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It was five days shy of the Summer Solstice when they crested the valley ridge. Lying in the bowl of the foothills right where they had left it was the Dunedain village in Fornost. The trees had filled out since they had last gazed upon this place, and for the first time Legolas say the rangers' homeland bedecked in rich greens. Even the pines looked livelier and more vital than they had all winter; their boughs hung laden with pods containing new needles.
They had been eight and twenty when they left; twenty five rangers and three elves. Four and twenty now made their way along familiar paths down into the valley. By the time they had come to the river though, smiles of everything from joy to open relief were growing on everyone's faces. They brought tidings of sorrow back with them, but also of peace. With the lands of Angmar and even Mount Gundabad emptied, the Dunedain could rest easy for some time to come.
As they approached the river, they happened upon a group of children playing and splashing in the swelled currents. The children stopped in their games, half a dozen eyes blinking in surprise for a moment at the sudden appearance of the rangers. Then, noise exploded louder than any alarm bell.
"Papa, papa!"
Two little boys practically threw themselves into the river, swimming across with an urgency that nearly matched that of their father as he leapt in to meet them halfway. Others among the children turned and sprinted back to the village along the trail, all shouting at once so that anything they might be saying was indiscernible.
Their reception was no less enthusiastic as the party emerged from the tree-line and into sight of the village. The children had spread the news far and wide just in the space of minutes, and everywhere people were spilling out of their homes or running in from their gardens. Parents embraced their sons and daughters, wives their husbands and brothers theirs sisters. The joy of many reunions filled the sunny air like music.
Legolas spotting Enid, craning her neck above her rounded shoulders to see through the crowd. Beringil's wife looked both expectant and hopeful, and the openness that brought to her otherwise homely face was heartbreaking in its beauty. Elladan and Elrohir dipped away around the village square to her side, and at their appearance Enid paled. She did not weep though...the Dunedain knew at what price peace was bought.
Someone approached Legolas from behind, and he turned to greet them before they could announce themselves. An elf newly returned from the wild was nigh impossible to surprise, even for someone as extraordinary as Strider. The chieftain of the rangers bowed his head in greeting, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Welcome back, Legolas of the Woodland Realm." Strider looked him up and down. "You are looking as fresh and well-kept as ever."
Seeing the joke for what it was, Legolas nodded as well and chuckled. "Then I have fooled you indeed, Strider. I assure you, I do not feel near as fresh as you say I look."
"You shall have to tell me everything that has passed since your departure. It seems...that Beringil is not here to give us the story."
"No, he is not." Legolas said somberly, remembering the five graves upon the hillside that they had left under a purple sunset.
"Come then, you and my foster-brothers shall do as much in his stead."
Waving Elladan and Elrohir over, the four of them made for Strider's quarters at the far end of the village. They talked of small things as they walked; weather and town business and such. Once they were all settled around the table with a flagon of mead in hand though, the talk turned to the actual events of their journey north. Elladan and Elrohir did much of the talking, with Legolas content to let them. Strider listened intently to each and every word, devouring each detail as if he wished to live it vicariously.
When it came to the retelling of the events in Gundabad, the twins were both factual and sensitive to detail in their account. Finishing with Beringil's dying words and the burial of the four rangers alongside the elven queen, Elrohir at last sat back and let silence fall.
Strider pushed back his chair and placed his hands upon his knees. Exhaling a long breath, his clear blue eyes traveled from Elladan to Elrohir to Legolas.
"I owe you all my deepest thanks for what you have done in service to the Dunedain. You especially, Legolas."
Legolas was about to protest when Strider held up a hand to forestall him.
"You came to this place a stranger not six months ago, and owed us no such feat as to enter Mount Gundabad. It grieves me to know what it must have meant to you to venture into the very place where your own mother died. I am glad to know though that you were able to lay her to rest at last, and can think of no better place for our own fallen than at her side." Looking to Elladan, Strider cleared his throat. "It seems that you have earned my honesty, as I am sure the sons of Lord Elrond would agree."
