Note: I read the books no less than 25 years ago. Although I enjoyed them a great deal, I've never been a huge devotee. The movies are another matter. I'm hard pressed to name anything I've ever enjoyed more than what I've seen so far on screen. Since I know that canon and can't remember the books, I'm only thinking of the movies as I write.

I don't have many stories to tell in this fandom, and all of them are very short as I'm using them as warm-up exercises for other writing. There is only one where Aragorn's romance with Arwen ever happened at all, and this isn't that story, so in this one, she was never a romantic interest of Aragorn's and is not even mentioned.

Summary: Little more than a writing exercise. An AU of the time between Legolas announcing the Uruk-hai were taking the Hobbits to Isengard and the party heading for Edoras.

For three days and most of the accompanying nights they ran. Aragorn led, his skill in a ranger's art picking their path across hard rock determined to hide the Uruk-hai from them.

Legolas followed, carefully setting his pace to keep in sight both the Man in front of him and the Dwarf struggling along behind them. The slowness chaffed at him, but while his woodcraft was strong, not even he could follow the signs which seemed so clear to Aragorn. But it made him ache to hold back while Merry and Pippin were in the hands of those who thrilled at inflicting pain.

Finally toward the middle of the fourth day, they emerged from the rocky hills onto a bluff overlooking the vast Plains of Rohan. "Legolas, what do your elf-eyes see?" Aragorn asked.

He stopped next to his lover and looked down, his ability to see for vast distances momentarily outshining the Man's great talent. It took but a moment to spot their quarry and only a moment more to see where the trail would end. "They are taking them to Isengard!" The gentle Hobbits in the hands of Saruman. The thought of their fate once the evil wizard discovered his forces had captured the wrong Halflings was more than he could endure.

He shot forward like an arrow released from his bow.

"Legolas!" He heard Aragorn shout, but he did not let his pace slow. As fast as his lover could run, it would take another day for the Human to led them to the rescue. Who could say what might happen to Merry and Pippin in the course of another full day?

No, he had to get to them. He ran. Ran with all the speed he could muster. After months of holding himself in check, it almost made him dizzy to unleash muscles accustomed to outracing the fastest of creatures that dwelled in the forests of Mirkwood. A small part of him wondered if this euphoria might not be the true reason he had abandoned Man and Dwarf. No. He could not believe that. Over and over he had fought back the instinct to survive and matched his speed to the slowest members of the Fellowship. Now, the difference between the life and death of his companions might hang on his ability to run faster than he ever had before.

His legs began to ache after six hours, his lungs to burn in another three. The annoyance at his frailty spurred him to run even faster. Soon he would close in on the Uruk-hai and their captives. What then? His mind if not his feet faltered. One elf against a company of Saruman's forces. He did not like those odds much. Oh, he knew he could make them pay dearly for every step they took toward him, but sheer numbers would eventually prove his undoing.

If he were lucky, they would tear him apart the moment they seized him. But such was not normally the fate of a lone elf captured by Orcs. Death would come, but not for a very long time after he screamed for it. His inner voice – which sounded very much like Aragorn – chided him for his foolishness. Suddenly he felt very alone without the reassuring presence of his beloved and his dwarf-friend.

All right, he would not charge into his foes' camp and beg for rape and death. He would shadow them instead, watch over the Hobbits as best he could until Aragorn and Gimli caught up and improved the chances of a successful rescue.

With that plan in mind, he maneuvered around the camp and approached it from downwind. He got close enough to make out Merry and Pippin in the midst of their captors. A little worse for wear, but alive and surprisingly well.

Satisfied, Legolas turned his attention to finding a place to hide and watch until camp broke, but angry voices swiftly caught his attention. It seemed he'd pronounced his friends safe enough too quickly.

He fitted an arrow into his bow as the disgusting creatures moved toward the Hobbits muttering about fresh meat and whether or not they needed their legs. For a moment the threat seemed to pass as the Uruk-hai in charge dealt with the most vocal threat to the Halflings and provided the requested fresh meat all in one stroke of his sword.

It also provided an opportunity for escape. Merry and Pippin began crawling away from the blood-crazed rabble, but another Uruk-hai seized them. Far more Orc-like than those who seemed in charge, he lifted his sword to separate Merry from a limb.

Legolas' arrow struck him in the same moment a lance pierced the foul body. The Elf cursed himself yet again for being a fool. How could he have let concern for the Hobbits deafen him to the approach of horses? The Riders of Rohan had arrived to express their displeasure with the foul invaders of their land. Fear made Legolas' heart hammer in his chest. In the dark with no expectation of anything other than foes about them, the riders would cut down anything that moved, including two Hobbits and one lone Elf.

He would kill him. Slowly. Tie him to a bed and torture him for days. Oh, Gods, please let him be alive. Aragorn urged his horse to run faster, but the beast, burdened with both Man and Dwarf had nothing more to give him. It made him want to scream in frustration, but he doubted he would ever stop.

