Secrets and Pleasure, parts 1-2 (LotR)
Feb. 26th, 2006 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thefroggTitle: Secrets and Pleasure, 1-2
Author: Frogg
Type: Um. Hurt/Comfort? PWP? No bloody clue.
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas, Aragorn/Arwen(implied)
Rating: NC-17
Betaed: Nope. All plotholes, loopholes, potholes, potheads, potholders, etc. are fully my fault. Um. Not. You get the idea. It's too damned late at night. Early in the morning. Something. Read at own risk.
Archiving: Ask first.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Will return in a much better mood when done.
Feedback: Yes please!
Summary: A coming of age. Some illusions are broken.
Author's Note: Set before Moria. Answer to the Elven pon farr fic challenge on Dimensions of Dhvana mailing list.
Aragorn's stomach clenched, the sight and smell of food revolting. His breath hitched; the fork fell from numb fingers to clatter noisily in his dish.
"Strider? Is the food not to your liking?" Sam asked, a look of concern and guilt on his face. He'd noticed the drop in his friend's appetite the last few days, and tried hard to compensate for it with his cooking to no avail.
"No, the food is fine. Wonderful. I just...I am not hungered, that is all." Aragorn swallowed heavily. The little he had managed to force down threatened. Setting the tin down on the rock beside him, he hunched over, uncorking his waterskin and taking a quick swallow. Liquid splashed over his chin and dripped onto his tunic, and he had to fight the urge to suck the moisture out of the cloth.
Then the dampness soaked through. His skin crawled, sending a shudder ripping through him.
"Are you feeling all right, Strider?" Frodo's voice was soft, worried.
Aragorn gave a wan smile that did not reach his eyes. "Just thirsty." He could feel the weight of their concern and curiosity growing oppressive. His heartbeat grew loud in his ears, beating staccato against his breastbone.
Gimli gave a short harrumph. "You have not been yourself as of late."
Fighting for breath, Aragorn closed his eyes and shook his head. He didn't know how much more of their well-meaning attention he could put up with. Their very presence hurt like salt in a fresh wound. "I do not--" He swallowed, unable to find words to explain.
Gandalf looked at him kindly. "Aragorn, isn't it--"
"Enough!" Aragorn's eyes flew open, wild and distressed, as he surged to his feet, nails biting into the waterskin still in his hand. "I do not know what ails me. Perhaps I would be able to discover it with a bit of peace," he snapped harshly, then turned, walking beyond earshot, but still in sight, before sinking to the ground to gaze out over the plain.
The rest of lunch was subdued, quiet in deference to Aragorn's obvious need for at least the illusion of solitude. The company finished the meal swiftly, cleaning their plates with little enjoyment and tucking them away, then resting weary feet for the little while they could spare from the long journey.
Legolas felt eyes on him, first the Hobbits, then Gimli and Gandalf and finally Boromir. No one knew what to say, how to ask, but it wasn't necessary. With a last, dry swallow of Lembas bread, he shook his head, brushing the braids of royalty back behind one pointed ear. "I shall speak to him."
The relief at that softly spoken declaration was palpable. Frodo heaved a sigh and leand back against a boulder, eyes closed; Sam curled up beside him. Merry and Pippin began clearing a small area, twigs broken off from a nearby bush at the ready for some game of figures.
"Do not rush him. We will wait," Gandalf said simply, taking his pipe from his belt and filling it with tobacco.
Legolas nodded his thanks as he brushed the few crumbs from his tunic.
"Legolas."
The elf turned towards Boromir in surprise. The other man had thus far had little to say to him.
"Good luck. He would not talk to me; perhaps he would be more...open with another raised as Elf," the Man said.
One delicate eyebrow arched. "When did you...?"
"Last night, after dinner. He was restless...as he has been of late," Boromir answered easily, jerking his chin in Aragorn's direction.
"Ah." Legolas knew well Aragorn's unease; he simply did not know the cause. With a sigh, he rose, crossing the small clearing.
Gimli watched him silently.
"Master Dwarf?" Legolas said as he pulled even with his companion. "Would you watch over my weapons?"
The dwarf peered up at him in confusion; Boromir and Gandalf looked on in amazement. "Why would you be asking that of me? Surely..." and Gimli trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Legolas looked down at his booted feet, uncomfortable. "It is true I have...had...no love of Dwarvenkind," he admitted slowly, "but I have seen your care of your own weapons, and I trust you would give no less to mine. I do not wish to face Aragorn armed, and may not be able to carry them should more than a friendly ear become necessary." Finished with what, for him, was a veritable speech, the Elf gazed solemnly down at the stocky figure before him and waited.
And waited.
And opened his mouth, set to cast aside his own request in shame, when Gimli managed to speak through his own shock. "You honor me." No answer was forthcoming, just darkened cheekbones and those infuriatingly pointed ears, and Legolas' gaze once more dropped to the rocky ground he stood upon. "It would be my pleasure to care for your weapons, Master Elf," Gimli said with great dignity, leaning forward in an awkward, but no less meaningful, bow.
"Thank you, Master Dwarf." Legolas grinned at him, then took off his bow and quiver, resting them on the ground, then adding the sheaths with his long knives. Weapons gone, he sobered quickly and looked over to where Aragorn sat alone, staring off across the plains. "Do not expect a miracle. I am but one Elf," he whispered, pain in his voice. He could not bear to see his friend so burdened.
"If anyone can bring about a miracle with him, 'tis you, Master Elf," Sam spoke up, much to Legolas' surprise; he'd thought the Hobbit asleep.
"I can but try," he replied, and set off across the ridge.
Legolas found himself standing a few yards away from Aragorn, studying the Man. Aragorn looked haggard, his eyes sunken, skin pale. The journey thus far had been hard, but not hard enough to account for Aragorn's condition, nor his increasingly antisocial behavior.
Sighing inwardly, Legolas wondered if he would ever come to understand his friend. He carried the blood of both Man and Elf, was raised an Elf, loved an Elf, would rule Men...Could the contradictions in his very nature be at the root of this illness?
'How long is he going to ignore me?' Legolas asked himself. 'Is he even aware I'm here? Is he waiting for me to say something?' Turning to see what Aragorn had found so fascinating in the distance, Legolas only saw the large clump of trees and brush signalling a source of water.
It was then that Aragorn's gaze flickered. "Havo dad, Legolas."
The softly spoken command did not quite startle the Elf out of his thoughts, and he closed the distance between them, easing to the ground on the far side of his friend. Aragorn did not so much as glance at him, only continued to stare out across the scrub plain.
"You do not mind my company?"
Aragorn shook his head slightly. "I knew it was only a matter of time before someone came to talk to me."
"You have been ill at ease for some time now," Legolas said softly. "Will you not share your troubles?"
The Man finally turned to look at him, eyes full of regret and confusion. His hand went to the cork of his waterskin. "If I knew..."
Legolas gazed at his friend compassionately. "Gandalf knows of no illness that would explain your symptoms. Boromir has little knowledge of the healing arts, and I must confess I have little experience with Men."
"This is no illness I know of," Aragorn replied.
"And yet you cannot eat, indeed have not eaten even half a day's rations in the last three. You cannot tolerate the presence of the Fellowship, yet mine is bearable--"
"Welcome," Aragorn corrected irritably.
"What?"
"Your company is never bearable. It is welcome," Aragorn elaborated.
Pink tinged the tips of the Elf's ears. "Welcome, then. You cannot rest; your very sleep is plagued with nightmares, some unknown terror that leaves you panting and alone in the darkness--"
Panic flowed across Aragorn's face and he stiffened. "Enough!"
