Love. What was that anyway? An indulgent misconception of the mind. A diversion from duty, honor and destiny. He required none of it. Then the pain lashed him, worse than a leather whip a thousand times to his naked back.

        “I feel something,” Legolas confided to Aragorn in low tones, “It draws near,”
        The darker man’s edgy and dark eyes shifted over to the fair elf beside him. “I remember the last time you muttered something like that to me,”
        “It’s not Orc’s. It’s something else,”
        Aragorn drew his sword in preparation his senses heightened, awaiting. His eyes were far from consuming the figure of Legolas and were panning to and fro on alert.
        “How near,” Aragorn gritted through his teeth staring forward, as Legolas turned, allowing sensations of the warmth of Legolas back against his own.
        Instead of a reply, a slight tickle to the back of Aragorn’s neck by an arrow sliding effortlessly from Legolas quiver, answered the question - Within range to snipe.
        “Gimli, ready your axe,” Aragorn hissed to the grumbling dwarf making his way toward them from the wood, suddenly at unease taking in the sight of the elf and the man.
        “Orc?” he hissed in question.
        “No,” Legolas whispered back, his eyebrow raising along with his bow.
        A moment later a rustle of forest leaves against dirt and the crack of a freshly broken twig alerted the trio to the direction of any company intended to stumble upon them. A dim flash of white and another round of ominous shapeless sounds were the only clues. Legolas raised his bow, effortlessly drawing back an arrow and releasing it, his arm fluidly taking another into his hands possession, readying it. Aragorn moved his body, uneasy to relieve his back from the strange comfort of Legolas own. A blur of white sprang from the trees, rolling a few feet from its cloak of vegetative cover, only to fall still in a heap. None of the trio moved much more than to breath, all unimpressed by the event and merely curious as to if Legolas had hit his mark or not.
        Aragorn went forth, sword pointed low to the ground, in preparation of a final swipe to end any threat that may become of the new creature in their presence. Gimli held his axe fast, with the head at level with his shoulder, also ready for a slicing swipe to end any life that bore ill will to the party. However, Legolas’ normally fair skin had sunk a shade paler and his eyes were blinking wider with each second that passed. With Aragorns back to the two Gimli alone saw this unusual phenomenon.
        “What have I done,” the gasp hung on Legolas lips.
        Gimli looked to the stunned elf, which had found only enough faculties to release the unspent arrow back to his quiver, before the bow itself clattered to the ground. Aragorn kept his slow pace ignoring the noises from behind him. Legolas looked around, to the east a beach sloping into a river that he could scarcely swim across, to the west the forest, to the north and south a stretch of forest and beach. His sight gracing back to Aragorn found the man reaching forth with his sword blade giving a gentle prod to the figure. Legolas lowered himself to the ground in one movement taking up his bow and slinging it behind him. He looked west and in his mind fashioned a path through the forest. A moan came from the fallen form.
        Legolas bolted. Behind him he could hear the shocked and fully distraught voice of Aragorn choke forth the name of the being. The being Legolas should have known by thought, by scent, by every sense the elf possessed. He hadn’t placed the scent and he had fired regardless. This mistake could mean his life. After all what elf could know all the thoughts, reasons and extent of man in desperation. Aragorn’s line had declined to destroy the One Ring of Power, such a high treason against all Middle Earth. Would it be so far fetched to think that in any other case Man would flinch to destroy a mere being if it fit their purposes if they troubled not over delving an entire world into peril for the same.
        Legolas ran pushing his limits of speed with each swift throw of his legs. Even so his ears could pick up the sound of Aragorn screaming. His voice raging into the heavens the one name that would from that distinct point on give no peace to Legolas. Arwen. Over and over again the syllables marking the Elvish princess. A warrant of death to Legolas by Aragorn. Arwen. A pledge of Legolas demise by Elrond. Arwen. Legolas could feel it. He’d taken her life.