They stood on the edge of Mordor as the ground fell away and the enemy fled. The Eye was dimmed, the silence loud, and Legolas felt the slightest edge of guilt, for he thought nothing of Middle Earth's salvation, the fall of Sauron, the hobbits' success.
His thoughts were of Aragorn, struck down, staring up at the beast. Legolas had tried to reach him, calling his name frantically, but he was held back. His arm bore the sting of the blade that had claimed his attention, yet such trivialities mattered not. Aragorn was hurt – he saw it in the way he moved, the pained stance and clouded eyes telling more than the man would ever voice.
The low murmur of victory was spreading through the crowd, and Legolas saw the strongest warriors fall to the ground in tears. He reached Aragorn just as the man was embraced by a rider of Rohan. The King gasped, and Legolas was instantly by his side, guiding him away with all the grace of Mirkwood in his feet.
"You are a stubborn fool."
Aragorn looked at him questioningly, but Legolas just stopped with them carefully away from the main army, turning Aragorn to face him. Lightly, he looped his arms around the man's shoulders, preventing his King from falling at the last moment.
"Where are you wounded?"
"Come, Legolas, we should celebrate! Sauron is no more, Gondor is free and my people are happy."
"You are injured. I saw it with my own eyes, and I see it now."
Aragorn's eyes were cast downwards, and Legolas permitted himself a smile of victory.
"My men need a leader of strength, Legolas. Not one that must be propped upon the throne."
Legolas felt a great desire to shake him, but feared he would rattle. Instead, he released the sigh of the long-suffering.
"There is no shame in tending your wounds. Come, I will take you to the Halls of Healing."
He released his King, and turned away, wondering where he could find a horse. Too late he realised that the battle was not over.
"I will see to these warriors. Then I shall retire."
The elf turned, cursing the stubbornness of Men, but Aragorn had gone. Muttering Elvish curses on his head, he moved lithely through the crowd, searching out the familiar dark head of his lord and listening carefully for the rich cadence of his voice.
His progress was slowed by his collision with a solid ball of flesh that seemed to consist largely of beard and armour.
"Legolas, where have you been hiding? We did it, elf! We brought it right to the sons-of-bitches!"
He smiled openly at Gimli, for he was glad to see the dwarf living and walking without injury. Which is more than could be said for the sovereign of Gondor. Legolas was half-tempted to capture the man and tie him to his bed, but felt that could be looked upon unfavourably – by the men of Gondor and his own heart.
Shaking away the dangerous emotions, he concentrated on the excited prattle of the dwarf, wondering when the fierce warrior had turned into a hobbit. Extracting himself carefully from the vice-like grip, he took Gimli's shoulders firmly.
"Gimli! I must find Aragorn swiftly – aid me."
"Why did you not say so? He talks with the men."
Legolas made to follow the dwarf, but soon had no need, as Aragorn's voice rose above the clamour of the warriors.
"Friends, brothers of Rohan and of Gondor, my Fellowship. This day begins the Age of Men!"
The men roared, but Legolas paid them no heed, centring on Aragorn's voice and moving with all haste towards it. The crowd parted for the agitated elf, and he saw the man astride a horse. To the Elvish eye, he wavered dangerously, and sensitive ears noted how his heart sounded too loudly in his chest, an unfamiliar wheeze cloaking the sound. Legolas pursed his lips tightly, not caring that he probably more resembled Aragorn's mother than his comrade-in-arms.
"We have brought peace to Middle Earth. We owe our victory to the courage of our brothers, and," he quieted, "the courage of Frodo."
An uneasy silence fell over them, but Aragorn continued, unaware that Legolas watched closely the pallor of his skin and redness of his lips.
"Peace to Gondor, peace to Rohan! Peace to the forests of Elves and the caverns of Dwarves! Peace to all those who would see Good and Righteousness triumph, and who know the value of freedom! Peace to you, my comrades, for you have made this day!"