"Nay, it is not enough!" Legolas snapped, anger flashing in his blue eyes. "You are part of this Fellowship, and as much our leader as Gandalf! The only reason we do not suffer conflict is you follow *him*. Should he be separated from us it is *you* we will follow, and we cannot sit back and watch you suffer. It wears on the rest of us even now!"
"Pray do not remind me," Aragorn whispered, ducking his head. He winced at the dryness in his mouth, playing with the waterskin again, aching for the moisture.
"Then talk to me," Legolas urged. "Tell me why I've sung lullabyes these last few nights." He went on at Aragorn's startled glance. "It was not for my own comfort, or the Hobbits, I assure you."
Aragorn slumped, forcing tight muscles to relax with a sigh. "I spoke the truth--I do not know. You would be the first to know if I did."
Legolas reached out and touched Aragorn's wrist gently, offering the comfort of a friendly contact. He was unprepared for the response.
Crying out in surprise, Aragorn stiffened, every muscle pulling taut in protest as pain shot up his arm, a fiery agony he was at a loss to explain. Then it was gone, the hand snatched back and clutched to the Elf's chest. Aragorn shook his head, gasping, small whimpers escaping him as he fought through the red haze that had dimmed his vision.
Legolas stared where his hand had rested for so short a time, eyes wide, as if his touch had left an indelible mark. "Sorry, I am sorry, I did not mean..." he found himself saying in Elvish, and forced himself to stop as the pieces suddenly took on a whole new meaning and made horrifying sense.
"I know," Aragorn managed hoarsely. "It should not have hurt--I know you would not..."
"Aragorn..." Legolas breathed. There was but one illness--nay, not illness--condition, that fit. And only when the afflicted had not had enough to quench the immense thirst the condition brought with it. Aragorn's obsession with his waterskin the last two days clicked. "You have Elven blood."
Bringing his breathing back under control, Aragorn looked up to see the light of realization in the Elf's eyes. "A little, yes. What has that to do with this?"
"Sometimes a little is more than enough." Swallowing, Legolas closed his eyes. He wanted to scream. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to grab Aragorn and kiss him senseless, to throw caution to the wind. He did none of those things, only asked, "Do you trust me?"
An insulted glare was his only answer.
"Then *trust* me. Let me take care of you. Of this. I will not--" He bit down on his tongue. He was all too aware that he could not promise not to hurt Aragorn; he had done just that only moments before, unwittingly or not. "Place yourself in my care. Please. I will not fail you." His voice had trailed off to a pained whisper, as if he expected rejection.
'I would trust you with my heart and soul, if I thought you would accept them,' Aragorn thought to himself as he gazed into Legolas' eyes, the emotions there poignant. Hope warred with worry and dread. "There are none I would trust more," he answered simply.
The blush turned the Elf's ears red this time, pink spilling into his cheeks. "You will not regret this," he vowed, the dread all but disappearing, replaced by relief and an odd joy. "Finish your water." He gestured faintly to the half-full waterskin.
Aragorn blinked in confusion.
"Drink it, Aragorn, your body is in sore need of it," he explained, his hands busy with the ties holding his own waterskin to his belt. The leather container was placed on the sere grass between them. "I need speak with Gandalf, and make some preparations. I want yours empty ere I return. Start on mine then, a few swallows when your mouth demands it."
Aragorn wanted to protest, to insist that water was not something they could spare, but held his tongue. He had already given his word, and it would be a relief to finally slake his thirst. His hands uncorked his waterskin as Legolas rose smoothly to his feet.
"Stay here. I will warn the others not to bother you. More company will jar your senses for some time," the Elf explained, then, once he'd seen Aragorn nod acquiescense, broke into a lope back towards where the rest of the Fellowship waited.
"Gandalf."
Everyone gazed at him expectantly, wanting to know what ailed Aragorn, but Legolas had eyes only for the Wizard, their leader.
"Might I speak with you privately?"
Nodding, Gandalf rose from his seat on a boulder, and held out his arm for Legolas to precede him.
Before leaving the rough camp a second time, Legolas turned to the others. "Aragorn needs some time to himself." He glanced at Boromir, then Frodo and Sam, as they were the most likely to seek the Ranger out.
Faint nods answered him.
Legolas led Gandalf some ways away, then drew close, not wanting the others to hear.
"Well?"
"Aragorn's Elven blood shows its strength," Legolas murmured softly.
Gandalf stared blankly for a long moment. Then his eyes widened as the Elf's meaning sank in. "He is suffering...?"
"Aye. All the symptoms fit, though I know how rare it is for someone with so little..." He took a step back.
A long hand waved in dismissal. "If he is, he is. And you're prepared to see him through this, I take it?" Gandalf raised an eyebrow; Legolas' acceptance of the situation was suspicious.
Legolas let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Who else is there? None of you have the endurance to keep up with him, and at least I know what to expect. Aragorn may have enough Elven blood to spark this, but his human blood makes the transition dangerous. I will not lose him to ignorance," he replied.
"Or to anything else." It was a gross exaggeration, and they both knew it. It didn't matter.
Whatever Legolas could have said in answer died in his throat. He glared at Gandalf accusingly; he had not allowed his feelings to affect the Fellowship up until now, and he would continue to keep them hidden. "It is enough for me that this has happened," he finally managed to choke out.
"Is it?" Gandalf knew it was wrong to ask, but could not stop himself. He had long thought Legolas' feelings towards Aragorn stronger than mere friendship, had seen the way the Elf's eyes watched the Man, had heard the Elven lullabyes and known who they'd been sung for. To ask was to question Legolas' loyalties, to cast doubt upon his honor. And yet the consequences he faced were too dire not to.
Face sliding back into his custmary expression of neutrality, Legolas drew himself to his full height, his backbone stiffening. "It is so nice to know of your unwavering faith in me," he said flatly. His eyes glittered dangerously. "What would you have me do, leave him to suffer? To die, alone? He cannot tolerate anyone else's companionship just now."
"Legolas..." Gandalf reached out to rest one hand on his friend's shoulder; Legolas shifted his weight, sliding out from under it. Gandalf let his hand drop back to his side as he gazed sadly at the irate Elf.
"No. I am not leaving him to suffer like this. I won't leave him to be touched out of some sick sense of *duty*," and he spat the word as if it were an invective, "not when I would touch him with care, would make this the celebration it should be. I have too much respect for him, he has too much honor for anything less."
"And the Lady Arwen?"
Legolas chuckled darkly. "Arwen is an Elf; she understands." And there was an underlying note in his voice that Gandalf did not. "Further, she bade me comfort Aragorn as much as he might allow on this quest; she would not deny him a moment's pleasure on a march to the Hells of Mordor." He drew in a shuddering breath, wondering even then at Arwen's generosity. "I gave her my solemn oath to care for him, to watch over him; I will not be forsworn, not even for the sake of the Fellowship!" The words came in a violent rush, tumbling over each other in a snarl. "To even suggest such a thing is an insult to me, to Arwen, and most especially to Aragorn!"
Gandalf's expression darkened. "It seems my unwavering faith is well placed," he murmured.
"If your unwavering faith is any example, this Fellowship will shatter long before we reach even Lothlorien. However--it will not be my doing. I give you my oath on that," Legolas swore.
Gandalf looked into Legolas' blue eyes and read the emotions there: anger, frustration, fear, worry, and yes, there in the confusion, a long-abiding love that had never been voiced. He found himself believing in the Elf's conviction, the niggling doubts melting away as if they had never been.