Terror had been his constant companion since his Elf had raced out of sight. Aragorn knew all too well what Legolas would suffer if he were captured. Not only was he an Elf - a hated reminder of what the twisted Orcs had once been - but he was among the most fair. They would … Oh, Gods. Legolas.

The Riders of Rohan had given him little to cling to. They'd killed everything in the camp that had moved. The Hobbits were almost certainly dead. And so was his beloved. No, he could not lose hope. He could not.

The stench of the burning corpses filled the air for miles. Nothing as fair as his lover could ever smell like that. It couldn't be. Legolas.

The sight of the mound of dead flesh was worse than the smell. Bile burned the back of his throat. All that blackened, rotting death. How would he ever find him? His legs almost collapsed as he swung down from the horse, leaving Gimli to jump down on his own. "Legolas," he moaned.

"Courage, lad," the Dwarf commanded him and began to prod the grotesque mound with his ax.

They expected to find nothing, but discovered instead one of the knife-sheaths Galadriel had given the two Hobbits.

This time his legs did give out and he fell to his knees with a wail of frustrated despair. For a moment pain blinded him. He had failed the Hobbits, and Legolas would have done nothing less than die with them. Then a training too engrained for even grief to dull it kicked in and let his brain acknowledge what was before his eyes. "A Hobbit lay here," he said caressing the ground. And suddenly there was hope once more.

Legolas sat on a log staring at the gap in the trees where he had last seen Treebeard and the Hobbits. It did not rest easy in his mind to have allowed himself to be parted from his small companions a second time, but Gandalf had been insistent. To fulfill their part in the quest, Merry and Pippin had to go with the great Ent. Further Legolas had been told he must remain with the Wizard.

Normally he would not have questioned Gandalf's judgment nor felt uncomfortable in his company, but this shimmering Wizard in white did not seem to know Legolas or for that matter who he himself was. "Aragorn," he whispered in near despair. He ached for his Human-lover's wisdom and the comfort of his arms.

"Ah, yes, so it is," Gandalf mumbled then moved off into the forest.

Legolas went after him, but his body felt heavy, sluggish. For a moment he thought his injuries might be greater than he'd originally thought, then he recognized it for what it was. For some reason the new White Wizard did not wish him to follow with any speed. Fighting it only made it worse, so he accepted the sluggish pace and did his best to follow.

He ached in a dozen places. Worse, branches and roots that seemed to part before Gandalf, snapped back to tear at his bare flesh. He was not accustomed to an unfriendly wood and it left him all the more off balance. When he'd followed the Hobbits into Fangorn Forest, he'd thought them all safe from both Saruman's forces and their attackers, but then he'd sensed the anger within the trees and knew they would not protect them.

Two Uruk-hai had followed and caught him while he was disoriented by all the hatred around him. They'd torn at his clothes, then his flesh and would have dishonored him if Merry and Pippen had not thrown themselves on them, trying to save Legolas.

In that moment they might have saved themselves, but Legolas was too hurt to take advantage and the Hobbits were cast off like annoying insects. Once again they were on him. Then they weren't. Great hands of wood had seized the foul creatures and hurtled them to their deaths.

An Ent, Treebeard by name, had saved them all. The creature had been suspicious of them, had even accused the Hobbits of being some form of Orc, but Legolas' presence had assured him enough to prevent them all from suffering a similar fate to Legolas' would-be rapists.

Treebeard even allowed Legolas to wash away the blood - both his own and his attackers' - in a stream. But his clothes were all but gone and the Hobbits' cloaks weren't big enough to keep off the chill. It had left him in a sorry state to meet a newly-transformed Gandalf. Even that small amount of covering had been lost when instinct had made him insist on the Hobbits taking back the Elf-cloaks before they'd ridden out of sight in Treebeard's branches.

He heard voices ahead of him pulling him back to the present. Aragorn! He tried to call out, but magic robbed him of his voice even as it had his speed. 'All right,' he thought. 'We will do this your way.'

The pressure within his throat eased and he hummed softly to prove he could make a sound. His triumph was short-lived, however, for a second later he could no longer move. Apparently, he had gone as far as Gandalf would allow.

"Then the Hobbits are safe," Aragorn said, his joy at both this news and Gandalf's resurrection dimmed by the ache within his heart. What of his love? What of his Elf? For some reason he was unable to ask. He stared hard at this new version of Gandalf. Mischief sparkled in the Wizard's eyes and he saw hope this was indeed his friend. And he understood something.

He sighed, a heavy shuddering sound of relief. "Tease me no longer, my friend," he said, finding the freedom from fear had loosened his tongue. "Where is he?"

More mischief danced in those eyes, and he knew this Wizard slowly coming back to himself wished to toy with him for a while longer. "Please, Gandalf. I need to see him."

The white head tilted and regarded him for a moment. A little more of the glamour fell away, and Gandalf nodded. "Legolas, come here."

He heard nothing. He would have been alarmed if an Elf were in such a state as to make any noise when approaching, but in the span of ten heartbeats, his love stood beside him, a soft touch to his arm begging his embrace.