Wild cheers echoed through the shattered ruin of Mordor, through the streets of Minas Tirith and around the walls of Gondor. Legolas crept unseen to Aragorn's side and looked up at him pointedly. The King smiled.
"You found me," he said simply, laughing as Legolas' face darkened. Then, he was coughing, and Legolas grew alarmed at the specks of red that dotted his hand. With all the grace of his Elven blood, he collapsed sideways, straight in Legolas' arms.
"Aragorn! For the love of the Valar, speak to me!"
The man opened his eyes and grinned weakly.
"Perhaps we should return to Gondor."
Legolas looked at him incredulously and lifted him to an approximation of standing, leaning him against his slender frame. He lifted him as if he were a feather and deposited him back on his horse, before swinging up behind.
"No, really? Perhaps it would be better to delay longer and allow every warrior to see you fall from this horse!"
Aragorn straightened as Legolas took the reins and prepared to canter. The men were moving towards the city now, but they still watched their leader with keen eyes. Ever mindful of the gaze, the King kept his body stern and stable and Legolas resisted rolling his eyes. He was ever grateful to be just a prince of Mirkwood.
Legolas felt rather than heard Aragorn's sharp breaths as the horse sped away, and he murmured soothingly even as he urged the horse on faster. His stubborn King sank against him, and Legolas had to will concentration to the ride or they would have surely fallen.
To hold the man in this way was unfamiliar, yet somehow it felt like the completion of a circle, the formation of a fortress than no one else could enter. He felt safe even as he provided safety, felt strength even as he bestowed strength. This, he mused, was probably love.
Later he would think it a great miracle that he had not tumbled from the horse at that moment, for the realisation was so shocking that his entire body froze and his mind descended into madness. If they had not entered Gondor but seconds later, he would have lost his concentration for eternity, but now he had a greater task to complete.
He rode through the strange city, asking for the Halls of Healing and was rewarded by instruction. He was but halfway to his goal, when the man resting with him stirred and gripped his hand.
"Take me to a private room – the men shall not see me thus."
Legolas slowed the horse and led it aimlessly, feeling utterly at a loss. Where now? He knew nothing of this city or where the King should reside or receive care. However, Fortune favoured him that day and he soon saw Pippin hurrying his way. He was delighted to see the young hobbit, and smiled widely at him.
"Aragorn! Legolas! It is great to see you well!"
Aragorn sat straight again, and Legolas concentrated on keeping him upright. 'The men' obviously extended to hyperactive hobbits as well.
"It is good to see you too, Pippin. But please, we have need of rest. Do you know a room where we may stay?"
Legolas spoke quickly, and though Pippin helpfully guided them to his own quarters, the elf could sense the hobbit's unease and fear at Aragorn's continued silence. Thanking the hobbit, he carefully helped Aragorn from the horse, but the man's strength failed and Legolas was done with pretence.
Ignoring Pippin's gasp, he lifted Aragorn into his arms and through the hobbit's door. Laying the man on the carefully-made bed, he turned to Pippin and spoke quickly, not wishing to waste another moment.
"Fetch me a healer's kit from the Halls and make haste. Let no one see you."
Legolas turned back to the bed, as a small voice said, "Is he all right?"
The elf offered a smile of reassurance, "He will be. Now, hurry! I will need your assistance."
The hobbit ran off, and finally Legolas could devote his time to the stubborn heir to Gondor.
"You are the most exasperating, foolish man I have ever met or should ever wish to meet!" Legolas exclaimed, as he started to remove the armour and tunic of the injured man.
Aragorn watched him with unfocused eyes, attempting to aid him with movement but barely finding the strength. "And you are like a mother hen, Legolas."
Legolas examined the red, bruised torso of the man and sighed. Placing his ear close to the man's chest, he instructed him to breathe slowly and deeply and tried not to wince at the jarring, rattling sounds from within.