"Gandalf..." Legolas whispered then. "This is a gift. One so valuable no one could have granted it to him. He will have forever with his beloved Arwen, but only if he survives the transition. If we were in Rivendell, or if Arwen herself were here, I would gladly step aside for her, but neither is the case. I can not stand by and watch him suffer. We would be burying him come morning, and I fear you would be mourning me soon after. I could not bear to see him die thusly, not when it is in my power to save him."
"You see this as a gift."
Legolas nodded just once, slowly, that slight tilt of head that was so characteristic of Aragorn. The motion in itself was telling. "I know you see it as something that could break the Fellowship, and I am sorry for that. But if I don't at least try, it is no longer possibility. Aragorn has been my friend for many years. I cannot believe that our friendship will be broken by this."
Gandalf smiled then, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out again, and this time Legolas allowed him to clasp his shoulder. "Then treat it like the gift it is." He watched as the tension drained from the Elf's body, the blue eyes rolling back in relief. His hand tightened on Legolas' shoulder. "Take care of him. Enjoy yourself. But guard your heart, Legolas--"
"Gandalf," Legolas interrupted gently, "I thank you for the advice, my friend, but I cannot guard what has already been given freely." With that, he turned and walked back towards the rough camp, feeling Gandalf's saddened gaze boring holes in his back.
End Part 1
Part 2
Aragorn followed Legolas down the hill numbly. He'd watched as the Elf ran to the clump of trees with their packs, disappearing into the foliage only to return emptyhanded save a refilled waterskin. The raging thirst that had struck him two days before had been somewhat lessened, but still had him in its thrall.
Elven curses spilled from his lips at his own inability to identify his illness.
"Aragorn?" Legolas stopped, turned, gazed up at him in concern.
Aragorn shook his head slightly. "I'm all right."
Legolas nodded and turned to continue his descent. "Is the water helping?" At Aragorn's noise of confusion, he went on. "Do you feel any better?"
Nodding, Aragorn had to wonder at his friend's tone; it sounded like the Elf had personal experience with just how much of a difference water made to this malady.
He blinked. Blinked again, coming to a sudden stop in the tall grass, unaware that Legolas had heard and stopped with him, turning to watch the flickers of understanding cross his face. If Legolas knew personally, then this was no illness.
Thirst, restlessness, dislike of food...all the symptoms he'd suffered the last two days whirled around in his mind and fitted themselves into place. He *was* part Elf, after all, but so little?
"Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just planning on waiting until I could no longer control myself?" Aragorn found the words tumbling out, devoid of surprise or accusation.
Legolas was silent for once, that odd joy in his eyes dimming, dulling.
Aragorn found himself wanting to take the words back, wanting to bring the brilliant light back to his friend's gaze, and could not. Not without... He swallowed hard, licking his lips, wondering how he was going to get through this.
Finding his tongue, Legolas kept his voice gentle. "I set up camp over there," he said, gesturing to the clump of trees. "The lack of water bought you some time; I was hoping to get there before explaining." Gandalf had found his acceptance of the situation suspicious; Legolas found Aragorn's disturbing at best and quite possibly terrifying. "If it is any comfort, I wish we were back in Rivendell, that you could spend this time with your lady Arwen. She will not hold it against you, I know. It is not our way--"
"Spare me, Legolas, being in Rivendell now--having to be with Arwen--would quite possibly destroy us both," Aragorn whispered. His eyes were filled with horror, his skin having taken on a greenish hue before he turned away, shivering.
"I...I do not understand," Legolas managed after several long minutes of silence. "Arwen is your fiance--I had thought you would be..." He shook his head, unable to finish the thought.
"Did she talk to you at all before we left?"
"Why...? Yes, she did, but I did not understand the half of what she told me," Legolas admitted, awash in confusion. "Other than that she could not say all of it, but that she would be most displeased if you did not at some point on this quest..."
Aragorn nodded, looking up at him again. "I love Arwen dearly--as a sister. Nothing more, nothing less."
Legolas' eyes widened. "But she's your--"
Bitter laughter stopped him. "Arwen was never my fiance. That was an assumption made based on Elven custom, a young man's forgetfulness and a sister's indulgence of childhood habits." Aragorn shrugged. "Once we realized what we were being congratulated for, it became...convenient. A protective shield against the attentions of others that neither of us wanted."
"And Elrond allowed this?" Legolas asked incredulously.
"Elrond was the one to make us understand what we'd done!"
Legolas had never in his near three thousand years been shocked senseless. Until now. "Explain," he finally managed to choke out.
Aragorn sighed and shook his head, a small smile of fond rememberance on his lips. "Come on, I'll explain on the way," he said, motioning for Legolas to lead the way.
The Elf took a hesitant step back, then nodded and turned, keeping his head tilted as if to hear better as he walked.
Silence reigned for a few dozen strides as Aragorn gathered his thoughts.
"Well?" Legolas prompted.
"Yes, I know," Aragorn answered, laughing a bit. "I was just trying to figure out how to explain without embarrassing myself."
"I have a feeling that managing that would be a miracle."
"In other words, get on with the story."
"I would not have put it that way, but now that you mention it...yes."
"Well, I guess the sooner I start, the sooner you'll stop laughing at me."
"That bad, is it?"
"Possibly. Depends on how amusing you find it."
"Well, I can't tell you that until you tell me the story, so stop stalling and tell me already."
Aragorn chuckled. "Can't say I didn't try."
Legolas made a noncomittal grunt and nodded.
"All right," Aragorn sighed. "Here goes. When I was a boy in the House of Elrond, there was a time when I was fascinated with the differences between myself and the Elves there. Arwen, bless her, always took me seriously, always talked to me like an adult, and I adored her for it. I could always talk to her about anything, and it was her I went to with my questions. And it was her that I asked about--well...I'd seen some of Elrond's household..." Aragorn broke off with a frustrated growl.
"What? It is not so surprising that you would be curious as a child..."
"Perhaps not, but the focus of my fascination was not--" He broke off again, stopping to stare off into the distance. He struggled to find words, then, unable to find them, burst out, "Damn those Elven ears!"
Legolas blinked at him in shock. "You were fascinated by her ears?" Aragorn nodded, lips thinned in misery. "You do realize that--"
"I know how sensitive your ears are, thank you," Aragorn interrupted stiffly. "And that physical contact with them is reserved for long-time lovers and mates."
The Elf nodded.
"As I said...Arwen indulged me, let me satisfy my curiosity. After all, what harm would it cause? I was but a child." And he laughed self-deprecatingly. "Once I understood what gestures concerning an Elf's ears...erm..." Aragorn shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject, then went on without addressing it. "I started wishing her good morning with a kiss for her, and one for each of her ears."
"And she let you do this?" Legolas could only laugh incredulously, shaking his head at the very notion.
"I was only five or six at the time. It was not as if I was courting her. And everyone else knew how much she doted on me." Aragorn shifted uncomfortably.
Legolas nodded, letting his amusement fade as he took in how much it discomfited Aragorn. He wanted the rest of the story. "Go on."
"Arwen left for Lothlorien when I was about eight. I was devastated--she was my confidante, and there wasn't anyone else I felt that, well, comfortable with, I guess. So I grew up without her wisdom and understanding, left to train as a Ranger. Returned to Rivendell when I heard she was coming home, and made arrangements with the Dunedain to spend the summer, and possibly the rest of the year there. I made it back several weeks before she did."
