Dedication: In loving memory of someone whose story did not have a happy ending, but who has shown me what true friendship can mean.

Title: Destiny

Author: Silivren Tinu

Beta: the wonderful Imbecamiel ((hugs))

Rating: T

Summary: When a cruel stroke of fate threatens to destroy all Legolas has worked and hoped for in his life, Aragorn has to find a way to offer comfort and hope in a situation that may turn out to be more difficult than any they have faced before. Characters: Aragorn, Legolas, Nestadren, with a short appearance from Thranduil.

Disclaimer: I own Nestadren, Bregir, the King's House, and the Queen's Garden (I have chosen the last two as my new residence – be warned that everyone who decides to trespass risks being attacked by fuzzy black squirrels and rabid plot bunnies :D). All other characters and places in this story belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

- Destiny -

Chapter One: Bad News

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"A good friend remembers what we were
and sees what we can be."
Anonymous

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oo-o-o-o

When Aragorn reined in his horse in front of the stables, he immediately spotted the elf who was already waiting for him a short distance away, leaning against the trunk of a majestic beech tree. Seeing the silver-haired healer standing there instead of Legolas made Aragorn feel even more worried than he already was – in all the years since he had befriended the elven prince, it had never been a good sign when he was greeted by Nestadren instead of his friend.

He firmly reminded himself that it was different this time. Legolas did not know he was coming, so there was a good chance he had not even heard of his arrival yet. There was no reason to believe his friend's condition had worsened since the last time he had received news, two days ago. In fact, it was much more likely there was no reason at all to be worried anymore.

Keeping those thoughts firmly in mind, the ranger dismounted. A slight rustling sound was the only warning he got before an elf clad in the greens and browns of the forest dropped down from a low-hanging branch right above him, almost succeeding in making him flinch. The ranger's sturdy gelding snorted and tossed his head, clearly showing his displeasure at being startled like that.

"Allow me to take the horse," the elf said with a slight bow, his polite words completely ruined by his cheeky grin.

"You will be the death of me one day, Bregir," Aragorn scolded half-heartedly, scowling at the slender, auburn-haired figure in front of him. "You are getting almost as bad as Legolas."

Trying to ignore the far-too-obvious amusement in the unrepentant green eyes, the ranger patted the neck of his still-agitated horse and then handed the reins over to the now openly grinning elf. "I apologize for startling your horse," Bregir said, "but you cannot blame a humble warrior for striving to follow in the shining footsteps of his prince and leader."

This time, it was Aragorn who snorted, but he also had to suppress a smile. Bregir could be a real nuisance, but if he was still able to make jokes and be his usual disrespectful self, things could not really be too bad. "Go," the elf told him, nodding in Nestadren's direction. He was still smiling, but his eyes had turned serious. "I am quite capable of apologizing to your horse and taking care of it by myself."

"Of that, I have my doubts," the ranger replied, "but fortunately my horse is quite able of defending himself if your care should not prove to be to his liking." As if to demonstrate the truthfulness of his words, the gelding chose that moment to begin tugging at the reins and pawing the ground impatiently with one hoof.

"Your lack of confidence in my abilities wounds me deeply," Bregir claimed, putting one hand over his heart, "but I will still do my best to please both you and your noble steed."

With those words, he began moving towards the stables, before the horse could start dragging him along. Aragorn looked after him for a moment, shaking his head. "Hannon le," he called and Bregir waved at him without looking back. The ranger then turned and looked at Nestadren, who had not moved during his short encounter with Bregir. The face of the healer was as inscrutable as usual, but it seemed to Aragorn that he looked tired.

Apprehension rising in him again despite all of his valiant attempts to tell himself there was no real reason to be worried, the man covered the short distance between them with several long strides, coming to stand right in front of the elf. "How is he?" he asked.

The elf's keen grey eyes met his own unwaveringly, but he did not reply for a long moment, instead studying Aragorn, who suddenly became uncomfortably aware of his travel-worn and dust-covered clothes, unkempt hair, and muddy boots. After a while Nestadren nodded, seemingly satisfied, and simply said, "It is good to see you."