"You have broken ribs, Aragorn, and I fear damage to your lungs. Open your mouth."
The dry lips parted in submission, and Legolas blanched. He touched warily at the bright red blood resting there, before wiping his hand swiftly on his tunic. He trailed his cool hands along Aragorn's strong chest, ignoring the fluttering of his heart and wishing his emotions would learn propriety.
He paused as Aragorn winced and gasped again, and there he listened. The muffled sounds that spoke of trapped fluid drew all breath from his body, but he remained impassive. He would not frighten his liege lord or force him to break his command of secrecy. No, he would deal with this himself.
"I have the supplies you asked for."
And with a hobbit.
"Bring them here, Pippin. Do you have warm water and fresh cloth nearby?"
Big frightened eyes met his, and the small head nodded, quickly gathering the items requested. Legolas slipped an arm behind Aragorn and slowly brought him to a sit, before offering him water.
"Wash out your mouth. There...there is blood."
Silently, the man obeyed, and it was this silence that frightened Legolas more than any sound from within. Carefully, he moved him back to the pillow and examined the healer's kit Pippin had brought.
There were a few herbs, some of which he recognised and some that he had never seen grow. He also examined many strange metal instruments, a far more extensive collection than Aragorn had ever carried or that any elf would need. But he dealt not with an elf, but the King of Gondor, his liege lord and...his Aragorn.
He selected a thin tube with a sharp point, and readied himself. He would have to cause Aragorn great pain if he wished to aid him, and the very thought brought tears to his eyes and a lump to his throat. He would do anything to keep the man from pain, but if this was the only way to help...
"Aragorn, you must listen. What I am about to do...will pain you greatly, but understand that I must do it and it pains me too."
The man gripped his hand tightly and met his eyes.
"I trust you, Legolas. Do what you must."
The simple declaration elated him and he wished it were for a better time. He took some herbs for pain and crushed them between his fingers, before placing them gently in Aragorn's mouth. He removed his hand from Aragorn's and took the water Pippin proffered.
"Pippin, you must hold his shoulders down. Do not let him go, promise me."
The hobbit nodded and stood over Aragorn, smiling weakly as he held him with his small hands.
Legolas positioned a basin on the floor, then listened again at Aragorn's chest. His breathing was increasingly laboured now, and Legolas could see his lips beginning to turn blue as deathly pallor spread over his skin. He wiped the bruised skin with warm water, and then, with a deep breath, plunged the metal into Aragorn's chest.
The man cried out sharply, but Pippin restrained his bucking shoulders. Legolas guided the tube swiftly, and blood dripped steadily into the basin.
"Pippin, hold this tube steady. No, look away from the blood, concentrate on your task."
The hobbit looked green, but Legolas only saw Aragorn and rested his hands on either side of his head.
"Can you breathe now? Is it easier?"
A small smile ghosted over the reddening lips, and Aragorn nodded.
"Yes. You did well."
Legolas raised an eyebrow but could not stay mad when he saw the colour return to the handsome face.
"You were lucky. Next time, you should not resist my efforts to return you to safety."
"Next time?" Aragorn breathed, laughter in his tone.
"If I ever let you out of my sight," Legolas replied, his smile belying his chiding tone.
He released Aragorn reluctantly, resisting the temptation to kiss the laughing lips, and observed the draining of blood.
"I still must repair the damage inside. For that, you will be sleeping."
Legolas glanced at the man, almost daring him to challenge his command, but Aragorn merely smiled some more. Legolas took a plant of sedation, and pressed it to the man's lips.
"Sleep, and I shall heal you. When you waken, the pain will be less."
Aragorn nodded, and took the leaves, chewing slowly. His eyes grew heavy and his breathing became even, the plant enchanting him within moments.
"Pippin, are you ready to aid me again?"
Legolas noted that the hobbit was regaining his colour, and smiled reassuringly, though his heart thundered in his chest and his breath came in gasps. He was no healer, and though his touch was light, he had only the barest knowledge of what he was about to do.
