Disclaimer: Not Mine. This is a story for any who might enjoy it. It takes place pre-LOTR. You might say that it is Aragorn and Legolas centric—one of those how and when did they meet stories...and as the title indicates a great majority of it takes place in Imladris. Playing fast and loose somewhere between Movie and Book (i.e. not strictly cannon, don't expect it to be ;D).

Rating: PG

Imladris by Aja

These woods have grown even darker since I last rode among them, thought Gandalf.

Mirkwood pressed around him. The foreboding he'd felt at the start of his journey increased with every step. Has it been so long? He mused. He wondered how he would find the kingdom of Thranduil. He wondered how he would find Legolas.

I should not have waited so long to return.

One year had passed and then another and he'd been caught up in the journeys of hobbits, the affairs of men, and suddenly thirty years had passed since he'd checked into the battle with darkness Mirkwood fought. The darkness would not always be grounded in this realm. Sooner or later, Gandalf knew, this darkness would be the battle of all middle earth. Would they so easily forget the elves of Mirkwood then? Would he?

He wondered why it had taken a vision in Galadriel's mirror to set him on this journey. All things in their time, he reminded himself—all things in their time.

"Nooooo!" His silent musings were abruptly cut short. The shout startled even Shadowfax.

Bringing the ancient horse around, the Istari shot off in the direction of the cry. The trees seemed to part before him, hastening his arrival to the large clearing up ahead. He was greeted by the sight of two large spiders poised over a struggling elf.

"Gandalf!" This shout came from behind him. The wizard turned to see Legolas leaping from one tree to another and then down towards him, his bow and arrow aimed as he did so. Quickly Gandalf reared his horse towards the place the elf would land. He arrived just in time for Legolas to land lightly behind him on the horse, keeping to his feet as he fired two arrows simultaneously. Both spiders squeaked and fell. The elf on the ground ceased to struggle in relief, and the Istari's ancient horse slowed his gallop to a stop.

For a moment all motion seemed to cease, the only sounds came from Legolas's heavy breathing and the whispering in the trees.

"Well met, Legolas. Well met," chuckled the old wizard. "I'd almost forgotten what an adventure Mirkwood could be."

He felt the young elf ease himself down behind him, could still hear his heavy breathing as he replied, "I apologize for the lack of formality in my own greeting, but you are welcome indeed."

Gandalf turned to see the elf's rueful grin, noting the darkness of his eyes and the small scrapes on his temple.

"Had we known of your coming we would have killed these spider's hours ago." Legolas gestured to the two large bodies, now shriveled somewhat in their deaths. Additional elves emerged from the trees, helping the trapped elf on the ground get to his feet while scanning the area for additional threats. Some of the elves turned toward Gandalf, making gestures of both welcome and respect, which he carefully returned.

"Had you killed them hours ago, young Legolas, I would have missed quite an adventure."

"If I may say so, you arrived at an opportune moment."

"As I've always claimed, young elf, a wizard arrives precisely when he means to."

Gandalf turned the horse to follow the departing company of elves, motioning for Legolas to stay mounted on the horse when he would have otherwise slipped off to walk with his companions.

"Does your father typically allow you to travel out this far for spiders?" He could feel the elf's heavy breathing at his back and frowned slightly. Elves were not prone to heavy breathing, or of wearing easily.

"For spiders—not typically," Legolas admitted. "They have pressed closer to the core of the kingdom in recent years. We attack the nests that we can find and patrol the boarders to keep them from moving closer. We do not stray far into the wood without purpose but recently we have discovered evidence of orcs within our borders. We thought it necessary to follow their tracks if we could."

"So now it is orcs pressing close as well as spiders. Your kingdom has found not the reprieve from this battle I hoped it would. The darkness you have been facing will soon not only be the problem of Mirkwood I'm afraid."

"The darkness grows inward, yes," replied Legolas in a careful way that worried the wizard more than the warning in Galadriel's mirror could have predicted. "Faster than we seem able to fight it," the young elf concluded. "Is this why you have come to us now?"

"In a manner of speaking," Gandalf answered vaguely. "It is not a discussion we need immediately have. I wish for you now to tell me about you. How have you been faring?"

"I am well." The answer was swift—too swift for Gandalf's liking.

"You seem...weary," he probed further.

"I am well."

Gandalf grunted. Legolas could be maddeningly reticent but Gandalf would have time to drag the truth from the elf, and if he couldn't, he knew Lord Elrond would.

The great hall of Mirkwood's Kingdom carried with it a feeling of formality and struggle the other elven kingdoms did not even vaguely reflect—the battle-ready stance against the darkness creeping around their borders all too apparent. It was in the walls, in the sounds, in the heavy steps of the King.

How far has this darkness reached? Mithrandir wondered. Footsteps of elves could rarely be described as heavy, but here they were, weighted down, echoing through the great hall, apparent in the line of the king's shoulders. He knew it was a difficult thing he would be requesting of the battle-weary king. He hoped it would not cause Mirkwood to further separate itself from the support of other elves.