There was silence then, and Legolas chanced a glance at his friend. From the tension in his face, his uneven motions, whatever came next was deeply personal, and he didn't want to make a comment to discourage him.
Still, Aragorn said nothing more.
"I'm listening."
Another moment passed, and then the Man continued in a soft voice. "The rest is..." He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "Arwen and Elrond are the only others who know," he whispered, unsure. "There was a visitor to Rivendell before Arwen arrived. A messenger, really, they were only there for a few days before leaving again. And I, still feeling impossibly young and somehow out of place there, fell in love with the most beautiful creature in Middle Earth." There was a note of pained reverence in his tone, as if the very mention of such feelings broke his heart, even as he cherished them.
Legolas stiffened then, his own heart breaking. Hearing that Arwen had never had a hold on his beloved had given rise to hope, but it seemed he was doomed to always be too late. Taking in a ragged breath, he managed to keep the words even. "And do you still--?"
"More with every passing day." There was no hesitance whatsoever, no doubt, no room for argument.
It killed something inside Legolas.
"It was all I could do to keep myself together until Arwen came home, and only the hope that our relationship would be the same, that I could talk to her as I had as a child, kept me sane. Upon her arrival, I was relieved to find that she was still my confidante, that she would offer me the kind of open ear," and he blushed at the sound of his own voice forming that treacherous word, "and advice that she'd given me as a child."
"From a more mature standing point, I expect."
Aragorn gave a bark of laughter at that. "Yes. I spent a great deal of time with her, in her rooms or mine, talking of my love, learning of hers. It took some time before I was able to deal with such heady emotions, and without her I would have been lost. I did not see the Elves in Rivendell in a different light as an adult than I had as a child, never fallen like that..." He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself despite the lingering discomfort. "I would have asked Elrond his permission to court, but I needed Arwen's advice and support. And the morning I finally was able to put all of my feelings in their proper order, I came to breakfast, swept Arwen off her feet in a hug and kissed her good morning." He said nothing more, though something was quite obviously left missing.
"And her ears." Legolas realized how it must have looked to the citizens of Rivendell: Aragorn, rushing in to the main hall in a wild joy, whirling Arwen around in a swirl of gowns and laughter--and then bestowing the one caress that would have cemented a relationship with no doubt whatsoever, were it between two who had not been in the same habit from childhood.
"Yes. Neither of us had any notion of why everyone was congratulating us during the day. Not until Elrond pulled us both into his study and asked us when the wedding was supposed to be."
"That must have been a shock," the Elf managed through his laughter.
Aragorn had to join in, though his laughter was more rueful than amused. "Arwen looked about ready to faint. I know I was wishing the orcs to attack or something, anything that would get us out of the situation."
"And Elrond?"
"Demanded an explanation, and got one. He'd long known that Arwen's beloved was in Valinor already, and suspected I'd fallen in love, but didn't know with who. We sat there for several hours, stumbling over each other's explanations, interrupting each other at every opportunity, until Elrond managed to put the pieces together."
The trees loomed larger now, still a ways off, but it spoke well of a water source and rest. And that he would soon be forced to deal with--
Aragorn shook his head. 'I am not going there, not yet.'
"From what I've seen of the two of you, I cannot imagine you and Arwen so--so--"
"Oh, we were doing it on purpose. Neither of us could stand to actually say anything outright, and we were experts by then at picking up when the other needed a timely rescue."
"I can imagine how amused Elrond must have been at that," Legolas said sarcastically.
"Oh, he was torn between rage and hysterical laughter. I'm still not quite sure which." Aragorn took another drink from his waterskin, yet another reminder of why he was talking about this. "In any case, the damage was done. The entire population of Rivendell, save myself, Arwen, and Elrond, who had managed to figure out the truth between the two of us, and maybe--maybe--my brothers, knew Arwen and I were engaged to be married. And several of them took it upon themselves to announce it to the other Elven realms, and left us with either a very...embarrassing explanation of the truth, or playing the parts everyone had already assumed us to have."
"And the Evenstar?"
"Everything in public was just that--for the public eye. A good deal of the time we spent behind closed doors was in scripting and rehearsing those 'private' scenes others would stumble on. Like her offering me her immortality. Elrond helped us with those, believe it or not. He felt it a small price to pay to have Arwen free to leave with him when they depart these shores."
"So he got Arwen, she got to join her beloved. And your messenger friend?"
"Above my station."
Legolas could only gape at him in shock. "Above your station? You're heir to the throne of Gondor! How can you even think such a--"
"Stop it, Legolas," Aragorn cut him off angrily. "I had little enough to offer. I hadn't even reached the end of my training as a Ranger at the time. I wanted to court, yes, but I didn't intend to immediately. I thought I had time. I wanted--I wanted to be more than some green, inexperienced young man who couldn't figure out what he wanted," he admitted harshly. "I learned to live with it."
"It sounds lonely." Legolas sighed when Aragorn didn't answer. "Did...did you ever think that maybe all they wanted was you?"
"They broke a promise to me." Legolas could hear the anguish, the buried feelings of betrayal. "One I believed in very strongly, because I had nothing else to hold onto. I had no other choice but to live with it."
Legolas ached for him; as much as he was eaten by jealousy, by loss, he wanted Aragorn's happiness before his own. "Might I ask--"
"I don't want to talk about this any more," Aragorn said blandly, his voice devoid of emotion rather than angry.
Legolas nodded, wishing that the Man had been angered. What he'd already heard had been personal enough. Pushing him was not an option, not if he wanted to keep the Man's friendship after... A sharp gasp escaped him; in the shocking truths laid bare, he'd all but forgotten.
And Aragorn had yet to really react to it.
As much as he dreaded it, Legolas swallowed hard, shoved down the pain of the truths he'd just learned and locked it away. "Aragorn, I--" He held up a hand as the Man began to protest. "I do not intend to trespass. But I have to ask--are you all right with this? With what will happen? I cannot stop it, nor can I leave you to suffer alone. The former is impossible, the latter would kill me." He met Aragorn's steely gaze only through sheer willpower.
"I will not have you forced," Aragorn ground out, eyes flashing with anger, before he turned away, taking another swallow from his waterskin.
Legolas blinked. Where had that come from? "I would not insult you thusly, you know this," he hissed in sudden irritation. "I know not what to say to convince you, but I did not choose this out of duty!"
"And I would not have you submitting to me in the name of Elven custom and honor, either."
There was such sadness and pain in his voice that Legolas' frustration vanished, melting away and gentling his voice. "What of the promise you made me? To see you through this? You obviously hold one's word in high esteem, or else you would be with your messenger and not, in the eyes of the Elven realms, engaged to Arwen." When Aragorn hesitated to answer, he went on. "And what of our friendship? I would have hoped, were we in Rivendell and I knowing of the truth, you knew you would be welcomed." He would have said more, but such an admission was not his right to give.
"What of our friendship?" Aragorn repeated slowly, raising his eyes to the wide blue expanse overhead. Then he shook his head, met Legolas' gaze once more.
There was such an expression of sorrow and longing lurking there that Legolas' breath caught in his throat. Then it was gone, and he could only wait to hear whatever was left to be said.
"I do not wish to--" Aragorn broke off, swallowing hard. "I know not how to say anything that would not be misunderstood, and yet I find I must." His expression was guarded, wary, buried in masks of resigned acceptance and dread.
"Aragorn?"
He inhaled deeply, letting the words out before he lost what little courage he could muster. "Your friendship pains me more than you could begin to comprehend. And to lose even that much would destroy me." Unable to bear witness to the Elf's reaction to such a confession, Aragorn turned and began walking towards the trees once more, heart heavy and aching.
