In the Ruins//Legolas

Chapter 19; Council of Our Lord and Saviour... or whatever...

Durion was not nervous...

He really wasn't! Why would he be. It was just the council that would be discussing their imminent deaths at the hands of the Dark Lord that wiped out his entire bloodline. Nothing to worry about...

Okay, he might be a little nervous about the imminent deaths but that's it. Definitely not because a certain elven prince was going to be there.

The ebony haired elf fussed over himself in the mirror while Aragorn and Arwen watched him with partially worried, partially amused expressions.

"He's a mess." Sighed Aragorn.

"I understand why. He's about to meet his soul bonded for the first time after avoiding him for nearly eighty years."

"I can hear you, you know?" Durion glared at them through the mirror and that moment of distraction caused one of the black strands of his hair to slip from his fingers. The half done braid fell apart. "Oh my-! I'm just gonna chop it off." Groaned Durion and looked around for scissors.

"Don't you dare!" Arwen pointed her finger at him and ushered him to sit on his bed. A comb appears in her hand and she gets to work. "Are you sure you don't want to wear the sigil ring?"

"Yes. I would have sold it already if I wasn't here." Grumbled Durion and Aragorn frowned.

"What sigil ring?" He asked and the two elves looked at him as if they just now realized he was there. Durion began shaking his head and Arwen pulled at a strand of his hair.

"Ow! Alright, alright! And people call me childish..." Durion rolled his eyes and massaged the sore part of his scalp before Arwen slapped his hand away. "Sigil ring of Eregion."

"Oh, but why would you wear it?"

"Well... as it turns out... I, uh, might have some distant relation to Celebrimbor... or something like that..." Durion tried to nonchalantly say.

"You mean you're his grandson." Arwen piped in and Aragorn's eyes widened.

"Thank you, Arwen, for this incredible display of subtlety." Arwen flicked his pointed ear for his sarcasm.

"You're... the rightful King of Eregion." Sighed Aragorn.

"Well, the Eregion that no longer exists? Yes, sure."

"You're the direct line of the King of Elven-smiths."

"If you're gonna start calling me 'my lord' I might actually punch you."

"No, no, it's just... I am... a descendant of Isildur." Aragorn confessed, eyes drifting away from the elf, and it was Durion's turn to stare in shock.

"Oh..." Durion managed to say. "Huh, I guess there's something we have in common then." The elf weakly smiled and Aragorn looked at him with a questioning gaze. "Expectations we don't want."

"There." Arwen hummed and patted the finished braid from half of Durion's hair. "You should go now, or you're going to be late." The two nodded at her and got up to walk out of the room. "Durion." Arwen stopped the other elf. "I am sure Legolas will understand." Her smile was warm and encouraging, but Durion couldn't help but feel cold.

***

Before entering the balcony the council is held at, Durion stops to adjust the mask on his face and to take a few deep, calming breaths. A hand lands on his shoulder and he jerks in surprise.

"Didn't I tell you not to sneak up on me?" He whispered to Gandalf.

"Forgive me, Durion. How are you feeling?"