Title: Eternal Vow
Author: Lady Ivory
E-mail: matan4il@yahoo.com.au
Genre: FPS
Status: Complete (unless asked for sequel)
Archives: Lirimaer, Library of Moria and Melethryn are OK. Everyone 
else, please ask and you shall be answered by an extremely 
enthusiastic “yes”.
Synopsis: Arwen dies and Legolas comes to comfort his old friend, as 
he learns about an unexpected side of the royal marriage.
Canon: This is movie-based, and sprung out of my head directly after 
the end of the trilogy marathon I attended. It’s my first fan fic ever, so 
be gentle with me. FEEDBACK greatly appreciated.
Disclaimers: Big surprise, I don’t own any of the characters or plots, 
which means I won’t get even a cent. Damn that and my emptying 
bank account. Oh, I forgot to mention that it’s true for all, except two 
servants in Aragorn’s castle, who had the bad luck of being invented 
by a girl with no imagination for ungeeky names. They’re welcome to 
sue.
Special thanks: To everyone who’s agreed to help me with this fic, and 
there were many. Sylia, Karra, Jenny and Dawn, you’re all wonderful! 
Most of all, I would like to thank my little sister (good luck, sweety!) 
and Mori, who’s done a truly exceptional work as my beta-reader and 
Quenya guide. Thank you again and kisses!
Warnings: In addition to the usual “hey, there are men having sex 
here” NC-17, I suspect I’ll get to a kind of hinting towards Mpreg as 
well, somewhere along the way. Enjoy!

{Chapter One}

        Gondor’s flags were lowered to half-mast. Aragorn could see 
this from his bedroom window, but he could not care much about it. 
Later, he would have to check who it was amongst the servants at the 
palace who initiated this and say how much he appreciated this, but 
right now he could not care.

        Arwen lay before him in his mind. Already she was buried, as 
quickly as possible as was the Elvish tradition in these rare cases, and 
already lost to him. Despite the two years they had spent together as 
husband and wife, her exact features were already beginning to blur. 
During the first two days, all he could do was play and play again in 
his mind all of their memories together, her usual movements, the 
way she laughed...only each time he replayed her, she seemed to be 
fading further from his mind, changing a little each time, and he had 
the strange feeling that there was something he was doing wrong.

        A trumpet sounded down in the guests’ hall, and Aragorn paid 
little attention. Soon enough came the expected knocking at the door, 
and when there was no answer, a servant - Riddel - stepped in.
        
        “Your highness, a guest has come to see you. King Legolas of 
Mirkwood.” Riddel’s voice was hesitant. Once he stepped in the room, 
King Elessar’s contemplative figure unnerved him. He was not sure, 
though he was before he decided to enter without permission, that the 
news would be welcomed. Still, King Legolas was an old friend to the 
King of Gondor and the servant thought this Elf could do for his king 
what none of the other eulogizers could.

        “Legolas?” The surprise in Aragorn’s voice was evident. He had 
not expected any of his old fellowship friends to come. More so, he 
decided not to tell those who would. Frodo and Gandalf had already 
set sail for the Undying Lands, and there was no reason to bother the 
hobbits in their peaceful lives in the Shire or to call on Gimli from the 
rebuilding of the Moria Mines. They would all be too far, too late for 
the sudden funeral, and their words of solace would be... unhelpful at 
best. That was the reason why - despite his kingdom being only a day 
and a half away by riding - Aragorn had not sent word for Legolas 
either. He could not bear the thought of empty words spoken with full 
emotions that couldn’t find their target. Most of all, he did not want to 
have to explain, if he lost patience and rejected his friends’ comfort, 
why those words could not console him. The thing that lay heavy on 
his heart could not be shared.

        Yet Legolas was here, and now that he was, Aragorn's heart 
was lightened, just a little, for that. He stood up and, with hasty steps, 
rushed to the guests’ hall, down a flight of stairs, while Riddel stood 
still in the bedroom. Two years had passed since he switched from 
serving the Steward Denethor to serving King Elessar, and he was still 
not used to the way in which the King failed to follow the traditional 
ways of rulers, such as the custom of the servant always leaving the 
room before the king.

        “Legolas!” Aragorn’s warm voice resounded in the vast hall, as 
he hurried towards his friend. “Aragorn!” was Legolas’ thrilled 
answer. They embraced each other, then, smiling, looked into each 
other’s eyes, searching for the signs of the time that had passed since 
they last met, at Aragorn’s coronation.

        You look good, Aragorn wished to say, but then he 
remembered, and stopped. “It is a sad hour that we’ve come upon, my 
friend,” he said, and Legolas nodded quietly, his expression changing 
from glad to worried. “This is why I had to come, though I guessed 
your silence was intended.” No tone of apology sounded in his voice, 
only concern and the recognition of his right to be there, as a true 
friend.

        “True, I’ve not sent word. How did you hear of it?” asked 
Aragorn, only now voicing the question that was forming in his mind. 
He did not care that Legolas came uninvited, though he felt the weight 
of the burden that he did not wish to speak of, not even with his 
friend. Now it seemed that this weight upon him was smaller than the 
joy he felt at the sight of the Elf’s kind face.

        “Now, Aragorn, our lands are not so far apart that a rumor will 
not travel the distance in less than a week.” Legolas’ face was lit by a 
shadow of a smile. Some things about Aragorn were hopeless, and yet 
beautiful, like his strong conviction in the power of his will when he 
did not wish to hurt his friends. He had not changed since coming to 
power, and Legolas was glad of that.

        Aragorn smiled back, but not widely. The welcome in his eyes, 
Legolas noticed, was tainted with grief, and also by a deeper sorrow. 
From the moment the man spoke of the ill hour, the like of a shadow 
had come to hover over him, and his quick paces towards Legolas, his 
swift embrace, were replaced by a slower motion and a lack of 
attentiveness.  After a few seconds of silence, Legolas spoke again.

        “I hear the baby has survived,” he said, and wondered at the 
lack of response from Aragorn. “Yes,” the man said, nodding heavily 
and thinking of something that was probably quite different, “yes, he 
did.”

        “Aragorn.” Legolas had decided that his friend had more need 
of him than he had expected, and his words were but a small part of 
the help he could offer. Still, this part must wait a little while longer, 
while he offered others. “You are weary. Have you had any sleep since 
Arwen passed away?” It was the third day since the troubling birth, 
yet Legolas was not surprised when Aragorn nodded, almost 
automatically, that he hadn’t.