"That bad?" Aragorn wanted to know, his tone half-joking, half-worried. The elf rarely missed a chance to comment on the ranger's less-than-immaculate appearance.

Straightening, Nestadren stepped away from the tree he had been leaning against and began walking slowly in the vague direction of the bridge leading across the Forest River to the Great Gates guarding the entrance to the caverns which were commonly known as Thranduil's Palace. Having no choice but to follow him, Aragorn fell into step beside the healer, accomodating his pace to the slower gait of the limping elf without conscious thought.

"There has been no change," Nestadren finally answered the ranger's initial question, choosing his words carefully. "Healing is progressing far more slowly than I expected it to. I admit it is beginning to worry me, but… there is still a good chance it will heal."

Aragorn was silent for a moment, not sure whether to be relieved or alarmed about the news. No change was better than deterioration, but he knew quite well what Nestadren's words might mean. For once, he almost wished he did not know as much about healing as he did. "I take it there is an equally good chance it will never heal completely?" he forced himself to ask, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer but knowing he needed to.

Staring straight ahead, the healer did not say anything but simply nodded. Aragorn could not blame him for not wanting to say it out loud. Nestadren was perhaps the only elf in Middle-earth who knew, from his own experience, exactly what Legolas would have to go through if the worst came to pass. For a moment, the ranger did not know how to react or what to feel. This was something he had not expected to hear, though he should have known – had known – that there was a possibility it might happen, given the severity of the injury. He had to force himself to remember that they were talking about a possibility, not a fact.

When he had recovered from his initial shock, there was only one thing he could think of to say. "Does Legolas know?"

"No, though I believe he suspects. I will not tell him before I am completely sure."

Aragorn could well imagine how painful the mere idea of having to tell Legolas that kind of news must be for the elf. He could understand Nestadren's motives, but he still would have decided differently in his place. Of course, he had never been able to keep secrets from his friend anyway. Legolas usually tended to be too perceptive for his own good. "How has he been coping?"

Nestadren sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly. Aragorn could see now that the elf really was tired and very likely more worried than he wanted to admit. Being a healer himself and knowing how much Legolas meant to the older elf, the ranger was not surprised. "You know him," Nestadren said. "He does not talk much and spends more and more of his time alone. He tries to appear confident for our sake, but I believe he is scared."

"Does this mean you have already allowed him to leave the healing rooms?" Aragorn asked teasingly.

Nestadren snorted. "I could not keep him there indefinitely, tempting though it might have been. I was surprised he did not try to escape much earlier."

The two healers exchanged a glance, both well aware that a restless Legolas trying to sneak away from the healing rooms might be annoying, but far less reason to be worried than a listless, obedient one.

"And the king? How has he been dealing with all this?" Aragorn asked. Knowing how much Thranduil loved his son, the last two weeks must have seemed like a waking nightmare to him.

Nestadren shook his head slowly. "Badly," he replied. "Not that I could blame him. When I first laid eyes on Legolas after he had been carried back to the Palace, I feared… for a while I feared we were going to lose him. Now his life has been out of danger for a while, but the uncertainty still lingers. Despite my frequent attempts at reassuring them, I doubt that either father or son will find any peace until this wound has healed." He smiled wrily. "Unfortunately, no descendant of Oropher has ever been blessed with patience."

He was silent for a while, then he added, "The king has hardly left his son's side since Legolas was brought back to the Palace. He would still be hovering, if I had not told him to leave Legolas alone for a while. He is just as scared as Legolas himself, if not more so." He sighed. "The only ones who have had reason to be happy about the situation are the merchants who were here last week. Judging from how pleased they looked, I do not believe they have ever found negotiating with the King of the Woodland Realm to be as easy as this time. I hope Thranduil has not sold them the forest – I very much doubt he would have noticed."

