Disclaimer: I do not own the characters... or the places... no, not the lembas either...(sobs) that last one always gets me...

AN: RRRAWWWRRRR!! I LIVE! Today happens to be my sixteenth birthday, so I have chosen to follow the hobbit birthday traditions, in which the birthday hobbit gives everyone else a present!

My present to you is the beginning of my newest fic, Amarth Naur (I dare you to find out what it means... go on, if you guess it, I'll send you some birthday cake! You know you want some...).

I hope you all enjoy this first chappy!

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The elf reached up to stroke the nose of the white stallion. "I am sorry, mellon-nin, but you may not come this time."

The stallion nickered and nudged the elf's shoulder. He wanted very much to go somewhere with his friend. He had not been left behind since he had met the elf, and he did not understand why he wasn't allowed to go. It was only a little cut!

But his friend and master was taking no chances, and Arod watched mournfully as Legolas turned away to check on the mare he would be riding in the stallion's stead. Arod did not particularly like the mare in question, she tended to be skittish at things no sane horse would look twice at.

Legolas caught the sad look and slipped Arod another carrot before mounting the mare, whose name was Celfron. Truth be told, he thought she was rather jumpy as well; she had already thrown several elves this year. But other than that one failing, she was very sweet, and he was confident that he would not be caught unaware.

He clucked with his tongue and she obediently moved into a trot. The stables were located quite near the entrance to Eryn Lasgalen, so it was not even five minutes later when he paused to wait for the guards to open the gates. As he sat there, eyeing the trees, a sort of shudder ran up his spine.

Quite suddenly, he was struck by an idea that this journey was a bad idea. He was urged by an unseen force to turn around, return the skittish Celfron to the elves in the stable and content himself training the younger elves and going on patrols. And when Arod's leg was healed, he could go back to Ithilien and continue his work there.

But Aragorn was waiting in Gondor, along with Arwen and their new-born son. Aragorn had sent a message to Legolas the day Eldarion was born, urging the elf to come and visit. He desperately wanted Legolas with him and his family at this important time.

Of course, it didn't take so many words to convince the elf to come. He had not seen Aragorn since the end of the war, which had been nearly five years ago. Perhaps not so long in the elvish sense of time, or even Aragorn's, but five years was long indeed in the eyes of two friends. True, Ithilien was located quite near Minas Tirith, but problems and complications arose with startking regularity, and somehow Legolas never found himself with enough time to ride to the White City. Not only that, but his father wanted to see him often as well, so the prince was kept busy with making the long commute between the two places.

It was high time he went to see his friend, and Eldarion's birth seemed the perfect opportunity to escape his roles as lord of Ilthilien, and prince of Eryn Lasgalen for several months.

So he shook away the strange feelings that compelled him to stay, and coaxed Celfron into a trot. He left the realm of Eryn Lasgalen without looking back.

Once he was out of sight, the strange feeling passed, and his thoughts returned to the king and queen and their new child. And he hoped desperately that he wasn't going to be expected to hold it. He was not really a child person, or so he told himself.

But he hadn't had any experience, that was the real problem. He was one of the youngest elves, one of the last born once his people had decided that having children in the increasingly dark times was no longer a good idea. He had no younger brothers or sisters, had never, in fact, seen a child younger than five.

That child happened to be Aragorn, then known as Estel. It had taken some time even then for the two to grow comfortable together. He couldn't begin to imagine trying to befriend an infant. He had sudden images of Eldarion spitting up on him and perhaps worst of all, himself being expected to change the diaper.

As the days began to pass, for it took more than a fortnight to reach the White City, Legolas began to realize just how little he knew about children. How long did it take before they graduated from diapers anyway? Weeks? Months? Years? By the time he arrived at Minas Tirith, Eldarion would be a little more than a month old. Would he be finished with the diapers by then?

Of course, he didn't spend the entire time pondering the mysteries of babies. More than once, he was delayed because Celfron had shied from some non-existent threat, or even her own shadow. It so happened, more often than he would like to admit, he spent quite a fair amount of time on his back after being thrown off. But he could never find it in his heart to scold the mare, she was always watching him with big sad dark eyes as he got to his feet, as if to say, I did not mean to. I thought there was a wildcat under those leaves!

At one point, he wondered if it was possible for a horse to have a runaway imagination.

Nearly two weeks afterwards, the landscape began to change. He had skirted the southern edge of Eryn Lasgalen, crossed the Brown Lands, left the Falls of Rauros far behind, skirted the edges of the Dead Marshes, and was beginning to enter the long flat stretch that held Minas Tirith. He could make out the city far to the south, a white gleam against the gray of the mountains.

