Title: Seeking Harmony
Author: Nemesi - Nemesi82@hotmail.com
Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Rating: PG/PG13
Summary: Elves' legends tells about a perfect Harmony
every creature can find--- what if Legolas was to find
it inside one of his mortal friends?
Disclaimer: The characters and concepts of The Lord of
the Rings belong to J R R Tolkien,Peter Jackson and
New Line Productions. No copyright infringement is
intended. =) 
Warnings: Confused Legolas. Sweetness. Faint hints at A/L slash, which means guy/guy 
relationships. Please do not proceed forward if you're uncomfortable with it. =) 
Notes: *looks around* So this is the LofR fandom? Cool! I already like it! This is my 
first LotR fics, and it's a slash nonetheless, hope you like. =) 
Rating: PG-13
 
* * * * *
Could you let down your hair and be transparent for awhile 
Just a little while to see if you're human after all 
Honesty is a hard attribute to find when we all want to seem like 
We got it all figured out 
Let me be the first to say that I don't have a clue 
I don't have all the answers 
Ain't going to pretend like I do 
Just trying to find my way 
Trying to find my way the best I know how 
Well, I haven't got it all figured out quite yet 
But even if it takes my whole life to get to where I need to be 
If I should fall to the bottom of the end 
I'll be one step back to you
- Trying - Lifehouse
There's a place somewhere where every creature, be it mortal or immortal, can find 
peace; complete harmony.
Elven people say such place is bound to be found neither on earth nor in mortals' afterlife, 
since such realms are forbidden to Elves, but inside the soul.
Trapped in a mystical moment, glittering and perfect like a crystal of snow. Snowy and 
ethereal like the light of dawn. Frozen in time, paused in motion, silent in sound, 
translucent in sight and ghostly to touch.
A single moment of singular perfection, that if kept in the heart could everlasting bring 
joy.
Legolas Greenleaf wondered if he'd found his Harmony.
Wondered if it resided in the depths of the forest he was in; in the alluring glow of the 
night enclosing him; or in the gentle whisper of the wind streaming through his hair.
And at the same time he knew it resided both in all those thing as well as in no one, for 
his harmony couldn't have been chiseled in the folds of that night if time had changed its 
flow just the tiniest bit. 
And more than all if that man, that mortal, hadn't been there.
The shallow clearing the Fellowship had taken sanctuary in was brightened by nearly 
millions of fragments of light only a trained eye could tell to be fireflies. The little lights, 
the children of flames, danced sinuously around the fair elf, silently, not daring to even 
brush the pristine velvety of the Elfin beauty.
Ancient trees crowded the clearing, their fronds intertwining and overflowing into a 
patchy blanket far above him. Vines looped down from the mating branches, dark 
companions to the milky radiance spilling hesitantly through the leaves to shine on the 
golden silkiness of Legolas' hair and the snowy velvety of his pale visage. 
The limpid blue pools of indigo the Prince of Elves had stolen the Ocean to witness the 
world rippled and danced, as wonder shimmered underneath their clearness. Harmony, 
yes. His harmony resided there, in that one place, that one minute, that one person. Yet, it 
was clouded by feelings of confusion deeper than the Elf allowed himself to admit.
How could that have happened? The nine had become eight, and the eight had left one 
behind to become seven just before splitting in three and two and two.
Gandalf the Grey had perished in recent times, so recent to still stir mute grief inside the 
Elf's heart; but something apparently less important, something no one would have dared 
think to trouble him, had set his heart into swirling confusion, because *his* heart was 
plagued by similar -although more painful- feelings.
Never had Legolas seen such a thing, not in the eternity that waited for him he would 
again. He had seen Boromir, the son of Gondor fall, reaching the foreign lands were his 
ancestor dwelled, if only in spirit. And he had seen… Aragon, Strider, shed tears for him, 
lie over Boromir's cooling body and cup bloody hands around his dirty face, touching his 
lips to the high forehead.
Such behavior from their collected leader had puzzled the Elf beyond words.
Those moments, those minute, infinitesimal moments, were seared in his mind 
forevermore. The elf had wandered into the battlefield riding the wind, only to screech to 
a sharp alt, time itself halting with him. Crystalline blue eyes huge, he'd blinked, feeling 
the depths of those unbelievable orbs fill with confusion.
Caught; caught like a deer in front of unforeseen light, the Elf had tilted his head, lost in 
that strange moment were time preferred to flow slower than allowed, and golden locks 
waltzed around his face, sunlight reflecting off every shimmering strand. Lips puckering 