Nestadren's words did not come as a surprise to the ranger, though he hoped the healer was exaggerating where the merchants were concerned. Though the last two weeks must have been extremely challenging for both Thranduil and Nestadren, it was a deep relief for Aragorn to know that they had been at Legolas' side the entire time. He eyed the elf who was limping at his side, not fooled for a moment by the healer's cool demeanor. "It has been a hard time for you, too," he stated, his eyes both knowing and understanding.

"Yes, it has been," Nestadren confessed after a moment. The mere fact that he was admitting such a thing told Aragorn just how difficult those weeks truly must have been for the elf.

For a while, they walked in silence. The elven healer seemed to be lost in thought, or at least not inclined to talk anymore, and Aragorn, whose thoughts and emotions were still in a tumult from what he had heard, tried to distract himself by taking a look at their surroundings. He had been too intent on their conversation to really pay attention to where they were going until now. Trees were all around them now and he could not hear the river anymore or glimpse any hint of sunlight reflecting on water, so he was quite sure they had moved away from the river and the caverns and deeper into the forest.

Now that he was paying attention, he believed he could hear a soft rustling in the branches or spot movement out of the corner of his eye from time to time, and sometimes a dark shadow would block out the muted sunlight filtering through the green canopy high above them, when they passed under one of the dwellings of the wood elves resting on the mighty, interwoven branches of old beech trees and almost invisible in the midst of the dense foliage. But those were the only signs that the forest around them was inhabited and that they were far from alone.

Just as he was about to break the silence and ask Nestadren where they were going, the trees around them and the path in front of them suddenly began to look familiar, and the ranger realized they were drawing close to a place he had come to know very well over the years, though the healer seemed to have taken a slight detour to get there. It was where Aragorn had spent most of his time whenever he visited Legolas, a place that had come to feel almost like a second home.

Unlike his father, the younger elf had never felt entirely comfortable living in caverns, however spacious and beautiful they might be. Legolas' mother had been a Silvan elf and, just like her kin, who constituted the main part of his father's subjects, the elf preferred the woods to the caverns and stayed there as often as he could.

Also, unlike most of the Sindarin elves, Legolas had grown up in Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir, the Valley of the Deep Roots in the Mountains of Mirkwood, at a time when there had been no reason for the elves to hide their presence or withdraw into an easily defensible stronghold. From what Legolas had told him, Aragorn knew that his friend's childhood home had been built half on the ground, half in the fir trees that grew in that valley.

Well aware of his son's nature and preferences, Thranduil had taken care that a very similar dwelling was erected in the woods close to the caverns, where both the Sindar and the Silvan elves of the Woodland Realm had found a new home and a place of refuge, after the increasing activity of their enemy in Dol Guldur had driven them from Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir. The new house offered more than enough room for the two remaining members of the royal family, as well as for the accomodation and the reception of various guests. Due to Thranduil's insistence, there were even healing rooms.

Aragorn had often suspected that for Thranduil the house meant nothing more than a chance to be close to his son. For his part, the king seemed to feel more at home in the caverns than in the woods, though the ranger was not sure if the reason for that was that Thranduil did not want to be reminded of Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir and the happiness he had found there with his family before the death of his wife, or that he had lived with Thingol and Melian in Menegroth for a long time. The latter was something Aragorn refused to think about too often – the human mind was not made to truly understand the enormity of an elven lifespan. Whenever he tried, it gave him a headache.

He considered himself lucky that the elf he had befriended was still considered young among his people. As fascinating as it was to meet elves who had lived since the beginning of time, it also was mind-boggling. At least with Legolas, he only needed to be well-informed about the last two millennia and not the entire history of Middle-earth to be able to follow anything the elf told him about his past.

As far as the caverns were concerned, Aragorn was quite glad that he did not have to spend all his time there when he came for a visit. As magnificent as they were, being in an underground place with only one entrance, not counting the way Bilbo and the dwarves had used for their escape, tended to make him feel trapped instead of safe. The house in the woods – the King's House as it was commonly referred to by most elves, though the Prince's House would have been more accurate – was far more to his liking.

