Series: Whispers in the Dark – Part 3
Author: Nessa Tulcakelume
E-mail: nessa_tulcakelume@ yahoo.co.uk
Website: http://www.nimnastian.net/nessa 
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn 
Rating: PG 
Warnings: AU 
Summary: The shadow has a name…
 
The Revelation
        
       “*Nadorhuan*!” the stranger cried again, his voice rising in a howl that was born 
purely of rage and anguish as he closed the distance between them with terrifying speed. 
The King and his men drew their swords, their narrowed gaze fixing upon the charging 
figure in expectation of a violent confrontation. 
        
       And they were not disappointed. 
        
       With a roar, the strange figure fell upon them, his blade flashing before their eyes 
like lightning as steel clashed upon steel. The four males fought furiously – the men only 
managing to parry the potentially devastating blows while the stranger attacked and 
dodged so nimbly it was as if it were impossible to bring him down or even to mark him 
with their swords. 
        
       It seemed to last an eternity – time stood frozen where all their surroundings went 
unnoticed… nothing seem to be of any consequence but the escalating heat of the battle 
and the ceaseless barrage of thrusts and blows from the stranger until slowly but surely, 
the men began to tire and each downward fall of the stranger’s blade upon their weapon 
was sheer agony. 
        
       It was Boromir who was forced to retreat from the fray when the stranger dealt a 
stunning blow to his face with a fist, nearly knocking him senseless. He paused for a 
moment, his face flushed from exertion and his breaths coming in great gasps. His 
experienced eyes settled upon the confrontation before him, heart beating wildly in his 
breast.  
        
       Already, from where he stood, he could see his brother struggling to fend off the 
stranger’s attack, their assailant seemingly to be bent upon landing his deadly blows only 
upon Aragorn. And for that he was somewhat relieved because he knew that as long as 
Faramir stood his ground before their King, he would be able to prevent Aragorn from 
being hurt. 
         
       But even Faramir, who excelled in the art of sword fighting, will tire. And already, his 
brother showed signs of exhaustion which meant that Boromir had to think of something 
quickly or they will never escape the forest alive. 
        
       His quick gaze fell upon the forest floor, taking note of the sheathe belonging to 
Aragorn’s sword lying forgotten amongst the fallen leaves. It was made of solid steel and 
he knew that it could withstand whatever abuse he was going to inflict upon it. 
        
       As quick as a flash, Boromir picked up the article and grasped it firmly in his hands. 
With a great cry, he rushed towards their attacker noting only that split second in time 
where their eyes met and the expression of disbelief that manifested itself in those 
strange blue eyes before smashing the sheathe against the side of the stranger’s head. 
        
       There was a sudden silence – a heart stopping pause where nothing was heard save 
the wind in the trees and their deep breathings. A heart stopping moment where the 
stranger just stared into Boromir’s eyes and Aragorn into Faramir’s before the stranger 
dropped his weapon, those blue eyes fluttering close and then slumped to the ground, 
unconscious. 
        
       The men had won and each heaved an audible sigh of relief at the much welcomed 
reprieve. 
        
       Quickly, Faramir took out some ropes from his backpack and proceeded to bind the 
stranger’s hands and legs in fear that he might awaken and would start attacking them 
again. When it was done, the men sank to the ground, panting loudly. Tired. Spent. And 
utterly confused. 
        
       “Miserable worm,” Boromir muttered, his hand reaching up to his face to wipe a trail 
of blood away from the corner of his lips before spitting out more blood from his mouth in 
disgust. 
        
       Aragorn said nothing, his eyes settling upon the inert body before bending his head 
down to take a better look of the stranger’s face. 
        
       “This is most extraordinary. He cannot have seen more than twenty winters and yet 
he has the strength and the agility of a seasoned warrior,” Aragorn mused aloud, his gaze 
thoughtful and his brows furrowing in thought as was his usual when he came across 
something which was beyond comprehension. 
        
       “The strength and agility of *ten* seasoned warriors,” Boromir corrected, his palm 
gingerly massaging the burgeoning lump on his head where the stranger’s blow had 
found its mark. 
        
       Faramir kept silent, cocking his head as his keen eyes studied the fair features before 
he made an exclamation of surprise and utter disbelief.  
        
       “His ears! By the Gods… his ears! But how can it be? I thought that the last of them 
had faded into the West ages ago!” Faramir said, tripping over his words in his shock. 
        
       “What are you talking about?” Boromir said, his expression registering his 
astonishment at the expression upon Faramir’s face – an expression that showed a 
mixture of awe and a certain amount of fear upon his handsome features. 
        
       Gently, Faramir turned the stranger’s face to one side, revealing to the men a 
delicate ear with its oddly pointed tip – a clear indication that the stranger was no man 
but a creature that they had never ever seen before… till now. 
        
