Aragorn wasn't a Ranger. Not really. No Ranger had a place to call home that he went to every month or so. But Aragorn did, and he was due back. Still, he was beyond the Misty Mountains in the forest of Mirkwood, looking for a river or stream where he could refill his canteen. The signs were pointing eastward, deeper into the forest, and that is where he was headed now.

Although he was not a true Ranger, Aragorn had fast learned their ways, and was extremely skilled in tracking and traversing the wilderness. The Rangers and their life of freedom had captivated him when one had happened upon his home long ago. Aragorn begged his host to let him travel and study the Ranger, and eventually he was allowed to go. After two years of living a Ranger's life, Aragorn returned to his home, but he could not stay long, for Aragorn had changed. Gone was the man who carried the burden of the title Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Isildur and to the throne of Gondor. In his place was Strider the Ranger, who answered to no one, and who had tasted freedom and now could not go back to his chains.

Aragorn had gone on his latest excursion nearly fourteen months ago, and felt that he should check back in with his home - the one thing that kept him from feeling as though he were a true Ranger - but he had found himself in Mirkwood, some ways away from his residence in Rivendell. Mirkwood was a place he hadn't been since his first excursion with the Ranger long ago. They had happened upon the Elvish kingdom there and had saved several elves from a monster of the woods, and Aragorn had been told that he would be forever welcomed back.

That was long ago, and Aragorn's memory of the land had faded some. This time, however, it did not fail him, as the sound of water drifted to his ears.

Mingled with the rushing of water floated the sweet sound of an elven voice in song, and as the river came into view, so too did a fair Elf who was bathing. His hair spilled over his bare shoulders and chest and was flaxen-blonde; his skin was the palest ivory. Both hair and body glistened in the midday sun, giving the Elf a golden glow about him.

Aragorn's breath caught. It had been long since he had looked upon the pale elves of the woods; all the elves of Rivendell were crowned with locks of dark sepia. This Elf was especially striking. He had beautiful, full lips that were the red-and-pink color of a ripe peach; his eyes the clear, dark blue of the river in which he stood; his cheekbones were high, his skin was flawless, and Aragorn was sure that he was the most magnificent creature he had ever laid eyes upon.

Suddenly, the Elf turned toward the shore and started out of the water. Aragorn realized with a start that he had been spying, and that he should turn away. Facing the forest and up river, Aragorn listened as the Elf waded out of the water and to his clothing on the shore.

After a moment, it became silent. Aragorn began to turn, but froze when he saw that the Elf had walked to stand just beyond him in the sandy bank. He was clad in a tunic the color of icicles with bare legs and blue-gray calfskin boots that came almost to his knees. He was watching Aragorn with amusement, his soft lips curved ever so slightly in a smile. Drawn toward him, Aragorn stepped forward, leaving the shadowy safety of the trees for the light of the sun.

The Elf's smile grew. "I wondered when you were going to venture from the wood."

Embarrassed by his stupidity - forgetting the remarkable quality of the vision and hearing of Elven folk - Aragorn blushed. And as he realized that, his blush deepened. He answered in the Elven tongue that had been spoken to him. "Forgive me, Master Elf."

"There is nothing to forgive." The Elf stepped forward and gave a graceful bow. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, and Prince of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood."

Aragorn thought to introduce himself as Strider the Ranger, but instead said, "It is an honor to meet you, Prince. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I have traveled from Rivendell."

"My people are familiar with that name, Elessar, but you are a long way from Rivendell, and further from the land of your birth. What brings you to Mirkwood?"

Aragorn looked toward the sun, which was lowering in the sky. "That is ...complicated." He paused and walked toward the river. "But I guess that I wanted freedom."

Legolas walked to stand beside him. "Then it is simple," he said with the innocence of one who has never been caged.

Aragorn laughed a little. "It's not so simple when it is your life."

Placing a hand gently on Aragorn's shoulder, Legolas looked steadily into his eyes. "Then tell me why it is not simple."

Aragorn looked away from the kind, but piercing, eyes. "I don't want to keep you, Prince."

Legolas smiled. "Time is of little importance to elves, Lord. But you shall have to call me by my given name if you are to trust me with your tale."

