Untitled LOTR fic
So...I'm a dork. And I ♥ LOTR. But, most of all, I ♥ the relationship between Legolas and Aragorn. Awesome friendship there. And, of course...I think they were so meant to be...LOTR OTP, if you will. So, like my dork self, I went and found out all this info about the characters, and it turns out that Tolkien had all this history and crap behind them from the pre-LOTR era. And based on that history, I started writing this fic. Starring my fav characters, Aragorn and Legolas. Is it slashy now? No. Will it be slashy in the future? ...Perhaps. To be honest, I don't even know where I'm going with this. I just know that the two of them make me giggle. I started writing late one night, and here's what I came up with.
Aragorn had long abandoned Old Forest Road, choosing instead to walk amongst the trees. He had only just left Rivendell, seeking the knowledge of Middle Earth, its sights, its scents, and its sounds. He only truly felt that he was learning when he was immersed in the nature of the land. He found the roads and passes laid before him to be boring and unnecessary. He was a Ranger of the North; he knew how to get from place to place without directions and clues from his predecessors. Besides, the trees were better cover, should it be necessary to hide from the evil beings inhabiting Middle Earth.
Perhaps too engrossed in his own thoughts or his own pride in his abilities, Aragorn was taken by surprise when an arrow nearly skimmed his nose and embedded itself in a tree. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his right hand automatically reaching for his sword and pulling it from its sheath. He spun in the direction that the arrow had come from, ready to face his attacker, and was surprised by the swiftness of his opponent.
The tall blonde elf had already drawn another arrow from his pack, the weapon already pulled back on the bowstring, ready for flight.
“You are lucky, human,” the elf spoke over his raised arm. “You nearly met the fate of what I thought to be a woodland creature.”
Aragorn shifted on his feet, ready to spring into motion, if necessary. He eyed the elf warily, unsure of what to do.
“You would do well to put down your sword.” The elf’s arms lowered slightly, his stance a bit less threatening. Deep blue eyes pierced Aragorn’s being. “You would only put yourself in more trouble, if you were to attack royalty.”
Aragorn’s jaw was set tight, an angry storm brewing in his grey eyes. He could not be beaten already; he was too soon out of Rivendell. Reluctantly, he let his arm drop to his side, his sword dangling from his grasp before he dropped it onto the leaf-littered ground.
“I was not aware that I was in the presence of royalty.”
The elf advanced with his bow and arrow now pointing at the ground.
“I suppose you were not,” he commented, blue eyes passing over Aragorn’s rigid form. “You are young; a mere child to my eyes. But a potential enemy, nonetheless. No human has wandered so close to the Woodland Realm since the Alliance ended.” A brief nod was lifted in Aragorn’s direction. “What is your intent here?”
“My intent,” Aragorn paused, eyes flicking back and forth slightly while looking at the elf, clearly waiting for an implication of the name he was to address the elf by. No name was given. Aragorn bristled and continued. “My intent was to pass through these woods unharmed.”
Anger flickered over the elf’s features for a mere second, suddenly replaced by a softer emotion.
“I do not wish to harm you,” the elf assured him. “But I may be required to escort you away from our lands. We are wary of men these days, just as you are wary of myself at this moment.”
“I am exploring these lands,” Aragorn said with a grudging sigh. “I am traveling with the intent of gaining experience in the nature of them.”
“Where do you come from?” the elf asked quickly, his first words overshadowing the last few words that Aragorn had spoken.
Aragorn paused, unsure of whether or not he should reveal his homeland. Lifting his head, he spoke softly.
“I come from Rivendell.”
“Rivendell?” The elf’s eyes narrowed at first, then widened, their shade of blue becoming more intense. “You have lived in the care of Lord Elrond?”
“I have.”
The elf circled around him, his eyes searching for any sign of deceit.
“You know of Lord Elrond’s kin?”
“His sons have served as my brothers.”