The ranger knew the path leading to the King's House by heart and he knew that they did not have much farther to go. Just around the next bend he would already be able to get the first glimpse of it. Nestadren leading him to this place must mean that Legolas was there, or rather, somewhere nearby. At that thought, the ranger had to consciously keep himself from quickening his pace.

For almost two weeks now, since Nestadren's letter had reached him, he had wanted to be at his friend's side, but since he had been unable to grow wings or shorten the distance between them, he had had to be patient while insistent worries and fears kept nagging at his heart all the time. Nestadren had done his best to keep the letter reassuring rather than alarming, but Aragorn would not have needed to be a healer to realize that Legolas was lucky to still be alive and in one piece.

Reading the message had shaken him, and even if Nestadren had not asked him to come, he would have done so as soon as possible, if only to see with his own eyes that Legolas was alright. As things were, it seemed his friend was still far from being alright. Once the ranger had entered the great forest which was now called Mirkwood, Nestadren had sent him another letter, telling him briefly what had happened in the meantime and what to expect upon his arrival. It was obvious now there had been no change for the better during the last two days it had taken him to reach his destination.

Having never been in a similar situation himself, he could only imagine how Legolas must be feeling right now. He could only hope that he would be able to provide some kind of comfort for his friend and hold on to the belief that things were going to turn out alright in the end. They finally reached the bend and Aragorn, lost in thought, had already taken three more steps before he noticed that Nestadren was no longer at his side.

Turning around with a frown, Aragorn saw that the healer had stopped and was looking at the King's House thoughtfully. Following the elf's gaze, the ranger failed to see anything out of the ordinary. He knew that this place was heavily guarded, but none of the guards had shown himself and they had never tried to stop either himself or Nestadren from visiting the King's House before.

"Forgive me," the healer's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What for?" Aragorn asked, even more confused by the elf's words than by his behaviour.

"In my haste to bring you here, I have failed to fulfil even the simplest duties of a responsible host, not to mention a healer, " Nestadren said apologetically. "You are tired and travel-worn. Perhaps you would like to rest and take some refreshment, or perhaps take a bath, before entering the lion's den."

Finally understanding what had caused the delay, the ranger relaxed somewhat. "There is nothing to forgive," he said. "Had I been in need of any of those things, I would have asked."

The healer eyed him thoughtfully. "I believe you are in need of all of those things, Ranger of the North," he stated, a hint of a smile on his face, "but I agree that there may be something you need more."

"I do not believe I would be able to find any rest now," Aragorn admitted. "Not before I have seen him."

Nestadren nodded, and Aragorn knew the healer understood. He could not help wondering when the last time Nestadren had allowed himself to rest had been. He knew from his own experience how hard it was to hold the life of one who was dear to him in his hands; and even worse than the fear of failure was the moment when there was nothing else to do anymore but to wait and hope.

Nestadren tended to approach healing the same way he would have approached a battle when he had still been a warrior. Any kind of sickness or injury was treated as if it was an enemy that had to be vanquished. It was part of what made him such a good healer, but it also meant he was likely to overstep his own limits sometimes. Aragorn was quite sure the elf must be on the brink of exhaustion by now, but he could not really blame him for it. At least where healing was concerned, the two of them were not all that different from each other.

More than once, the ranger had had every reason to be grateful for Nestadren's tenacity and skill, when the healer had saved his own life, or Legolas', or both. Whenever bad news involving some kind of injury had reached him from Mirkwood, it had been a relief for Aragorn to know that Nestadren was around to take care of things. Occasionally, when he deemed it necessary, the healer had also sent him messages, which usually did a lot to clarify things Legolas had only hinted at in his letters.