End Part 2
Author: Frogg
Type: Um. Hurt/Comfort? PWP? No bloody clue.
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas, Aragorn/Arwen(implied)
Rating: NC-17
Betaed: Nope. All plotholes, loopholes, potholes, potheads, potholders, etc. are fully my fault. Um. Not. You get the idea. It's too damned late at night. Early in the morning. Something. Read at own risk.
Archiving: Ask first.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Will return in a much better mood when done.
Feedback: Yes please!
Summary: A coming of age. Some illusions are broken.
Author's Note: Set before Moria. Answer to the Elven pon farr fic challenge on Dimensions of Dhvana mailing list.
Aragorn's stomach clenched, the sight and smell of food revolting. His breath hitched; the fork fell from numb fingers to clatter noisily in his dish.
"Strider? Is the food not to your liking?" Sam asked, a look of concern and guilt on his face. He'd noticed the drop in his friend's appetite the last few days, and tried hard to compensate for it with his cooking to no avail.
"No, the food is fine. Wonderful. I just...I am not hungered, that is all." Aragorn swallowed heavily. The little he had managed to force down threatened. Setting the tin down on the rock beside him, he hunched over, uncorking his waterskin and taking a quick swallow. Liquid splashed over his chin and dripped onto his tunic, and he had to fight the urge to suck the moisture out of the cloth.
Then the dampness soaked through. His skin crawled, sending a shudder ripping through him.
"Are you feeling all right, Strider?" Frodo's voice was soft, worried.
Aragorn gave a wan smile that did not reach his eyes. "Just thirsty." He could feel the weight of their concern and curiosity growing oppressive. His heartbeat grew loud in his ears, beating staccato against his breastbone.
Gimli gave a short harrumph. "You have not been yourself as of late."
Fighting for breath, Aragorn closed his eyes and shook his head. He didn't know how much more of their well-meaning attention he could put up with. Their very presence hurt like salt in a fresh wound. "I do not--" He swallowed, unable to find words to explain.
Gandalf looked at him kindly. "Aragorn, isn't it--"
"Enough!" Aragorn's eyes flew open, wild and distressed, as he surged to his feet, nails biting into the waterskin still in his hand. "I do not know what ails me. Perhaps I would be able to discover it with a bit of peace," he snapped harshly, then turned, walking beyond earshot, but still in sight, before sinking to the ground to gaze out over the plain.
The rest of lunch was subdued, quiet in deference to Aragorn's obvious need for at least the illusion of solitude. The company finished the meal swiftly, cleaning their plates with little enjoyment and tucking them away, then resting weary feet for the little while they could spare from the long journey.
Legolas felt eyes on him, first the Hobbits, then Gimli and Gandalf and finally Boromir. No one knew what to say, how to ask, but it wasn't necessary. With a last, dry swallow of Lembas bread, he shook his head, brushing the braids of royalty back behind one pointed ear. "I shall speak to him."
The relief at that softly spoken declaration was palpable. Frodo heaved a sigh and leand back against a boulder, eyes closed; Sam curled up beside him. Merry and Pippin began clearing a small area, twigs broken off from a nearby bush at the ready for some game of figures.
"Do not rush him. We will wait," Gandalf said simply, taking his pipe from his belt and filling it with tobacco.
Legolas nodded his thanks as he brushed the few crumbs from his tunic.
"Legolas."
The elf turned towards Boromir in surprise. The other man had thus far had little to say to him.
"Good luck. He would not talk to me; perhaps he would be more...open with another raised as Elf," the Man said.
One delicate eyebrow arched. "When did you...?"
"Last night, after dinner. He was restless...as he has been of late," Boromir answered easily, jerking his chin in Aragorn's direction.
"Ah." Legolas knew well Aragorn's unease; he simply did not know the cause. With a sigh, he rose, crossing the small clearing.
Gimli watched him silently.
"Master Dwarf?" Legolas said as he pulled even with his companion. "Would you watch over my weapons?"
The dwarf peered up at him in confusion; Boromir and Gandalf looked on in amazement. "Why would you be asking that of me? Surely..." and Gimli trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Legolas looked down at his booted feet, uncomfortable. "It is true I have...had...no love of Dwarvenkind," he admitted slowly, "but I have seen your care of your own weapons, and I trust you would give no less to mine. I do not wish to face Aragorn armed, and may not be able to carry them should more than a friendly ear become necessary." Finished with what, for him, was a veritable speech, the Elf gazed solemnly down at the stocky figure before him and waited.
And waited.
And opened his mouth, set to cast aside his own request in shame, when Gimli managed to speak through his own shock. "You honor me." No answer was forthcoming, just darkened cheekbones and those infuriatingly pointed ears, and Legolas' gaze once more dropped to the rocky ground he stood upon. "It would be my pleasure to care for your weapons, Master Elf," Gimli said with great dignity, leaning forward in an awkward, but no less meaningful, bow.
"Thank you, Master Dwarf." Legolas grinned at him, then took off his bow and quiver, resting them on the ground, then adding the sheaths with his long knives. Weapons gone, he sobered quickly and looked over to where Aragorn sat alone, staring off across the plains. "Do not expect a miracle. I am but one Elf," he whispered, pain in his voice. He could not bear to see his friend so burdened.
"If anyone can bring about a miracle with him, 'tis you, Master Elf," Sam spoke up, much to Legolas' surprise; he'd thought the Hobbit asleep.
"I can but try," he replied, and set off across the ridge.
Legolas found himself standing a few yards away from Aragorn, studying the Man. Aragorn looked haggard, his eyes sunken, skin pale. The journey thus far had been hard, but not hard enough to account for Aragorn's condition, nor his increasingly antisocial behavior.
Sighing inwardly, Legolas wondered if he would ever come to understand his friend. He carried the blood of both Man and Elf, was raised an Elf, loved an Elf, would rule Men...Could the contradictions in his very nature be at the root of this illness?
'How long is he going to ignore me?' Legolas asked himself. 'Is he even aware I'm here? Is he waiting for me to say something?' Turning to see what Aragorn had found so fascinating in the distance, Legolas only saw the large clump of trees and brush signalling a source of water.
It was then that Aragorn's gaze flickered. "Havo dad, Legolas."
The softly spoken command did not quite startle the Elf out of his thoughts, and he closed the distance between them, easing to the ground on the far side of his friend. Aragorn did not so much as glance at him, only continued to stare out across the scrub plain.
"You do not mind my company?"
Aragorn shook his head slightly. "I knew it was only a matter of time before someone came to talk to me."
"You have been ill at ease for some time now," Legolas said softly. "Will you not share your troubles?"
The Man finally turned to look at him, eyes full of regret and confusion. His hand went to the cork of his waterskin. "If I knew..."
Legolas gazed at his friend compassionately. "Gandalf knows of no illness that would explain your symptoms. Boromir has little knowledge of the healing arts, and I must confess I have little experience with Men."
"This is no illness I know of," Aragorn replied.
"And yet you cannot eat, indeed have not eaten even half a day's rations in the last three. You cannot tolerate the presence of the Fellowship, yet mine is bearable--"
"Welcome," Aragorn corrected irritably.
"What?"
"Your company is never bearable. It is welcome," Aragorn elaborated.
Pink tinged the tips of the Elf's ears. "Welcome, then. You cannot rest; your very sleep is plagued with nightmares, some unknown terror that leaves you panting and alone in the darkness--"
Panic flowed across Aragorn's face and he stiffened. "Enough!"
