Chapter Text
Boromir was sparring with the hobbits, if sparring was the right word. The hobbits tended to use rather… unconventional methods, so to speak, whenever they felt overwhelmed. Aragorn smiled around his pipe as Pippin kicked Boromir in the shins, and Merry managed to trip him, abandoning the swords that they held.
He heard footsteps come up behind him and leaned back. The elf stood over him, watching the horizon.
“Sit, Legolas,” Aragorn said softly, taking the pipe out of his mouth. “We will not be walking further for some time. The hobbits need a break,” though sparring was more physically demanding than mere walking, but he didn’t say that, “as does Gimli.”
Legolas heeded his invitation, sitting cross-legged behind him. “It is almost as if something evil is in the air,” he murmured softly, only for Aragorn to hear. “I know not what it is as of yet.”
“Whatever it is, we will be safe, love,” Aragorn said, brushing a hand through the elf’s long blond hair. “I do not doubt our strength, and you will hear any large dangers before they come too close.” Legolas leaned into his touch almost cautiously, without taking his eyes off of the sky.
“I do almost hear something, Estel,” he said. “Cackling, almost—” he stopped, shielding his eyes. “Look,” he said louder, urgency threading through his voice. “The sky.”
“Tis just a wisp of cloud,” Gimli said, having overheard.
“It’s moving fast,” said Boromir, having stopped his sparring, “and not with the wind.”
It took Aragorn just a moment to put the pieces together. “Crebain from Dunland! Hide!” He leapt to his feet, pipe falling from his hand as he pulled Legolas up. None too gently, he shoved the elf under a thick bush before crawling in after him. The rest of the Fellowship managed to hide themselves as well, under bushes and rocks just before the crebain swept low overhead, cackling in a cruel imitation of the crows they were fashioned after. They flew around once, before soaring off to the West. After a few seconds, Aragorn found that he could breathe again. He crawled out from the bush, extending a hand to help Legolas up. He heard one of the hobbits talking to Gandalf, and the latter’s low responses. All he could think about was his pause before realizing what the ‘cloud’ was. A pause that very nearly cost them all of their lives. He clenched his jaw. It wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t.
“Mr Strider?” A voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked down to the hobbit addressing him. Sam. No one else in the Fellowship called him ‘Strider,’ but he never corrected the halfling. There was enough stress in camp already without adding to it by correcting a silly habit.
“Yes, Samwise?”
“Do you think we should take the Pass of Caradhras?”
Aragorn looked up at the snowy peaks of the ominous mountain, looming high about them. “It does not appear that we have any more appealing choices, does it, Sam?” He sighed, rubbing his jaw. “The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard,” he went on, ignoring the look that Boromir gave him, “and the Mines of Moria… well. The Dunedain have heard tales.”
“As have the Elves,” Legolas chimed in, still at Aragorn’s side. Gimli began glaring as well.
“Then we must make for Caradhras, and hope the mountain is kind,” Gandalf said, ending the discussion. “Get your packs.” Aragorn had never taken his off, but Gandalf’s words prompted a mad scurrying from the hobbits.
“What is it, Estel?” Legolas stepped in front of him, peering into his face with his gorgeous blue eyes, almost pleading. “Something troubles you.”
“It is of no importance, meleth nin. I am merely glad our presence went undetected.”
“You feel that we were almost caught.” Legolas’s brow furrowed. “Love, that would not have been your fault. The weight of this quest does not rest entirely on your shoulders. Gandalf is not so old yet that he cannot carry some of it.”
“And yet,” Aragorn whispered so softly that he could not hear himself, trusting to Legolas’s superior hearing to catch his words, “I would not have been blaming Gandalf if Saruman had caught us through his crebain.”
“But it is done, Estel. We are safe. Come.” Legolas took his wrist gently, pulling him towards Caradhras. The rest of the Fellowship was already waiting.
“And what if it happens again?” The words were out before he could stop them, and he winced. He had not meant to sound so vulnerable at a volume that others might overhear.
“I trust you, Estel. I believe that it will not happen again.” Legolas bumped his shoulder with Aragorn’s, smiling reassuringly. Aragorn forced his eyes to soften as if he believed the elf, but inwardly he imagined a world where he failed.
There were so many more opportunities for him to destroy their one chance at hope.