Nodding, Aragorn returned the smile. "Then I must ask of you the same courtesy, Legolas. Let us speak in formal speech no more, but rather in the speech of friends."

Legolas let his hand trail down Aragorn's arm. "Very well, Aragorn." Aragorn turned to him in surprise as Legolas clasped his hand. "I know a place where we can sit comfortably while we talk. Come with me."

---

After leading Aragorn through the woods for some time, Legolas paused at the base of a great cedar tree. After breathing in the fresh, green scent, he looked to Aragorn. "Can you climb?"

Aragorn smiled. "Not so swift as an elf, nor as graceful as one. But I will manage."

Smiling as well, Legolas turned and scampered nimbly up the tree. Slowly, but skillfully, Aragorn climbed up after him. Within the thick branches of the tree was placed a platform, and upon it sat large, fluffy pillows of satin and silk whose colors mirrored those of the forest surrounding it.

Legolas stood in the middle of the platform and swept his arm over the area. "Please, sit."

Aragorn chose a spot, then sat himself down roughly on the pillows. Legolas offered him both water and lembas, elvish waybread, which he greatly accepted. Moving across from him, Legolas then gracefully placed himself on a large gray pillow. As he curled around, Legolas said, "Forgive me for having nothing more to offer you; this is but a quiet spot where I usually come alone."

Aragorn shook his head. "This is more than enough, Legolas. Thank you."

After waiting for Aragorn to eat and drink, Legolas finally asked of his tale. "I am very curious to see how someone could feel trapped by the walls of Rivendell, Aragorn. Although I, myself, often wander alone in the forest."

Sighing, Aragorn looked above him into the canopy of the cedar. "It is not Rivendell, Legolas. It is Isildur and Gondor, and Elessar and the Evenstar. It is Strider the Ranger who does not want to have to think of how he should be heading back home when he has met a fair Elf bathing in the woods. And it is a Man who does not truly feel as though he has a home at all, and who does not presently want to have one."

Legolas smiled at him sadly. "It must be a terrible weight, your name, if it drives you to forsake your home."

Still gazing upward, Aragorn shook his head. "No, it is not so terrible. In fact, it is a wonderful thing, to roam freely. Think," he said, turning on his side to face Legolas. "If I did not leave Rivendell, I never would have found my way here, to you."

Legolas smiled. "That would indeed have been a terrible thing. It is not often that Men come into Mirkwood, not this deep. You, in fact, are the first man that I have ever seen."

Aragorn could not hide his surprise. "Truly? You have never met a Man? Not even a Ranger?"

Legolas shook his head, and looked beyond Aragorn to the forest around them. "I do not care for their company. I do not care for the company of many besides the trees and animals of the forest." Looking at Aragorn sideways, he added, "But perhaps I was hasty in judging Men."

"What of Elves? Do you seek their company?" Aragorn wondered how it was that this ethereal Prince was ever left alone.

Legolas turned onto his stomach and traced the threading of one of his pillows. "What of you, Aragorn? Do you often seek the company of Elves? For what are you doing so deep in Mirkwood?"

Aragorn looked at him for a long moment. "I do not know what drew me here." A small smile pulled at Legolas' lips. "Perhaps you knew that you would meet a fair Elf bathing in the woods."

"The fairest," Aragorn replied softly. "But I did not know. For if I did, I would have left Rivendell a long time ago to seek you."

Legolas came to the end of his pillow's threading. Staring at it intently, he tried to ignore the heat he felt creeping into his cheeks, but his porcelain skin gave him away. "But you must return soon, you said?"

Aragorn smiled, ignoring the question. "How is it that you blush, fair Prince? For I cannot believe that you are not daily lavished with compliments for your great beauty." Legolas' cheeks turned from rosy to crimson. "I am but one Elf of many."

Shaking his head, Aragorn protested, "And I have been among many an Elf, but I have never seen one so flawless as you, Legolas. You appear more lovely with each passing moment."

Finally, Legolas smiled, but his blush deepened further. "Aragorn, you are not at all what I heard of men to be like. But then, you are not an average man."

"And you are not an average Elf." Aragorn held his gaze until Legolas turned again to look at the pillow. "But you did ask me when I must return to Rivendell. I have too long been away, and should leave this evening."

Snapping back to look at Aragorn again, Legolas said firmly, "No. You should stay the night."