Taking a moment to steady his hands and breaths, he took more water and carefully cleansed the skin close to the draining tube. Legolas then lifted a knife from the kit, and bit his lip. He knew Pippin's eyes were on him, but he could think of nothing but the problem facing him.
With the utmost care, he positioned the knife over Aragorn's chest and cut. The man's face twisted in pain, but Legolas continued, trying to proceed as quickly as he could. Pippin watched him with wide, child-like eyes and seemed to take note of the way he moved bone with care and drew needle through flesh like a practiced seamstress.
Darkness was falling as he closed the wound and spread ointment on the skin, and he knew that they had probably been greatly missed. He wrapped bandages tightly around Aragorn's fractured ribs, and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"Is it over?" asked Pippin in a small voice.
"He will need rest. And food. There must be a feast, some celebration. I hope to make his excuses..."
"I will go."
Both turned at the rasping voice and Legolas' eyes flashed with both anger and concern.
"You shall rest here until I say you may leave."
"I will celebrate with my people!"
"You would kill yourself for this frivolity?"
"I will show myself a leader!"
Aragorn was raising himself off the bed with every exclamation, and Legolas stopped himself from another foolish cry. He moved forward, and held onto Aragorn with gentle arms. He buried his head in the strong shoulder, and tried to swallow down the tears that were threatening to overflow.
"Legolas? Hush, it's all right."
The elf tried to move away, to reassure Aragorn, but he could not. He held all his hope, his dreams, his life in this one man, and he could not bear to cause him pain. He had forced metal into his body, wound thread into his flesh and now shouted words of scorn at his entire world – he did not deserve Aragorn's comfort, yet he could not bring himself to let go.
"I am sorry, I am...foolish."
To his surprise, Aragorn laughed, and then gasped when pain rang through him. Pippin rushed forward with more herbs, and he took them gratefully. Legolas continued to hang onto him like a drowning man, and tried not to cry, confess love or further humiliate himself. It appeared to be a losing battle.
"You, Legolas Greenleaf, have saved my life this day. And I will have no saviour of mine called foolish, for a life saved is no folly."
Aragorn coughed and drew a long breath, and Legolas chuckled softly.
"You must make shorter speeches for a time, my lord. I know how much this will pain you."
Legolas felt a weak pinch to his arm, and pulled back a little to see Aragorn's face. It was lit with mirth, and the elf thought he had never seen a man more beautiful. Without thought, he brushed back a strand of battle-dusted hair, and sighed.
"What do you see, Legolas?" he whispered softly.
And for a moment, Legolas forgot the room, the audience, the day of terror and battle and grief, and all he knew was Aragorn and only one word came to his lips.
"Melamin," he breathed.
Aragorn tensed, and Legolas pulled back in horror. What had he done? He backed away for a couple of steps, then turned and fled out into the night. He ran until he hit a wall, and gazing down at the city below, he attempted to breathe.
"Legolas?"
He closed his eyes against the soft voice, and shook his head.
"Leave me, Pippin."
"But Legolas..."
"GO!"
He regretted his harshness, but he could not bear to hear concern now. He was in control, he was collected – but he had broken down and slipped up and now...
"Amin mela lle"
Legolas turned at the soft Elvish, and saw his Aragorn propping himself by a wall, watching him.
"You don't mean that," he said, equally softly. The sounds of revelry carried up from the lower walls of the city, but they paid them no heed.
"I know it in my heart."
"Then you know falsely! The lady Arwen is your love, and I should know well enough to leave you!"
"It is different, what I feel for her. You...you give me hope."
Legolas stood watching the man, waiting for mockery, for laughter. None came. He turned away, breathing deeply to mask the sobs he feared would soon be upon him.
"Elves die of broken hearts, Aragorn. I could never give that grief to her."
Aragorn's voice moved closer, stuttered with gasping breaths and it took all Legolas' strength not to run to him and gather him close.
