"The day draws near, Legolas. I have decided."

With each, gravely spoken word, new coldness and terror descended further upon him. A dread seized and knotted at the pit of his stomach as if it would never let go. He closed his eyes tightly and bowed his head to acknowledge the soft words spoken.

"So soon." His voice was barely a whisper and he hated himself for his lack of fortitude. Why must he add anguish to an already difficult decision?

Elessar watched his lover sadly. Whereas his own face had aged in the manner of his race, his beautiful lover looked the same as ever. The handsome Elven features bearing no sign of the years passed. As he had spoken his fateful words, he had felt Legolas tense in his embrace and had sensed, rather than seen, his lover swallow down his distress.

"It has been many years."

"They have passed me by as the wind from the tail of an arrow."

"Yes, for you are ancient!" He allowed himself to tease a little and was glad to feel a smile lift his lover's lips as his fingers trailed across them. He smiled in return and then fell serious again. "Aye. For me also have the years sped by."

There was so much to tempt and keep him here on this Middle Earth but he knew that the Doom of Men called him. His pride would not allow him to succumb to frailty. He would not let his body to lose all strength and his mind, all sense. To die a shell would cause greater grief than to leave now, his body hale, his mind whole.

He tenderly brushed his lips across his lover's forehead as the elf turned to face him. He relished the warm feel of soft skin upon his lips; from this moment on, he knew, every touch would bring them a step closer to separation.

He blinked hard as he felt a hot stinging sensation well up in his eyes. I must be strong for Eldarion, for Arwen, for him, he thought. They cannot see me grieve too. It is they who will be left behind.

Legolas leaned in to the touch, his senses even more acutely aware of the familiar touch. These kisses, he thought sadly, herald a countdown. But he resolved to be strong.

---

Indeed, it was their strength that had drawn them to one another.

Aragorn's last visit to Mirkwood had ended in him accompanying a patrol led by Legolas, Thranduil's youngest son. Both had been rather reluctant at Thranduil's suggestion.

"Forgive me, father, for speaking against your wish." Legolas cast a glance at the strange Man standing beside him who did not look particularly ecstatic at his father's suggestion either.

He had never seen this Man before and although his face bore none of the delicate Elven beauty, his features hid a passion that appealed to Legolas. Still, he was not about to jeopardise his patrol's work by the addition of a traveller who would surely have little fighting skill compared to his Elven warriors.

Aragorn watched as the elf bowed deeply to him, taking in the fine, elegant movement of his body. The elf spoke, "I do not wish to insult, but my patrol will have a difficult task. I would not dream of over-taxing a guest."

Aragorn could hardly suppress a grin at the sly spirit of this seemingly diffident elf. He bowed just as deeply back, trying not to let his gaze stray overmuch as his field of vision traversed the length of the elf's body.

"I would not wish to impose upon the Prince's will." Aragorn became serious, he was not overjoyed at the idea of accompanying what he was sure would be nothing more than a training exercise for the Prince. "Indeed, my company will be wandering when I am to return. I fear I will have little time to accompany a Prince's...exploits."

Legolas had watched the Man bow, fascinated at the way his muscles moved under the sheen of the cloth he wore. Elves were so delicate, he had never seen such naked power written in the body of a living being. He felt his gaze wander.

Thranduil thought he sensed tension and did not bother trying to correct their prejudices. They would soon discover the other's worth in battle.

"Nevertheless, I feel it will do you both good. Aragorn, I will send word by my messengers to your company. Legolas, I suggest you lead your patrol down to Dol Guldor, there is rumour of Orcs there. I am sure Aragorn will prove valuable and, Aragorn, you may be able to find more news to take back to your men."

A look of challenge passed between the two warriors. Each wanted to prove the other's words wrong. Both thought it was down to masculine pride, neither admitting the intrigue he felt for the other.

---

The ambush had been swiftly dealt with.