       “Well? What is it?” Boromir asked, his voice still incredulous, bewilderment marring 
his handsome face. 
        
       Aragorn leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with excitement as his fingers reached 
down to gently trace the outer shell of the stranger’s ear.  
        
       “He is an Elf. Why had I not noticed it before?” Aragorn murmured, before a shadow 
seemed to pass across his face and he fell silent once more. 
        
       “But it cannot be! I have heard Gandalf telling stories of Elven Lords that had once 
roamed the earth in the Green Woods long ago… but thought that they were nothing 
more than myths!” Boromir said, his voice rising in confusion. 
        
       “And yet one of them lies before us now. Surely it shows that there is much truth to 
the tales Gandalf had spoken of,” Aragorn answered, effectively silencing any protests 
that might have formed upon Boromir’s lips. 
        
       There was a short silence before Faramir gave voice to the same thought that ran 
through the Men’s mind at that very moment. 
        
       “What do we do now, my lord?” Faramir asked, “We cannot leave him lying here all 
tied up for he would perish and yet we cannot let him free for it is certain now that he will 
kill us the moment he wakes up.” 
        
       “Just kill him and be done with it!” Boromir spat, “According to the laws of Gondor, if 
there ever was a Man who dared to threaten the King, he would face execution.” 
        
       “Do not let anger take over reason, Boromir,” the King answered, his gaze steady 
and reproachful at the same time. “The Elf cannot know the laws of Men and under no 
circumstances should we act upon something we have little knowledge of.” 
        
       Boromir ducked his head in shame at being reprimanded by his King. “Forgive me, 
my lord,” his said, his tone contrite and voice hushed, “I spoke in anger. I was not 
thinking.” 
        
       The King laid a comforting hand upon his friend’s shoulder, bestowing upon him a 
gentle smile. 
        
       “I know you are protective of me, my friend, so I am not angry with you.” 
        
       And then he turned to address both the brothers, his face bearing the mark of a man 
who had already come to a firm decision. 
        
       “We will bear the Elf to Minas Tirith and there, we will call for Gandalf’s aid to see if 
he can extract any kind of information from the lips of this creature. Come, my friends. 
Look to the deer and carry it back to our camp. I myself will bear the burden of the Elf. 
Let us leave the forest for the dawn has come and our people await our return,” he said 
before he reached down to throw the unconscious Elf over his shoulder. 
        
       The brothers exchanged a look, each having reservations about the wisdom of the 
King’s decision but kept their silence, bending down instead to tend to the dead carcass of 
the deer. 
        
       And together they made their way back to their camps while the sun brought forth a 
new morning, its golden light bathing the forest, chasing away the shadows and the 
gloom that had hours before dwelled in the darkness of the night… 
        
       to be continued… 
 
Series: Whispers in the Dark – Part 4 
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn 
Rating: PG 
Warning: AU 
Summary: The Men contemplates upon what to do with the Elf… 
Notes: The “history” lecture is a little lengthy but I think it is necessary that I write it 
down because it helps you to understand the world that I’m trying to portray. Also, 
pretend that Rohan and Gondor had been united under one ruler (Aragorn) and that the 
mountains separating the two Kingdoms do not exist.
The Elf 
        
       It did not take long before the sun began to rise, its golden rays peeking over the 
horizon lending light to where darkness once resided. The men steadily made their way 
back to their camp; Boromir and Faramir bearing the burden of the dead carcass and 
Aragorn, with the Elf thrown across his shoulder. 
        
       Before long, they reached the familiar sight of their encampment and the King laid 
the Elf gently upon the ground, carefully checking that he was securely tied for fear that 
the Elf might try to escape or – even worse – try to attack them the moment he 
awakened. His eyes lingered for a moment upon the Elf’s face, admiring the ethereal 
beauty of the creature lying before him and then turned away to tend to their deer. 
        
       Breakfast was a cheery event; their hunger finally appeased having eaten their fill of 
deer meat and the sweet sounds of the birds in the trees lent a pleasant atmosphere to 
the partaking of their meal. Boromir hummed in appreciation, savouring the lingering 
sweetness of their efforts upon the tips of his fingers while Faramir went off to discard the 
last scraps of their meal near the river bank.  
        
       Only Aragorn remained silent and thoughtful, his eyes sliding every now and again 
towards the figure lying inert under the shade of a tree upon where he had personally 
placed the Elf. Boromir took note of the direction of the King’s glance, lapsing in turn into 
deep thoughts as he pondered upon the problems that they would have to face the 
moment their prisoner regained consciousness. 
        
       “Do you think he has any relatives, my lord? Anyone who might search for him they 
moment they find that he is missing?” Boromir asked, frowning a little at the new problem 
that he foresaw.  
        