For example, when Legolas had mentioned fleetingly in a letter that he had gotten into a skirmish with some orcs and had sustained some minor scratches, the letter had been accompanied by a note from Nestadren, which had contained only four short sentences: The young fool has gotten himself stabbed. He will be bedridden for a while, but is going to be alright. His patrol ran into an orc trap. They all got out of it alive. Aragorn had quickly come to value a second, and far more objective, opinion about Legolas' state of health.

He never saw any necessity to tell his elven friend about Nestadren's notes and messages, especially since he had suspected for quite some time that Legolas was keeping up a correspondence with Halbarad behind his back. Until now, there had never been a situation dire enough to force Nestadren to write an entire letter or ask him to come. Aragorn had known the moment he saw the letter and the signature that the news he was about to receive would be bad.

"I still need to thank you for sending me that letter," he said, "and for all the other messages you have sent me over the years."

"Someone had to," Nestadren answered simply. "He needs a friend now, even if he is not aware of it yet."

Before Aragorn could reply, the elf started walking again, once again leaving the ranger no choice but to follow him. Accepting that the healer obviously did not believe any gratitude to be necessary, the man fixed his gaze on the King's House and watched as it grew bigger and more impressive in front of them. The dwellings of the elves in Mirkwood could not be compared to what he had seen in Lothlórien; they were far more simple and the trees they were built in or beneath would never grow as old or as big as the Mellyrn. Nonetheless, they possessed a beauty all of their own.

Even the King's House, in spite of its size, appeared to be such a natural part of the woods that it seemed more like something that had grown rather than something that had been built. There was a harmony about it that no human builder could ever hope to imitate or achieve. Aragorn was quite sure that the house was not their destination today, but he could not help admiring it once again. The houses of the wood elves had always fascinated him, since Legolas had taught him how to build a simple flet when he was still a child.

"Is he in his usual place?" he asked, having to once again fight the urge to quicken his pace.

"I believe so," Nestadren replied. "Since I allowed him to leave the healing rooms, he has spent most of his time in the Queen's Garden. As I mentioned before, he prefers to be alone these days."

Aragorn nodded. Trees were often able to give Legolas comfort when nothing else could. When he was at home or in Imladris, the elf tended to seek out the company of specific trees, often oaks, which he had known for a long time. If Legolas was in the Queen's Garden, Aragorn was fairly sure he would be able to find him.

The garden was behind the house, but Nestadren did not bother passing through the house at all and lead Aragorn to a small pathway in a hedge of thornbushes instead. He stopped just in front of the hedge, turning to face his human companion. "I believe you will find your way alone now?" he said.

"Yes," Aragorn agreed, meeting the elf's gaze. "Yes, I will." After a moment, he added, "Thank you."

"You already thanked me, Ranger," the elf replied with a weary smile. "If you need me, I will be in the house."

With those words, he slowly limped away. Aragorn looked after him for a moment, hoping that there were no new patients waiting for the healer. He would have liked to tell Nestadren to go and take some rest, but he doubted he would ever dare to even try to order this elf around. Nestadren was one of the elves who always made him feel like a child again when he was in their presence, and he was quite sure that he would still feel like that when he was a very old man.

Deciding that a several millennia old elf was very well able to take care of himself, the ranger stepped through the pathway and entered the Queen's Garden.

o-o-o

The sight that awaited him on the other side of the pathway did not look in any way like the gardens in Imladris, and had nothing at all to do with the manmade gardens he had seen in Gondor. It actually looked like simply a part of the forest which, for some reason, had been surrounded by hedges of thornbushes and gnarled, unsightly trees and called a garden.

As Aragorn knew, that was not really too far from the truth. Originally, the Queen's Garden had been a large garden surrounding the home of the royal family in Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir, which had been called the "Queen's Garden" because Queen Tawariël had created it and had enjoyed spending countless hours in it. The garden bordering the King's House seemed to have been added and named out of nostalgia, in spite of the fact that Legolas' mother had died long before the elves had been forced to move to the North, and had never seen nor set foot in the second garden named after her.