With a sob, he complied, wrapping his arms around the trim figure and drawing him against his chest. The flesh was chilled and Legolas trembled, but he returned the embrace with reassuring strength. He waited until the Elf's grip eased, then drew back enough to look at him.

Though healing quickly as Elf-flesh tended to do, the marks of where jagged fingernails had scored his skin were visible along with score of shallow, fresh cuts.

Legolas gave him a weak smile. "The forest does not like me."

The urge to put a torch to the trees stirred within him for he doubted he would have the pleasure of avenging the greater hurts. Gently he ran his thumb over a gouge flesh, not wood, must have made. "Tell me."

Legolas looked away, but Aragorn would not allow it. He seized the Elf's chin and gently, but firmly pulled his head back up to force him to meet Aragorn's gaze. "Tell me."

"I was not dishonored."

He hated hearing it put that way. Sometimes he was none too fond of the Elves' way of thinking. As if such a thing would bring dishonor on anyone other than the one inflicting it. "That could never be your fate, my love, but did they hurt you?"

Legolas smiled slightly, a fond smile that told Aragorn his meaning was understood if not particularly agreed with. "Nothing beyond what you can see," he answered. "The guardian of the forest is not fond of Orcs."

He too could catch what was not said and allowed himself to wallow a moment in regret at discovering he would indeed be deprived of the joy of hacking to bits the foul creatures who had dared touch his Legolas. At least they had been dealt with. "One day I hope to thank this guardian," he said, releasing his lover long enough to remove his cloak and wrap it around the Elf.

"What now Gandalf?" Aragorn asked, holding Legolas close again.

"Saruman's forces are on the move. The people of Rohan will need our help."

He nodded. "To Edoras then."

They emerged from the forest near where Aragorn had left the horse loaned to him by Eomer, leader of the Riders they had encountered. One horse for four riders. Not a good balance, and Aragorn resigned himself to walking once more, but he hoped Gandalf had recovered himself enough to allow Legolas to ride and rest. He opened his mouth to beg for as much, but Gandalf cut him off with a melodious whistle.

What in all of Middle Earth was that about? A soft neigh and the pounding of hooves answered his question, then a great white horse thundered into sight.

Legolas seemed enchanted by it, but Aragorn cared for nothing but the Elf who had not quite managed to stop shivering. Shock, not really the cold, given Legolas had suffered the mountain with little notice of the temperature change. He didn't like it at all, although he did know it was not as dangerous a state for an Elf as it was for a Human.

He pressed a kiss to Legolas' forehead, then left him long enough to help Gimli mount the white horse behind Gandalf.

When he turned back around, Legolas was standing next to the borrowed horse. Aragorn frowned. "I would have you in my arms, Legolas, not at my back."

Another one of those fond 'best to humor the Human' smiles, although both knew the blasted Elf needed the warm of his embrace. "As you wish," he turned to mount, then started in surprise when Aragorn's hands gripped his waist and helped him up as he had Gimli moments before. "I'm am not that fragile, Aragorn," he insisted, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

Aragorn swung up into the saddle behind him. "Enjoy my pampering while you can, beloved," he said, nuzzling the nearest ear. "Your foolishness gave me scare enough that were we not destined to travel by horseback for the foreseeable future, the flat of my hand would guarantee you would not be sitting at all for days."

It was not an idle threat. Legolas had suffered such a fate before and on occasion had all but begged for it. Although he was certain the Elf would be the first to admit there was a great difference between Aragorn's punishing touch and the games they played from time to time. "I did not mean to frighten you," he said, leaning back against Aragorn as the horse fell into step alongside Gandalf's mount.

Frighten? What a nonsensical word for what he'd suffered in the last day. "I know. I even see some of the sense in what you did, but keep in mind, my Legolas, Elves are not the only ones who can die of a broken heart."

With a grace that never failed to astonish him, Legolas shifted up and around so he was riding backwards and facing Aragorn. The Elf's legs lifted up and wrapped around the Man as did his arms. "I am sorry," He whispered, snuggling closer than Aragorn would ever have thought possible on horseback. "I."

Aragorn kissed him, trusting the horse would stay with the other while his attention was otherwise occupied. Neither time nor place had allowed more than a stolen kiss between them since they had left Rivendell. He doubted this would change in the weeks to come, but for a few moments he allowed himself to forget everything and pour all the love he felt into this kiss. He drew back and whispered into the nearest ear, "You were born to run with a grace and speed to make a deer weep with envy. Well, I understand the frustration of denying that when others are in need, but I am a selfish man and would have us both survive this war."

"If I have any say in it, we will," Legolas answered, his eyes shining with love. "I swear to you, I will never run again, unless it is to your side."

Another kiss, then Aragorn settled him against him. "Rest now. I will watch over you as you heal."

"I love you."

"As I do you," he said, then smiled against the golden hair and dared hope for a day when he could sit in a green field and enjoy the beauty of Legolas outracing the wind.

End

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