But of course elf eyes can see much farther than those of men, and Legolas knew that he would not reach the city until late the next day, perhaps even the day after,depending on the speed they would travel. And as the morning began to ease into midday, the elf began to wonder about the infant once more.

He could not rightly explain why he was so worried about meeting Eldarion. Perhaps he was nervous that the baby would not like him. He didn't like the idea of picking up the baby only to have Eldarion burst out in tears. Or, and this struck him as particularly frightening, what if he somehow hurt the child? O, that thought opened up so many more doors!

He whiled away nearly the entire day preoccupied with these thoughts. At times, he reached into his pack and removed a thick chunk of wood and whittled away at it, thinking to offer it to the child in a deal not to exchange any bodily fluids. Then realizing that there was no way that Eldarion would understand this 'peace offering', he tucked it away again.

This happened quite a bit, before he at last realized how silly he was being. The shadows were beginning to lengthen, and Celfron was still full of energy. The vague path he was following currently led him through grassy fields with sparse underbrush.

Deciding there was no harm, he whispered to the mare, who leaped forward, eager to run across the wide open spaces. Her dusky mane flowed back, tickling his face as he flattened himself along her back. It mingled with his own hair, dark chocolate against shining gold. The setting sun's last ray of light struck the pair, softening their edges until they seemed a single being, flying across the fields to a destination only they could see.

It should have inspired a sense of awe or wonder, but to the beings following at a safe distance, it only inspired them to feel a deep anger welling up within them.

They would attack when the elf stopped to rest.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Legolas let Celfron run well into the night, using the moonlight to guide them. Only when the mare began to shy from the shadows of low bushes and trees did he slow her gallop and begin to search for a place to stop for the night.

He wanted to reach Minas Tirith by the next afternoon, and with the moonlight gallop, he knew that it was likely he would arrive shortly after midday.

The elf pulled Celfron to a halt in a tiny copse. A small pond lay outside the trees, fresh from the rain the night before. He dismounted, pleased to be doing so of his own accord, and let the mare take a long drink. He walked around the copse, letting his fingers brush the trunks. The trees were silent, unaccustomed to an elf's presence. Pausing before a especially quiet pine, Legolas reached for the tree's consciousness.

All was quiet at first, but then a flood of alarm washed over the elf. He disentangled himself from the tree's mind, reaching for his knives. He pulled them from their respective sheaths and spun, searching for what had alerted the tree. Adrenaline pumped through his body, and every nerve was tense as a hobbit who had no prospect of supper.

His sharp ears picked up the sound of heavy breathing from three different sides. He carefully trained his attention on the remaining side, reasoning that if his attackers were foolish enough to allow themselves to be so noisy, they would be foolish enough to think he was denser than they were.

They came at him in a reasonably well-thought-out rush, but they were no rangers. He heard them as soon as they started to move.

He spun to the left, bringing his blades up in a sharp arc and catching the man's sword between them. He swung his arms about, forcing the man to do the same, and his foot snapped out to slam the man in the stomach. The man doubled over, coughing and clutching his abdomen.

The elf quick-stepped to the side and ducked. A sword whistled over his head, and he struck low with his right hand, hamstringing the second attacker. But that left him in a low position, at a bad advantage against the third and final attacker.

Much to Legolas's dismay, this last was much better trained than his comrades. He was hard-pressed to keep the blade away from his body, and getting back to his feet took nearly thirty exhausting seconds. By the time they were on even footing again, Legolas was beginning to tire, and his arms were beginning to tingle from the man's heavy blows.

The wood-elf took a risky chance, feinting ahead and sweeping out wide with both knives, hoping to draw the man's attention upward so that he could strike with his foot again. But the man wasn't fooled, instead executing a feint of his own.

His sword caught Legolas across the chest, opening a long shallow cut from one side to the other. The elf hissed in pain and staggered back, one knife dropping to the ground and the hand going to his chest. The man grinned ferally and lifted his sword high.

Quick as a flash, Legolas's booted foot snapped up, catching the man in the groin. The smile quickly disappeared, and the sword clattered to the ground.

Unwilling to kill the man, the elf instead struck him with the hilt of his knife and left him sprawled on the ground.

With a grimace of pain, Legolas scooped up his knife and made for Celfron. He would not stay here and wait to be attacked again. Neither did he want to wait for his attackers to regain conciousness and try to finish what they had started.