Aragorn shook his head. "It is too far to travel back to your kingdom, Legolas."

Legolas stared levelly back at him. "Then we shall sleep here."

---

Aragorn awoke before the sun had begun to rise. He looked up into the branches above him at the gray sky peeking through the near-solid blanket of leaves and wondered for a moment where he was. Rolling onto his side, Aragorn saw Legolas sitting with his legs dangling over the ledge.

Legolas turned to him. "Good morning, Aragorn."

Smiling, Aragorn pushed himself off of the pillows, which had provided him a surprisingly comfortable sleep. "I feared you were but a dream," Aragorn said softly. He pushed himself up off the bed and walked over to where Legolas was sitting.

Legolas offered a hand to him, and Aragorn helped the Elf to stand up beside him. "I fear that you soon will become one."

Aragorn didn't reply. For several moments, the two looked silently over the forest as dawn slowly came upon them.

Suddenly, Legolas jumped down to the forest floor. He looked back up to Aragorn. "Come, I know how to quickly get to the edge of Mirkwood."

Aragorn nodded, feeling oddly empty. After jumping off the platform, Aragorn paused for a moment in the crouching position he landed in. Staring at the ground in front of him, he mumbled, "You needn't do that, Legolas. I know the way."

Legolas crouched down beside him. Placing a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, he shook his head. "You do not know this way, Ranger." He stood back up and began to walk away.

Behind him, Aragorn finally stood. "Thank you, Legolas."

Legolas didn't pause in his graceful stride as he looked back at Aragorn. Tossing him a wafer of lembas, Legolas smiled.

Aragorn caught it and started after him. "I won't need this, Legolas, if you smile at me like that again. It will be energy enough."

Legolas' delicate laughter floated back to him as the Elf flitted in and out of shadow and light. As the sun began to peer between the thick trees, only Legolas' fair hair gave him away with the occasional flash of gold as he blended easily into the woods around him.

"You are already fading into a dream, Prince." Aragorn sighed as Legolas again disappeared ahead of him. In a moment he reappeared again and Aragorn hurried uselessly to try and catch him. "And I fear that I am soon to wake from it."

It had been nearly a month since Aragorn had left Mirkwood. He was sitting now in the living room of the small house he kept outside of Rivendell's golden palace, gazing out the window at the various trees and flowers, thinking of a different forest. In the distance, there was an Elven lady on the road from within Rivendell walking toward him. Even without the benefit of Elven eyes, Aragorn knew who it was.

Arwen had visited him nearly every day since his return from his latest excursion. It had taken him three weeks to cross the Misty Mountains, mainly because Aragorn had made his way back to Rivendell at a leisurely pace. Each night as he fell asleep, Aragorn thought about turning around the next day and seeking out Legolas again. But with each step toward the west, Legolas faded further into the mists of Mirkwood and Arwen and Rivendell pulled him in with renewed strength.

Arwen. When Aragorn was barely old enough to walk, his mother had taken him and fled troubled Gondor for the refuge she knew Rivendell would provide. Not a month after they arrived, she passed away, leaving Aragorn to the care of the elves. He grew up in Rivendell, learning valuable skills in fighting and otherwise, but it was not until he had met a Ranger that he learned tracking and survival and freedom.

As sweet as the taste of freedom was to Aragorn's lips, sweeter yet had been his love, Arwen. Being that she was the daughter of Elrond, the king of Rivendell, Aragorn had met Arwen on the day of his arrival. He had never seen an Elf before and was taken aback by her intense beauty. Aragorn was infatuated with Arwen, and she him, each intrigued and entrapped by the other.

Over the next few years, as Aragorn was growing from a scared little boy into a strong man who craved a life that Rivendell could not offer him, Arwen's feelings were growing from infatuation to love. When the Ranger appeared and Aragorn leapt at the opportunity to leave her home, Arwen brashly promised Aragorn that she would bind herself to him, in hopes to keep her love where she felt he belonged: by her side. Aragorn refused and left, but Arwen promised that she would be waiting.

Now she was coming again to see Aragorn, hoping to get him to talk, hoping to find out what had changed him. Since he had returned from Mirkwood, Aragorn was always looking to the east and would only sigh when someone asked him what he had seen there. Arwen had pressed him about his trip over the Misty Mountains but all that Aragorn would reveal was that it was the forest that had a hold on him; he had left something precious, too precious to name, behind.