In the heat of the skirmish, Legolas had only been able to glimpse out the corner of his eye the lean, dark figure of the Man slashing and wielding his sword with brutal force and power. Amid the graceful deliberate moves of the Mirkwood Elves, the Mortal had seemed even more raw in his wide strong strokes. The sinews of his broad shoulders stretching the cloth, his face a mask of dark fury and a fell, dangerous gleam in his eyes, the Man hewed down his enemies with a fervour that seemed to spill out of control yet his blade was no less deadly or feared than the precise sharpness of the Elven knives. Even in the midst of battling unnumbered foes, Legolas had been drawn to the strength of this Mortal.

The Elf was extraordinary in his mastery of bow, there was no dispute in that. But Aragorn had never seen him in hand to hand combat. The sight was breath-taking. With elegance and lethal accuracy, he felled his enemies in floods, the blades of his knives twirling so fast that they became nothing more than occasional glints flashing through the air. Aragorn could hardly take his eyes off the dance-like moves of the Elf as he fought. Being raised amongst Elves had not prepared him even for the sight of this Elven Prince, skills honed over centuries, doing battle. He felt suddenly clumsy beside this beautiful, deadly creature whose fluid limbs belied fortitude beyond measure.

Still fighting, their eyes met. Brown eyes met with the regard of grey ones. Across the clearing, over the bodies of the dead Orcs and through the clamour of battle and blood, their gazes locked. They both felt it. A jolt. A frission running down their necks as each recognised in the other something beautiful and personal. Something to marvel at. Something to desire.

Aragorn felt a shiver, strong as a blow, run down his back. Legolas felt the breath catch in his throat. He saw the grey eyes widen then the light in them was replaced by fear. He found it such a strange emotion to perceive in those eyes that he did not, at first, realise the cause. It was only when he saw the Man leap towards him, sword raised, screaming a battle cry and saw the Orc before him slump that he realised. As he collapsed forwards into Aragorn's arms, the blackness overtook him.

The poisoned blade had cut deep into his flesh. He had no sensation of anything save mist and shadow. He knew the poison would try to take him. He fought against it, bending his entire will and soul into defeating its hold on him. He tried to recall the last image of Aragorn , it seemed to comfort him, but he could not make the picture stay in his mind. He struggled desperately towards it. But the darkness was too strong. The Morgul blade was well fashioned, with all the malice of Sauron to taint its edge. He felt the coldness creep up on him like dawn fog over a river.

The athelas had to help. Aragorn frantically tore it and ground it between his teeth, its bitter juices making him feel even more sick. The Elf could not die, he thought, his mind grabbing at any reason he could think of. You cannot die, he hissed between gritted teeth. As he put the athelas on the wound, he thought he felt the Elf stir. "Return from the darkness," he whispered. "Return to me," he chocked the words out, barely admitting the strength of the anguish he was feeling.

But the Elf did not move. Even as Aragorn watched the lovely face of the Elf, he could see a grimness bind to the exquisite features, a pallor masking his visage. Slowly he felt a coldness creep into the hand that he had not known that he was clutching.

"No!" he commanded. "You shall not pass into the darkness!"

Not this Elf. Aragorn rubbed the elf's cold, pale hands in his. He cupped his hands around the Elf's strong face, willing the warmth from his body to pass to the Elf. Anything, he thought, I must try anything to bring him back.

The Elf's body trembled as if sighing its last. A sharp cry escaped Aragorn's chapped lips as he looked upon the fair Elf lying before him. I would save you, he thought fiercely. Aragorn touched his cheek to the Elf's, feeling its ice. He felt his vision blur with tears.

Lying before him was an elf he had watched these last weeks on the patrol. He had come to appreciate his skill, regretting his words in Thranduil's hall. He had come to regard the Elf as an equal, as a friend. And then, in the heat of that last battle, he had felt the intensity between them. There was something more. Not knowing why or what strange force made him, Aragorn pressed his lips softly to the Elf's forehead.

