A/N: Hello everyone!

Against expectation (and my own better knowledge, to be honest), here is chapter 25. My apologies for the extreme duration of the wait, I've been grabbed, eaten, swallowed and other digestational verbs by college life. I've written this chapter on and off over the past 5 months, but there has been so much going on (at the same time, mostly) that I haven't been able to find the energy to write anything. I'm not sure about the duration of the wait for the next chapter, since I have no clue how much spare time/energy I'm going to have in the coming months. I'll try and update somewhere before 2014 (I hope).

In short the past half year: University is awesome, Applied Physics is hard (but awesome), my fraternity is awesome. I've moved out of home (awesome) and get to sleep late everyday (except for colleges, 5 day's a week, because they start early).

I want to thank everybody who reviewed, reviews are great to draw the attention of writers who err from the way of writing (things less complicated than maths).

I'm hoping you'll enjoy the latest chapter of The Fears of a Prince.

Elrond's Scribe: I'm taking a bit of liberty with how elves mature (besides, 50 years is very short to find a mate for forever and ever and ever and ever). Legolas is 906 years old, and elves are typically (mentally, somewhat) mature around 1500 years. They usually don't grow much physically after 900 to 1000 years, so Legolas that's why Legolas is surprised he has grown (though he is a latebloomer, and might continue to grow after his first millennium).

ENJOY!

Chapter 25

It had been two years since Legolas had come to the Rangers of the North. Ten seasons had passed, since it was summer, since Legolas had met the Rangers, and a bond of friendship had formed between Legolas, and Aranuir specifically.

The old Ranger had taken the young elf under his wing. In the first winter after they had met, Aranuir had been surprised by the cruelty of the things done to his small charge, and the extent of the neglect he had suffered. It had taken the full winter, and half a score of formidable Ranger women, to get a bit of color in the cheeks of the delicate elf, and it had taken even longer than that before he had stopped flinching at sudden movements.

Once that had been done, it had taken almost a full year before the small elf wasn't constantly expecting someone to be angry at him, and to hide at the smallest hint of anger, even if not directed at him. Aranuir had taken the shy elf underneath his wing, sometimes quite literal, when they had stood guard over the Old North Road, the Road North of Bree during one of the autumn storms, but it had mostly been through words of wisdom and shows of care and affection that the older Ranger had drawn the young elf out of his shell.

In his turn, the shy elf had turned out to have remarkable skills in tracking down bands of thieves and criminals, which were most common in the woods surrounding Bree and the Shire, and orcs, trolls and other creatures of evil, deeper in the wilds. Together they had ambushed many scores of orcs, keeping the wilderness clean and away of their foul deeds.

But Legolas had been more than just a fine warrior. From the first moment they had ventured in the wilds, after Legolas had been healed that winter two years ago, the small elf had worked as hard as he could to earn the love of Aranuir, in a completely futile effort, since the old Ranger already had a huge soft spot for the small elf. But nonetheless, Legolas had untiringly gotten wood for fires, stood guard, washed everything that needs washing and scouted around for dangers.

"Legolas?"

The small elf was startled by the sudden mention of his name. He had been lost in thoughts, watching out over the valley in the Weather Hills he and Aranuir had put up camp for a few days. Looking around, he saw the old Ranger approaching from the direction of their camp.

"You called?" Legolas' face suddenly appeared upside down in front of Aranuir, startling him. Legolas was hanging upside down from a branch of the tree where he had been sitting, looking at Aranuir with a smile that portrayed childish happiness.

"I believe it is time for something to eat."

Without another word, Legolas dropped out of the tree with the usual smooth grace of an elf. He quickly righted himself and joined Aranuir to return to the camp.

"It is good elves live such long lives, or otherwise you would never lose your childishness." Aranuir said with a smile.

In the two years that the small elf had been an honorary Ranger, he had started acting much younger – more like the child he still was. And much akin a human boy of eleven, maybe twelve summers, Legolas took great joy in needless acts of acrobatic or playful nature. When he and Aranuir travelled, the small elf often climbed, swung and jumped from tree to tree, and he had great fun in jumping on stepping stones in a river using only one leg, or climbing in the high trees come spring and look for squirrel nests.

The Legolas of Mirkwood would not have done such things. He was expected to be a prince there, and act like a prince as well – reserved, calm and attentive. Playfulness, or even youthfulness in general, was to be avoided. But now, with a lot of care and attention, and a few of other children around to be playmates and friends during the scarce days they rested, Legolas had become as any child should have been.

To his own great surprise, though most of the Rangers wouldn't have expected anything otherwise, the small elf had grown over the two years. Not much, by human standards, only one thumb-width, but still one thumb-width more than he had expected himself to grow. He still could only reach to Aranuir's chest, but growth was growth, and Legolas was happy with all the length he could get.

Aranuir led the small elf to their campsite in a thicket of trees. They had been steadily making their way East towards Weathertop for the past few weeks, having started just outside the Grey Havens and crossed north of the Shire. After Weathertop, Aranuir knew he should turn north towards Fornost and the North Downs. That place held many bad memories for his people, and the ruined city still brought a pang to his heart everytime he laid eyes on it, but he knew he couldn't let the evils of the wild overrun it.

The Rangers, and specifically their Chieftain, had lived as nomads ever since the fall of Fornost and the destruction of Angmar. They had kept the wilds free of the evil creatures that still resided in Angmar after its fall, slaying orcs, wargs and sometimes even trolls to keep the woods and hills clean. The young ones of the Rangers stayed with their parents in a group, moving from cave to clearing and back throughout the lands North of Bree, but almost all older Rangers lived solitary existences, travelling across the lands on their own. What Aranuir had done with Legolas was quite common between rangers, often the older ones took on a young 'apprentice', or so to speak.

