The night was cold, and the wind blew swiftly across the plains where the Rohirrim were stationed. It was in this place where Theoden, King of Rohan, stood on the brink of war with as many men as would come. They were awaiting departure to Minas Tirith, to aid Gondor in its time of need. With each hour the company grew more restless, as did Aragorn, hidden King to Gondor.
Aragorn stood, face into the wind with his cloak billowing out behind him, his hair blowing out of his handsome face. Troubled, he looked to the east and he could feel the growing power of the Dark Lord. The time to prove himself would come. But it was not now, for the men were still days from Minas Tirith, a long road ahead.
His mind was filled with anguish, and he knew not what to do. For on his journey he had become close to one whom he should not, and this was hidden from the one he was drawn to ere he left Rivendell. Arwen knew nothing of his infatuation with the Mirkwood prince. His mind was never far from Legolas, and the light of Arwen's glory was dimming in his eyes. He had found one who made him feel complete, who he connected with in ways he could not imagine.
Arwen loved him, of that he was sure. Her immortality, her beauty was at stake. Nothing kept her from the Undying Lands save him, and he was responsible for her choice, and thus her heart. He did not want to lead her astray, but his heart told him it was not with her that he wanted to be. He clutched the silver chain around his neck, his fingers mapping out the contours of the jewel for he millionth time. The metals were cold.
Aragorn sighed; he knew not what to do. If he listened to his heart he would be taken away from all things he had forseen in his life, but perhaps to a better place. A place of glory and blue eyes and blonde hair...
It was late, and the sun had already set behind a nervous horizon. Aragorn looked up, and returned to his tent, hoping for a night free of torment by his heart and soul. The wind gnawed at the flaps of the tent, but it held, and provided a shelter for Aragorn to be alone with his thoughts. Or so he thought. As he burst through the flaps and stepped into the quiet shelter of the tent, he was greeted with a truly magnificent sight.
On his bedroll sat a most beautiful creature. Legs crossed, the Mirkwood Prince lay, looking up into the eyes of the distraught King with enough power to drive all concerns away into the depths of hell. Aragorn stood, and waited just second before making his decision. He ducked down onto the bedroll, mere inches away from the blonde elf some would call perfection. Legolas wet his lips, and leaned ever closer before speaking.
"Our days are numbered, for the dark power rises ever closer. Let us live while we can, never forsaking the chances that life gives us."
He breathed hard, warm breath tickling Aragorn's face with butterfly wings. Aragorn nodded, never once taking his eyes away from the hypnotizing blue pools in front of him. And with no visible hesitation, he leant forward, and took Legolas' lips in his with the grace few men or elves possess. Legolas crawled, cat-like, towards Aragorn, rubbing against the ranger's chest and sending shivers up his spine. Aragorn pulled the elf to him, rough hands reaching to the back of Legolas' vulnerable neck in a gentle caress. The two melded together for a sweet moment of union while taking joy in the taste of each other. Tongues danced and mingled the two together, momentarily becoming one. The drawn out moment lasted for a captured eternity, until both pulled back.
A flush crept upon the elf's cheeks, and he leaned down to Aragorn. Aragorn laid back, his head resting on the small pillow, and Legolas came down next to him in a manner of intense elegance. The two lay together, Legolas' head buried in Aragorn's chest, inhaling his scent and letting it overcome his senses. Protectively Aragorn's arms came to rest around his elven cat-prince, who curled up in this embrace. The two snuggled closer, intimate contact giving momentary peace to the warriors.
After some minutes of whispered words, warmth, and love Aragorn drifted off into the dream world. In his dreams he was haunted with the memory of Arwen. She was drifting out of this world, all because he had not returned to her. It was what Aragorn dreaded most, for he cared for his Princess, although the longing for his Prince had overcome him.
Legolas remained awake, and became worried for the man in his arms because he was muttering in his sleep and shaking, all with his features clenched in a deep frown. Legolas ran his hands over the man, whispering comforts in the elven tongue. He rubbed Aragorn's chest, trying to comfort and awakeh him, allowing him to escape from torment for a time. He was startled when Aragorn violently awoke, drawing his sword and sitting up in a single motion that threw the elf off him to the side.
After a few seconds of panting, Aragorn realized where he was and quickly sheathed his knife and sat back down into Legolas' waiting arms. He apologized, and Legolas responded with a quick chaste kiss, before settling down once again to sleep, cradling the ranger. They were allowed a few more moments of silence and closeness before a messenger appeared at the tent. He beckoned Aragorn to leave, for reasons neither knew.
Without Aragorn Legolas was alone and cold. He had always wanted someone to love in his life, and found no lady or elven maiden that he wished to unite with. There was something about the man that kept him guessing, and made him want to come back and to be with him forever. He smiled at the thought of Aragorn's warm body against his, their spirits close as any could be.
Aragorn met Elrond, the elven lord and was given a grand gift to lead him through the darkness that was ahead. It was Anduril, the Flame of the West, the sword of the King that was broken years before by Aragorn's kin. It was the grandest gift, one he would treasure and keep with him always. He also learned of the path under the mountain that he must take, which locked him into position as the King of Gondor as much as the sword did. He had made his decision. Elrond had given him hope, had given all men hope. He would not let it fade. Triumphant, he walked back to his tent, and to the one he wanted more than anything else.
Upon entry he drew the great sword, showing Legolas this wonderful token and he stood tall, the wind at his back making him look like a legend. And in fact he was, at least to the elf sitting at his feet. Legolas abruptly stood, and Aragorn sheathed the sword once more.
"My King," said Legolas deeply and jumped into Aragorn's arms, pulling him down onto the bedroll. They entwined once more, man and elf, and their lips crushed against each other with unknown intensity. Two pairs of arms wrapped around two heated bodies in a tight embrace that felt like the ascension to heaven. Mouths move together along with feeling and heat and want. Aragorn knew he needed this elf, who tasted of honey and lembas bread. Legolas only pressed closer, and they stayed this way for what seemed like hours.
They only pulled away when sleep overcame them, and again they snuggled together. Heads near and bodies nearer each ensured contact with the other. And before Legolas fell asleep under the intoxication of his lover, Aragorn whispered two words.
"My Prince."
And Legolas smiled.
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From Ranger To King by Alanye
Story notes: This is my favorite viginette that I've written so far, so I decided to post it here. Feedback is always appreciated, so if you want to send me an email! Thanks, and enjoy!