slightly in a frown of confusion, the wise eyes of the Elf darkened to a sapphire blue, like 
those of a puppy.
And it was with all the innocence of a newborn that the Elf had witnessed the last 
farewell Aragorn gave his brother, the son of Gondor, Boromir. The palpable sacredness 
that last touch, that faint brush of bloody lips over bloody temples, held, had been enough 
to made the wood fall silent. And even the heart of an Elf filled with aching sadness.
He'd just stood there, his natural glow somewhat paler, bow held loosely in a fair hand, 
looking like he'd stand there until the end of the world, while the heir of Isildur kissed his 
brother farewell. Even the Dwarf, who'd stumbled into the clearing without grace had 
succumbed to the silence of pain, enthralled by the sanctity and hurting quality of the 
scene in front of him.
Legolas could not bring himself to say he'd understood that extreme exchange of 
affection, for his Elven nature prevented him to fully understood human hearts. Elves 
understood the language of nature and shared its deepest pains, as well as seeking solace 
only in other Elves, if not in those their hearts beat alongside. 
But the pain of men and their displays of sorrow are foreign realms to Elven people, and 
thus Legolas could just watch as the ritual took place, and the two sons of Gondor were 
divided forever.
Even thought Legolas meant to bid farewell to such brave warrior as Boromir had been, 
truth must be told that touch his forehead with his Elfin lips was not in his intentions. 
And he wondered, in strange quietude, about that act of affection and respect bind 
together, and about the pain craved in their hearts.
Boromir was dead. Legolas had watched him fall. All of the three had watched him fall. 
Nothing would ever change that fact that he was gone, and, accepting his death as a 
means of letting the Fellowship continue, and the world not end, they should lay his 
memory to rest. 
Lowering his eyelids partly Legolas gave his head a slight toss. There was no point in 
languishing over what couldn't be reversed. It was logic. No matter how much the heart 
hurt, they had to let go. 
Yet he couldn't. Neither of them could. The Dwarf was doubting his strength. The human 
was haunted by pain and guilt, and would be for long times to come - having lost a fellow 
son of the same mother Land. But the Elf…
The Elf just could not wipe from his mind the remembrance of Aragorn's last farewell to 
Boromir.
Long black lashes swept down onto pale cheeks as sapphire eyes disappeared behind 
their lids for the longest of moments, a strange feeling seeping into the Elf's mind. And 
when his allowed his lids to flutter up, Aragon was there, like he was. 
Legolas knew the man would be out there when he came back from the forest. How, he 
didn't know. Strong of this sureness of his Legolas had walked with sure steps toward the 
clearing, fully intending to put a stop to that wonder of his.
But once he reached his destination, the Elf found out that he couldn't; for something was 
whispering him to wait a little more -only a little more- before daring make a sound. And 
that indeed had been a wise suggestion, whenever it had come from. 
Gazing at Aragorn's features relaxed in sleep the Elf had found something he didn't know 
he was searching.
Infinite peace, serenity of mind and soul. 
That was his Harmony.
Amazed at he was, it was a surprise how it took the noble Elf only few hours to slowly 
will himself out of his blissful reverie- he fully expected to remain in the trance-like state 
that had caught him for days. His Harmony had been found -and that was amazing for 
itself- but, incredibly, it resided outside of him, and in an mortal as well.
Leaning closer to the man sleeping next to him, until their faces were mere inches apart, 
Legolas titled his head to the other side, golden strands getting caught in the breeze and 
gleaming in the silvery light, and studied the mortal's features closely.
His skin, tanned and dirty, looked almost lucent bronze in the pale moonlight. His hair 
was dark chestnut, burnished to copper in some places. The mortal's outward appearance 
was pleasing to the eye and, from time to time, breathtaking; but this wouldn't count in 
the eyes of the Elves if his heart hadn't been just as handsome as his features. 
Not even half of the admiration the fair Elf had for the man would have been born if he 
was just slightly less brave, less pure.
Hovering above the man whit his legs in a crouch, Legolas had stared at his face for so 
long that everything else but him had blurred in his vision. He felt content just to stand in 
that clearing, feeling the breeze gently blow his hair, watching Aragorn sleeping form 
with intent.
Even in such a dire situation as theirs, he'd left hours fly by, hardly noticing. But doubts 
seared his mind in an iron grip now, and the Elf knew he could not wait anymore. 
 