His chest burning painfully with every motion, he mounted the mare and edged her into a trot. He searched through one of the saddlebags and came up with a roll of bandages. Snorting in a very un-elegant manner he recalled his father's voice as the king handed his son the roll.

"Don't you dare try to tell me that nothing will happen, ion-nin. Centuries of experience should tell you that something will go wrong if you do not take this. Humor me."

"Well ada," Legolas said to himself ruefully, "This is one of those times where you happen to be wrong... And I wish you weren't."

Uneasily looking about, he halted Celfron and dismounted. He whispered some soothing words into her ear and stepped away to inspect the cut. Stripping off the bloody tunic and carefully inspecting the wound, he saw that it was not deep, and he suspected that if he wrapped it well enough, it would escape Aragorns's notice.

He did not want to be fussed over for hours because of a simple scratch.

So he bandaged it best as he could, and when he pulled a fresh tunic over his head, not a one would guess that he had been injured in the scuffle.

He rode all through the night, only slowing to a walk when the moon passed behind clouds and made it difficult to see. He had forded the Entwash the previous day, and now he kept near the banks so as not to lose his way in the dark. He could vaguely see an orange glow in the distance that he knew to be the torches of Minas Tirith, and as the night wore on, it grew clear that he would reach it in a matter of hours.

By the time the sun peeked over the lip of the mountains, both horse and rider were exhausted, yet both wanted nothing more than to reach the blasted city.

Admittedly, they both wanted it for very different reasons: Celfron to rest in a comfortable stable with apples and cool water, and Legolas to see Aragorn and finally be rid of the feeling that he was being watched.

Even Celfron knew the end of the journey was near, and when she saw the gates, she broke into a tired but happy canter.

The gates were open by the time the companions reached them, and Legolas was only detained a moment by the guards. Upon learning that the visitor to the city was none other than Prince Legolas, the way was cleared instantly.

Up and up they went, all the way to the sixth tier of the great city. There, Legolas left Celfron in the capable hands of the stable grooms. One of the grooms opened his mouth, most likely to scold this strange elf for running his mount so ragged; but on looking at the elf a second time and realizing he was just as tired, wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.

Legolas continued on, easing his way through the many people just beginning their day. He envied them their good night's rest. Thinking of the three men he had left unconcious, his expression soured. Even they had gotten a better rest than he! Granted, it was because they were out cold, but still...

His feet carried him along while his mind was still trying to understand why he still felt unsettled. Every so often, the hair on the back of his neck would rise, and he would look around, trying to catch someone staring at him.

But there were too many people about, even as he reached the seventh tier, for him to be able to tell if someone was following him.

This was certainly not the way he'd imagined entering the White City. He had expected to be well-rested, full of lembas, and not quite so... frazzled. But here he was, dead on his feet, beginning to feel the edge of hunger, and looking all in all... rather frazzled.

He could just imagine the look on his father's face.

"Legolas!"

The elf's head snapped up, and he felt all drowsiness disappear. Aragorn was running towards him, clad in a wine colored shirt and soft trousers. His hair was caught back in a short, loose tail, and he wore ankle high boots. He looked as he had when he had been growing up in Imladris: healthy, happy, and above all, content.

The two embraced and stepped away, each looking the other up and down. "You have a beard now," Legolas observed, slipping into his native tongue as was habit around Aragorn.

The king of Gondor raised a hand to his chin self–conciously. "Yes, and Arwen hasn't said anything against it, so it stays."

"Because anything Arwen says, goes," Legolas agreed. He knew full well that if Arwen even hinted at something about Aragorn's appearance, the king would change it instantly. In their younger days, Legolas had teased him about Arwen being the real man in the relationship, but they both knew it was a mark of Aradorn's love for her.

"Yes indeed." Aragorn slung his arm around Legolas's shoulders. "Mellon-nin, we have so much to talk about, so much to catch up on! Letters just don't do as well as a good conversation, do they? Come, Arwen is waiting for you as well!"

Laughing at Aragorn's exuberance (and in secret relief that Aragorn had not noticed anything odd about the unusually stiff way he held himself), Legolas allowed himself to be led away.

Only when they were outside the king and queen's private chambers did Legolas suddenly realize that Eldarion was also undoubtedly waiting... and that he had forgotten his peace offering in his saddlebag.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

AN: There we are! Chapter One... ohhhh, I'm SO excited to be writing again!

Everybody, wish me luck on my driver's test, especially parallel parking, which must have been invented by an idiot... who parallel parks in a town of three thousand anyways??

Oh, and don't you dare think Legolas is out of trouble yet... those measly attackers are just the beginning!