"Nay, it is not enough!" Legolas snapped, anger flashing in his blue eyes. "You are part of this Fellowship, and as much our leader as Gandalf! The only reason we do not suffer conflict is you follow *him*. Should he be separated from us it is *you* we will follow, and we cannot sit back and watch you suffer. It wears on the rest of us even now!"
"Pray do not remind me," Aragorn whispered, ducking his head. He winced at the dryness in his mouth, playing with the waterskin again, aching for the moisture.
"Then talk to me," Legolas urged. "Tell me why I've sung lullabyes these last few nights." He went on at Aragorn's startled glance. "It was not for my own comfort, or the Hobbits, I assure you."
Aragorn slumped, forcing tight muscles to relax with a sigh. "I spoke the truth--I do not know. You would be the first to know if I did."
Legolas reached out and touched Aragorn's wrist gently, offering the comfort of a friendly contact. He was unprepared for the response.
Crying out in surprise, Aragorn stiffened, every muscle pulling taut in protest as pain shot up his arm, a fiery agony he was at a loss to explain. Then it was gone, the hand snatched back and clutched to the Elf's chest. Aragorn shook his head, gasping, small whimpers escaping him as he fought through the red haze that had dimmed his vision.
Legolas stared where his hand had rested for so short a time, eyes wide, as if his touch had left an indelible mark. "Sorry, I am sorry, I did not mean..." he found himself saying in Elvish, and forced himself to stop as the pieces suddenly took on a whole new meaning and made horrifying sense.
"I know," Aragorn managed hoarsely. "It should not have hurt--I know you would not..."
"Aragorn..." Legolas breathed. There was but one illness--nay, not illness--condition, that fit. And only when the afflicted had not had enough to quench the immense thirst the condition brought with it. Aragorn's obsession with his waterskin the last two days clicked. "You have Elven blood."
Bringing his breathing back under control, Aragorn looked up to see the light of realization in the Elf's eyes. "A little, yes. What has that to do with this?"
"Sometimes a little is more than enough." Swallowing, Legolas closed his eyes. He wanted to scream. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to grab Aragorn and kiss him senseless, to throw caution to the wind. He did none of those things, only asked, "Do you trust me?"
An insulted glare was his only answer.
"Then *trust* me. Let me take care of you. Of this. I will not--" He bit down on his tongue. He was all too aware that he could not promise not to hurt Aragorn; he had done just that only moments before, unwittingly or not. "Place yourself in my care. Please. I will not fail you." His voice had trailed off to a pained whisper, as if he expected rejection.
'I would trust you with my heart and soul, if I thought you would accept them,' Aragorn thought to himself as he gazed into Legolas' eyes, the emotions there poignant. Hope warred with worry and dread. "There are none I would trust more," he answered simply.
The blush turned the Elf's ears red this time, pink spilling into his cheeks. "You will not regret this," he vowed, the dread all but disappearing, replaced by relief and an odd joy. "Finish your water." He gestured faintly to the half-full waterskin.
Aragorn blinked in confusion.
"Drink it, Aragorn, your body is in sore need of it," he explained, his hands busy with the ties holding his own waterskin to his belt. The leather container was placed on the sere grass between them. "I need speak with Gandalf, and make some preparations. I want yours empty ere I return. Start on mine then, a few swallows when your mouth demands it."
Aragorn wanted to protest, to insist that water was not something they could spare, but held his tongue. He had already given his word, and it would be a relief to finally slake his thirst. His hands uncorked his waterskin as Legolas rose smoothly to his feet.
"Stay here. I will warn the others not to bother you. More company will jar your senses for some time," the Elf explained, then, once he'd seen Aragorn nod acquiescense, broke into a lope back towards where the rest of the Fellowship waited.
"Gandalf."
Everyone gazed at him expectantly, wanting to know what ailed Aragorn, but Legolas had eyes only for the Wizard, their leader.
"Might I speak with you privately?"
Nodding, Gandalf rose from his seat on a boulder, and held out his arm for Legolas to precede him.
Before leaving the rough camp a second time, Legolas turned to the others. "Aragorn needs some time to himself." He glanced at Boromir, then Frodo and Sam, as they were the most likely to seek the Ranger out.
Faint nods answered him.
Legolas led Gandalf some ways away, then drew close, not wanting the others to hear.
"Well?"
"Aragorn's Elven blood shows its strength," Legolas murmured softly.
Gandalf stared blankly for a long moment. Then his eyes widened as the Elf's meaning sank in. "He is suffering...?"
"Aye. All the symptoms fit, though I know how rare it is for someone with so little..." He took a step back.
A long hand waved in dismissal. "If he is, he is. And you're prepared to see him through this, I take it?" Gandalf raised an eyebrow; Legolas' acceptance of the situation was suspicious.
Legolas let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Who else is there? None of you have the endurance to keep up with him, and at least I know what to expect. Aragorn may have enough Elven blood to spark this, but his human blood makes the transition dangerous. I will not lose him to ignorance," he replied.
"Or to anything else." It was a gross exaggeration, and they both knew it. It didn't matter.
Whatever Legolas could have said in answer died in his throat. He glared at Gandalf accusingly; he had not allowed his feelings to affect the Fellowship up until now, and he would continue to keep them hidden. "It is enough for me that this has happened," he finally managed to choke out.
"Is it?" Gandalf knew it was wrong to ask, but could not stop himself. He had long thought Legolas' feelings towards Aragorn stronger than mere friendship, had seen the way the Elf's eyes watched the Man, had heard the Elven lullabyes and known who they'd been sung for. To ask was to question Legolas' loyalties, to cast doubt upon his honor. And yet the consequences he faced were too dire not to.
Face sliding back into his custmary expression of neutrality, Legolas drew himself to his full height, his backbone stiffening. "It is so nice to know of your unwavering faith in me," he said flatly. His eyes glittered dangerously. "What would you have me do, leave him to suffer? To die, alone? He cannot tolerate anyone else's companionship just now."
"Legolas..." Gandalf reached out to rest one hand on his friend's shoulder; Legolas shifted his weight, sliding out from under it. Gandalf let his hand drop back to his side as he gazed sadly at the irate Elf.
"No. I am not leaving him to suffer like this. I won't leave him to be touched out of some sick sense of *duty*," and he spat the word as if it were an invective, "not when I would touch him with care, would make this the celebration it should be. I have too much respect for him, he has too much honor for anything less."
"And the Lady Arwen?"
Legolas chuckled darkly. "Arwen is an Elf; she understands." And there was an underlying note in his voice that Gandalf did not. "Further, she bade me comfort Aragorn as much as he might allow on this quest; she would not deny him a moment's pleasure on a march to the Hells of Mordor." He drew in a shuddering breath, wondering even then at Arwen's generosity. "I gave her my solemn oath to care for him, to watch over him; I will not be forsworn, not even for the sake of the Fellowship!" The words came in a violent rush, tumbling over each other in a snarl. "To even suggest such a thing is an insult to me, to Arwen, and most especially to Aragorn!"
Gandalf's expression darkened. "It seems my unwavering faith is well placed," he murmured.
"If your unwavering faith is any example, this Fellowship will shatter long before we reach even Lothlorien. However--it will not be my doing. I give you my oath on that," Legolas swore.
Gandalf looked into Legolas' blue eyes and read the emotions there: anger, frustration, fear, worry, and yes, there in the confusion, a long-abiding love that had never been voiced. He found himself believing in the Elf's conviction, the niggling doubts melting away as if they had never been.