He'd accepted to wait, to question his own heart instead of Aragorn, but time was drifting 
away, and he knew. What if they never were to speak again? What if their ancestors 
called one of them in the morning, to leave the Fellowship to shatter furthermore? There 
was no certitude of tomorrow, thus he had to act, if he wanted his doubts dissipated. 
Legolas had sought Aragorn with his eyes since they'd left the river to enter those woods. 
He ached for knowledge. His spirit would not allow him rest if the Elf didn't came to 
know the way of mortal hearts. 
Would Aragorn explain him, he wondered. And would he be able to understand, once 
told?
In the midst of his thoughts Legolas had failed to notice dreams crawling to Aragorn and 
filling his mind until he saw those dark eyes move restlessly under their lids. Silently, the 
Elf reached down, and brushed a stray lock of hair away from the now slight clammy 
forehead. 
Whatever dream the man was having was shattered, but for Aragorn it was like waking 
from a dream to another dream, maybe more beautiful even.
Above him, Legolas pale visage gleamed, ethereal under the kisses of the moonlight, a 
fine mantle of golden silk glittering on his shoulders. Like a star, he was. Luminous. 
Beyond reach of mortal hands. And just barely within the one of mortal eyes. 
For a moment there was nothing but silence, and all that could be heard was the singing 
wind. Then, 
"Legolas…" Aragorn ventured softly, alarmed, but very well aware there was no danger 
if not the sadness in those blue eyes.
"What do you dream of, when sleeps carries you to its lands?" Legolas inquired gently, 
his voice as soft as the wind. It filled Aragorn with a sense of confusion and melancholy, 
his mind drifting back to their recent losses. Although the Ranger moved his lips, the Elf 
did not want an answer, already having one to give them both. 
"Of Arwen, yes? And our lost Gandalf, Boromir and Frodo. Do you ever see me in your 
dreams?" Legolas question was filled with both curiosity and gentleness, but again his 
own voice answered himself. "No, of course you don't, but that's the way things has to 
be." 
Raising himself up to his elbows, Aragorn studied Legolas' eyes, meeting questions the 
Elf himself was unsure how to voice. He felt ashamed, somewhat, of his wonder; of his 
need to know. Yet, he could not hope to tame it.
"It's so hard to find a balance when you've to decide between mind and heart." The Elf 
began, even if somewhat hesitantly. "Our mission, our pain… which one is more 
important? Such paradoxes proceeding side by side… which one guides us…?" Legolas 
shook his head, distraught. "I don't understand. If our friends fell, it was to allow us to go 
on. Then why are we hesitating, death in our hearts? I seek answers and yet find none. 
How come I can't find peace?" Legolas raised his eyes to Aragorn, barely blinking. "How 
come you can't either?"
Instead of answering Aragorn touched the Elf's hair, gently, offering comfort. Again 
Legolas lowered his head. 
"I shouldn't question matters. I'm an Elf; I'm not like you humans yet… I can't help but 
wonder. Curiosity and confusion are diseases that plague mortals, not the people of my 
race. And yet… whenever I place I eyes, I find questions, and no answers, as it should 
be."
The elf fell silent for a fragment of moment, and the added, "But whenever my eyes fall 
on you, albeit my confusion does not lessen, for I wonder about your heart and your own 
burden of pain, in you… in you I find serenity." Shaking his head the Elf diverged his 
focus on the ground, his voice growing reluctant with his next admission. "In you I just 
found my Harmony."
"Legolas…" Aragorn said softly as he rose to a seated position, awed as well, and 
brushed the hair out of the Elf's face. The human sensed the golden Elf uncertainty as it 
simmered, churning, under the pale velvety of his countenance, and he almost growled 
when their eyes met briefly and he saw just how wounded the Prince was by such 
confusion. 
…friendship…duty…responsibility…rings…hurt…pain…death…obligation…hope…co
nfusion…sorrow…trust…helplessly…
Anxiety wholly filled his heart hastily. Aragon knew he had to stop that shimmering 
confusion. He needed to. For Legolas and for himself as well. He had been entrusted with 
the mantle of leadership, and would make sure to deserve it. All he could do, though, was 
be there for him, offering as much comfort as his own confused soul could muster.
Him - the fair prince's Harmony? Folly, pure folly.
After moments of silence, Legolas finally raised his eyes to his, gazing into the burnt 
brown depths. 
"Would you dream about me, if I died too?" He whispered at last, eyebrows drawing 
together as he lowered his lids partially, and Aragorn's fine features twisted into a 
worried frown. The flaxen Elf… die. That would be a crime in the eyes of every race and 
deity. 
"Would you touch your lips to my skin, as you did Boromir, if I left this lands, or that's 
something an Elf can't receive from a Human?" Wonder filled his voice, and for once 
