Whispers of the Forest (Legolas x Male OC)

A Scout

The sun was beating down on the trail of people making their way across the plains. A very small number of wagons filled with food and water were being pulled closer to the back, being driven by a couple of guards from the Golden Hall. More guards, as well as the king, led the long line of people. Gimli was on a horse chatting with Lady Eowyn. The King and Aragorn were riding behind them, listening with small smiles to the animated conversation between the dwarf and Eowyn. Legolas and Sîrion were walking behind Aragorn, both deciding they preferred walking for the time being. The king had announced a planned stop once the sun had reached its peak for the day.

"At the pace, we are going, it is going to take over two days to reach safety," Sîrion fretted, glancing back at the seemingly never-ending line. It had already been a day.

"There is little we can do to quicken the people's pace so there is also little point in worrying about it, Sîrion," Legolas bumped Sîrion's shoulder with a smirk on his lips.

Sîrion scoffed but smiled nonetheless, "Oh, but of course, my wise and mighty prince!" A satisfied smirk settling on his face when Legolas glared and protested at the use of such a name.

"You are the strangest elf I've met, Sîrion," Legolas crossed his arms.

"I'll try to not take that to offence," A teasing gleam twinkling in the listener's eye.

"If you use my title again, I may hope you take it to offence!" Legolas exclaimed, laughing lightly at the dramatic gasp that left Sîrion's lips, "It's a strange I do not mind. Dare I say, one I almost like."

Heat flushed Sîrion's face at the comment, though he shook it off and blamed the reaction on the sun. The smile on his face remained unmoved. He felt as though even if he wanted to stop smiling, he wouldn't be able to due to the jittery, excited bubbles in his stomach caused by the elf beside him.

"What about me is so strange?" Sîrion asked, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked towards the back of the line.

Legolas thought for a moment, smiling fondly as he looked back at all the time he had spent with the other elf throughout the journey.

"You don't act as many elves do. Many view others as less than themselves and a fleeting moment in their life but you don't. You talk with others and make their time worth it. I mean many elves would only talk to Frodo or Sam because they carry the Ring or to ensure their reputation remains in good standing, but you were genuine in your interactions. Even with me. No other elf would offer their company so completely like you did the night in Rivendell. From the beginning, you were easy to talk to and even indulge in my request to use my name rather than a title. It was and is... surreal," Legolas paused, his smile growing and a mischievous glint playing in his eye, "Your swordsmanship is sometimes more similar to a man than an elf's as well."

"I fight like a man?!" Sîrion exclaimed, earning a couple of odd looks from the people walking around them.

"By Valor, You're louder than any other elf I've encountered," Legolas mumbled with a brighter smile, "Your grace and agility is that of an elf's but you use it different than any elf I have ever seen," Legolas explained, glancing over at the listener, "The speaking with trees and other such nature adds to the strangeness as well."

Sîrion raised an eyebrow at the Prince, crossing his arms tightly, "You make some compelling points. The trees of Fangorn did raise me more than Elrond so I know little of elvish customs. In fact, I believe I have spent more time in the villages of man than I have in the company of elves," Sîrion chuckled, "You will have to teach me how to use my elven grace appropriately."

Legolas nodded, his cheeks already hurting from smiling so much in one day, "I do doubt I will have much trouble with that."

Sîrion chuckled, adjusting his bag strap on his shoulder. He breathed in the warm air, feeling very content despite the dire situation they were marching into. Aragorn called Legolas up to him, leaving Sîrion's side strangely empty and oddly cold. He almost ran up to stand beside the prince once more due to the tugging he felt towards Legolas in his chest. The wind brushed past Sîrion's face, whispering words of how Gandalf was as well as the fact that Isengard had suddenly picked up its pace with the burning and cutting of Fangorn. Claws seemed to grip the listener's heart at this. The carefree, light feeling brought by Legolas chased away swiftly. More and more of his friends were being killed and he had still done nothing to stop the wretched wizard. He clenched his hurt fist tightly, wishing for the sharp sting to be more intense as punishment for his lack of action. Taking a deep breath, Sîrion forced himself to push away the swirling emotions filling his chest. He stared at the grass around him, moving to walk on the outside of the group. Small yellow and purple wildflowers swayed in the breeze and caught his eye. He decided to bend down, picking a few of them and placing them in his bag. A sad smile crossed his face as he gently pinched a petal of a purple flower. His mind went back to when his mother was alive before the orcs attacked. Small purple flowers would spring up by the riverbed every year and each year, Sîrion would pick a giant bouquet just for his mum. She would dry some and save them to decorate the house in winter. The rest were braided into the hair. Sîrion felt a deep ache in his chest. That was one thing he missed the most. The crisp morning air filling his lungs, the sounds of the river filling his ears, as his mother's hands gently tugged strands of hair into braids and weaving in the small flowers was the earliest memory he had. The one thing that never changed or felt different as he grew. The most comforting thing he had ever expereinced.