Chapter Text
Legolas had not been in Imladris long, an hour at most, when a commotion disturbed his quite stroll among the gardens. He followed the noise to its origins and, without drawing attention to himself, watched as several elven guards and Elrond, himself, gathered at the entrance around a lone brown horse. Legolas realised that what the guards and Elrond knelt around was a woman, no doubt the owner of that horse.
He heard whispered words, and crept nearer. A deep voice, that of Elrond’s, and a sweeter one, that of the fallen woman, spoke in a grave tone. Legolas realised in surprise that they spoke in Westron (English), and knew without a doubt that the guards around them knew not what was being said.
The woman struggled to speak but after a while she finally managed to, “We need shelter, please Elrond,” she begged.
“What has happened, Gilraen,” Elrond whispered back, his deep voice carrying across the small courtyard, “What has happened to Arathorn?”
“He-He is dead,” she managed before falling limp in one of the guards arms.
“Take her to be healed, and prepare chambers,” Elrond ordered loudly, switching back into Elvish-tongue.
The guards dispersed quickly, carrying away the poor woman. Legolas could only assume that Arathorn, whoever the man was, was related to her in some way. A brother, father or husband perhaps? A son even? Elrond rose slowly from where he sat and turned to meet Legolas’ inquisitive yet grim expression.
Legolas was not prepared for what lay in Elrond’s arms. Though at first look, one might think it were a dirty blanket, at closer inspection Legolas could see that it was in fact a young human boy, all shaggy brown hair and green rags. He was no older than two-years-old, and lay motionless in Elrond’s arms.
“Legolas,” Elrond stated, though out of surprise or greeting, the young elf did not know. His face quickly became grave, “I must ask something of you,” he paused, as if wondering how to word it, “please take the boy and look after him,” he said, “the woman’s wounds are deep, and I fear she will not live without my aid.”
Legolas nodded without a thought, and soon found himself with an armful of human boy. He stood frozen to the spot, suddenly unsure what to do. He finally decided to take the boy into one of the small pavilions and set him down. There Legolas watched him. The boy sat completely still, hardly moving or making a noise. His head was bowed as if in mourning but no whimper left the boy’s lips. That confused Legolas, for he had thought all humans were overtly emotional.
The elf could only guess at what the boy was feeling, having never experienced the death of a loved one. He tried to think of a way to comfort the child but didn’t know what to do, and so he sat beside him. The boy’s silence soon began to unnerve Legolas and so the elf found himself kneeling in front of the boy and trying to draw his down-cased eyes up to meet his. With no avail he sat back on his heels and decided that speaking to the boy could not do anything more to worsen the situation.
“My name is Legolas,” Legolas said softly in Westron.
The boy’s head jutted ever so slightly forward at the sudden noise. While the words Legolas spoke were properly pronounced, the elf knew that having not spoken in Westron for so long the would likely sound strange.
“What is your name, little one?” he asked.
When the boy didn’t answer Legolas sat down on the floor, and leant back on the bench the young one sat on.
“It must be strange coming here,” Legolas said, attempting another way of calming the boy, “you’ve probably never seen an elf before and I know it must be frightening arriving in a place you have never seen.”
Still the boy made no attempt to answer, but Legolas had a hunch that his voice was soothing the child.
“This place is called Imladris,” Legolas said, “known as Rivendell to your people,” he paused and looked about, “you must miss home,” he said, I do too, I’ve only been here but an hour and yet I feel drawn toward the woods in which my people dwell-”
“My name is Aragorn,” the boy suddenly said, interrupting Legolas’ speech.
Legolas turned to him and saw that the boy was finally looking up. Beneath Aragorn’s dark curls two intelligent eyes watched the elf.
“It is very nice to meet you Aragorn,” Legolas said.
Aragorn looked down once again before slowly raising his head, “is Mama alright?” he asked.
Legolas paused, and thought over whether to lie to the boy or speak the truth, and in the end he thought it better to tell the boy the truth, “She is badly wounded but one of the best healers in Middle Earth is tending to her.”
Aragorn nodded before whispering, “I don’t want her to go like Papa did.”
Legolas frowned, so it had been the boy’s father and the woman’s husband. He tried to think of how to respond to that statement.
“Your father never left,” he said, and he believed the words for he knew it was true.
Aragorn looked up and his little eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
“Elves live long lives, we learn things and know things others do not,” Legolas told the child, “something we know, which man often forgets, is that when animals or plants die they never really go.” Legolas watched in content as the boy’s face brightened with hope, “All that they were; their energy and love flows into the things around them, giving life back to the land.”
Aragorn blinked in thought, “Papa died protecting me,” he said.
Legolas smiled sadly, and turned to the little thing, “Then here,” he placed a hand over Aragorn’s chest, “is where your father will always be.” Legolas paused, before adding, “When you wish to talk to him all you have to do is close your eyes and think of him. He will always be there for you.”
Legolas took away his hand and watched Aragorn. The boy stared down, wide-eyed at where the large hand had lain upon his chest. He wasn’t sure whether to feel happy, relieved or both. Either way he was unable to speak and Legolas knew it, and so the elf sat in silence beside the boy and waited.
After a while the boy scooted to the edge of the bench and looked down at Legolas, who turned his head to smile up at him. The boy stared for a while, squinting his eyes in thought before reaching out with his grubby fingers to feel Legolas’ blond hair. The boy, as if satisfied with what he had found, lent back, tilting his head to the side.
“Are you an elf princess?” Aragorn asked.
Legolas did not often laugh but so shocked by the statement he was, that he could not help himself and grinned widely, letting out a sing-song-like chuckle.
“No,” he said with a smile, “but that’s close enough.”
Aragorn frowned.
“I am Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of the Woodland Realm.”
Aragorn raised an eyebrow and lent back, as if struggling to decide whether Legolas was lying to him or not.
“I assure you I am male,” Legolas said.
Aragorn shrugged, not seeming to care, before he bit his lip, “Are we friends now?” he asked.
Legolas tilted his head, “If you’d like.”
Aragorn grinned, and nodded his head vigorously.