"And what...of you...Legolas? Is your...pain not...as deadly?"
The elf closed his eyes, feeling tears filter through his lashes as he whispered to the wind.
"My heart cannot be broken, for it has never been complete."
Silence bled through Gondor, and with one last look at Aragorn, Legolas fled, ignoring the shouts of his name and the echoes on the wind.
The next evening, when order had settled upon Gondor, a feast was held in the Great Hall. It was with great reluctance that Legolas approached the place, his discomfort obvious to all who observed him.
No one knew he had wandered the streets all night, and Pippin had only given sparse details to Merry's questioning in the Healing Halls. It was Gimli who rushed to him, clapping his back and leading him to where the leaders of men now sat.
He turned away instantly, making his excuses, and hurried to a shadowed corner where he could fade and wait for the feast to end.
"You're clashing with the drapes."
Legolas jerked upright and stared straight at Aragorn. His face drained of colour, and he bit his lip.
"Aragorn." He bowed carefully, and then tried to escape his corner but the man grabbed his arm. Legolas tried to shift away, but stopped when he realised he was supporting Aragorn.
"You should not be here, you must rest."
"And you must worry less."
"Tell the sun not to rise," he challenged, smiling, and then realised they were talking, falling into the rhythm that had taken them from meeting.
He pulled away then, allowing Aragorn to clutch at the drapes, and hurried to reach the outside, to leave, to hasten away as far as Mirkwood if he had to.
"And where are you going?"
A small coarse hand grabbed his and pulled him back into the hall. Gimli stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Legolas with the ferocity of a Nasgull.
"I think not, elf! You leave the field without a word, then disappear for the day – I will not let you wander until I see you eat and rest with my own eyes!"
"Gimli, please..." he begged softly, but he was firmly dragged into the tumult, having not the strength nor will to argue. Who knew a breaking heart could be so draining?
Legolas found himself with Merry and Pippin, who quickly saw to it that there was food piled in front of him. But he could not touch a grain, and he saw them share anxious looks with Gimli. Pippin's eyes were wide as stars, and Legolas could not even bear to glance in his direction, knowing the reproach he would find there.
His wandering gaze faltered on the figure leaning by the wall, making polite conversation in a world of pain. Legolas studied every wince, every shift in position, and he cursed himself and his ineptitude, cursed his unruly, uncontrollable heart that had led to this.
Without a word, he stood swiftly and moved out of the hall at pace, hurrying to find a place where curses fell on ears that heard and where he could not see the torment he had caused.
Unsurprisingly, he found himself in a tree. Clinging to the branches with more care than necessary, he made his way into the highest branches and curled against the sturdy trunk. The air was cold, but he should not feel the chill – his emotions made him weak, he knew, unfit to call himself a true prince of Mirkwood. What would his father say?
Legolas shivered in the branches, his father's contempt and Aragorn's pain weaving before his eyes as he drifted into fitful sleep.
"Legolas! What are you doing? Everyone is looking for you!"
He had been awake for hours, watching the clouds shift and the winds change but the warm sun had pinned him to the branches. Now, he looked down at Pippin and wondered if maybe that wasn't a bad thing.
"And you have found me. Would you like a reward?"
He winced at the bite in his voice, but the hobbit ignored it and carried right on.
"Aragorn is worried. It would not do to worry him..."
The reminder of his folly struck at him and he closed his eyes, gripping the rough bark.
"Then, you may tell him not to worry. Maybe now the stubborn fool will see sense and find a greater healer than I!"
Legolas scarcely knew what he was saying, and he took Pippin's long silence to mean that the hobbit knew that all too well. Legolas hated being known.
"Legolas – what you said last night...you weren't meant to say that, were you?"
Funny, he thought, that he should know the word easily, could feel the afterburn on his tongue as if it had clung there for months on end, waiting to be spoken. Funny how one word could damage so.