"We shall travel to Weathertop, Legolas, but after that we shall turn northwards." Aranuir spoke as they ate next to the campfire.

"Are we going to Fornost?" The small elf asked softly. He knew Aranuir felt a great loss every time he saw the ruins that remained of the once great capitol of the north.

"We shall. It needs to be cleared from orcs and their ilk."

The shy elf, foregoing a verbal answer, moved closer to Aranuir.

The ruins of the once-great city of Fornost were as desolate and dreary a place as ever. Close to two-hundred years had passed since it's destruction at the hands of the Witch-King of Angmar, and the Edain who used to venture to the market of Fornost to trade had stopped doing so, calling it Deadman's Dike. Of the old city with its many towers, thick walls and stone buildings, only parts of the wall were still standing. And especially in the dreary summer morning, with fog clouding the entire area, the ravaged ruins provided a deserted, desolate vibe.

"It was once the greatest city of Man this side of the Misty Mountains." Aranuir mumbled solemnly to himself, watching over the ruins of Fornost.

A small elf stood a few steps behind Aranuir, watching the older man lost in memories, stories of the city of kings.

"Let's keep patrol there then." The small elf suggested, although they had travelled to Fornost for exactly that. "To keep the evil things at bay."

"Right you are." Aranuir said after a few moments. "Let's cleanse the city of evil."

Legolas and Aranuir had searched the entire city for a day, but found no sign of evil other than the teeth of time. They had decided to set up camp in one of the sturdier-looking buildings that were still standing. From what they had found, it had been a brewery once, but of course everything edible or drinkable was gone now, plundered by the orcs and other foul beasts during the time Fornost was occupied by the Witch King.

Inside the thick walls of the brewery, where Aranuir had miraculously found a spare wooden door underneath a mountain of pieces of wood that used to be vats for beer and other drinks, a cozy little camp had been set up. There was a fire pit in the center of the room, where Legolas and Aranuir had set up a small fire. The fire and the closed environment gave a sense of security that Rangers hardly ever had, a safe place to sleep.

Legolas had taken up his usual position, burrowed in Aranuir's side. The small elf enjoyed these scarce moments of safety, and usually spent them close to Aranuir, either leaning on the older man or burrowing in his side, relaxing and drowsing away to the point of sleeping. Like an Edain-child half of his physical age, one of Legolas' hands was always clinging to Aranuir's cloak.

The older Ranger enjoyed these moments of safety too, often cradling the small elf in his arms. He sometimes told stories of his youth, or hummed songs of times past.

"Legolas." Aranuir said softly, rousing the small elf from his almost-slumber. "Will you tell me about your past?"

The small elf looked up from under Aranuir's arm, his blue eyes big and scared, pleading to not bring up the bad memories.

"Please, Legolas. I know it hurts, but you must once deal with them. Otherwise they will forever come back to haunt you. You know I won't judge you, whatever you say, and there are no others to eavesdrop."

The frail elf carefully crawled out of Aranuir's embrace, and sat down, hugging his knees.

"I'm sorry." Legolas said softly.

"Please Legolas. I know it hurts you, but we've come so far already in the time you've been with us. You'll have to tell it sometime, otherwise it'll never let you go."

The delicate elf let out a sniffle and a lone tear fell from his eyes. But before Aranuir could envelop him in a hug and apologize, Legolas began to speak.

"I… I think I was bad in battle…" Legolas said softly. "And that that made me a bad elf."

Aranuir softly drew the small elf towards him, cradling the shy boy close to him. "Don't ever think you're bad in fighting, Legolas. I've seen you hit targets with a bow that my own best archers can't even see. And don't think that's just outside of battle, I've seen you do the same in battle too. Just because you're not as talented with big swords as many, doesn't make you a worthless warrior."

The small elf, trembling softly, looked up at his older companion at his kind words. "But.. but I'm useless when the enemies are too close to use a bow. If I'm too slow to get away in time, I'm just a liability to others."

"If you reason that way, everyone is a liability to everyone else. No one is invincible, Legolas, everyone, even the most skilled Elves, can get hurt by enemies. But that doesn't make them a bad warrior."

"B.. But…" Legolas faltered.

"Besides, I've seen you fight in more than your fair share of battles, and I don't think anyone can claim you're a bad warrior. Anyone who tries is nothing more than a fool."

The small elf looked down at Aranuir's words.

"But… I'm not just bad at fighting. I'm a coward too." The small elf confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"I… I'm afraid of silly and stupid things like storms and loud noises too. A.. And I always hid underneath my bed when I was scared, and I cried too much and was too much of a weakling to do anything useful and I was too afraid to say anything back and.. and.." Legolas erupted into tears, flinching, still expecting be hit.

Aranuir strengthened his hold on the frail shoulders of his small charge. "You're not worthless, and being afraid isn't something you can exactly be punished for, Legolas. Nor is it something you should be punished for, no matter how dumb you think your fear is."

"Besides," Aranuir continued, "There are a lot of things that you have good reason to be afraid of in battle. Vile creatures are not things to be ignored in terms of danger, Legolas. A hundred orcs can kill you even if you are the greatest archer that ever lived, or the greatest swordsman, if they kill you in your sleep. There's a good reason that even the most experienced warriors are frightened of orcs and their ilk."

Aranuir stared into the fire, mood suddenly solemn. "If anything, as you'll get older, you'll see more and more of the damage done by foul creatures without even being there. Orcs destroy more than just your own life and limbs. What good is the best warrior in the world if there's no home to return to, no friends or family, nothing to consider yours? That is the true evil of those foul creatures, they can destroy you without killing you."

Legolas had watched Aranuir speak those words with confusion and growing fear, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. When Aranuir stopped, the small elf let his head drop and let the older man lose himself into thoughts.