Suddenly a light shone out of the blackness. He could not see but he could sense something. Something warm and comforting. Something pure and healing. A face, unbidden, abruptly appeared in his mind. The face of Aragorn, his dark eyes smouldering. Legolas thought he saw passion there, fire and yearning. I do not want to leave you, he thought. I must find a way out of this dark. I must see your eyes again. I must see you again.

At first, Aragorn thought it was the warmth of his own lips but then he could feel the gentle heat of the Elf's breath return to caress his neck. Blinking back surprise and joy, he pulled away to examine the Elf.

The warmth was gone. Legolas turned wildly to look for it. Come back, he thought, I cannot follow without a light.

The breath seemed to catch and stop. Aragorn once again felt fear pierce his heart. But he knew now what to do. Slowly, as if unsure of what he sought, Aragorn laid his lips against the lips of Legolas.

The wonder of the touch exploded within him. He could feel the heat radiating from the Elf's body and he willed his soul to bind with the spirit of Legolas through their kiss, to lead him back from the darkness.

Legolas could feel himself heal; the darkness was lifting. He could sense a warm presence over him. He opened his eyes and they met with the grey eyes of the face he had been seeking in the blackness. The lips upon his own felt more blissful than anything he could have imagined.

They did not move but lay there together, gazing into each other's eyes, reading each other's souls, allowing them to blend and live together.

It was Legolas who first broke the silence. "I am glad to see your face once more, Aragorn. Hannon Le." The breath of his words fluttered on Aragorn's cheek and he sighed into the soft melodious sound.

"And I am glad you came back to me, melanin." They both smiled, both knowing the truth and beauty of that realisation.

But bliss had quickly turned to guilt and despair.

---

"Why are you troubled, mellonea-amin?" Gandalf could sense their anxiety as they both stood on the balcony of Aragorn's chamber looking over the waterfalls of Imladris.

They both spun round hastily and visibly relaxed when they saw that it was only Gandalf. The way that the two had been leaning on each other had not escaped his notice.

"We were pondering the perils of the journey ahead, Mithrandir," Aragorn sounded less than convinced as he spoke.

"Frodo will have to be strong to bear such a burden." Legolas sounded hardly more composed.

"It is not the wont of either of you to worry over perils." Gandalf sighed. He knew exactly what was troubling them and was trying to think of a good way to tell them that. "It would seem that your worries are more concerns of the heart." His eyes twinkled as he said this, no use dragging this out endlessly.

Aragorn and Legolas eyed each other uncertainly.

"I come by the plea of Arwen."

With this, both turned a shade paler. "She knows?" As soon as Legolas spoke, he cursed himself for being hasty. Again.

Aragorn sighed, sorrow shadowing his grey eyes. "I have not betrayed her. Legolas and I have not consummated our love. We were discussing what to do. If what we feel is right. If what we feel is a sin."

Resolve and pain was in Legolas' eyes. "You, Mithrandir, are wise. If you deem our feelings a sin, we would separate and consider our paths forever parted. I will not accompany the Fellowship but will send my steward in my stead. We would not have temptation bring us all to ruin." Beside him, Aragorn nodded solemnly, the agony also plain in his gaze.

"Nay, Legolas. Your destiny is with the Fellowship. You will accompany us, for good or ill. I say to you both this: it is rare for males to find bonds with one another, nay, let me finish," Gandalf held up his hand to stem the interruption.

"It is rare. But it is not unheard of. Nor is it evil. In this age of black power, any force which resides on the side of good must be embraced with fervour. Love, in all its forms, is the greatest force. It is what drives a man to die for his city, a brother for his sister, a mother for her child. For you both, it is what will lead you both to protect each other, with your own blood, if need be. It is what will save you from the blackness of Sauron. So I say this to you both: embrace it!

Gandalf looked at them both searchingly. "Do not fear for Arwen. You forget that she is the daughter of Elrond and has walked this earth for many years before you both. She has the wisdom and grace to understand all loves. Do not fear that your love for her will diminish, Aragorn, because of your love for Legolas. They are both a beautiful, pure thing but as different as mithril and ruby. Just as you inlay your sword with steel and mithril, so let both loves enter your life to strengthen and protect and, in turn, you will serve and strengthen your loves."