"It was not for me to say. I had no right..."
"But – he told you he loved you! And you ran away!"
Legolas' eyes flew open, and he peered down at the hobbit, alarmed when he nearly fell out of the tree.
"Since when do you know the Elvish tongue, Pippin?"
The hobbit's face grew wistful and he looked suddenly older and wiser, the youthful innocence falling from his face.
"Anyone could tell it, Legolas. It was the way he spoke it. Why did you run from him? Don't you care for him too?"
Legolas laughed mirthlessly, willing himself not to cry. He would not cry.
"Surely you have lived long enough to know the world does not turn so! Aragorn belongs with Arwen, and I belong with darkness."
The cold wind blew once more, banishing the warm rays of the sun as it slipped behind a cloud, making a shadowland of Gondor. Legolas shivered again, a being of shadows at home in this half-light, welcoming the dark and the cold. How had it come to this?
"Legolas Greenleaf, you will follow me."
Again, he almost fell from the tree. Without even a hint of Elven grace, he scrambled down the tree and alighted in front of the Elven lord, breathless from exertion.
"Lord Elrond, I did not know..."
"Tarry not, Prince of Mirkwood."
The cool formality calmed him, and he fell into step as the elf swept past a confused Pippin and into the palace of Gondor. Legolas took a moment to wonder how all these people had come to find him, then realised that the palace gardens had not been the subtlest place to hide from the King of Gondor.
Elrond led him to a room he did not know and swung wide the door. Legolas peered inside, gasped in shock and hurried to the bed that dominated the room.
"Aragorn!"
The man smiled up at him with but a shadow of his usual grin, and Legolas instinctively reached out to smooth away the lines of pain on his forehead. He examined the exposed torso critically, noting with a wince where the draining tube had been ripped from its place and badly bound. With the gentlest of touches, he traced his fingers over the healing tissue and Aragorn shuddered.
"Step aside, Legolas. You have done damage enough."
The elf jerked away instantly, but Aragorn grasped his hand and held on, surprising him with the grip.
"Peace Elrond – it was my request."
The Lord of Imladris fixed them both with a piercing glare, and both wisely quietened.
"Then you are both fools."
He began to tend to the open wound, and Legolas watched the skin close under his healing touch.
"He will be well soon, my Lord?"
Elrond looked up at the concerned tone, and his face relaxed into a smile.
"Yes – if he would but stay still!"
Aragorn paused in his shifting and his eyes met Legolas' warm gaze. They held contact for a long moment, before Elrond's voice broke the spell.
"There is no infection, and a charm shall speed the mending of bone and flesh." He looked over to Legolas before continuing, a note of warning in his tone. "You did well, Legolas. But try such folly again, and I will surely have cause to anger."
Legolas bowed his head meekly with a murmured, "Yes, my lord."
"Then, I shall leave you to your rest, Aragorn."
Elrond departed with unhurried steps, and it seemed an age before the door swung closed. Legolas released a long sigh, and trailed his long fingers down Aragorn's cheek.
"What do you see?"
The soft whisper took him by surprise and he stopped his ministrations. Yet the fervent denial stayed on his lips and only soft words issued forth.
"What would you wish me to see?"
Aragorn paused in his reply, and Legolas held his breath. A sharp knock on the door broke the reverie, and Legolas stood to answer, feeling warmth ebb away as he moved from the man.
He opened the door to the Evenstar and immediately lowered his head, bowing out of respect, out of guilt.
"Lady Arwen."
"Prince Legolas. May I enter?"
He stepped aside, and then, mumbling excuses, all but dived into the corridor. He paused by the door for a moment, gathering strength. The palace was uncomfortably hot, or perhaps it was the company. He longed for the chill breeze of the gardens, and stumbled for the door.
The world tilted absurdly and the floor came up to meet him. Legolas heard running footsteps, cries of surprise, but the cool blackness felt too inviting and he embraced it, the shouts fading to the night.
