This was written a few months ago for a Teitho fan fiction contest (Teitho contests have stories that are based on the characters Aragorn and Legolas. If you are interested in participating in one of these contests, please feel free to ask more about it and I'll send you some more info). The competition was to write one, or a series of 'drabble length' ficlets(no more than 300 words per each ficlet).
This was my entry for it, which won second place. There are five 'drabble length' ficlets, all under 300 words, that correspond with one another in a way that you'll see by the end of this. Yes, it is only one chapter long.
Enjoy, and reviews greatly appreciated!
A lone rider entered the gates of Imladris and rode up to the House of Elrond. It was a lovely spring day in the valley, and blooming flowers rose to meet him as he dismounted. However, there was no one else to greet him, and that puzzled him. With a slight shrug, he led his steed to the stables, and then headed up to the Last Homely House, a place where he knew that he was always welcome. He went up the porch steps, and opened the doors.
The sight that met him was very unexpected. Instead of seeing Lord Elrond or his sons, he instead came across a daughter of Men with a bundle in her arms. She looked up from her burden at him, and gave a small smile.
"Greetings, master elf," said she. "You look not a resident of this house, for I have only seen one other who had such golden hair, and that would be Lord Glorfindel."
The elf gave her a smile and bowed. "You are indeed correct; I am not a resident of this house. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood. And who be you, a mortal in Imladris?"
"I am Gilraen, daughter of Dírhael and Ivorwen, and this is my son, Aragorn," she said, indicating to the bundle in her arms. "We are here until my husband comes back from his campaign with the sons of Elrond."
The Prince of Mirkwood looked at the child in her arms. He was young, yet when the child focused his eyes upon him, the elf saw a bright light in them that was rare in mortals. Legolas deemed that this child would grow into a man who was both strong in body and mind.
"Greetings, Aragorn," he whispered.
A young man of just twenty years strode down the front steps of his home and headed towards a small, private glade where he knew he would be able to think and not be disturbed. In this glade there stood an old tree with many thick branches that made it perfect for climbing. It was this tree that the young man climbed up to sort out his thoughts.
He looked at his newly acquired ring on his finger. The Ring of Barahir… the ring of figures of legend. The ring of his ancestors. He tried to accept this fact… the fact that he was indeed Aragorn, son of Arathorn… that he was the last direct heir of Isildur. However, he could not.
Suddenly, there was another presence in the glade, and the young man looked down at the intruder. "Greetings, Legolas," said he.
"Estel," Legolas called out.
"Call me not Estel, for that is not my name," said the young man bitterly. "Or do you not know?"
"I have known your true name ever since I first met you," said the elf back, "but that does not mean you are still not Estel."
"What mean you?"
Legolas lightly jumped into the tree and sat beside the young man. "What I mean is that even though you have just discovered your lineage, that does not make you a different person. To all those who love you, you are still the same Estel that you were yesterday," he said with a smile.
The man looked up at the elf with still some uncertainty. "Truly?"
Legolas's smile widened. "Truly." His companion smiled back, and they embraced.
"Thank you, Legolas," said Aragorn.
Two old friends stood side by side as the watched the Sword that was Broken be forged anew. In but a few days they would depart with seven others on a quest that would either bring peace or death to Middle-earth. The elder of the pair, an elf with a fair face and golden hair, looked to the younger: a grim, careworn man that had a great destiny ahead of him, if fortune was with them all.
"To think one so small carries a burden so large," said the man quietly.
The elf replied, "Frodo is not the only one with a large burden, my friend."
The man gave him a grim smile. "For sixty-seven years I have carried this burden, Legolas; I am ready to fulfill my destiny." The sword was now given to a master artisan, who carved runes, stars, and a crescent moon onto the blade. "I am glad you are with me, my friend," he whispered as he watched.
Legolas smiled. "I shall be with you to the end, Aragorn."
The blade was given to its rightful owner, and the heir of Isildur tested it. "The Blade that was Broken shall be given a new name: Andúril, Flame of the West." Aragorn then turned to his friend.
"And it shall fight alongside its allies, until the very end."
"Until the very end," repeated Legolas, and gave the Ranger a small smile, "whether it be for good or ill."
""For good or ill," repeated Aragorn.
"I cannot do this."
"For years you have prepared for this moment. Why do you falter now?"
"You do not know the pressure."
"On the contrary, my friend, I have been a prince for many hundreds of years."
"But never a king."
"Still, I know the burdens of royalty."
Aragorn sighed and fiddled with the green stone clasped at his throat. "This clothing is very uncomfortable," he said idly.
Legolas let out a light laugh. "You shall get used to that as well."
The heir of Isildur sighed and started to pace. "I do not believe I shall ever get used to this. In but a few moments, Gandalf shall put the White Crown upon my head, and then shall the days of the King begin once more." He sighed, and looked out of a window, where throngs of people were gathered, awaiting him.
"Look at them, my friend. They all have put their hopes in me. What if I fail them? What if all their trust is put to waste?"
Legolas shook his head and gently sat his friend down. "Estel," he said, calling him by his old childhood name. "You shall not fail them. You will be a great king. And whenever you stumble, you shall have your friends beside you to help you back up. Do not worry." Legolas then smiled. "Come. It is time."
Aragorn gave his friend a small smile, stood up, and then they both left the room to face the world, and for the king to finally receive his crown.
A lithe blond figure held a small babe in his arms. The child had strands of dark hair and bright gray eyes akin to his father's, and full lips akin to his mother's. He was a lovely child, and no one was more proud of him than his father, who stood right beside him.
"He is a beautiful child," said the one who was holding him.
"Aye, he is," said the father back, a large smile on his face. "Eldarion looks just like his mother."
"On the contrary, my love, he looks just like you," said the mother, who had just walked into the room.
"He is a lovely combination of both of you," replied he with the babe in his arms. He then handed him to the mother, who took him with a large smile. "This babe reminds me of the first time I met you, Aragorn."
Aragorn looked from the child in his wife's arms to his friend. "Indeed, Legolas?"
"Aye. The first time I saw you, you were maybe a year older than Eldarion, asleep in your mother's arms." Legolas smiled. "I deemed that there would be great things in store for you, and it looks that I was correct."
Aragorn gave his friend a large smile. "Not without the help of you, my friend." He embraced the elf, who happily returned it. "Thank you for being with me all these years."
Legolas grinned. "And for many years yet to come. You are not rid of me yet."
Aragorn grinned back. "I would have it no other way."