"Gandalf..." Legolas whispered then. "This is a gift. One so valuable no one could have granted it to him. He will have forever with his beloved Arwen, but only if he survives the transition. If we were in Rivendell, or if Arwen herself were here, I would gladly step aside for her, but neither is the case. I can not stand by and watch him suffer. We would be burying him come morning, and I fear you would be mourning me soon after. I could not bear to see him die thusly, not when it is in my power to save him."
"You see this as a gift."
Legolas nodded just once, slowly, that slight tilt of head that was so characteristic of Aragorn. The motion in itself was telling. "I know you see it as something that could break the Fellowship, and I am sorry for that. But if I don't at least try, it is no longer possibility. Aragorn has been my friend for many years. I cannot believe that our friendship will be broken by this."
Gandalf smiled then, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out again, and this time Legolas allowed him to clasp his shoulder. "Then treat it like the gift it is." He watched as the tension drained from the Elf's body, the blue eyes rolling back in relief. His hand tightened on Legolas' shoulder. "Take care of him. Enjoy yourself. But guard your heart, Legolas--"
"Gandalf," Legolas interrupted gently, "I thank you for the advice, my friend, but I cannot guard what has already been given freely." With that, he turned and walked back towards the rough camp, feeling Gandalf's saddened gaze boring holes in his back.
End Part 1
Part 2
Aragorn followed Legolas down the hill numbly. He'd watched as the Elf ran to the clump of trees with their packs, disappearing into the foliage only to return emptyhanded save a refilled waterskin. The raging thirst that had struck him two days before had been somewhat lessened, but still had him in its thrall.
Elven curses spilled from his lips at his own inability to identify his illness.
"Aragorn?" Legolas stopped, turned, gazed up at him in concern.
Aragorn shook his head slightly. "I'm all right."
Legolas nodded and turned to continue his descent. "Is the water helping?" At Aragorn's noise of confusion, he went on. "Do you feel any better?"
Nodding, Aragorn had to wonder at his friend's tone; it sounded like the Elf had personal experience with just how much of a difference water made to this malady.
He blinked. Blinked again, coming to a sudden stop in the tall grass, unaware that Legolas had heard and stopped with him, turning to watch the flickers of understanding cross his face. If Legolas knew personally, then this was no illness.
Thirst, restlessness, dislike of food...all the symptoms he'd suffered the last two days whirled around in his mind and fitted themselves into place. He *was* part Elf, after all, but so little?
"Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just planning on waiting until I could no longer control myself?" Aragorn found the words tumbling out, devoid of surprise or accusation.
Legolas was silent for once, that odd joy in his eyes dimming, dulling.
Aragorn found himself wanting to take the words back, wanting to bring the brilliant light back to his friend's gaze, and could not. Not without... He swallowed hard, licking his lips, wondering how he was going to get through this.
Finding his tongue, Legolas kept his voice gentle. "I set up camp over there," he said, gesturing to the clump of trees. "The lack of water bought you some time; I was hoping to get there before explaining." Gandalf had found his acceptance of the situation suspicious; Legolas found Aragorn's disturbing at best and quite possibly terrifying. "If it is any comfort, I wish we were back in Rivendell, that you could spend this time with your lady Arwen. She will not hold it against you, I know. It is not our way--"
"Spare me, Legolas, being in Rivendell now--having to be with Arwen--would quite possibly destroy us both," Aragorn whispered. His eyes were filled with horror, his skin having taken on a greenish hue before he turned away, shivering.
"I...I do not understand," Legolas managed after several long minutes of silence. "Arwen is your fiance--I had thought you would be..." He shook his head, unable to finish the thought.
"Did she talk to you at all before we left?"
"Why...? Yes, she did, but I did not understand the half of what she told me," Legolas admitted, awash in confusion. "Other than that she could not say all of it, but that she would be most displeased if you did not at some point on this quest..."
Aragorn nodded, looking up at him again. "I love Arwen dearly--as a sister. Nothing more, nothing less."
Legolas' eyes widened. "But she's your--"
Bitter laughter stopped him. "Arwen was never my fiance. That was an assumption made based on Elven custom, a young man's forgetfulness and a sister's indulgence of childhood habits." Aragorn shrugged. "Once we realized what we were being congratulated for, it became...convenient. A protective shield against the attentions of others that neither of us wanted."
"And Elrond allowed this?" Legolas asked incredulously.
"Elrond was the one to make us understand what we'd done!"
Legolas had never in his near three thousand years been shocked senseless. Until now. "Explain," he finally managed to choke out.
Aragorn sighed and shook his head, a small smile of fond rememberance on his lips. "Come on, I'll explain on the way," he said, motioning for Legolas to lead the way.
The Elf took a hesitant step back, then nodded and turned, keeping his head tilted as if to hear better as he walked.
Silence reigned for a few dozen strides as Aragorn gathered his thoughts.
"Well?" Legolas prompted.
"Yes, I know," Aragorn answered, laughing a bit. "I was just trying to figure out how to explain without embarrassing myself."
"I have a feeling that managing that would be a miracle."
"In other words, get on with the story."
"I would not have put it that way, but now that you mention it...yes."
"Well, I guess the sooner I start, the sooner you'll stop laughing at me."
"That bad, is it?"
"Possibly. Depends on how amusing you find it."
"Well, I can't tell you that until you tell me the story, so stop stalling and tell me already."
Aragorn chuckled. "Can't say I didn't try."
Legolas made a noncomittal grunt and nodded.
"All right," Aragorn sighed. "Here goes. When I was a boy in the House of Elrond, there was a time when I was fascinated with the differences between myself and the Elves there. Arwen, bless her, always took me seriously, always talked to me like an adult, and I adored her for it. I could always talk to her about anything, and it was her I went to with my questions. And it was her that I asked about--well...I'd seen some of Elrond's household..." Aragorn broke off with a frustrated growl.
"What? It is not so surprising that you would be curious as a child..."
"Perhaps not, but the focus of my fascination was not--" He broke off again, stopping to stare off into the distance. He struggled to find words, then, unable to find them, burst out, "Damn those Elven ears!"
Legolas blinked at him in shock. "You were fascinated by her ears?" Aragorn nodded, lips thinned in misery. "You do realize that--"
"I know how sensitive your ears are, thank you," Aragorn interrupted stiffly. "And that physical contact with them is reserved for long-time lovers and mates."
The Elf nodded.
"As I said...Arwen indulged me, let me satisfy my curiosity. After all, what harm would it cause? I was but a child." And he laughed self-deprecatingly. "Once I understood what gestures concerning an Elf's ears...erm..." Aragorn shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject, then went on without addressing it. "I started wishing her good morning with a kiss for her, and one for each of her ears."
"And she let you do this?" Legolas could only laugh incredulously, shaking his head at the very notion.
"I was only five or six at the time. It was not as if I was courting her. And everyone else knew how much she doted on me." Aragorn shifted uncomfortably.
Legolas nodded, letting his amusement fade as he took in how much it discomfited Aragorn. He wanted the rest of the story. "Go on."
"Arwen left for Lothlorien when I was about eight. I was devastated--she was my confidante, and there wasn't anyone else I felt that, well, comfortable with, I guess. So I grew up without her wisdom and understanding, left to train as a Ranger. Returned to Rivendell when I heard she was coming home, and made arrangements with the Dunedain to spend the summer, and possibly the rest of the year there. I made it back several weeks before she did."
There was silence then, and Legolas chanced a glance at his friend. From the tension in his face, his uneven motions, whatever came next was deeply personal, and he didn't want to make a comment to discourage him.