For the king and the prince, the Queen's Garden had become just as much a living memorial for Tawariël as a retreat and a place to rest or be alone for a while. Aragorn had always suspected that the present "garden" looked very different from its namesake in the Valley of the Deep Roots, though some of the favourite flowers of the queen had somehow been persuaded to grow in the perpetual twilight under the towering trees. There was something wild and untamed about the place that did not really fit in with the word "garden". It was something Aragorn had always liked and found intriguing about it, though he was quite aware that not many humans would have been able to appreciate that kind of beauty.

There were many paths leading through the garden, but Aragorn did not have to waste any time on wondering which of them he should take. He knew all of Legolas' favourite places and he had a very good idea where the elf might be. The ranger could not help feeling a hint of relief when the path finally led away from the thornbushes and the slightly eerie trees, which surrounded the garden and separated it from the forest outside.

Though there was not really anything malicious about the strange-looking trees, they seemed to be more alive and alert than he was comfortable with. He could have sworn that some of them had changed their position since the last time he had been here, but tried hard not to think about it. The trees always tended to remind him uncomfortably of the Old Forest. The ranger knew that the trees were guardians just as much as the elves who were positioned around the King's House. For his part, he could only hope they would never find any reason to consider him as an intruder.

The path Aragorn was following wound its way through the trees right to the centre of the garden. The ranger could feel the ground under his feet ascend in a gentle slope and knew that he was getting close to his destination. Soon he caught the first glimpse of the tall oak trees standing in a circle on a low hill in the middle of the garden. Queen Tawariël had had a special liking for oak trees, and those specific trees were said to be descendants of the oak trees she had planted a long time ago in her garden in Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir.

It was one of Aragorn's most treasured childhood memories that Legolas had once sent him an acorn and a leaf of one of those oaks as a birthday present, long before he had ever had a chance to lay eyes on this place. The acorn had been planted in the gardens of Imladris and had grown into a strong tree, which would hopefully become just as tall and impressive as the one from which it had been taken.

To the ranger, the oak trees in the Queen's Garden had always seemed to be ancient. Their sight never failed to impress him. In spite of their magnitude, there seemed to be something benevolent and comforting about them, as if Tawariël's deep love for her people and her family had somehow found a way to live on in the trees that had been so close to her heart. It was no wonder that this was the place Legolas went to most often when he was troubled. Stepping into the circle of the majestic trees, Aragorn quickly discovered it was no different today.

He immediately spotted a very familiar, golden-haired figure sitting on a bench close to one of the trees, his gaze fixed on the small glade between the oak trees. The ranger stopped, taking in the sight of his friend. There was something unusual about finding the elf sitting on a bench instead of somewhere high up in the branches of one of the trees, or at least reclining against one of the broad trunks or the mighty, winding roots. Aragorn was quite sure it would be very difficult for Legolas to try to climb any tree right now, even if he had wanted to do so, but finding him like that still felt wrong somehow.

The ranger just stood there for a while, watching his friend silently. Legolas' right arm rested loosely in his lap, but the left arm was in a sling, which was carefully fastened to his body so that the arm was completely immobilized. The elf did not move at all while Aragorn was watching, and there was a distant look in his eyes that told the ranger he was likely not really seeing anything around him, but was lost in his own thoughts. Aragorn did not get the impression that his friend's thoughts were of a pleasant nature.

Legolas' face was pale and drawn and, to Aragorn, it was obvious that he was still weakened and would have some way to go before he was fully recovered. Though his own observations only confirmed that Nestadren's worry was justified, the ranger felt something deep inside of him calm and relax now that he was finally near his friend. As deceptive as it had often proven to be, he still could not help feeling that, as long as the two of them were together, things would somehow turn out to be alright in the end.

To be continued…

Author's Notes: I think that's a very nice place to leave you for now – no cliffie, and some hopeful thoughts. ;-) The next chapter should be up in a week, or perhaps a bit later or earlier, depending on how cooperative or uncooperative Real Life proves to be.

Feedback is, as always, appreciated and very welcome. :)