Chapter Text
He was being followed; had been for some time now, though he could not be sure he suspected it was even before he had stepped into the forest. His shadow moved silently, walked lightly as not to disturb the leaves that had fallen as autumn’s touch had descended upon Imladris and shaken them from their branches. He might not have known for some time yet, had not an errant rustle against the wind given away his shadow.
The forest might not be his own, but he spoke its language all the same.
Some guard perhaps, but even a guardsman would give up the hunt after a while or call out, there was no need for suspicion; no this was a game . But he had no mind for games, not with his thoughts so heavy with ill-tidings and iller news.
“Will you follow me all the way across the mountains then?” He called at last, and from above him he heard a weight settle onto a low branch.
“I might, were you going that way. I would wonder why Legolas Thranduilion would flee my father’s halls when he had only just arrived.”
He spun then, eyes wide as he looked up into the trees.
“They say the son of the King of Eryn Galen is as stubborn as his father.”
“And they say that the sons of Elrond are so alike that perhaps there is only one, and that your brother is naught but a story.”
The elf snorted, “In face and feature, but that is where I differ from Elladan. Do your legends at least give our names?”
Legolas felt his face heat at that, and he looked away. “Of course. My father speaks kindly of your house, Elrohir. Though it would seem that kind words are not reciprocated here.”
“On the contrary,” Elrohir said with a wry sort of laugh, “But I do not know you well enough to repeat them, save some tale my father tells of your last and only visit here so long ago that I suspect neither of us can recall it.”
“I remember the forest, the pines and the oaks.” Legolas said, reaching idly, absently, to touch his fingertips to the wide, dark trunk of the oak tree beside him. “I remember your father’s house in snatches of white stone and half-dreams. But you are right, I do not properly remember coming here with my father as a child, it was only once.”
“And when you do return, you come to us with a face full of shadow and troubles weighing your steps.” Elrohir dropped gracefully from the branch, coming to stand before the prince. “What has bespoiled the cheer of our Silvan kin.”
“You know well what troubles me,” Legolas snapped. He had sought out the peace of the forest, to be left alone with his thoughts and now it seemed he would not be granted even that kindness.
Silence fell between them, as if Elrohir took pity upon the other elf for all his teasing. “And you think by going with the Ringbearer, it will somehow atone for the creature Gollum’s escape?”
Legolas huffed a sigh at that, jaw clenched tight. “I am doing no more and no less than what my father would do, were he here.”
Elrohir raised his hands at that, but a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “As you say.” He said, “But surliness and sulking is unbefitting for a prince. Shall we walk together, and we shall talk of other things perhaps? I can show you my forest, and you can tell me how your home is vastly superior.”
He tried not to, but a laugh escaped him. “Very well, but you must promise to not be too jealous.”
“I shall endeavor to do my best.” Elrohir teased, but the tension that had been between them seemed to fade, not entirely friendly, but rather a warm sort of cordiality.
They walked in silence for a while, each left to their own thoughts and yet they found them drawn to the other, each wondering about the elf at their side.
“You were not at the council,” Legolas said at last, soft as a whisper as if loathe to break the quiet of the woods. Elrohir did not slow his step, merely shrugged.
“I was not required, and I had other plans.”
“You were looking for the riders.” It was not a question.
“That was one reason.”
“And another?”
Elrohir watched him out of the corner of his eye, weighing his words carefully. He seemed so much like his father, like Elrond in that moment, dark and serious, a young lord of Imladris -- though that was where the similarities seemed to end.
He must take after his mother in face, Legolas pushed the thought away with a frown. What did he care, after all?
“You arrived unannounced at a time when dreams and riddles drew others here as well, I had--” Elrohir sighed, “It was merely a sort of misgiving. And in a way I was right.”
Legolas' frown deepened. “About your misgiving?”
“You said that orcs attacked your people.” Elrohir said, spitting the word like poison.
“You fear an attack as well?”
“I fear they are growing bolder, and I was right.”
He was angry then; he wanted to defend his people, his father’s decision not to push the hunt for Gollum further than he had. He wanted to argue that the creature had been all but dumped upon their doorstep with very little explanation but he did not have the words, debate did not come easily to him and all his words would just come up with anger, would shatter this tentative easiness, but that tension was back. They could feel it between them, crackling like the approach of a summer storm.
“You have to understand--”
“Of course.”
“You are angry--”
“Not at all.” He snapped, and his pace quickened, stepping ahead of Elrohir now as if trying to leave the other elf behind.
“--and very rude.”
“Say what you mean then.”
“I have.” Elrohir stopped then, hands on his hips as he watched Legolas walk another few paces, stop, and reluctantly turn to him. “Now you should return the favor.”
“You have told me nothing of your forest.”
Elrohir blinked, wrinkled his nose in confusion and Legolas bit back a bark of laughter at it. “I--what?”
“You said you would tell me about your forest and I would tell you about my home and yet it seems you have only come to bother me and start an argument. You have succeeded in both and in doing so, made yourself a liar.”
Elrohir’s mouth opened, closed, and then he pointed angrily at Legolas. “You--”
“Yes?”
“Will you stop interrupting me?”
“Perhaps when you say something that interests me.”
Elrohir scoffed loudly, the sound echoing through the trees and fading until it sounded almost like laughter from far away. Legolas covered his mouth, hiding a grin.
“I think,” Elrohir said slowly, “we have started off rather poorly. Shall we try this again?”
“Diplomacy is it now?” Legolas lowered his hand, still grinning broadly. “Does this mean then that I am right, but you will not say as much?”
Elrohir closed his eyes, pressed his fingers to his temples and took a breath. “And to think I once doubted the stubbornness of our woodland kin.”
“So say you, who has lost his own game of words.”
“Shall I leave you with the trees then?”
Legolas shrugged, but at the suggestion his attention turned to a cluster of beeches growing together, their branches so tangled that the sunlight filtered down in fiery golds and reds, flickering here and there as the leaves swayed in the gentle breeze. It was beautiful, different in ways from how the sunlight would dance upon the ground in his own forest and the homesickness squeezed tight upon his heart. He did not hear Elrohir leave, did not see the way his expression had gentled a moment before he turned to leave him as quietly as he had come.