        “This will not do. Aragorn, go now to sleep, I will take care of 
everything.” He slowly accompanied the man up the stairs and to the 
royal bedroom, stirring him gently with a slight pressure from his wide 
palm, spread upon the man’s back. When they reached the door he 
added, “Good. Now, go lie down and when I see you again, my friend, 
I want to see you rested.” Aragorn nodded his consent in that same 
mechanical manner. Then, he seemed to have noticed something. 
Sharply, he turned his eyes up to Legolas’. “You will not leave before 
we’ve had a chance to talk, will you?” he asked, though all along the 
way, all he had pondered about was how he could avoid surrendering 
to the pressure he felt to speak. He realized that very moment that he 
had to. If Legolas did not hear it before he left, no one would, and he 
would continue to dwell – endlessly – in the shadow of this silent 
torture.

        “Never,” Legolas assured him with a wide smile. As soon as 
Aragorn had entered the bedroom, Legolas went in search of a 
servant. He came upon Riddel and Shayna, a new maidservant in the 
castle. The Elf quickly turned to Riddel, with whom he was acquainted, 
and inquired about the state of all matters that needed tending. After 
he made sure the King’s slumber would not be disturbed, he asked 
Shayna to show him the way to the baby's bedroom.

{Chapter Two}

        Looking down at the cradle, Legolas reached out to the little 
babe, stretching out his little finger to the child, who grasped it. 
“Morning,” a familiar voice spoke not very far off behind him. 
“Aragorn!” Legolas said, with great delight. He did not know what his 
friend’s mood was, nor did he turn to check with his own eyes, but it 
seemed to him he heard humor in Aragorn’s voice. “This little one, 
he’s already trying to wage battle against me,” he added in good 
nature. Aragorn stepped closer, to his side, and it was now evident the 
man was rested and felt better. 

        Aragorn indeed had rested. After parting with Legolas, the 
knowledge that they were to speak soon, that this feeling of isolation 
that wrapped him would be broken soon, had sent the man into a 
deep, satisfying sleep. How long had he felt that isolation, which only 
now he came to admit? He was not sure, but it mattered not now. “I 
slept well. Thank you, Legolas,” he said, placing a palm on Legolas’ 
shoulder, then he looked back down at the child, “He is well rested, 
too, I see.”

        “You slept a day and a half. You really were very tired, 
Aragorn, and this little one,” Legolas hesitated for a second, “well, we 
kept each other company.” And with that he smiled. “Oh,” Aragorn 
said, looking around at the room. He had noticed now that a bed had 
been moved into the room, and that Legolas’ belongings were neatly 
arranged on a chair next to it. “Legolas,” he said, disbelief and 
appreciation mingling in his voice.

        “Don’t you dare, Aragorn, don’t say that I shouldn’t have.” The 
man looked at his friend and said, “I won’t. I owe you thanks for this 
deed. I was not functioning well since his birth, I know, and I doubt 
any of the servants could have taken care of him better than you. And 
still,” he shook his head, “still I wish it had not come to this.”

        “Do not trouble yourself, my friend, I have enjoyed my time 
with him.” And with that, Legolas gently released his finger from the 
baby’s hold, moved to a table at the far side of the room, and returned 
with a bottle in his hand. “Would you like to feed him?” the Elf asked, 
holding out the bottle to Aragorn. The man took the bottle with a hint 
of embarrassment. Legolas picked up the child carefully and motioned 
for Aragorn to sit down on the bed. Once the man was seated, he 
placed the baby in his arms, guiding him as to the correct way of 
holding him. 

        “It’s the first time since…” Aragorn began, but Legolas cut him 
off. “I know. It’s all right. He seems to like you still,” he said, his voice 
soft and amused. “Legolas,” Aragorn tried to say, and again the words 
seemed to catch in his throat. He was not rushed nor urged to speak 
his mind, and as the baby fed, he decided that he could choke on these 
words no longer.

        “It was for him she came back,” Aragorn said. “Not for me.” 
Legolas kept silent, only listening, his heart grasped by pain at 
Aragorn’s evident hurt. “She mentioned it once, a vision she had. It 
was him she saw, running towards me. It was for him she came back. 
She did not think much of it. She was on her way to the ships, to the 
Undying Lands. She would have gone but for the vision. I doubt she 
understood it herself. She really thought it was for me she stayed. And 
now...”

        “Now you thought you’d hate the child?” Legolas asked, 
without judgment. “No.” Aragorn shook his head. “No, he’s 
wonderful,” he said, his gaze full of soft admiration. “Now that I look 
at him, I know I would have loved him no matter what. No, it’s that I 
couldn’t forgive her. I drew back from her. Not blatantly, not in act, 
but in thought. In a way, she was already a stranger when she gave 
birth to our son. It’s that she’s dead, because of this birth, and I still 
can’t stop thinking of it, can’t blame her, but also can’t forgive.”

        “And you blame yourself for this.” Aragorn nodded again, 
without looking at Legolas. He had not looked upon him since he first 
spoke of the secret that lay in his marriage. “You mustn’t. Aragorn.” 
Legolas hesitated for a moment. Not over the words, but on whether 
to utter them, whether he in particular had the right to say them. But 
Aragorn was sitting with his son in front of him, his face turned down, 
yet all of his attention turned to Legolas’ next words, and he had to. 
“Arwen loved you. Suppose the worst, suppose that she indeed lacked 
the certainty, the courage to stay behind for merely a man, and she 
needed the promise of parenthood to strengthen those in her. She did 
not do you wrong, for I doubt she would have stayed for any other, 
even with promises of more than that. Nor did you do her wrong, for 
you loved her, and it is a lover’s right to be hurt, as well as to be 
forgiven for that. Make peace with her, and be sure that she loved you 
enough and is in peace with you.”

        Legolas’ words offered a comfort that Aragorn did not expect. 
When he thought of it, he could not see how he could be forgiven for 
his selfishness towards her. Yet Legolas did not even judge him. He 
simply understood. It was so good that he had come.

{Chapter Three}

        Soon, he knew, Legolas would have to go back. He was the king 
of Mirkwood, since King Thranduil left for the Undying Lands, and he 
had lingered here too long already, helping Aragorn with daily 
troubles and court matters, not to mention raising the child. The infant 
did not yet have a name. Aragorn postponed the choice, trying to 
figure out how exactly he would name the child so that Arwen would 
be pleased as well. 

        Aragorn sighed. He felt that the idea of Legolas’ departure was 
harder for him than it should have been. He was keeping himself busy 
this afternoon, reading the correspondence, avoiding thoughts of the 
moment Legolas would announce his departure, thinking of his life in 
the castle afterwards. Even through the mourning, Legolas had 
managed to cheer him with his unusual sense of humor, always 
somewhat based on the contrast between the kindness of his soul and 
the mischievous meaning of the words. Once Legolas was gone, what 
would make him smile, besides his son?

        “Aragorn.” Legolas entered suddenly. In the past few days, he 
had quickly caught up with Aragorn’s dislike for court manners. “There 
is an urgent matter we must discuss.”