Still, Aragorn said nothing more.
"I'm listening."
Another moment passed, and then the Man continued in a soft voice. "The rest is..." He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "Arwen and Elrond are the only others who know," he whispered, unsure. "There was a visitor to Rivendell before Arwen arrived. A messenger, really, they were only there for a few days before leaving again. And I, still feeling impossibly young and somehow out of place there, fell in love with the most beautiful creature in Middle Earth." There was a note of pained reverence in his tone, as if the very mention of such feelings broke his heart, even as he cherished them.
Legolas stiffened then, his own heart breaking. Hearing that Arwen had never had a hold on his beloved had given rise to hope, but it seemed he was doomed to always be too late. Taking in a ragged breath, he managed to keep the words even. "And do you still--?"
"More with every passing day." There was no hesitance whatsoever, no doubt, no room for argument.
It killed something inside Legolas.
"It was all I could do to keep myself together until Arwen came home, and only the hope that our relationship would be the same, that I could talk to her as I had as a child, kept me sane. Upon her arrival, I was relieved to find that she was still my confidante, that she would offer me the kind of open ear," and he blushed at the sound of his own voice forming that treacherous word, "and advice that she'd given me as a child."
"From a more mature standing point, I expect."
Aragorn gave a bark of laughter at that. "Yes. I spent a great deal of time with her, in her rooms or mine, talking of my love, learning of hers. It took some time before I was able to deal with such heady emotions, and without her I would have been lost. I did not see the Elves in Rivendell in a different light as an adult than I had as a child, never fallen like that..." He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself despite the lingering discomfort. "I would have asked Elrond his permission to court, but I needed Arwen's advice and support. And the morning I finally was able to put all of my feelings in their proper order, I came to breakfast, swept Arwen off her feet in a hug and kissed her good morning." He said nothing more, though something was quite obviously left missing.
"And her ears." Legolas realized how it must have looked to the citizens of Rivendell: Aragorn, rushing in to the main hall in a wild joy, whirling Arwen around in a swirl of gowns and laughter--and then bestowing the one caress that would have cemented a relationship with no doubt whatsoever, were it between two who had not been in the same habit from childhood.
"Yes. Neither of us had any notion of why everyone was congratulating us during the day. Not until Elrond pulled us both into his study and asked us when the wedding was supposed to be."
"That must have been a shock," the Elf managed through his laughter.
Aragorn had to join in, though his laughter was more rueful than amused. "Arwen looked about ready to faint. I know I was wishing the orcs to attack or something, anything that would get us out of the situation."
"And Elrond?"
"Demanded an explanation, and got one. He'd long known that Arwen's beloved was in Valinor already, and suspected I'd fallen in love, but didn't know with who. We sat there for several hours, stumbling over each other's explanations, interrupting each other at every opportunity, until Elrond managed to put the pieces together."
The trees loomed larger now, still a ways off, but it spoke well of a water source and rest. And that he would soon be forced to deal with--
Aragorn shook his head. 'I am not going there, not yet.'
"From what I've seen of the two of you, I cannot imagine you and Arwen so--so--"
"Oh, we were doing it on purpose. Neither of us could stand to actually say anything outright, and we were experts by then at picking up when the other needed a timely rescue."
"I can imagine how amused Elrond must have been at that," Legolas said sarcastically.
"Oh, he was torn between rage and hysterical laughter. I'm still not quite sure which." Aragorn took another drink from his waterskin, yet another reminder of why he was talking about this. "In any case, the damage was done. The entire population of Rivendell, save myself, Arwen, and Elrond, who had managed to figure out the truth between the two of us, and maybe--maybe--my brothers, knew Arwen and I were engaged to be married. And several of them took it upon themselves to announce it to the other Elven realms, and left us with either a very...embarrassing explanation of the truth, or playing the parts everyone had already assumed us to have."
"And the Evenstar?"
"Everything in public was just that--for the public eye. A good deal of the time we spent behind closed doors was in scripting and rehearsing those 'private' scenes others would stumble on. Like her offering me her immortality. Elrond helped us with those, believe it or not. He felt it a small price to pay to have Arwen free to leave with him when they depart these shores."
"So he got Arwen, she got to join her beloved. And your messenger friend?"
"Above my station."
Legolas could only gape at him in shock. "Above your station? You're heir to the throne of Gondor! How can you even think such a--"
"Stop it, Legolas," Aragorn cut him off angrily. "I had little enough to offer. I hadn't even reached the end of my training as a Ranger at the time. I wanted to court, yes, but I didn't intend to immediately. I thought I had time. I wanted--I wanted to be more than some green, inexperienced young man who couldn't figure out what he wanted," he admitted harshly. "I learned to live with it."
"It sounds lonely." Legolas sighed when Aragorn didn't answer. "Did...did you ever think that maybe all they wanted was you?"
"They broke a promise to me." Legolas could hear the anguish, the buried feelings of betrayal. "One I believed in very strongly, because I had nothing else to hold onto. I had no other choice but to live with it."
Legolas ached for him; as much as he was eaten by jealousy, by loss, he wanted Aragorn's happiness before his own. "Might I ask--"
"I don't want to talk about this any more," Aragorn said blandly, his voice devoid of emotion rather than angry.
Legolas nodded, wishing that the Man had been angered. What he'd already heard had been personal enough. Pushing him was not an option, not if he wanted to keep the Man's friendship after... A sharp gasp escaped him; in the shocking truths laid bare, he'd all but forgotten.
And Aragorn had yet to really react to it.
As much as he dreaded it, Legolas swallowed hard, shoved down the pain of the truths he'd just learned and locked it away. "Aragorn, I--" He held up a hand as the Man began to protest. "I do not intend to trespass. But I have to ask--are you all right with this? With what will happen? I cannot stop it, nor can I leave you to suffer alone. The former is impossible, the latter would kill me." He met Aragorn's steely gaze only through sheer willpower.
"I will not have you forced," Aragorn ground out, eyes flashing with anger, before he turned away, taking another swallow from his waterskin.
Legolas blinked. Where had that come from? "I would not insult you thusly, you know this," he hissed in sudden irritation. "I know not what to say to convince you, but I did not choose this out of duty!"
"And I would not have you submitting to me in the name of Elven custom and honor, either."
There was such sadness and pain in his voice that Legolas' frustration vanished, melting away and gentling his voice. "What of the promise you made me? To see you through this? You obviously hold one's word in high esteem, or else you would be with your messenger and not, in the eyes of the Elven realms, engaged to Arwen." When Aragorn hesitated to answer, he went on. "And what of our friendship? I would have hoped, were we in Rivendell and I knowing of the truth, you knew you would be welcomed." He would have said more, but such an admission was not his right to give.
"What of our friendship?" Aragorn repeated slowly, raising his eyes to the wide blue expanse overhead. Then he shook his head, met Legolas' gaze once more.
There was such an expression of sorrow and longing lurking there that Legolas' breath caught in his throat. Then it was gone, and he could only wait to hear whatever was left to be said.
"I do not wish to--" Aragorn broke off, swallowing hard. "I know not how to say anything that would not be misunderstood, and yet I find I must." His expression was guarded, wary, buried in masks of resigned acceptance and dread.
"Aragorn?"
He inhaled deeply, letting the words out before he lost what little courage he could muster. "Your friendship pains me more than you could begin to comprehend. And to lose even that much would destroy me." Unable to bear witness to the Elf's reaction to such a confession, Aragorn turned and began walking towards the trees once more, heart heavy and aching.
End Part 2
