Disclaimer: Not Mine. This story takes place pre-LOTR. 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. AU-ish. Playing fast and loose somewhere between Movie and Book (i.e. not strictly cannon, don't expect it to be ;D).

Some liberty may be taken with some Tolkien concepts - also, elements of fanon may assert themselves, though hopefully, when they do, will be found to be presented in an interesting way.

Rating: PG

Imladris by Aja

These woods have grown even darker since I last rode among them, thought Gandalf, sparing a look behind him towards the rise of Dol Guldur. The White Council had driven Sauron from the hill, but its shadow loomed ominously, allowing no more for a watchful peace. Mirkwood pressed around him and the foreboding he'd felt at the start of this 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 make my return.

One year had passed and then another and he'd been caught up in the affairs of men, and hobbits, and all those outside this realm, and suddenly years had passed since he'd checked into the battle with darkness Mirkwood fought. A battle with darkness that would not remain grounded in this wood. It was growing. Sooner rather than later, Gandalf feared this darkness would be the battle of all middle earth. Would they so easily forget the elves of Mirkwood then? Would he? It should not have 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 interrupted. The shout startling his steed. 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 a 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 reach ground. 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 hissed and fell. The elf on the ground ceased to struggle, collapsing in relief, and the Istari's ancient horse slowed his gallop to a stop.

For a moment all motion seemed to cease, the only remaining sounds coming 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, and could hear his heavy breaths 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 spiders hours ago." Legolas gestured to the two large bodies, now shriveled 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 new threats. Some of the elves turned towards Gandalf, making gestures of 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?" The elf continued to breathe heavily at his back and Gandalf frowned slightly. Elves were not prone to heavy breathing, or of wearying easily and Legolas seemed both.

"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 borders to keep them from moving closer. We do not stray far into the wood without purpose, for recently we have discovered increasing evidence of orcs within our realm. 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 not found the reprieve from this battle I hoped it would." He sighed. "And I fear the darkness you have been facing will soon not only be the problem of Mirkwood."

"The darkness grows inward, yes," replied Legolas, in a careful tone 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 carried in its presentation the contrasting feelings of formality mixed with unpretentious wild struggle the other elven kingdoms did not even vaguely reflect—the battle-ready stance against the darkness creeping around their borders all too apparent in each inhabitants interactions. It was in the walls, in the sounds, in the heavy footsteps 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 and the graceful tilt of his head. He sighed. 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 or races. For soon, Gandalf feared Middle Earth's ability to unify would be required for its survival.

"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 by some unseen restraint. His anger deflated with a weighty sigh. "Yes," his voice was a whisper, but it echoed powerfully through the hall just the same, his eyes darkening with sorrow. "Yes. Old friend. Gandalf. Friend you have always been." His tone softened. "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 pursuing this kingdom. Its touch grows stronger."

"It grew stronger long ago. In truth I am weary of fighting it," Thranduil 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 aged. As old as Gandalf himself had begun to feel in these worrisome and curious days. "I will help you fight this evil, if you allow me," he said. "You are not alone."

Thranduil turned back to the windows, but a barely perceptible nod gave Gandalf his answer. The king would allow his help. Gandalf was relieved to note it but first he had to tend to Legolas and he feared already that the young elf would not understand. 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 with trust in 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 was 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, who though gifted with some sense of the foresight and wisdom of his people, saw himself primarily as a warrior, not a prince.

Gandalf had 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 in 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, a group from the Corsairs of Umbar who'd come upon him and taken him captive during one of his explorations. 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 reach.

"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," grunted Gandalf. "And one does not need wander from home to find danger—especially your home." His tone turned serious. "You are weary, Legolas. Something ails you and you will not tell me what it is."

"I am well."

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

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 and to gather information. 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, and therefore bound to comply to this mandate.

Indeed, there were days he felt himself the youth they claimed him still to be, and others where age seemed to weigh upon him with years he had not yet lived. The timeless peace of Imladris was what he looked forward to now. Where he would be Estel. Where hope and peace seemed possible.

Already the land about him grew familiar.

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

Dawn 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 would not be able to put Elrond off as he had The Grey Pilgrim. Neither one could he fool. He supposed he should not even try—but to give in would mean having to answer questions and submit to attention he did not 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, and he wondered... 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 absence from the world of elves would have caused him to be forgotten, or grieved for as one who had departed to the West. 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. 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, even with his elf eyes.

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 towards the entrance to the halls. 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, composing himself and even allowing himself to feel glad at seeing the House of Elrond and at the prospect of seeing friends he'd sorely missed.

A small sound prompted him to rise. Casting out his senses, he searched 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. Deep into the evening, he'd had the odd sensation that he was being followed and had ridden farther in the dark to avoid any who might be seeking to make him their quarry. When he woke in the morning, the feeling remained, though none of his senses could account for why it was there. Twice he doubled back just to see if there were any strange tracks overlaying his previous path. He found nothing.

Riding with the rangers has made you paranoid, he told himself. No doubt it was his imagination, or, at worst, the sons of Elrond out to play a trick on him. He would no longer allow his foreboding to keep him from his destination. Quickly he pushed his horse to a gallop, taking the last stretch in a hurried lope when the gates of Rivendell finally 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. He would be pleased as well to take him into his council. Gandalf knew well the growing trials facing Middle Earth. Gathering what Gandalf knew at any opportunity was imperative.

The majestic beast was staring with intensity towards the stables. Gandalf must be in there, Aragorn 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, forgoing all other formality after they'd gripped hands.

"He states that he is well."

"Yet you do not believe him."

Gandalf dipped his head. "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 causes me more concern than anything else. Of puzzlement, she expressed some worry for the whereabouts of 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 before I return to Mirkwood. I will leave word for him if I can."

"Thank you," Elrond replied sincerely. "You will be returning to Thranduil 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.

Though great was his respect for the wisdom of the Elvenking and the darkness his people faced, it had been hard for Elrond to send Legolas back to his father's kingdom, knowing the battles he could be returning to. Only Gandalf had been able to convince him the young elf's return to Mirkwood was necessary. It was due to that conversation, Elrond knew Gandalf now was now alluding to things Elrond had hoped Legolas would not 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 of our people. I vaguely remember the days when his visits did not require such grave invitations."

"If we keep him on his path," 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 nodded. Gandalf wasn't making fleeting statements, nor was he saying anything Elrond did not already know, but they were things 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.

Gandalf coughed, and began to speak once more. "You are blessed with the gift of foresight, and I fear you will need it. It concerns me that this threat remains so cloaked in shadow."

Elrond opened his mouth to answer when a splitting cry from the stables drew their attention from whatever else might have been said between them. Together they rushed towards the sound.

"Legolas," muttered Gandalf worriedly.

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

tbc