Title: Go North

Author: sheraiah

Genre: Tolkien's works

Warnings: Violence, battle and it's aftermath, major character deaths (canon and past tense), spoilers for BOFA.

Disclaimer: Not mine and if I was making any profit from this, I wouldn't be slaving away in retail management.

Author's notes: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN BOFA!!!!!!

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Still with me? Okay. Let's forget for a moment, because Peter Jackson et all certainly did, that Aragorn was only 10 years old and still living in Rivendell, blissfully unaware of his heritage. This fic is my attempt to fix a scene that annoyed the hell out of me in the movie. Most of you know that Thranduil is my favorite of Tolkien's creations and the way he was written towards the end of BOFA seriously pisses me off. Let's fix that, shall we?

Ooo

The lone figure, cloaked and clad in green, strode lightly and carefully over the vast moor. His feet made no sound and left no print to mark his passing. A stray strand of blond hair escaped the hood he had drawn over his head and stirred in the breeze. The wind had a chill to it, but the cold did not affect the being. His eyes, as gray as the sky above, scanned the horizon tirelessly. He need not stop for the night if he did not wish to, but warm food would be a change from the hardtack and dried meat he had been surviving on of late. He had seen rabbits aplenty on the moor, and he knew where to find roots to supplement any meat he managed to hunt.

The moor made him nervous, though he did not show it. He had been born and lived his entire life in the deep woods of his homeland. Open land such as this was foreign to him. He could pass unseen, he knew, but it made him edgy all the same.

His thoughts were a turmoil as well. So many changes in such a short while had thrown his life into chaos. His people were supposed to be able to rise above and take the long view, but he was young for one of his kind and had been rather sheltered by virtue of his position. He had faced danger all his days, had trained as a warrior practically since he could walk, and had long been blooded but pitched battles under the eaves of the trees of his home were not the same as war. He had seen the face of war now, had lost those he cared for to it and he would never again be as he had been. He sighed, remembering his leave-taking from his father that had set him on the course he now took....

He had found Thranduil in the ruins of Dale, mercifully unharmed though bloodied. He could see the relief in his father's eyes to see the same was true of him. Thranduil said nothing at first, drawing him into a tight embrace, careless of armor and orc blood. They stood for several heartbeats, merely gripping each other tightly, he with his face buried in his father's cloaked shoulder and Thranduil resting his cheek on Legolas' tousled and dirty hair.

“They are dead. The dwarf king and both of his sister's sons.” Legolas' voice was toneless, beyond emotion. He felt Thranduil's arms tighten around him.

“I am selfish enough to be very glad that I am more fortunate,” his father said quietly.

“Tauriel lives, but...”

“I know, my son.” Thranduil tightened his embrace briefly before stepping back to look Legolas in the eyes. “I know well how that particular loss feels.” He sighed, releasing his son. “I rescind Tauriel's banishment. I will look after her, regardless of what she decides her fate to be from this time forward.”

“Adar, I cannot go back. I cannot watch...”

“I know. She is the closest you will ever have to a sibling. I see now it was that and not as I thought. I wish now that it had been, if for nothing else than to spare her what she now must endure. Where will you go?”

“I do not know.” Legolas looked back at his father, lost and rudderless as the broken skiffs that floated aimlessly around Long Lake in the aftermath of Smaug's destruction of Lake Town.

“Go North, to the Dunedain. There is a young ranger among them. His father, Arathorn was a good man. His son could become a great one.”

“What is his name?”

“He is known in the wilds as 'Strider'. His true name, you will have to discover for yourself.” Thranduil drew him close again. “Be careful, my son. I will be waiting when you decide to return home.”

ooo

He saw the light of the fire from several leagues off. It had been concealed well enough that it was doubtful that any but an elf would have detected it. Legolas approached cautiously, soundless as only an elf could be. Chances were, as well as the fire had been concealed, that it was one or more of the Dunedain but he did not wish to find out he was incorrect by being careless. He dropped down behind a bush within earshot of the camp.

“Halbarad, leave some of that stew for the rest of us. Troll balls, boy, you won't starve to death if you only get two bowls full!” Laughter met the older ranger's statement and the one named Halbarad scowled, flushing.

“Leave him be, Dirhael. He's having another growth spurt. He can't help it any more than you could at that age. It'll be new breeches and boots for you when we get home, eh?” He tousled Halbarad's hair affectionately.

“Most likely,” Halbarad replied, grinning. “Mother will have a cat; it's the third time in two years.”

“Not your fault the men in your bloodline are long-legged. Look at your cousin; your legs won't be quite as long as his but you'll be close.” The most senior of the three handed the refilled bowl of stew to the youngster. “Eat up. We've plenty despite what Dirhael says.” He shot a look at the third Man. “Ease up, Dirhael. We're two days out of the Shire. We can reprovision there. The small folk may be wary of us, but they don't turn down our coin.”

Chewing his lower lip, Legolas weighed his options. These were the Dunedain, the first he had seen in his travels. The area they were is was relatively peaceful and the Men, while watchful, weren't likely to draw first and ask questions later. He might not get another opportunity any time soon. Decision made, he rose to his full height.

“Greetings to the camp!”

The Rangers immediately stood, hands on their sword hilts. Legolas carefully kept his hands raised at shoulder height and empty.

“What do you want?” the eldest Ranger called.

“Company and to share your meal, if you have enough. I have some roots and berries I have gathered in my travels that I can share in exchange.” Legolas took a deep breath and, drawing back his hood, he stepped into the circle of fire light. The eldest Ranger cocked his head, studying Legolas at length.

“You're a ways from home, judging by your clothing, Master Elf. What brings one of King Thranduil's folk all the way out here?”

“I lost many I held dear in battle not long ago. My lord king felt that I might benefit by experiencing the world beyond the wood of my birth for a time.” Legolas did not lower his hands. “My name is Taurion,” he said, using the alias he had agreed upon with Elrond and his sons. Tauriel would be amused, should she ever learn of it. “Master Elrond and his sons suggested I travel this way.” He jerked his head towards the pack he carried. “I have a token from Master Elrond to prove the truth of my words.”

“Take your pack off slowly and drop it.” Legolas complied and Halbarad quickly snatched up the pack. Legolas remained still and silent as his pack was searched. The scroll that was the token was quickly found and read. “This is in Master Elrond's hand and this is his seal. Why send you to us?”

“I am a master archer, Master Elrond felt that I might be of use to your people in that respect. I would wish to earn my keep, regardless of where I go.”

“Dirhael, what do you think?” The elder asked.

“If Master Elrond hadn't vouched for him, I wouldn't consider it,” the Man said bluntly. “I trust the Master of Rivendell not to send anyone who couldn't be trusted.” He held Legolas' gaze for a long moment. “You've got yourself a trial at least, Master Taurion. Halbarad, give him a bowl of stew and make room for his blanket.” Legolas let out the breath he had not realized he was holding and slowly put his hands down.

“My thanks, for the trial and the stew.”

“Don't thank us yet; Dirhael isn't much of a cook!”

The End (for now)