Aragorn bowed deeply. "Hannon le, mellon-nin, your words comfort us both. Tomorrow will see a new sun rise on our love."

Gandalf frowned. "But take heed. I warn you both that the love between Edain and Eldar is fraught with grief. Men are brief in the eyes of an Eldar. You will suffer great pain when Aragorn passes, Legolas." Gandalf smiled. "But you will recover in time. Time heals all wounds, even of the heart. Or, so I have been told!"

Neither Legolas nor Aragorn smiled at this.

"I would have you choose wisely, Legolas." Aragorn's voice was sad but strong.

Legolas smiled. A beauteous, joyful smile, though his eyes seemed to hold a hint of foreboding. As Gandalf left, he could see them both move towards each, to become lovers in every way.

The last words he heard as he closed the door softly behind him was the Elf's dedication to his lover, "Our love and my doom was sealed from the moment we met, Edain-nin."

---

The day had come and black flags flew against the white stone of the Tower of Ecthelion. Inside the King's quarters, Gandalf had seen Arwen leave long before, grief carved in her fair face, its beauty unweathered by the years passed. In it too was her steel will and determination to be strong. At least until her son was fully ready to carry on his father's glory and the glory of Gondor, hard fought for.

Gandalf had known for a long time that the day was drawing near. Elessar, Numenorian blood coursing through his veins, would gracefully embrace the Gift of Men and not seek to push his mind and body to the brink, until nothing more was left of him than a shell of his former glory. He had known this day was coming. His presence in the White City had been deliberate so that he could watch over those who loved the King more than themselves.

Upon entering the chamber, he saw Elessar. In death, his face was untroubled and unscarred by the toils of the paths he had taken to arrive at his kingdom. From it shone an unearthly light born of the Kings of old and Elven blood lent his hard features a new beauty and grace.

Beside him, as always, was his companion and lover. Between them had passed a love and understanding that ran deeper than that which the King could have shared with Arwen. This was a love of the flesh, of the soul, of their entire beings, as heated and passionate as the fires of Anor and yet as tender and pure as the blossoms of Nimloth. A love between kindred souls and sealed by blood, hardship and the flame of battle. It was a love all-consuming, fit for the warriors they both were.

His fair face was pressed against the palm of Aragorn's hand as if to breathe in his soul before it escaped, hungry for one last goodbye, one last touch. No tears washed the beautiful features but the sorrow marked his face as etchings upon white stone.

Gandalf had counselled them both, before the start of the quest. He had assured them that their feelings, far from being unnatural, were gifts to be taken fully in an age where nothing, least of all love, was certain. And when they had consummated their love, he had blessed them both as warrior-brothers, protectors and lovers.

But the Eldar love the Edain at their peril. And he had not Arwen's choice. Love had bound them and only death could separate them, as it had done now. Gandalf sighed. Although he had not understood and warned the Elf of his danger, he could only accept his decision and supported them both as friend and mentor. At least the passing of years would heal the Elf's pain. Gandalf was sure that both he, and Arwen, would recover in time.

He gently walked over to the silent elf, "Legolas, come. Let not your grief consume you." He touched his hand. It was cold.

Gandalf's heart skipped a beat. He looked closely at Legolas, so still, so pale, as if in sleep. Yet in the unending slumber of death.

And Gandalf finally understood. For in all his wisdom, of the force of love and of its searing power when mingled with grief, he had never had knowledge. Until now. Now that he had seen an immortal elf wither and perish with the death of his mortal lover.

An elf upon whose body and spirit no battle, weapon or Orc had left scars, whose heart was now broken by grief of his lover's mortal death, more potent, more bitter than any force of the natural world. For a mortal death brings with it the knowledge of their sundered destinies; never to meet again within the boundaries of Arda or without.

He was killed by anguish. He was killed by love. He was killed by mortality.

Gandalf finally understood; Elves are only as immortal as those who possess their hearts.