        That was that, then, Aragorn thought. It was time for Legolas’ 
departure. He would not have been able to imagine the grief that fell 
upon him, and he spoke swiftly, without thinking. “Won’t you stay a 
little while longer?”

        At that, Legolas blinked once, confused a bit. “Aragorn.” It did 
not surprise him that the man knew what was in his heart. Many were 
the times during their quest together when they had no need for 
words. “I would, but there are complications...that I have no power 
over.”

        “What complications?” Aragorn’s hand clenched around the 
handle of the chair. “Your kingdom? I do not ask that you part from it, 
only that you linger a while longer.” Legolas shook his head in 
disagreement. “It’s not the kingdom that worries me, Aragorn, but I 
have already lingered longer than I should have. It is time for me to 
go.”

        “If it’s not the kingdom that troubles you, what is it then? 
Whatever it is, we will find you a way to prolong your stay. After all, it 
cannot be harder than slaying an Oliphaunt.” Legolas smiled widely at 
that. It was good to hear Aragorn kid, as he had not done so since 
Legolas’ arrival. In truth, most who met the man thought that he 
never was inclined towards the humorous, and Legolas knew 
otherwise. He knew Aragorn would shut that part in him in times of 
danger and distress and reopen them when he found peace. That small 
jest was now so precious for the Elf that he dare not relinquish the 
emotion that evoked it. Not without an explanation. It was one, 
though, that he did not wish to offer, but perhaps it was time. Aragorn 
had shared a secret with him. It would be just to reciprocate, 
whatever the price.

        “Aragorn,” Legolas began, “this is not easy to explain. I will do 
my best, however, and hope that you should understand this, and 
especially that you will understand that it was not right of me to speak 
of this sooner.” A slight pause in his speech made Legolas self-
conscious that his gaze lay upon his palm, as though hiding, admitting 
a shame. He was not ashamed, not of this. He raised his eyes to meet 
Aragorn’s with pride and dignity. “It is not right that I remain here 
without your knowledge of the way I feel. I call you my friend, and 
that you are, but you are also the man I love.”

        The words flowed from the Elf’s mouth in his usual, melodic 
flow, but Aragorn did catch a small tremor in it towards the end, 
incredibly subtle, but at the same time very obvious to the former 
Ranger’s ears. He had heard the admission, yet knew not what to 
answer, and even less what he felt.

        In those few seconds that Aragorn was rendered speechless, in 
those very seconds did Legolas realize he had no hope to have his love 
returned. He spoke on, with growing confidence that the confession 
was right - no matter its consequences - and that there were still a 
few things left unsaid. “I do not ask anything of you, not even a 
response right now, but if you still look upon me as a friend –” 
Aragorn noticed, unconsciously, that the tremor was gone from the 
Elvish voice. “If you still wish for me to stay, then I will stay, as such. 
It was from our friendship that my love did grow, and it will never be 
outgrown. Aragorn, no matter what, I hope you still see that.” And 
with this last saying, Legolas turned to leave, but was stopped by a 
hand that reached his arm and squeezed it with great affection.

        “Of course you are my friend,” Aragorn said, “and always will 
be. Your stay is always welcomed here. More than welcomed.” Legolas 
released a breath that he had not perceived he held, yet did not want 
to be careless. “Aragorn, if there are questions on your mind, ask now. 
I will answer truly, and then leave you to your thoughts and to a 
decision made with more consideration. I’d rather leave now, with 
mutual consent, than have our friendship tainted by a decision we will 
not be able to carry out despite our best intentions.”

        Aragorn redrew his hand and sat back down. “What shall I ask 
you, Legolas,” he said, more than asked, though his head buzzed with 
questions that he could not yet put into words. “Nothing, there is 
nothing to ask or answer. You are my friend. You have been my 
support through this dark hour and many others. I will not ask you to 
leave.” A kind of numbness grew out of the buzzing, a feeling he could 
not understand.“

        “I will leave you to your thoughts nonetheless, Aragorn, and 
when you are ready, I will delight of your company, as I always have. 
My offer for answers still stands.” And with that, the Elf made for the 
door. “Legolas,” just as the Elven-king stepped to the door - his hand 
not yet on the doorknob and his figure proud and tall in front of it - a 
thought had almost formed in the numbness of Aragorn’s mind, “Is 
this the reason you had not sailed for the Grey Havens?” Legolas 
turned around and, with complete serenity, he gave his positive 
answer with a nod. Then he turned and left.

        Aragorn remained seated in his chair. The thought, the one that 
had almost formed, it stung now at him, that Arwen had remained not 
for a life with him - she knew she’d have that and yet the death in it 
had scared her away - and Legolas remained here for him, though he 
was offered nothing in return. In the window, toward which Aragorn 
now turned, the colors of a setting sun were changing the face of the 
earth. It was like a soft caress, it happened every evening, through 
the night, and then morning rose again. It seemed a certainty, but one 
which he had not paid attention to before. Beyond that one thought in 
his mind, he still could not find anything of which he was certain.

{Chapter Four}

        It was not dawn yet, but Legolas was restless. He came to 
check the door again, the closed study door, and found Riddel there, 
also apparently lacking in sleep. The man was not quite old, but had a 
maturity which the other servants seemed to lack. Perhaps that was 
why Legolas liked him more than he did the other servants, but it 
could also have been that the Elf noticed the servant’s real care for his 
king.

        “So he did not leave his study? I don’t expect he had his 
dinner?” Riddel’s answer did not surprise Legolas and he wondered if 
he should interfere in Aragorn’s brooding. He would have, had he not 
been the cause of it. Now he opted to look after the babe. Later he 
would make sure that breakfast was ready to be taken to the king’s 
study. 

        ****

        Aragorn awoke in his chair, near the window, his faced touched 
by the first golden rays. He blinked, preferring to continue sleeping, 
but the sight outside caught his attention. The same earth that 
changed its face last night renewed itself now. It looked younger 
somehow, lighter in this early morning light, like a child being 
rediscovered.

        A child, and Aragorn’s thought raced to his first-born. In 
Legolas’ care still, he knew and was relieved at once. The agitated 
sleep had brought him little comfort, no answers, but a momentary 
forgetfulness. For a split second he thought Legolas had gone back 
already. Not a logical thought, he knew, but since when were fears 
logical? And this was fear, he now grasped. 

        The tension in his muscles was evident, and Aragorn forced 
himself to relax by leaning back and breathing deep, slow breaths. It 
was not Legolas’ feelings that amazed him. No. It was that when 
confronted by them, he did not know how to define his own. The 
options that lay before him in this regard had still not shaped 
themselves, and all through this long night, Aragorn was dancing 
around them, nearing and moving back away almost in tides. It tired 
him and he was getting nowhere, without even the ability to see 
where it was that he was trying to reach.

