Aragorn and Legolas:
Palm to Palm.
Chapter One: Van Maethor (Fair Warrior.)

Aragorn son of Arathorn ran his hand through his wavy dark hair, cursing
quietly as he ran. He had foolishly strayed into the Wild alone,
unaccompanied by his fellow kinsman from the Last Homely House. He had
happened upon a pack of Orcs, and was now fleeing for his life.

Aged eighteen, Aragorn; or Estel (hope) as he was known in Rivendell was a
skilled fighter considering his youth; and partly thanks to his lineage.
However, he had no hope whilst alone, and he feared that the Orcs that he
had failed to slaughter would try to launch an attack upon his home.
He was alone, without escorts; carrying only limited weapons, and in
increasing danger. So he ran, attempting to re-trace his steps back to
familiar territory, and evading the hordes of Orcs that still pursued him.
He had taken a wound to the side in his last fight, which had been direct
combat with the Orcs’ troll-like leader, whom he had defeated. But at what
cost to himself he could not yet tell. He was light-headed and losing blood
fast, but he still kept running, ignoring the burning that warned him of
poison coursing through his veins.

Finally, he came to a clearing which he dimly recognised, but could barely
stay upright. He struggled to run a few steps further, and then dropped to
his knees, feeling weak and nauseous from the effects of the poison.
Ordinarily he would have ignored it, but this wound was of a kind he had
never encountered, despite his endeavours with the Rangers to eradicate
Orcs and other evils fleeting around near to innocent homes and lives. It
was close to fatal. Just as he was beginning to consider giving in to the
pain of his wound, an Orc hurled itself into the clearing with a
bloodthirsty war cry, unsheathing it’s scimitar as it faced Aragorn.
The weary young man forced himself to his feet, believing that this would
be his final battle, preparing himself for the worst. He took up a fighting
stance instantly, and turned to see the Orc flying towards him, snarling
like a rabid animal. Having anticipated the move, Aragorn dodged it easily,
an able opponent even in his deteriorating condition.

This continued for sometime, Aragorn using defensive manoeuvres rather than
aggressive to elude the Orc’s vicious attacks. Finally, the combination of
his adversary's strength and the poison from the wound caused Aragorn to
stumble with exhaustion and fall to the ground.
The Orc gave a cry of triumph, and leaned over him, so close that Aragorn
could smell the creature’s fetid breath. He closed his eyes, accepting that
the fight was over and praying to the Valar to protect his soul from
corruption after death. He tried to remain detached, but he knew what Orcs
did to their victims before killing them. He cried out in pain as the Orc
tormented him in the worst way possible, and knew that he was done for. No
matter where he went after death, this memory of violation and anguish
would be with him forever.

Suddenly, the Orc gave a shrieking howl of pain, and Aragorn opened his
eyes to find the Orc’s hideous form replaced by a pair of intensely blue
eyes and a shocked expression. He recognised that face, but was unable to
associate it with a name.

Trying to sit up, Aragorn said: “Iston le, van maethor? Do I know you,
fair warrior? His vision began to blur from the poison, and has the world
began to grow dark around him, he felt gentle arms pick him up off the
ground as his rescuer replied: “Sedho, mellon nin.” Quiet, my friend.
Aragorn’s heart lifted in as he heard the term “my friend” in the
stranger’s speech, and he managed to gasp: “Hannon le!” Thank you! before
he allowed the darkness to envelop him.