Aragorn tensed when his left hand was suddenly grasped by the elf, who held it up in the thin rays of sun that found their way through the branches of the trees and onto the forest floor. Blue eyes, wide with admiration, caught his gaze.
“You wear the Ring of Barahir. Lord Elrond would only bestow such a gift on one man.”
Aragorn averted his eyes, uncomfortable with the awe present in the elf’s voice.
“Dark-haired and grey-eyed,” the elf continued, once again stepping back and taking the sight of Aragorn in. “You are him, are you not?”
“Who do you think I am?” Aragorn asked, staring back at the elf.
“You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Many are not aware of your existence here. It has only passed among the higher ranks of the old allies.”
“And you?” Aragorn countered. “May I know the name of such a highly regarded elf?”
A tinge of regret settled in the elf’s eyes.
“I am Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. But you need not know me by my title.”
“Even after you used that title to persuade me to loose my sword?” Aragorn tilted his head to the side with his question, the shadow of a smile creeping onto his face.
“Yes, well…” Legolas grinned back at the man. “The title can come in handy when one needs it. But I prefer to not hold myself above others.”
Aragorn bent to pick up his sword, staring down at it as he brandished it in his grasp, his eyes flicking up to look at Legolas in amusement.
“And was I such a threat to you that you found your title a necessary defense?”
“A man is never a threat to an elf,” Legolas replied, his smile not wavering. “Especially not a man who is caught off guard among the trees.” He paused, Aragorn giving him a friendly nod as he sheathed his sword. “I welcome you here, though others may not. The fall of man has left the elves cold and bitter.”
“The fall of man has left many cold and bitter,” Aragorn responded, his expression growing dark. “I am no different from the elves in that respect.” He was surprised by the feel of a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“You are not your ancestor,” Legolas said softly. “Even Lord Elrond has hope for you, for that is the very name he gave you. But others will not see you that way.”
“I do not ask them to.”
Legolas frowned at the human’s insecurity, but knew that it was not his place to confront such deep feelings.
“Where are you traveling to?”
“Wherever my journey takes me,” Aragorn said, shrugging slightly.
“Did you begin moving east for a reason?”
“Only because it seemed a good place to start,” Aragorn replied, smiling once again.
“Come then,” Legolas beckoned, stepping away from the man. “I will keep you no longer. You shall walk with me. It will bring you greater security in these woods. The other elves may not be so kind as to fire a warning shot.”
Aragorn had long abandoned Old Forest Road, choosing instead to walk amongst the trees. He had only just left Rivendell, seeking the knowledge of Middle Earth, its sights, its scents, and its sounds. He only truly felt that he was learning when he was immersed in the nature of the land. He found the roads and passes laid before him to be boring and unnecessary. He was a Ranger of the North; he knew how to get from place to place without directions and clues from his predecessors. Besides, the trees were better cover, should it be necessary to hide from the evil beings inhabiting Middle Earth.
Perhaps too engrossed in his own thoughts or his own pride in his abilities, Aragorn was taken by surprise when an arrow nearly skimmed his nose and embedded itself in a tree. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his right hand automatically reaching for his sword and pulling it from its sheath. He spun in the direction that the arrow had come from, ready to face his attacker, and was surprised by the swiftness of his opponent.
The tall blonde elf had already drawn another arrow from his pack, the weapon already pulled back on the bowstring, ready for flight.
“You are lucky, human,” the elf spoke over his raised arm. “You nearly met the fate of what I thought to be a woodland creature.”
Aragorn shifted on his feet, ready to spring into motion, if necessary. He eyed the elf warily, unsure of what to do.
“You would do well to put down your sword.” The elf’s arms lowered slightly, his stance a bit less threatening. Deep blue eyes pierced Aragorn’s being. “You would only put yourself in more trouble, if you were to attack royalty.”
Aragorn’s jaw was set tight, an angry storm brewing in his grey eyes. He could not be beaten already; he was too soon out of Rivendell. Reluctantly, he let his arm drop to his side, his sword dangling from his grasp before he dropped it onto the leaf-littered ground.