        His weariness gained on him. He closed his eyes, and a light 
sleep fell upon him. Memories started pouring out through his dream, 
memories of many things, of many places, that all remained as dreams 
for him since his coronation and, not much later on, his wedding.

        Aragorn’s eyes shot open to discover that the day outside had 
progressed, as had his memories in his sleep, and like the sound of a 
distant bell - still resounding beyond the horizon, even after it stopped 
chiming - the thought of his coronation came to him. Gandalf’s hands, 
stroking with one clear motion the crown upon his head, turning to the 
crowd, walking past the people whom he cherished, one by one; and 
then came Legolas.

        Legolas had been clad in a beautiful outfit in which he shone 
even more than usual. A sound, maybe the beating of his own heart, 
came back to Aragorn, just as Legolas had stepped aside to reveal 
Arwen. He could tell, now that he looked at her, that he had kissed her 
that day as he would never do again. There was a passion in him that 
day toward her that was later subdued into quiet lovemaking. It was 
never bad, but now he saw that it was lacking. What was it lacking? 
That thud, that blurry thud in his chest.

        A new wave of guilt would have washed over him, were it not 
for the need to correct what was still in his power to change. He had 
done wrong to one, but he would do right this time. He had loved 
Arwen. He always had and would, but she was not the one he was in 
love with.

        ****

        The door opened slowly. Legolas raised his head from the 
infant he was holding, without stopping the flow of his Elvish lullaby. 
Aragorn entered with a faint smile upon his lips, one which grew 
stronger, if not wider, at the sight. “He really is attached to you.”

        “Shhh… speak lower. He has almost fallen asleep.” Legolas 
stood near the cradle, rocking the babe in his arms. “I’ll lay him down 
and we shall speak, but not in here.” Aragorn nodded in agreement, 
and quickly, though not abruptly, leaned toward the baby to kiss his 
cheek. 

        Legolas was the first out of the door, and first to lead their way 
into a private hall, down that same corridor. He opened the door 
before Aragorn, and after entering himself, turned back to close it. 
Before he reached the door, he found his hand being pulled away from 
the doorknob, and into a tight hold in Aragorn’s hand, while the man 
shoved the door closed with his other hand. “Forgive me,” Aragorn 
asked in a low voice.

        “Forgive you?” Amazement was clear in Legolas’ voice. “What 
would I forgive you for? What have you done, that you should be 
forgiven?” With the same resolve that had been his own unique 
creation, once he set his mind to it, Aragorn did not back out, nor did 
he let go of his stunned friend. “It was my own fault for not 
understanding. Please, forgive me. Let me make it up to you, for my 
foolishness...”

        “Aragorn, what are you talking about?” The strong hand that 
descended from the doorknob to Aragorn’s side now rose again, on its 
way to take hold of Legolas’ chin. “You are not the only one in love, 
Legolas, just the only one with sight clear enough to see it.” 

        And with that, Aragorn brought a great torture to Legolas. 
Although his very being sang at the touch – Aragorn’s touch – in that 
intimate spot, he knew that it was weakness, his own weakness that 
would take hold of him, if he caved in to his desire for the man, long 
kept at bay, when Aragorn would seek him out of need and loneliness. 
“Aragorn, just the other day you spoke of Arwen...” He was 
immediately hushed by a thumb moving across his lips. Aragorn 
looked deep in Legolas’ eyes and told him his mistake, “She was a 
love, a love and nothing more than that, and I was a fool for not 
understanding. Legolas, I don’t know when I fell in love with you, or 
why I could not see it, but I do know now. Please, believe me.”

        And though he wanted to, because he wanted to, Legolas 
didn’t. The thumb moving in slow circles over his mouth was replaced 
with Aragorn’s lips, sweet and moist. Tickling. Awakening sensations.

        He did not know, Legolas thought as he struggled with himself, 
Aragorn did not know what it meant for the Elves to go to bed with 
one another. It was more than wedding vows. It was the dedication of 
the heart and soul to another person. If Legolas’ love had hurt until 
now, then when Aragorn awoke from this phase of delusion, when he 
wanted a return to mere friendship, then Legolas’ love would pain 
him, would tear him apart, until it killed him. 

        And yet, those lips...Those lips that grew hungrier in their 
demands, that moved deeper, opening his mouth. Those kisses now 
reciprocated by his own, his lips parted by a tongue and an eagerness 
to feel Aragorn entirely. He could not push away this man whom he 
had loved for so long. This man with whom he would go to bed now, 
who will be the ruin of him, whom he could learn to hate before his 
dying was complete.

        And for the second time since he arrived at Minas Tirith, 
Legolas decided to take a chance, whatever the consequences. Beyond 
all the love he needed from Aragorn, he was not able to take from 
Aragorn, from his love, the solace that the man had requested of him, 
even if he did not fully understand what it was he asked of the Elf.

        Already Aragorn’s hands began to roam deep into the blond 
hair, just beneath the braids, along the earlobes, and to those pointed 
peaks, and all the time, devouring Legolas’ mouth, seeking out its 
warmth, then drawing back and allowing passage into his own.

        Aragorn drew back from Legolas and moved his kisses to the 
side, along the strong jaw line, down to the neck, exploring the taste, 
the small twists and motions of muscle beneath liquid-white skin, then 
up again, following the hot rush of blood in the veins, and towards one 
pointed peak. “Aragorn,” the whisper from Legolas’ mouth was barely 
that, “It feels so...” and a gasp for air. Legolas had not known anyone 
before this man, had never known Aragorn could make him feel the 
way he did, a feeling he would not be able to describe, not in all his 
immortal years, but he had passed on that, and he passed on words 
and on any other sound as he gave in to his own end. Slowly and 
relentlessly, Aragorn guided their bodies to the floor, to the white fur 
carpet, so soft, in front of the burning fireplace. Legolas knew not how 
Aragorn had managed it, but there they were, lying in his soft, white 
and blazing destruction.

        And what a sweet destruction it was, as Legolas moved his 
hands to the nape of Aragorn’s neck, feeling through the silky brown 
hair, clenching it when the man found the most sensitive spot in his 
ear, just beneath the upper fold of that pointed peak, never to be of 
the same innocence that once it was. 

        Everything in Legolas’ body pulsed, and to this rhythm he 
wrapped his legs around Aragorn’s, ground against him, as though 
unsure, as though he could inflict his passion on Aragorn with this 
frenzied movement, and it was good. Legolas almost purred but again 
ran out of breath. It was good, his hands now feverishly undoing his 
love’s clothes, no buttons, no rips, he peeled the clothes to reveal 
Aragorn layer by layer, and noticed a small vial of oil that rolled out of 
the stripped clothes, possibly just borrowed from the infirmary. And 
there was a mental note that Legolas needed to make but couldn’t, 
while Aragorn’s hand came forward to catch the vial, to open it with 
one determined motion of his thumb.
        