The sweep of cool water across his brow was the most unique ecstasy in this burning hell. Legolas parted dry lips, tongue aching for but a drop of the cold water but none came. He whimpered softly, and the murmuring above him ceased.
"Legolas? Open your eyes, melamin. I am here."
The words eased open his eyes, and he saw a hazy vision of Aragorn, pale but smiling.
"There, much better. How do you feel?"
Legolas frowned. Were there words enough to describe the ache within his throat, the burning in his eyes, his skin, his mouth? He felt like he had breathed the very fires of Mordor after drowning in salt for months on end. Was this weakness, weakness caused by love?
"I burn, Aragorn. All over."
There was a smile of sympathy, then the cool cloth was drawn across his head again and he felt the heat soak away. The trail continued over his scratchy, rasping chest, and he wondered briefly if someone had set him alight.
"You suffer a fever, Legolas. Poison rages in your arm – you did not tell me you were injured."
He struggled to remember, and he felt the stiff swelling in his upper arm, the pain reminding him forcibly. Yes, he had forgotten the sword's mark, his entire concentration focused on Aragorn.
"I...forgot."
Legolas heard soft chuckling from the man, as rough fingers pressed against his face.
"Only you could forget a battle wound and allow poison to rage unheeded. Perhaps your old age has lapsed your fine memory."
The elf opened one eye to attempt a glare, and Aragorn laughed all the more. Legolas noticed that he did not pain from the movement, and his brow furrowed.
"You should be resting," he croaked, his voice fading as his mouth continued to dry. Aragorn noticed and, slipping an arm around him, brought him to a sit. He held out a glass of water and allowed Legolas to sip slowly before lowering him to the pillow once more.
"Better?" At Legolas' nod, he smiled. "And I am quite well. You have slept long, Legolas. Two days have passed since you collapsed."
His eyes widened - two days of sleep? An elf never needed such rest, and humans only rarely required such healing slumbers. Aragorn smoothed back his hair, and sighed with concern.
"Aye, you had worried me much, melamin. I feared you would never wake again."
Melamin...the word drifted over him like the sweetest caress and he sighed to hear it. Then his memory flooded back, and he saw Arwen's cold eyes surveying him from a doorway, casting him aside, driving him away...
"You should be with Arwen," he mumbled, not daring to look up and see rejection in Aragorn's eyes.
"The Lady Arwen resides in 'Lorien, where Lady Galadriel bestows on her much wisdom. It was always her greatest desire to learn there, and now she fulfils it."
Legolas looked up in astonishment, the haze fleeing from his mind.
"You...you sent her away?"
Aragorn's eyes met his intensely and the man smiled.
"I could not lie to her. My hope, my love, lies with you and you alone. She lives her dream now, and I am free to live mine."
Stars crashed together and all his hopes, dreams and fears swirled into one moment, one man. He looked into Aragorn's eyes and saw nothing but love, and it was he, Legolas of Mirkwood, who had put it there.
"Melamin," he whispered, and held out his hand. Aragorn intertwined their fingers lovingly, and gazed upon him warmly. With infinite slowness, he bent forward and touched his lips to those of his elf, and a new fire roared within him, strengthening, renewing.
"What now, Aragorn?" Legolas whispered, and the man smiled.
"Now, our day begins."
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Tender by Demon Faith
Story notes: WARNING: Injury, blood and details of an 'operation'.
My first LOTR fic, although the plot bunnies are trying to eat me. I've read the book through once, I've watched each film once and I've read more slash this week than is probably healthy – that's as qualified as I'll be for a while. Apologies.
This takes events from the film and leads them to an AU ending – Aragorn will not be marrying Arwen in any reality I choose to play in. *g*
Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.
For the Archivist's Challenge at Library of Moria: Slash ROTK. :D
Chapter end notes: Elvish translations:
Melamin – my love
Amin mela lle – I love you