"You've come to take my son," Thranduil said without greeting, without preamble, his back facing the wizard, eyes fixed on the trees outside his hall's large windows.

"I have," admitted Gandalf, adjusting easily to the directness of the conversation.

"To Imladris?"

"Yes."

"Does he know?"

"No. I have not yet told him. I desired first to speak with you, old friend."

"Old friend?" the king scoffed at him.

"For my part, yes," Gandalf insisted.

The King turned, fixing him with a gaze of fire. He seemed on the verge of exploding but refrained himself with some unseen restraint. His anger deflated with a weighty sigh. "Yes," his voice was a whisper, but echoed powerfully through the hall just the same. "Yes. Old friend. Gandalf. Friend, you have always been. Take him as you will, and go."

"I will deliver him to Imladris and then I shall return."

"Your presence is not required here, Mithrandir."

"Perhaps not, but something is coming—something may already be here. You will need help in overcoming the darkness touching this kingdom."

"In truth I am weary of fighting it," he admitted. "I am weary of keeping it at bay."

The light through the window caught Thranduil's brow and Gandalf was struck with the impression of age. The king looked old. Not simply in the ageless way ancient elves carried their wisdom—but well and truly old, as old as Gandalf felt himself in these worrisome and curious days. "I will help you fight this evil, if you allow me," he said.

Thranduil turned back to the windows, but a barely perceptible nod gave Gandalf his answer. The King would allow his help. He was relieved to note it but first he had to tend to Legolas. Giving a small nod of his head that may or may not have been noticed by the King, Gandalf took his leave.

The ride to Imladris was uneventful, made swifter by the non-appearance of orcs or spiders—made slower by the careful pace Gandalf set to account for Legolas's continued weariness—despite the denials.

The trip was also made mostly in silence.

This was not the first time Legolas had been remanded to neighboring kingdoms for one reason or another, his time in the House of Elrond foremost of them all. The young elf tried not to question, but Gandalf knew he would want to know the reasons behind his latest removal. Or perhaps, Gandalf wondered, Legolas already suspected the reasons behind his departure and didn't question so as to not have to discuss it.

He was an independent elf from a kingdom of distress, prone to wander, raised only on the periphery of his father's visage. His comings and goings had been his own for a grand majority of his life. He'd seen and faced much trouble in those solitary days, internalizing everything, and thus understandably overwhelmed when the council of Eldar—namely Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond, Glorfindel and other Elf Lords—took active concern in his welfare. The concern from them was an adjustment for Legolas—from them, and from his father, as he had not received the visible concern of Thranduil until the notable absence of his brothers.

Gandalf wondered what the young elf felt about it all, though he'd never asked him. Legolas had been through much, so very much, thought the wizard. The young elf attracted trouble, and most instances the trouble had been of no small concern. He carried many scars.

The last time he'd dwelt in Imladris, he'd been taken in to recover from an eleven year absence—held against his will at the hands of men. For all their searching, Legolas had finally escaped on his own and been discovered by Elrond's sons, unconscious, on the outer rim of Rivendell's borders.

"We will be in approach to Imladris by morning," said Gandalf, breaking from his reverie.

"I remember the way," acknowledged the elf, sounding subdued.

"The house has missed you."

"That is kind to hear, though I doubt that is the reason I am returning."

It was the closest to a question that Legolas would come, Gandalf realized. He took a moment deciding how to respond. "Indeed," he began, "Our concern for you has grown. Something seeks you out. We know not what."

"I have not been in trouble, Gandalf. I have barely wandered from my own kingdom."

"Your definition of barely wandering is partly what concerns me. And one does not need wander from home to find danger—especially your home. Also, you are weary. Something ails you and you will not tell me what it is."

"I am well."

Gandalf sighed, wondering why he allowed the young of the Eldar to so continually frustrate him. "Convince Elrond of that as well, and I will cease to state it," he concluded simply.

Legolas was silent.

Aragorn had been traveling with the rangers of the North, and was now returning to the House of Elrond to seek reprieve from his wanderings. He missed Rivendell. This was the longest he'd been away in some time. He wanted to see his family. His adopted father and brothers had prepared him well for life as a ranger, but insisted he remember where his home was, reminding him that he was young yet, even by human standards.

Already the land about him grew familiar.

He knew he would be within the borders of his home by morning.

Morning came quickly for Legolas—too quickly.

Though he would continue to deny it while he could, he was weary—sore and healing slowly. Leaping from tree to tree after spiders hadn't helped him any either. He knew he would not be able to put Elrond off as he had The Grey Pilgrim. Neither one could he fool. He supposed he shouldn't even try—but to give in would mean having to answer questions and submit to attention he was sure he didn't want.

Trepidation filled him as he prepared himself for the final leg of their journey. It had been long since he had acted as citizen in this realm. Rivendell, Imladris, The Last Homely House. He'd longed to return. It had been many years. Would he be received in the same manner? Was Elrond tired of taking him in?

Though they rode for some time—in silence—the city seemed to appear within moments. The anticipation Legolas felt intensified. Memories of his last journey to this spot pushed themselves to the front of his mind. The journey then had been in desperation and fear—fear that his captors would stop him before he reached the borders—fear that his long absence from the world of elves would have caused him to be forgotten. He needn't have worried then. He probably shouldn't worry now.