“I was not aware that I was in the presence of royalty.”
The elf advanced with his bow and arrow now pointing at the ground.
“I suppose you were not,” he commented, blue eyes passing over Aragorn’s rigid form. “You are young; a mere child to my eyes. But a potential enemy, nonetheless. No human has wandered so close to the Woodland Realm since the Alliance ended.” A brief nod was lifted in Aragorn’s direction. “What is your intent here?”
“My intent,” Aragorn paused, eyes flicking back and forth slightly while looking at the elf, clearly waiting for an implication of the name he was to address the elf by. No name was given. Aragorn bristled and continued. “My intent was to pass through these woods unharmed.”
Anger flickered over the elf’s features for a mere second, suddenly replaced by a softer emotion.
“I do not wish to harm you,” the elf assured him. “But I may be required to escort you away from our lands. We are wary of men these days, just as you are wary of myself at this moment.”
“I am exploring these lands,” Aragorn said with a grudging sigh. “I am traveling with the intent of gaining experience in the nature of them.”
“Where do you come from?” the elf asked quickly, his first words overshadowing the last few words that Aragorn had spoken.
Aragorn paused, unsure of whether or not he should reveal his homeland. Lifting his head, he spoke softly.
“I come from Rivendell.”
“Rivendell?” The elf’s eyes narrowed at first, then widened, their shade of blue becoming more intense. “You have lived in the care of Lord Elrond?”
“I have.”
The elf circled around him, his eyes searching for any sign of deceit.
“You know of Lord Elrond’s kin?”
“His sons have served as my brothers.”
Aragorn tensed when his left hand was suddenly grasped by the elf, who held it up in the thin rays of sun that found their way through the branches of the trees and onto the forest floor. Blue eyes, wide with admiration, caught his gaze.
“You wear the Ring of Barahir. Lord Elrond would only bestow such a gift on one man.”
Aragorn averted his eyes, uncomfortable with the awe present in the elf’s voice.
“Dark-haired and grey-eyed,” the elf continued, once again stepping back and taking the sight of Aragorn in. “You are him, are you not?”
“Who do you think I am?” Aragorn asked, staring back at the elf.
“You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Many are not aware of your existence here. It has only passed among the higher ranks of the old allies.”
“And you?” Aragorn countered. “May I know the name of such a highly regarded elf?”
A tinge of regret settled in the elf’s eyes.
“I am Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. But you need not know me by my title.”
“Even after you used that title to persuade me to loose my sword?” Aragorn tilted his head to the side with his question, the shadow of a smile creeping onto his face.
“Yes, well…” Legolas grinned back at the man. “The title can come in handy when one needs it. But I prefer to not hold myself above others.”
Aragorn bent to pick up his sword, staring down at it as he brandished it in his grasp, his eyes flicking up to look at Legolas in amusement.
“And was I such a threat to you that you found your title a necessary defense?”
“A man is never a threat to an elf,” Legolas replied, his smile not wavering. “Especially not a man who is caught off guard among the trees.” He paused, Aragorn giving him a friendly nod as he sheathed his sword. “I welcome you here, though others may not. The fall of man has left the elves cold and bitter.”
“The fall of man has left many cold and bitter,” Aragorn responded, his expression growing dark. “I am no different from the elves in that respect.” He was surprised by the feel of a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“You are not your ancestor,” Legolas said softly. “Even Lord Elrond has hope for you, for that is the very name he gave you. But others will not see you that way.”
“I do not ask them to.”
Legolas frowned at the human’s insecurity, but knew that it was not his place to confront such deep feelings.
“Where are you traveling to?”
“Wherever my journey takes me,” Aragorn said, shrugging slightly.
“Did you begin moving east for a reason?”
“Only because it seemed a good place to start,” Aragorn replied, smiling once again.
“Come then,” Legolas beckoned, stepping away from the man. “I will keep you no longer. You shall walk with me. It will bring you greater security in these woods. The other elves may not be so kind as to fire a warning shot.”