       The King slanted him a look, before turning back to watch the steady rise and fall of 
the creature’s chest as he slept. 
        
       “I do not know, Boromir. From what I have heard…from what I know… the Elves had 
since disappeared long before the Great Wars of our forefathers started. You have heard 
tales of a Dark Lord, have you not? Tales that you might have heard from Gandalf when 
you were little?” Aragorn asked, his voice hushed as if he feared that the Elf might be 
awakened if he spoke too loudly. 
        
       Boromir nodded his head, his brows furrowing in thought. 
        
       “I do remember hearing such stories in my days of youth. I have heard tales of the 
glorious times before the coming of Men… of Ancient Elves uniting under one banner, 
fighting side by side to bring about the defeat of the Dark Lord. I know that he had been 
vanquished but the world of Elves shattered as Great Elven Leaders of that time struggled 
to gain power over... over some unspeakable evil…” Boromir faltered, cocking his head in 
an attempt to remember the lost details of a story he had once learnt and had since 
forgotten. 
        
       “And I remembered,” Faramir continued, his face appearing over Boromir’s shoulder 
as he came to sit next to his brother. 
        
       “I remembered Gandalf speaking of the centuries of unrest and terrible violence that 
followed as they came to terms with the presence of this evil in Middle Earth. Some began 
to fade, unable to withstand the darkness that befell upon them. Others leave for their 
fair country in the distant lands. But one thing is certain, that time of magic had long 
since vanished, the memory that Men had of the Elves diminished until they were nothing 
more than myths.” 
        
       Aragorn smiled in delight, his pleasure at hearing his friends retell the tales evident 
upon his face. 
        
       “Very good,” he praised, “you have listened well to Gandalf’s stories about the days 
of old.” 
        
       And then it was Faramir’s turn to frown. 
        
       “But what has such tales got to do with the Elf? It does not explain the reappearance 
of the Fair Folks in Middle Earth,” he said, confusion lacing his words as he looked 
towards his brother and his King in askance. 
        
       “It has everything to do with the Elf,” Aragorn answered, “Legend has it that the end 
of the Second Age was filled with much suffering and that *all* of the Elves faded into the 
West. Yet now, we know that it is not true and that some must have remained hidden in 
the woods even as we speak.” 
        
       “But what if they are? What can this possibly mean? Why did this one stay behind 
when all of his people faded into the west centuries ago?” Faramir asked, a bewildered 
expression manifesting itself upon his face as he glanced at the unconscious Elf lying 
close to them. 
        
       The King was silent for a moment, clearly pondering upon the right answer to 
present to his friends. 
        
       “I do not know,” he began slowly, trying to find the words to express the jumbled 
thoughts that were in his mind. “Gandalf’s stories spoke of the diminishment of Elves and 
how in the later years, Men slowly began to grow stronger, fighting their wars against the 
strange beast that haunts them, slowly driving them deeper into the forests and 
expanding their empire. And even our history records, as you know, speaks of how our 
Kings of Old, Lord Elendil and his son Ilsildur, claimed lordship over the kingdom of Rohan 
and Gondor. No one remembered the Elves existed. No one has even seen them… until 
now.” 
        
       “Perhaps they had returned and their numbers have grown of late? That the days of 
the past, of glory and of magic had came back?” Faramir suggested, his eyes sparkling 
with excitement. 
        
       “Or perhaps they had not left at all? Remaining hidden in their dwellings until the 
time came when Men drove the Orcs and Goblins into the very heart of the forests, 
forcing the Elves to come out of their hiding in search of a more peaceful place to reside?” 
Aragorn murmured, his voice soft and eyes intense. 
        
       There was a short, uncomfortable silence. 
        
       “Which in turn, brings *him* here… to the borders of Gondor into our very forests. 
But why? Why now?” Boromir said, a spark understanding slowly showing in his eyes 
before confusion took over again. 
        
       “Think well, Boromir. You know that our Men had driven the Orcs over the river 
Anduin into the Green Woods. It is there in the Old Forest that the Elves must have lived 
and have been recently plagued by the very forces that we had had to contend with for 
many years. Perhaps they had sent one of their kinds here to see whence came the 
source of their discomfort,” Aragorn answered, rubbing a hand over his face thoughtfully.  
        
       Another pause as each man became submerged in their reverie, their conversation 
halting as they attended to their own thoughts. 
        
       Suddenly Aragorn gave a slight start, his eyes darting immediately towards the 
direction of the two brothers, clearly giving a silent warning for them not to many any 
sounds or sudden movements. Boromir froze in his place before carefully turning his head 
towards the direction upon which the King’s eyes were directed and gave a sharp intake 
of breath at the sight that greeted him. 
        
       A pair of blue eyes was looking deep into his. 
        
       The Elf had awakened. 
        
       to be continued…