        “Legolas, may I...” The question’s end was buried into the 
white chest, above which Aragorn’s mouth hovered, now leaning in, 
kissing, now sucking with urgency on one nipple, now the other, and 
Legolas moved his head to signal yes without a single noise, but his 
chest heaved up and down, to Aragorn’s mouth, then teasingly away 
from it, as the man drew back to drench his fingers in the oil. 

        “Ahh,” but it was a quiet scream, and already Aragorn’s finger 
was inside Legolas, thoroughly massaging in all directions, then slowly 
searching towards one, almost finding it, drawing back and inserting 
another finger, a third, all moving inside Legolas, whose fingers dug 
deep into Aragorn’s back, deeper. He could feel his love’s golden 
brown color stinging at his skin, then beneath his skin, his fingers 
beneath Aragorn’s skin, digging at his essence, and all the while a 
lamentation sang in his head.

        One ankle around each shoulder, they were falling perfectly 
into place. Aragorn stopped to kiss Legolas. What a gentle kiss it was, 
with such tenderness that it brought tears to Legolas’ eyes. “If I hurt 
you, say so.” And with this instruction Aragorn began a journey into 
Legolas’ core, filling him slowly, judging the pain that the Elf wouldn’t 
admit from the movements of his tilted head, until he was fully 
immersed in the hot, burning flesh. He stopped again to look at the 
sight of beauty beneath him, the memory of the coronation floating 
back, not even close to this, to the radiance of the face, of the white 
skin, played out by the fire’s flames, and Aragorn could not believe 
how good it was. Legolas’ eyes met his.

        Legolas saw it there, in Aragorn’s eyes, nearly black, and a 
sense of joy overcame him. He had not believed it, but it was true. 
Aragorn drew back from within him as Legolas held on tighter to him 
with arms, with legs, with a torrid kiss that he demanded from his 
lover, and then Aragorn plunged in, into a rhythm so beautiful, 
dictated by Legolas’ hip thrusts against him, the thrusts in which the 
Elf pulled Aragorn towards him, inside him; it was so good. He made 
sure to plunge at that particular point each time, in and out and 
deeper in, as though he were feeling Legolas with every fiber of his 
body, of his soul, of something beyond both. He felt the edge. Any 
moment now he would look over it and to the other side, and he took 
Legolas by his manhood with him.

{Chapter Five}

        “Love?” Legolas’ voice was sweet in his ear. Aragorn slipped 
slowly away from the brief slumber, awakened through the many 
different spots in his body that made contact with Legolas. He opened 
his eyes and looked at the Elf, humming more than saying, “Good 
morning, my love.” A kiss was planted on his cheek, and a “good 
morning” followed. “Have you slept well?”

        “I didn’t sleep that deeply,” Aragorn answered, fascinated by 
the play of Legolas’ hair on his skin. “Now, Aragorn,” Legolas’ eyes 
sparkled with good spirit. They were close before, but there was a 
kind of newfound freedom they allowed themselves that morning, and 
the Elf reveled in it. “I can tell the difference, even if I cannot sleep 
myself.”

        Aragorn smiled. “Legolas?” he asked with hesitation, not sure 
how to ask his lover what he had to know. “Yes, my love?” A brilliant 
look of love and confidence stared back at the man in the dark blue 
eyes, so much love and confidence, that Aragorn’s heart felt as though 
it expanded suddenly in his chest. “You didn’t believe me yesterday, 
when I told you that I really do love you, that I am in love with you, 
but you do now - is it not so?” 

        Legolas felt like he could drown in the care that beamed out of 
Aragorn. No boundaries would be set between them from now on, 
least of all by their own doing. Complete truth, always. “I was scared. 
I thought you only believed to know your heart, but in actuality did 
not.” And Aragorn asked then without anger, but with wonder, “And 
yet you would accept me? Even though for Elves this act means to be 
bound together, without a possibility of unbinding?”

        Legolas smiled broadly. “I am already bound to you, Aragorn. I 
have been so for longer than I can remember.” A slight tremor entered 
his voice, the kind Aragorn was starting to understand he was the only 
creature to have heard, as he added, “And last night...when you were 
in me...” He looked straight into his lover’s soul at that moment, and 
no further explanation was needed.

        With that, Aragorn pulled Legolas into a kiss, the most serene 
kiss, and as their lips parted, Legolas’ head found its place on 
Aragorn’s chest, while they remained lying there, lacking the will to 
leave the private hall.
        
        “I should check on the baby. We’ve been here for most of 
yesterday, and for all of the night. Riddel must have taken good care 
of him, but I should go have a look in any case.”

        “Don’t go.” Aragorn spoke as Legolas was already drawing 
himself out of his arms. The Elf stopped and smiled at him. “I must,” 
he said. The man rose, leaning on his elbows, and when he was very 
close to Legolas’ face, he scattered a small flood of kisses on his chin, 
exploring the jaw line. In between, he muttered something. “No.” He 
finally voiced his true objection. “I meant: don’t go from me. Stay 
here, in this castle. It’s already your home. Why don’t we make it so, 
officially?” 

        Legolas looked at Aragorn with wonder. Only then – on that 
morning, after their passionate lovemaking – had the thought become 
real, that he could really stay here for good. He did not know what to 
answer, and Aragorn immediately understood and added, “You may 
not have to leave your home. I know it is much to ask you to give up 
your kingdom, and I will not, if we can have our lives entwined in any 
other way.”

        “What do you suggest, my love?” Aragorn moved a finger along 
the fine cheekbone, a short smile of delight appearing and then fading 
as his thoughts turned back to the task of figuring out a common 
future. “Suppose we united our kingdoms? You said it yourself. They 
are not far from each other. There will be many advantages for our 
people if we succeed in this plan, but most of all...” He immersed 
himself in Legolas’ little alcove, right beneath his neck. The Elf ran his 
fingers, slightly scratching the skin, over the man’s sides, evoking a 
low growl from his mouth. 

        “What do you say?” Aragorn asked, breaking contact with the 
exquisite taste of the Elf’s skin. “I say, don’t stop.” It took the man a 
few seconds, but then he laughed, quietly and wholeheartedly. 
“Aragorn,” Legolas added, before his lover would have the chance to 
rebuke him in jest for the rascal he truly was at heart, “I would have 
to ride out to Mirkwood. I shall have a gathering with my brothers, 
and together we will decide.”

        “What if it falls through, for whatever reason?” Aragorn’s 
anxiety was not very clear in his voice, but it was there. Legolas 
smiled at him reassuringly. “Then we find another solution. We’ll find 
another king for Mirkwood, maybe. Maybe something else. We will be 
together, though. I promise.”