Aragorn often lay awake at night, replaying the evening when he and Legolas had parted ways. Each time he wondered what he could have said to convince Legolas to come with him to Rivendell, or why he hadn't insisted that they wait out the night. They had spent so few hours together; another four or five would have been more than worth the delay if only Aragorn could have looked upon Legolas' face for a little while longer. He wanted to memorize every curve of his lips, every inch of that creamy ivory skin; he wanted to know intimately every part of the Elf who was becoming blurred with the distance between them.

The desire to look upon that fair face was driving Aragorn away from Arwen. He did not know what drew him to Legolas so strongly; he only knew that he must return to Mirkwood to see the Prince and find out. Sighing, Aragorn collapsed into one of his chairs, head in his hands, his thoughts once again returning to that spring evening.

---

Legolas had led Aragorn through the forest without so much as a break for water, but by the time they had reached the edge of Mirkwood, evening was fast giving way to night. As Aragorn stepped out of the woods into the grassy meadow that stood between him and the Misty Mountains, Legolas simply stayed where he was, saying, "I will go no further."

Aragorn had thanked him for his kindness, and offered to stay with him through the night. Legolas again refused, insisting that Aragorn be on his way, since he had been in such a rush to leave Mirkwood in the first place.

"But where will you stay tonight?" Aragorn had asked, brushing aside the comment about his haste to leave.

"I will return home," Legolas replied simply.

Knowing the dangers of traveling at night through Mirkwood, a forest rapidly being reclaimed by darkness and evil, Aragorn had tried to stop him. But Legolas was adamant. "I know the way."

Legolas had proved correct before; his shortcut through the forest spared Aragorn at the very least a day and a half of travel. Aragorn had no choice but to let him go. "Legolas," he said, as the Elf turned away. "Please be careful." He hadn't known what else to say.

Legolas then stepped forward, briefly leaving the shadows of Mirkwood. He let his hand gently stroke Aragorn's cheek. "I have not traveled beyond these boarders, Aragorn, but I am not helpless. Do not fear for me."

Aragorn had placed his calloused hand over Legolas' soft one, still gently caressing his face. "I know that elves are both cautious and nimble, and rarely are snared by the crude traps of common monsters. But I will worry still for your safety, as I will not know how you fared."

In a fluid movement, Legolas pulled their hands from Aragorn's face and took a step backward into the woods. With a bow, he placed a delicate kiss on Aragorn's hand. "I invite you, then, to return to Mirkwood, Aragorn." There was mischief dancing in his dark blue eyes when Legolas looked up again. "If only so you will know that I am safe again." Dropping Aragorn's hand, Legolas then took another step backward, and was engulfed by the shadows of the forest.

"I promise to return to you, Legolas," Aragorn called after him into the woods. "I will not let you exist only in my dreams!"

Legolas' musical voice had come floating back to him on the night's breeze: "I will be waiting."

---

Aragorn sighed, looking again outside the window. Arwen was nearly at his door. Turning abruptly away from the cheery spring morning outside, Aragorn strode over to where his pack was lying propped up against one of the chairs in the sparsely furnished room. Already in it where most of his traveling necessities, so Aragorn ran to his bedroom and grabbed an extra couple of shirts and socks for when he would trek through the Misty Mountains and beyond.

By the time Arwen came to the door, Aragorn was on his way out. "Where are you going, Aragorn?" she asked.

"To become a Ranger."

Arwen furrowed her eyebrows, placing a hand on his arm to halt him as Aragorn headed toward the well to fill up his canteen. "But you only just arrived," she protested. "And you are already a Ranger."

"No." Aragorn dipped his canteen into the water. "I am going to become a real Ranger."

"But why?"

Finally Aragorn paused to look Arwen in the eye. "I am going to find a dream from which I wished not to wake. Failing that, it matters not what I do, for I am ever in a sleepwalk without the light of Mirkwood."

"There is no more light in Mirkwood," Arwen said crossly. "It grows ever darker in the east."

Aragorn looked off toward the east, his mind already miles into his quest; his heart even further. "There is one light left yet in Mirkwood."

