Ch-8 Rating: PG

Chapter 8 – Legolas’ Debate

While Aragorn and Gimli stoked a small fire and prepared what food they would have that night, Dèorwyn paced with frustration at Legolas’ stubborn refusal to understand, and brooded that she had been caught in her pursuit.

“I have walked through leaf-strewn forests without so much as startling a bird! How is it he heard me?” Her pacing stopped as she turned to Aragorn, demanding explanation from him.

“He did not hear you, Lady,” Aragorn offered in response, “he felt you.” Her upset at the expense of his friend amused him, but he feared treating it lightly would prove to be a false move on his part. “He is, after all, an Elf,” he shrugged.

Dèorwyn’s mouth opened as if to argue, then snapped shut suddenly as the meaning of his words took hold. Seeing her stunned reaction, Aragorn could no longer hide a small smile nor the urge to act on his amusement. “And I believe his senses are all the more keen where you are concerned.”

A blush colored her cheeks, and she turned away, trying to hide her embarrassment. When she looked back to Aragorn, her brilliant smile and the impish light in her eyes told him the storm had passed and she saw through his mischief. In that moment he knew, ‘Legolas is already defeated.’

“I do not think I like being so disadvantaged,” Dèorwyn returned the tease, her anger vanished.

“Trust me, Lady. The advantage is yours,” he grinned at her.

Their meal was mostly silent – each looking expectantly to the trees, waiting. Aragorn offered to take the first watch, and posted himself on the edge of their small camp opposite where Dèorwyn and Gimli slept. Making himself comfortable, he risked a small amount of his dwindling supply of pipeweed, and lit his pipe with the smoldering end of a stick from the fire. While enjoying his first smoke in more than a week, he began to wonder how long it took an Elf’s temper to cool.

He heard no sound nor saw movement, but Aragorn sensed Legolas’ return and looked up to see him near the line of trees ringing their camp. Even as he stood motionless, his body betrayed the grace and strength of the Elves. Aragorn had always considered it an odd contrast that the fairest and most elegant of the races of Middle Earth should prove to be such ferocious warriors. He had fought beside Legolas innumerable times, always with a renewed respect for the lithe, efficient movements of the Elf in battle.

His gaze fell to the sleeping form that held Legolas’ attention. The moonlight washed her honey-colored hair to a dull silver, and lit her delicate features with a soft, porcelain glow. The slow rise and fall of her chest caused a clasp on her tunic to catch the pale light and twinkle in time with the movement of each breath.

As Aragorn looked upon her, beauteous in the calm of sleep, he understood his friend’s fierce inner battle: Elven duty against a more human desire. He suspected the Elf was losing.

“I would have her be away from here AragornÂ…safe,” Legolas finally spoke, interrupting the Man’s reflective thoughts.

“In these times, there is no safe haven,” Aragorn replied softly.

Legolas turned away from Dèorwyn to join his friend by the remains of the fire. Seated on the trunk of a fallen tree, his gaze was drawn back to her. She stirred in her sleep, the new position more fully exposing her pale throat. Legolas saw the throb of her heartbeat at the hollow and remembered the feel of that pulse beneath his lips. Anguish marred his sculpted features, and silently he sought relief from the torment of his indecision. Should she travel with them where he could know her condition at every moment, or should he turn her away and send her back to an uncertain safety with her people?

“We have traveled with her before,” Aragorn reminded him. “She rides as hard and long as any of us. Her skill with a sword equals that of any man. And she has the desire and will to be here.” The words, intended to reassure, offered little comfort.

“Legolas. What safer place for her than by your side?” Aragorn grasped his shoulder then stood to stir the ashes in the fire pit. “Whatever is to become of her, it must be decided here, tonight,” he commanded without turning from his task. “We cannot continue the journey with this conflict.”

Staring into the glowing embers, Legolas nodded absently – he knew this.

“Gimli and I are agreed,” Aragorn continued. “We would not have asked for her company setting out from Helm’s Deep, but now that she is here, we would have her stay.” He turned to Legolas, and waited for the Elf to look to him. “The decision is yours.”

Aragorn was right, the decision was his; but he also knew the choice was hers. Decide what he might, she would either return or continue to follow behind. Dèorwyn would choose her own course. Legolas nodded to Aragorn, acknowledgement of his friendship and counsel, then went to deliver his verdict.

He knelt on one knee beside her, loathe to wake her from such peaceful rest. But there was no need for him to touch her or call out. She awoke and looked up at him, unsurprised by his presence.

“Come with me,” Legolas stood and moved off toward the trees. She threw off her blanket, picked up her sword belt, and followed him.

He walked to the same spot where he had spent the last hours in silent argument. When he saw she had brought her weapon, Legolas could not suppress the feeling of pride that she was, indeed, a wise traveler.

~ ^^ ~

ContinuedÂ…