        “And do you like the idea?” Legolas nodded. “Very much so. To 
not be parted with you? How can you even doubt that the idea would 
thrill me?” And with that, he leaned into Aragorn to kiss him fully and 
deeply, with an urge renewed, as though all their lovemaking had not 
taken place, as though it were their very first touch. 

{Chapter Six}

        Legolas looked down into the royal crib. He was looking at this 
beautiful baby, Aragorn’s son, who, already – it struck him – 
possessed a few of his father’s features, and Legolas was sorry to part 
with both father and son. It was only for a few days, only to make 
sure that he and Aragorn could live out the rest of their lives together, 
as long as that may be, but sorrow was still there. 

        Yet, while looking down on this child, even as he slept, he felt 
his heart widen with delight, his sorrow lessening a little. He reveled 
in the peace of his breathing, his sweet, faint smell. He caressed one 
tiny hand with his finger, and wondered if Aragorn’s son would miss 
him as well. Soon, one thought led to another, and Legolas sank into 
contemplation.

        It had been but a few hours since the couple’s first morning 
together, and though Legolas was anxious earlier to visit this infant, 
he had not the time, since the question of their future burned in their 
minds. He made sure all arrangements were taken care of before he 
came back to this room. He had three days to spend with Aragorn 
before leaving, and he wondered where he should spend them, in 
which room, in this castle that would soon become his home. Staying 
with Aragorn was natural now, but then again, he did not want to part 
with the child, either.

        A warm hand on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts. 
“Aragorn.” Legolas’ breathing stopped and returned to normal almost 
instantly. “You seem to always catch me off my guard here.” The man 
smiled at Legolas, then gestured to his son and said, “I really should 
choose a name.”

        “You’ve had an inspiration?” Legolas knew Aragorn’s doubts in 
choosing a name for his offspring well, as they had already discussed 
this matter several times. Aragorn smiled sadly and said, “No, but I’m 
afraid that I shall not have one any time soon, and if we wish the child 
not to remain nameless, then...”

        “Then you should simply name him after an ancestor, or 
another man you wish to honor. Tradition has its faults, but also its 
merits,” Legolas suggested. Aragorn shook his head, full of doubt. He 
was trying to decide whether his late wife would have preferred the 
child be named in this way or given an original name, and could not 
manage to think of a single conversation that they had had which 
would hint at an answer. Then again, at late, there had not been many 
conversations between them. Aragorn looked into Legolas’ peaceful 
eyes and swore to himself that no matter what, it would never be that 
way between them. He wanted to honor and cherish his lover, and 
share himself completely with him. Arwen was gone, yet she still 
mattered to him. Would she have disapproved of it, if he chose to 
honor Legolas, to give him a part in the child’s name? For some 
reason, perhaps wishful thinking, Aragorn believed she wouldn’t have.

        Aragorn finally broke the easy silence between them. “How 
about... Alegorn?” Legolas couldn’t help his grin. “Alegorn...? As in a 
combination of our names?” Aragorn nodded. “I just thought it would 
be nice.” Legolas’ hands flew, as if of their own accord, to grasp his 
lover’s face, to pull him into a gentle kiss. “It is. And I like the sound 
of it as well, but I fear I have no right to have my name embedded in 
his.”

        Aragorn laid his hand over one of Legolas’ and with renewed 
confidence, declared, “You have the right. My love... Sharing our lives 
means you’ll be his father as well as I. That gives you every right.”

        Legolas turned his gaze back to the crib. “Alegorn?” The name 
rolled off his tongue, and though it was still followed by a question 
mark, they both knew that was the name. “Look,” Aragorn whispered 
as the young Alegorn twitched a little in his sleep, as though in 
response to his new name. Aragorn and Legolas both started laughing 
as quietly as they could. “Alegorn it is then, little one.” Legolas 
stroked the smooth cheek with his finger, careful not to scratch it or 
wake the child.

{Chapter Seven}

        The moon was full and blue, and Aragorn thought it as restless 
as he was. It had been a week since Legolas had left for Mirkwood, 
and two days since a messenger had arrived, carrying news of 
Legolas’ return. He was to arrive on the noon of the next day, and 
though Aragorn knew there was no reason to wander away the night, 
still he could not sleep.

        The three days they had together before Legolas’ departure 
were extraordinary, in the new ways they discovered each other, in 
their many forms of lovemaking, in the sweetness of waking up to the 
sound of his lover’s calm breathing in his elvish reverie. It was all 
fascinating and magical, always tinted by the possibility that it was 
but a dream, too good to be true, from which they would wake up 
separately.

        Then Legolas’ day for departure came, and it was as though it 
had come upon him without any warning, that unprepared for it 
Aragorn felt. Despite dwelling on the kingdom’s matters since then, 
starting to examine the possibility of the kingdoms’ union, of how it 
should be done, despite staying long hours near Alegorn’s crib, playing 
with the child, Aragorn had felt Legolas’ absence in every minute, 
waking or otherwise.

        Before his departure, Aragorn insisted that Legolas move to the 
royal bedchamber, insisted the Elf would have to part with the child in 
any case, but they had agreed that it would be best if the infant’s 
bedroom was to be moved to a room in the upstairs floor, not far from 
their bedroom.

        A doubt woke in Aragorn’s heart. What if he were not to 
return? If his brothers decided not to help him, but also to hinder his 
return to Gondor? It was a foolish thought, but Aragorn could not help 
it. Legolas was more than capable of standing his own ground, and he 
knew that his lover would not remain far from him of his own accord. 
Still...

        A blaze, a white blaze appeared far in the distance of the 
darkened land, but Aragorn recognized it to be Legolas’ horse, and 
without even thinking, ran from his castle roof down to the stables. In 
a couple of minutes, Legolas was already there, descending from the 
horse’s back right into the eager arms of his lover. Not a word, as 
hungry mouths met in great passion, hands roamed with frenzy, 
recalling the exact curves of bodies recently discovered, but already 
embedded into their memories. 

        Aragorn soon ripped Legolas’ silver jacket off, and the Elf 
shoved the man back against a stable door as he felt their shared 
urgency, diving into his neckline. The moans from Aragorn’s mouth 
intoxicated Legolas, but he soon found rivalry in his lover’s 
ministrations. The man wrapped his hands around the Elf’s exposed 
upper body, teased his nipples into erection, and turned them around, 
so Legolas’ back was leaning against that same stable door, and 
without removing his lips from Legolas, without stopping his 
relentless exploration of his lover’s mouth, he reached down and 
undid the pants. Once they were off, he trailed his way down, over the 
neck, over the nipples and the muscular chest and abdomen, all over 
the hips and – while spreading the Elf’s legs a bit – on the inner side of 
his thighs.