"And you know where to find it, this light?" Arwen asked thickly.

His face set with determination, Aragorn turned back to her. "Yes. I made a promise to return there. And I shall."

"And what of me?" Arwen struggled to keep from crying. "What of us?"

"I must leave Rivendell." Sighing, Aragorn took her hand, and spoke more gently. "It is not my purpose to hurt you. But you know that it is not my place to be here."

Blinking back her tears, Arwen nodded. "You are right. Elessar should not be tied down here. I... I did not want to believe that I was tying you down."

Aragorn shook his head. "You cannot tie me down, Arwen. My chains were self-imposed, and now I cast them off." Aragorn kissed her hand and turned, walking down the path toward the east. He looked back at Arwen once. "I will not return for a long while."

A tear slipped silently down her cheek. "I know."

Aragorn turned around and continued down the path, never once looking back at Rivendell. As he entered the outskirts of the city and the hills surround it, he began to hum happily to himself.

Behind him, Arwen dropped softly to the ground, crying for the feeling wound tightly around her heart; the feeling that Aragorn would never return.

At last Aragorn stood at the fringe of Mirkwood. It had taken him a grueling four and a half weeks of trekking over the Misty Mountains to arrive there; the harsh winds and freezing nights of fall were already long upon the peaks and valleys of his path. The forest, on the other hand, was only beginning change – its deep greens had turned to bright oranges, reds, and yellows, but leaves were not yet upon the ground.

Aragorn took a deep breath, letting the thick, woody air envelope his senses. At last, he was back, back where he knew he belonged. As he stepped into the forest, Aragorn shook all thoughts of Rivendell and Arwen, of Gondor and Elessar. He was prepared in his entirety to give himself to Legolas. Now only a day of travel separated the two.

More than halfway through the shortcut Legolas had shown him more than a year ago, Aragorn was forced to rest for the night. It wasn't until the dawn of the next day that Aragorn realized he only knew how to get to Legolas' hiding place and the river, not to Thranduil's kingdom. In fact, he had never been to the kingdom itself, only to its outskirts with the

Ranger, long, long ago.

Regardless, as day broke Aragorn continued on his way. The hope, however small, that Legolas would be there drove him to keep going. At midday, Aragorn reached the platform where he and Legolas had spent the night, only to find it empty. He quickly left there for the river, which was also deserted. Aragorn sat on the sandy bank, silently watching the water flow by.

Afternoon was fast giving way to evening, and the shortening days of autumn pressed Aragorn to make a decision. He had either to return to Legolas' platform, where he would spend the night and then head out of Mirkwood the following morning, or he had to take his chances and follow the river to wherever it may lead him.

Standing up, Aragorn brushed the sand from his pants, and glanced once at the setting sun before turning east.

Aragorn wanted to become a true Ranger, and now was the perfect opportunity for him to do so. With the sun at his back, Aragorn followed the river into darkness. He didn't stop until dusk fell and he needed to refill his canteen.

Aragorn knelt beside the river but was stopped before he had a chance to get any water. Something cooler than steel against was being held to his neck: an arrow of the Elves. Dropping his canteen, Aragorn lifted his arms in the air to show that he held no weapon.

"What is your business here?" Someone asked him in the Common Tongue.

"I search for the Kingdom of Thranduil," Aragorn answered in Elvish.

The Elf pulled his arrow away from Aragorn's neck, and took a step back. Aragorn stood and turned around. The Elf was fair in skin and hair, but he was not nearly so beautiful as Legolas. He now spoke in the Elvin tongue as well. "You are a long way from the Kingdom, stranger. Name yourself and your business in the Kingdom of Thranduil, King of the Elves of North Mirkwood."

Aragorn paused a moment to consider which name to use. "I am Strider the Ranger," he responded. "And I come to... to..."

Aragorn realized that he did not know how to put his feelings into words. He hardly knew what drew him to Legolas himself, but he certainly knew that he could not give that as a reason.

"Strider?" The Elf repeated. "The Ranger who rescued four Elves from the clutches of beasts in years past?"

Aragorn nodded. "That was a long time ago, yes. So long ago that I no longer remember the way to Thranduil's fair kingdom."

The Elf bowed. "Forgive me, Master Strider. You are most welcome in the courts of King Thranduil. I will show you the way to the kingdom."

