortals to grieve as elves do.”

“While it is true that most humans grieve differently than the Eldar, it can cause mortals to fade, too. Not like elves, but death can come from it. It is more so among the Children of Númenor that have Elven blood.”

“Like your family who came from Elros,” Legolas supplied.

“Yes. But, in my instance, there is more to it. You see, sweet Legolas, I am part Elda.” He watched as Legolas’ eyes widened at the news.

“That is what you meant by being ‘half as safe?’”

“Yes. My father met my mother in Rivendell,” he paused, willing away the old hurt. “She sent me to him because I was too human in appearance; it is why she didn’t want me.”

Aragorn watched as Legolas’ perfect face became flushed with anger, “Then she is a fool! She is not worthy to be your mother or an elf!”

The dúnadan smiled at that, touching Legolas’ pink-tinged cheek. The Sinda blushed, adding more color to his already flushed visage. “Well, she is,” he finished a bit petulantly, causing the others watching to chuckle.

“Why don’t you and Prince Legolas leave this clearing, Your Highness? We had begun to clear away the Orc filth and found a place to tend the wounded when we heard your cry...” Girion paused briefly, “Before we stopped to search for our Prince Legolas.”

“It is alright, now; he is safe. Let us do as the good Sergeant suggests.” Legolas and Girion helped Aragorn to stand, not letting go until he appeared steady on his feet.

When he and Aragorn were alone and sitting against a tree sharing cool water and dried fruit, Legolas felt the need to explain why he didn’t answer when Aragorn called out to him.

“Aragorn,” the Gondoran liked how his name rolled off Legolas’ tongue, his accent most charming. It was also the first time that the Peredhel heard his name without ‘Prince’ coming before.

“I have to tell you something—something that will anger you. I feel that I must beg your forgiveness for causing you grief. I heard you call out to me, but I did not want to answer. I...” His voice broke.

“I...” He started again, but Aragorn placed a tan finger against the blond’s perfect lips.

“It is alright, Legolas—I know what you would say. I forced you to go to Gondor when you wanted to go to Lothlórien. I know how close we are to Fangorn which is very close to the Golden Wood. It is only natural that you would wish to go there since it is where your brothers may be.” Aragorn sipped his water.

“You are not angry with me?”

“No, Ernilen—I am not angry with you. I am just happy that you are safe; I could not bear it otherwise. I do not wish to be parted from you, Legolas; but if it is your wish,” Aragorn’s heart twisted in his chest and his breath caught again. “If it is your wish, I will take you to Lórien.”

Legolas saw and heard the sincerity coming from Aragorn and he knew that if he said so, then Peredhel would take him to Lady Galadriel. He was filled with such happiness and relief, that he felt like singing. But then he saw the pain that the dúnadan was suppressing and he could again see Aragorn gripping his chest and the ashen look on his face as he lay as if dead in the clearing. Legolas would give his immortality not to see another being suffer so, especially if the being were Aragorn. He had no idea where these feelings were coming from, only that they genuine.

If Aragorn had asked him this the day before or that morning before the Yrch attack, his answer would have been a resounding ‘yes!’ But this morning and three hours ago were as if a lifetime. He could not believe what was going through his head; yes, he was happy that Aragorn was no longer forcing him to go to Minas Tirith. And yes, he wanted to see his brothers and eventually his home; but some part of him wanted to stay. He found himself saying in his heart what Aragorn had just said to him; he did not want to be parted from Aragorn. It made no sense, but it was what he felt.

“What is your wish, Legolas?” Aragorn held his breath as he waited for Legolas to say he that wanted to go home; so it was with great surprise and deep joy that he received Legolas’ reply.

“I wish to keep my word to you.” He wasn’t ready to admit to Aragorn (or to himself out loud at least) that he wanted to be with the Peredhel, so he left it at that.

It didn’t matter though, for his words made the Heir Apparent quite happy, splitting his handsome face into the brightest smile Legolas had ever witnessed in a very long time.

“Hannon le, Legolas—hannon le.”

It was still early, so after the men had rested, having dug a huge hole to dump the foul Orc corpses into, setting them ablaze downwind; the company made to leave, wanting to reach the Gap of Rohan before nightfall. Though all this land was part of the United Kingdoms under High King Arathorn II, being in the familiar territory of Rohan was like home to Aragorn; a comforting thought to the Gondoran Prince as well as to the rest of the men.

When the horses were brought around, Aragorn was surprised to find Legolas standing next to Brego. Legolas nearly walked away under the scrutiny, but relaxed when Peredhel smiled before helping him up. Legolas had long since learned to master these mannish saddles and trappings, but he didn’t mind being helped by Aragorn, nor did he mind the familiar way in which the dark-haired Prince held onto him. His touch was very respectful if a bit possessive.

Legolas remembered what Lord Marach had suggested to him back at the outpost and began to tell Aragorn about his family; about his and Arminas’ mother and about Oropher’s sire Edrahil. To say that Aragorn was surprised to hear that King Thranduil had given birth was an understatement; discovering that Legolas himself was capable of getting pregnant was shocking, to say the least; but, it also had Aragorn smiling so much his face hurt.

He didn’t say it aloud, nor did he question why he thought it; but Aragorn knew that come what may, he was going to marry Legolas. Any objections that may have arisen against his marrying an immortal male (or a dúnadan male for that matter) were rendered moot. Even though Aragorn could choose immortality and rule Gondor and Arnor forever, Legolas could give Gondor an heir thereby removing all doubts that the unbroken line of Kings was yet secure. This was also the reason none of the Nobility objected to Aragorn being born of someone other than the Queen. His having Elven blood helped, too; harkening back into the days of the first High King.

Yes, everything was looking up. “Legolas, how much do you know of Rohan?”

“I know some of its history, but not as much as Gondoran history; it being synonymous with much of the history of the Firstborn. Why do ask?” Legolas liked the solid form of the man (Peredhel—he had to remind himself) pressed against his back.

“I was curious if you had ever heard of the White Falls of Rohan?”

“Nay—I know very little of the lay of the lands of Men.” He thought his answer a gross understatement, thinking back to his conversations with Aragorn before agreeing to go to Gondor and then later with Lord Marach. But none of that mattered now; as he has chosen to continue his journey on his won without coercion.

“I want to show it to you; it is very beautiful and not to be missed. It is also on the way to Meduseld, but even if it was not, I would want you take you there.”

Legolas smiled at the soothing sound of Aragorn’s voice and he loved the way the dúnadan’s breath ghosted his ears, making him shiver in delight. “Then, I would love to see it with you, Aragorn.”

Without his even realizing it, Legolas entwined his fingers with Aragorn’s, the company of Men noticing. It filled them with joy to see their Prince happy. No, they thought—their Princes happy; for the Dúnedain and Rohirric escorts all considered Legolas one of them, now. And for better or worse, Legolas now felt the same.

TBC

A/N: I know that I have occasionally used anglicized French words like protégé and rendezvous and déjà vu; I ask that you all overlook them or pretend that there are Westron and Sindarin equivalents out there as these words say so much where English do not. I hope that the next chapter satisfies as it will be a while before chapter 9 is begun and finished.