        “Aragorn, for the Valar’s sake…” Legolas panted, a week long’s 
need weakening his stamina, and Aragorn responded with delight, 
taking his lover in his mouth, swallowing him whole, caressing him 
inside out, while his hands wrapped around Legolas’ hips, holding 
onto him, his irrational fear and extreme desire expressing themselves 
in the passion to draw all strength out of his love, to bring him to a 
new peak of pleasure.

        With a gush and a deep breath, Legolas came deep in his 
lover’s throat, half tumbling over the man, who accepted all of his 
fluids lovingly and supported his weight. “Aragorn...” he whispered, 
once he was able to catch his breath, “I missed you so much.”

        “No more than I missed you,” Aragorn answered kissing his 
way back up from just above the rich bush of pubic hair to the 
enthusiastic, moist mouth that accepted him back in. As they renewed 
their kiss with force, Legolas removed Aragorn’s thick velvet robe. He 
pushed down, and as he revealed the man’s dark skin in the pale 
moonlight, coming through the open gates of the stables and through 
the high windows, he raised his hips as he entwined himself around 
Aragorn, who mumbled his objection. “I did not think I’d see you so 
soon, I have no oil with me.” Legolas answered, “I could not stand 
another day away from you, and I was sure that you couldn’t either. I 
came prepared.” 

        Aragorn drew himself from Legolas and looked at him with 
wonder and delight. He still had much to learn about his lover, and he 
would. Every day would be another step in a long journey of mutual 
discovery, and the thought made him tremble with happiness and 
disbelief. He laid a soft kiss on the tip of Legolas’ nose, another one, 
then a string of kisses that ran from the tip to the side of the nose, 
underneath a half-closed eye, and all the while he was grinding into 
Legolas, raising his hips a little further, finding his place between the 
milky-white thighs, feeling the heat that radiated out of his lover’s 
body. Legolas helped him with the first thrust, causing him to go in 
deeper than he ever did before on a first stroke, and that sweet spot 
was soon found like it was made for him to find it, again and again, as 
he felt his entire being reduced to the silent moans of pleasure that 
were coming from his lover’s mouth.

        Aragorn felt like he was mad, as though driving through 
Legolas would be his only key to sanity and peace of mind, and soon 
his pace grew quicker and quicker. The Elf was matching it, meeting 
him on every stroke, his organ grinding thoroughly between their 
bodies. Legolas’ hands clenched around Aragorn, and the man’s 
around the Elf, and when Aragorn fell into an abyss of release and 
satisfaction, so did Legolas, and both, still as one flesh, dropped onto 
the floor, onto the robe that remained beneath them. They lay there, 
locked in their embrace still, aware only of each other’s warmth, of the 
slow calming of their blood in their veins.

        After what seemed like hours, and perhaps was, Aragorn 
asked, “It all went well, then?” and Legolas hummed a confirmation. 
“One kingdom?” The man’s eyes were fixed on a small, bright hair on 
the nape of Legolas’ neck, “Then we are back to choosing a name?” 
Legolas distanced his head from Aragorn’s shoulder and looked at him 
in amusement. “Don’t worry, my love, practice makes perfect.” The 
man just growled in discontent.

        “Legolas?” he asked then. The Elf muttered a hushed “yes?” 
when Aragorn’s question made his eyes dart wide open. “Will you 
make a decent man out of me?”

{Chapter Eight}

        A month had passed, so quickly that they almost could not 
grasp, and it was a month of many preparations for their joined 
coronation as kings of Laicelen, for the marriage ceremony that was to 
take place right before it, for the union of the two kingdoms and the 
development of the connecting grounds between them, and much 
more.

        They were especially rushed, since it took some time until the 
Elf had agreed. Legolas was not easily persuaded that his lover did not 
simply lose his mind. He knew by now both their hearts were filled 
with true, mutual dedication and was not certain of the need of an 
official ceremony. It would not necessarily add to their relationship. 
Moreover, a doubt plagued his mind that they might suffer the 
consequences of the inability of Aragorn’s subjects to understand. The 
Elves had accepted love between men or between women long ago, 
but Legolas knew that the situation was not the same among Men.

        Aragorn insisted that he would not be the ruler of a kingdom 
that would not accept his choice, and that there was an importance to 
their union – beyond the political one – that should not be dismissed. 
He was not willing to give up on anything they could share. “If one of 
us were a woman,” he said to Legolas during one of their 
conversations after lovemaking, “it would be no question.”

        “But neither one of us is, Aragorn,” Legolas answered, his arms 
around Aragorn, his manhood still inside him. They sometimes kept 
this position, reluctant to break contact with one another.

        “That should not matter.” Aragorn’s answer was decisive, 
mostly because he had seen in Legolas’ eyes – at the very second that 
the question was presented – that the Elf wanted this as much as he 
did. He knew that all of Legolas’ reservations were directly linked to 
the harm that might come to him, and he loved the Elf all the more for 
it, and grew even more determined not to let anyone get in their way 
of realizing their love.

        It was Riddel who managed to convince Legolas. The Elven-
king was, to him, already his master as much as King Elessar was. He 
would not forget the way he had brought his lord – so it seemed to 
him – back to life after the Lady Arwen had passed away. Upon seeing 
the troubled silence between the two kings one morning, he had taken 
the opportunity, as he had before whenever it concerned the well-
being of his king, to speak with the Elven lord.

        He was not sure how to open the conversation. Riddel was not 
supposed to speak with King Legolas of such matters, so he opted for 
a moment when they would be in a less formal situation, and waited 
for a time that Legolas would spend with Alegorn alone, without 
Aragorn’s company.

        When such an opportunity presented itself, Riddel spoke. He 
decided the best way was to attack directly the subject. He knew the 
cause of trouble, as rumors spread constantly in the castle, and he 
hoped that he could help. In a simple manner, while Legolas was 
playing with the child, ready to fetch anything that he might need, he 
spoke. He informed the Elven-king of how happy the servants were 
over the prospect of a possible marriage between him and King 
Aragorn, and that he was sure when the time came, the celebrations 
all over the kingdom would last for several days.

        Legolas looked back at Riddel. The hope that grew within him 
through the servant’s words did not yet take hold of his concerned 
heart. “Thank you, Riddel,” he said, and added at length, “But can you 
please tell me: what would you all be so overjoyed about?” Even to his 
own ears, his words sounded more bitter than he meant them, and he 
realized how much he had actually wanted the possibility to go 
through with the marriage.

        “Why, my lord, we would be thrilled to know that our king shall 
not be overtaken by the disaster of the queen’s demise. If it were to 
happen, it would not be the first time, and the fear that such a 
situation is beginning to take shape has already spread in the country. 
The men and women of the land will not be calmed until such time as 
the king takes up with a new partner to share the royal burden with.”