"We are on approach," spoke Gandalf.

Legolas nodded, knowing it was expected.

The gates of Rivendell beckoned closer. As they rode through them the young elf believed he could see Lord Elrond standing above them on a balcony so high it was barely touched by trees, but he could not be certain.

A young elf met them shortly thereafter, waiting to stable their horses.

Legolas hesitated.

"Legolas?" Gandalf questioned.

"I was hoping to stable her myself. I do not want her to feel unsettled. I can meet you by the steps."

The wizard acquiesced. "We will be waiting for you."

The elf rubbed his horse's nose while watching Gandalf move toward the steps. He breathed out in relief, grateful he would have a moment to collect himself before the scrutiny and the inevitable questions that would come.

The stables were silent as he entered and he wasted no time settling his horse. With the task complete he leaned carefully on the gate to the trim stall, taking several deep breaths, composing himself and even allowing himself to feel glad at seeing the House of Elrond and the prospect of seeing friends he'd sorely missed.

A small sound prompted him to rise. Casting out his senses in search for what portion of the sound had set him on edge. It certainly wasn't elven. With swiftness he didn't feel his body capable of, he spun, drawing his bow and arrow with him in the same motion. Before he'd taken his next breath he'd let his arrow fly, knowing with certitude he'd hit what he intended.

Aragorn woke one hour before the sun even thought of joining him. He was exhausted, but his anxiousness to return home no longer allowed him sleep. He'd also had the odd feeling of being followed but none of his senses could account for why he felt it. Twice he'd doubled back just to see if there were any strange tracks overlaying his previous paths—nothing.

Riding with the rangers has made you paranoid, he told himself. No doubt it was only his imagination, or, at very worst, his brothers out to play a joke on him. He would no longer allow his foreboding to keep him from his destination. Quickly he pushed his horse to a gallop. Within moments the gates of Rivendell winked before him. He grinned, saluting the sentries as he rode past.

The pasture by the stables revealed a strange new horse that could only belong to Gandalf. Aragorn smiled, it had been many years since he'd seen the old wizard. He would be pleased to speak with him again, to share his tales and hear more of Gandalf's at the same time.

The majestic beast was staring with intensity toward the stables. Gandalf must be in there, he reasoned. Hoping to surprise him, he slid off his horse, removed the bridal and set the horse free into the pasture before stealthily stepping towards the stable's interior. The sight that greeted him was the last thing he'd expected.

"How is he?" asked Elrond of Gandalf, after they'd shook hands, after they'd settled in comfortable silence for a moment, pretending this visit had no serious ulterior motive, pretending that the darkness spreading over middle earth did not exist.

"He states that he is well."

"And you do not believe him."

Gandalf shrugged. "He has never been forthcoming when it concerns his own welfare. But that is your responsibility now. I assume you have spoken with Galadriel?"

Elrond nodded, "I have. Her inability to specify the danger he faces caused me more worry than anything else. Of puzzlement, she expressed some concern for Aragorn as well. I would send out scouts for him, but I fear at this point if I were to do such a thing it would draw attention to him that he is safer without. Something is coming though. I have felt it."

"I will be passing through a few of the towns of men before I return to Mirkwood. I will leave word for him if I can."

"Thank you," Elrond replied sincerely. "You will be returning then?"

"I feel that I must. What seeks to threaten Legolas's safety is in the heart of that kingdom. That is where we must first investigate." Gandalf didn't meet Elrond's eyes as he spoke. They were never completely comfortable discussing Mirkwood, or Thranduil.

It had been hard for Elrond to send Legolas back to his father's kingdom, knowing the battles he could be returning him too. Only Gandalf had been able to convince him the young elf's return to Mirkwood was necessary. It was because of that Elrond knew Gandalf now was now alluding to things Elrond had feared Legolas would have faced.

It was a hard thing to have them confirmed.

"His relationship with the King?" Elrond ventured to ask.

"Difficult at the least, I'd say. Thranduil loves his son. Of that I have no doubt. But Legolas might. He is so much like his mother. We can believe that he has had some trying years. Be patient with him if he is not at first the Legolas you remember."

Elrond nodded, saddened. "He carries too many scars for one so young. I vaguely remember the days when his visits did not require such grave invitations."

"If we keep him safe," replied Gandalf, "he will have better days ahead. Keep in mind that this is no simple visit. The threat is clouding itself, cloaking itself in such a way that it may be difficult to discover. He is in your charge."

"I will ensure his safety." Elrond knew Gandalf wasn't making fleeting statements, nor was he saying anything Elrond did not already know but they were things that Legolas would have to be reminded of. The young elf was like a son to him. Perhaps he would need reminding of that as well.

A splitting cry from the stables drew their attention from whatever else might have been said between them. Together they rushed toward the sound.

"Legolas," muttered Gandalf worriedly.

"Aragorn," added Elrond, gesturing to the new horse in the pasture. "We must hurry."

tbc