---

Night was upon them when Aragorn and his guide arrived at the gates of Thranduil's kingdom. The Elvin city was alight with the soft glow of lamplight, making the entire city shine sliver.

"It is fitting," Aragorn breathed. "So fair a city for so fair a people."

His guide smiled. "I am sure the King will be pleased to hear that it has impressed you so. I will take you to the palace."

Aragorn looked about himself in awe as they passed through the outskirts of the kingdom. Finally they arrived at the steps to the palace. It was a large building of blue and gray silvers, and every curve of its turrets and arch of its windows gleamed in the light of the moon and the Elvin lamps that hung about it. The marble staircase gave way to large, slivery doors, beside which stood two guards.

"Come." Aragorn's guide began up the stairs. "I have a visitor for the king," he shouted to the guards.

Aragorn followed behind him at a distance to allow the Elves to speak to one another in private. A fourth Elf appeared from within the palace, and when Aragorn reached the great double-doors, they had already come to a decision.

"You will be led inside," the new Elf told him. "And someone will check to see if the king is awake. If not, you will be given a room and you will see him in the morning. Strider the Ranger is most welcome here, for his good deeds have not been forgotten."

Aragorn thanked the Elf who had been his guide, who bowed in return. "It was a pleasure, Master Strider." He then returned down the stairs to retire for the night.

Aragorn turned back to the other Elves. The guards opened the doors, and a magnificent hall came into view. Its walls were lined with the same mysterious lights common in Elvin cities, lighting the marble floors with the soft, silver-white glow of the rest of the city. Taking a deep breath, Aragorn followed his new guide into the hallway.

"Please, wait here a moment," the Elf said.

Aragorn nodded and the Elf disappeared through an open doorway off to the side of the room. As the doors silently slid shut behind him, Aragorn looked about himself in wonder. Why Legolas would ever want to leave such a place was a mystery to him, but now he could ask Legolas himself if he wanted to. Aragorn couldn't keep from smiling as he thought of the Elvin Prince.

It had been well over a year, yes, but Legolas himself had said that time was of little importance to Elves. It was far too late in his journey for Aragorn to begin worrying that Legolas, one so innocent and beautiful, could have forgotten about him, one so coarse and jaded. As Aragorn fought to shove those ideas from his mind, another Elf approached him, and informed him that he would be led to a room. It appeared that Aragorn would have to struggle with those thoughts until daybreak.

---

The sound of birds singing outside his window woke Aragorn. Shafts of sunlight filtered into his room though the gauzy curtains hung over the windows and bed. It was no wonder that he thought he must still be dreaming when he blinked open his eyes.

Despite being wracked with thoughts of Legolas forgetting him, Aragorn had fallen asleep immediately, so comfortable was the bed he was in. Now that he was awake, the thoughts began to return. In the light of day, however, the did not have as great a hold over him; the serene atmosphere of the palace reminded him of the dream-like quality of his encounter with Legolas, and that magic sustained him.

Aragorn stretched and looked around himself. Across from his bed was a table beside where a fireplace would have been in a man's castle. Being that the Elves felt no cold, however, there were no fireplaces even so far north. Aragorn noticed that the Elves did not use fire at all, which explained the amazing lights they used to illuminate their cities.

Seeing something on the table, Aragorn walked over. He was surprised to see that someone had left him breakfast. As he sat down to enjoy it, there was a soft knock on his door. His heart began to beat loudly, echoing in his ears with anticipation, but Aragorn tried not to get his hopes up. "Yes?" he called.

The door opened. It wasn't Legolas. "Master Strider, forgive me for interrupting you. Your bath is ready for when you are finished breakfasting. At dusk you will dine with the king." The Elf bowed and began to close the door, but Aragorn called out to him.

"What of the king's son? What of Prince Legolas?"

The Elf looked surprised that Aragorn knew the prince's name. "Prince Legolas is away from the kingdom."

Aragorn's heart fell. "Away?"

The Elf nodded. "The Prince often leaves for months at a time."

Nodding numbly, Aragorn thanked the Elf for the information. The Elf bowed and exited the room. Sighing, Aragorn looked down at his breakfast, feeling too sick to touch any of it. "What a waste," he whispered. "What a waste."

[END, PART III]