Elladan nodded. "Beringil told him what he could, but I think we are all tired of calling you 'Strider', gwador-nin."
"Agreed". Elrohir added his voice to the consensus.
"Very well then." The young chieftain brushed back his uncombed hair from his temples, and then smiled at Legolas. "Allow me to properly introduce myself to you, Legolas Thranduilion. To those beyond this village I am called 'Strider', and to the folk of Rivendell I am known as 'Estel', or 'Hope' in the Sindarin tongue. It was a name my mother Gilraen gave to me as a child, to protect me from both danger and fate until I came of age. My true name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn of the line of Isildur."
The last five words Legolas was already expecting. His gaze flickered to the ring upon Aragorn's hand, which he could now observe up close. Twin serpents with emerald eyes twined beneath a golden crown adorned the ring of Barahir. Truly, the man who sat before him was a scion of the line of Numenorian royalty. This was the heir to a throne which even now sat empty in Gondor awaiting the return of the kings of old.
"Well met, Aragorn son of Arathorn." Legolas spoke slowly, almost ceremoniously. This was a defining moment in both of their journeys, he could feel it. "You have honored me with your trust."
"I wish also to honor you with my friendship, Legolas, and hope that you would do the same." Aragorn stood, extending a hand to the elven prince. Rising, Legolas took the offered hand and clasped it.
"Gladly, mellon-nin."
Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a glance with one another. They were the sons of one blessed with the gift of Foresight, and although they did not possess it in full measure they could occasionally see glimpses. They could not say with any certainty what would come of this newfound friendship between man and elf, but both knew beyond doubt that whatever it was would be great.
Sometime later when Legolas stepped back out into the warmth of a summer evening, he set his course on certain feet. The knife that still hung at his belt had become a familiar presence, but the time had come to see it safely home. Rounding the corner past the main hall, he sought out the cottage of another whom he had come to consider a friend.
Nerwen was working behind the house when Legolas found her, cutting strips of venison to dry for preserving. Her back was to him as he approached, but she heard even his soft footfalls and raised her head.
"We were beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost in the mountains, elf." Said Nerwen wryly as she turned and set down her carver's knife. Her green kirtle was already stretching noticeably across her stomach, and she gave a half-smile when Legolas's couldn't keep his eyes from meandering to the bump. "It seems Radanir will have someone to give that knife of his to after all."
Legolas's eyes twinkled as he reached for his belt. "Which is precisely why I am here. Congratulations Nerwen, may the Valar bring you a strong and lively child."
"Not too lively, else I may not be able to keep up with it!" Radanir laughed as he came out from the house. His false leg seemed to be hindering his steps very little though, so they could all laugh freely at that remark.
"Congratulations to you as well Radanir. You will both make fine parents, of that I am sure." Unbuckling the knife and its sheath, Legolas passed the heirloom back to its rightful owner. "I owe you thanks for your loaning me this, but perhaps not so much as Andris does!"
Radanir accepted the knife back, its lean form settling into his hands like an old friend. Raising an eyebrow, he beckoned Legolas inside. "Come and tell us all about it then! Another tale to add to the collection no doubt?"
"No doubt indeed, but perhaps it is best told tomorrow." Legolas shook his head and politely declined. "The sun sets, and I do not wish to keep you both up late into the night. Especially when you likely need your rest while you can get it..." He once again indulged in a quick look at Nerwen's slightly rounded belly.
Nerwen had her revenge for being made into an excuse though. With a sage nod, she spoke with barely contained teasing. "Aye, no doubt you will be wishing to bid goodnight to Gelwin before you return to Strider's lodgings. The lass has missed you something fierce."
"Ah..."
At a loss for words, Legolas could only endure the laughter from both Nerwen and Radanir. He had faced death and darkness in the halls of Mount Gundabad, he supposed a little heckling from the Dunedain was far from unendurable.
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