        Legolas nodded his thanks to the faithful servant, with 
understanding and appreciation of his subtlety and good intentions. 
This new viewpoint, he felt now, would give him the peace of mind to 
answer Aragorn’s question positively. He hoped that, as Riddel had 
foreseen, so indeed would the people of Aragorn’s land rejoice in their 
union. Most of all, though, he longed to allow himself the recognition 
that within this marriage, no power on earth could come between 
them. He could not wait to see Aragorn to bring him this small 
happiness.

{Chapter Nine}

        It had been a month almost to the day since Legolas’ return 
from Mirkwood, and all their plans – of marriage and of kingdom – 
were to be announced today to both their realms. With their lands 
united, Minas Tirith remained closer to the heart of the new kingdom – 
Laicelen – and so it was decided that the palace would remain there. 
They stood in their royal bedchamber, now full of shared spaces, of 
their belongings mixed together, selecting the clothes for the 
announcement. 

        Aragorn was looking at his official robes, trying to decide which 
one he should wear. Since Legolas came, it seemed the number of his 
green clothes had increased dramatically, as he knew the color to give 
the Elf great pleasure when he wore it. He thought of picking out a 
tunic, an incredibly fancy one, which reminded him somewhat of his 
ranger’s tunic, and at the same time emphasized the changes he had 
gone through.

        “That would look amazing on you,” Legolas confirmed, and not 
a moment later, he moved closer to Aragorn, his hands were already 
hugging his love from behind, as he whispered, “I am so lucky,” into 
his ear, then kissed it. “We both are,” the man corrected him, leaning 
back into the embrace. Aragorn’s next words came as of their own, 
detached of the thoughts running through his mind. “It’s been a long 
way, has it not?” Legolas responded without much thought, waiting 
for those hidden thoughts to surface. “Mmm,” was all he mumbled, 
tugging quickly and playfully at the man’s jacket. Then he added, 
“Nervous?” Aragorn shook his head dismissively. “No. But I do want 
to ask you something.”

        “Not my kingdom, I hope,” Legolas joked, “I have not another 
one to give you.” Argorn turned around to him and drew their faces 
together, as his lips matched the smile spread on his lover’s. “Not your 
kingdom, promise. My love, do you remember...” Aragorn’s eyes 
wandered a bit, caught in a memory, in a sight of splendor. “Do you 
remember the outfit you wore on...”

        “On your coronation?” It amused Legolas, the way they 
sometimes knew exactly what the other wanted. “Yes,” Aragorn said, 
and there was no longer need to ask whther his lover would agree to 
wear the very clothes in which – for the first time, though without 
much understanding – he felt his heart react to the beauty and love 
that shone from Legolas. It was, as he discovered, a reaction brought 
on, a feeling that had grown in him during their quest, a feeling 
starting with friendship and stemming into much more.

        ****

        “Do you, Aragorn son of Arathorn, take this Elf, to be...”

        “Do you, Legolas son of Thranduil, take this man...”

        It was as if they had heard the words, but did not; reacted to 
them with the correct answers, but never moved a muscle; walked 
through the great audience that has gathered, including many old 
friends, answered greetings with smiles and words of thanks, but 
could not see any of this abundance of love that was showered upon 
them. They could only see each other, could feel only each other, even 
without looking.

        It was, much like the coronation that was about to take place, 
a ceremony that combined the traditions of Elves and Men, thus 
making it an oddly long one. It was odd, because no one seemed to 
care. Riddel had been correct in his forecast, and as celebrations of 
one day were announced, the people of both kingdoms demanded they 
be prolonged.

        They kissed; they spoke, danced, and entertained the many 
guests and subjects that came to witness the occasion. It was 
extremely unreal, yet it was – all that was. Aragorn and Legolas’ 
hands clasped together as they walked through the audience.

        The wedding took place outside, the festive dinner took place 
inside one hall, and the coronation was to take place in another, much 
larger hall. The morning before the wedding, their biggest surprise 
arrived in the form of Gandalf and Frodo, waiting to see them. The 
wizard refused to answer any questions as to how and the sort, but 
agreed to say that though the journey to the Undying Lands was a 
final one, there were few things which were truly final for a man 
already dead and reborn. It did not matter how it came about, since 
simply seeing their old friends had filled Legolas and Aragorn with joy. 
Gandalf was asked to conduct both ceremonies, and in his usual way 
he hinted that he already supposed the job to be his.

        That afternoon, the hobbits and Gimli had arrived as well, and 
there were no limits to their joy at reunion. Frodo and Sam spent most 
of the evening catching up, secluding themselves a little from the rest 
of the company. Gandalf waited until all other friends retired, then sat 
down to speak with the new couple. He spoke of the future, of children 
and death, of joy and sorrow; he laid out before them the possibilities 
that stood before them, without offering guidance, leaving all 
decisions to them. Then he smiled at them and reassured them that, 
come what may, they would have their happiness.

        With that, he retired, leaving Aragorn and Legolas to make 
their choices. There was little doubt in either’s mind. They would 
receive Gandalf’s gift, the ability to have a child, and Aragorn knew 
there was no point in arguing with Legolas over who should receive 
this ability. He did not wish to watch Legolas go through the physical 
pain, but knew he could not win this argument. The Elf was far fiercer 
than he in insisting that his immortal body would adapt better to 
pregnancy.

        It troubled Aragorn that so much pain was still awaiting 
Legolas, further down their paths ever intertwined, for the man would 
eventually pass away. Legolas would take Gimli with him to the 
Undying Lands. There he would face a life without the man again, a 
life that would send his heart racing towards his doom. It was 
unthinkable to Aragorn, that during their years of friendship, Legolas 
knew he would never have his love returned, yet it did not break his 
heart. The knowledge that Aragorn was alive and well, loved and 
happy, even though he was not with him, was enough to sustain the 
Elf’s life. Yet, when his time would come, nothing could save his love 
from death. That life, that Legolas would choose to face alone, would 
tick away, slowly and agonizingly, until the process was complete, and 
his broken heart tolled him with his life, without anyone’s knowledge. 
They would meet again, Gandalf had promised, on white shores 
unimaginable to them as yet, and there, they would never be 
separated again. There was no justice in it. Fate angered Aragorn still, 
for it was Legolas who had first suffered the unrequited, and Legolas 
who, again, had to go without him at the end.

        A look into Legolas’ eyes made it clear, though, that his love 
had accepted this fate with the compassion of which only one who 
never dared to hope for better was capable. Their lips met, and 
Aragorn’s warm and salty tears ran down both faces and into the taste 
of the kiss.

        ****

        “Do you, Aragorn...do you, Legolas?” And a kiss to seal their 
eternal vow.