even his eyes, the only trait of his features that gave away his real ancientness, were 
young and troubled.
Aragon breathed deeply and stared at him in wonder. So luminous. So far more luminous 
than anything he'd ever seen, and yet cloaked in the shadow of doubt. So fair, so fragile, 
and yet so strong. Like a diamond, a combination of perfection, strength and delicacy that 
gleamed entrancingly. Something to cherish and protect. Something that needed 
reassurance and answers like never before and never again.
"I cannot explain… I'm not sure I ever will. I'm not even able to speak my mind. I just 
want to  
understand. I want to see what's inside human's hearts, what leads them to be what they 
are. Cruel, and unruly, and yet tender, and soft… I want to know about the secrets of the 
magic of their touches. About the sacredness they held. About the Harmony they seek 
and yet seem to naturally posses. I need so badly to know human hearts, and human 
feelings as well." Legolas whispered.
Mutely, Aragorn nodded, silently confirming he understood something Legolas himself 
wasn't sure about. Removing his blanket the Man took the Elf's hand and gently guided 
him under the warmth of the old, tattered cloth. Legolas wanted to just lie in the man's 
arms but was confused, dared he say afraid, of such thing.
"I'll let you in my heart," Aragon breathed as he wrapped his arms around the hesitant 
Prince. "I'll let you see what I see. Hear what I hear. Feel what I feel." Legolas quietly 
snuggled deeper into the man's warmth, every doubt fading into trembling mist he could 
focus on afterwards. Around them, a colder wind picked up, moaning like a lost soul. But 
the elf could not think about either the coldness or the wind. With the man's arms 
wrapped him, and his scent to fill his nostrils, he felt safe.
Legolas' arms tentatively moved around him, and in return Aragon squeezed him with 
rough gentleness, explaining, demonstrating, until the Elf's arms tightened around him, 
slowly; gently at first, and then with renewed and renewing strength. 
Share such intimacy, such closeness, with a man -with *that* man- felt good. Natural, 
even. The elf could feel the heart that so much had confused him pound against his own, 
and he doubted for a moment if their hearts weren't, in fact, just the same. By the sound 
of them, it just seemed so, since they paced themselves at the same, harmonic rhythm.
Was that the secret of human's magic? Have no secret at all? Or there was something 
more to those soothing and yet astounding touches of Aragorn's that Legolas yet had to 
understand? His doubts faded, to make room to soft wonder; And since Elves' nature 
leads them to search for answers, answers Legolas did seek. 
The Elf leaned his head in the crook of the Human's neck, and Aragorn tensed 
momentarily, once understanding he was being smelled, tasted. Afraid for a moment he 
might actually be shattering the perfect little synchrony they were creating, and ashamed 
of having dared too much in his eagerness to understand that one man's heart, Legolas 
retreated shyly. 
Sensing the Elf squirming away Aragorn touched his lips to Legolas' forehead in a 
protective gesture, wrapping his arms tighter around him, like he'd never let go. As if 
assuring him with the fact that they could take as long as they wanted, that he could do 
whatever he wanted, because that mortal would never step back. As if he could, by 
sharing more of his body's warmth with the Elf, made the promise of more warmth to 
come and melt his confusion.
Any uncertainty was washed away instantly, as if a secret had been revealed to both of 
them, and they listened in blissful silence to the other breathe as the day fast approached. 
The mortal wasn't concerned with daylight -whatever it may bring, be it pain, hurt, loss, 
friendship, or love. At that moment, only Legolas mattered. Whatever was ahead of them, 
Aragorn was not concerned about.
Why should the Elf be, then?
 
- Fin.
 
*looks around* Uhm… well, yeah, all right. That was my first Aragorn/Legolas. Did it 
suck too much? Or do you think I should write a sequel to this? Drop me a review, but 
please do not be too harsh on poor lil' Necchan here… ^^;;


Title: Seeking Harmony - part 02 - Spirits Awakening to Eternity. 
Author: Nemesi.
Disclaimer: *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the Harmony.
All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. 
Summary: Enthralled Aragorn. Confused Legolas. Human emotions have
started to dwell inside the Elf's heart, even though he has no name for
them. Can Aragorn help him name them? Will he, once he recognizes such
feelings for what they really are? 
Notes: *smiles* I love you guys, I truly do. I received lot of reviews
and mails about this fic, so I decided to continue. This is dedicated
to all those that encouraged me to go on. =) 
Rating: PG-13

 
* * * * *
  
And if you should still fall into despair, there is one thing left
to believe
I lie in your heart always 
  
Nothing is braver than honesty, my life is your faith in me 
  
I'll be there when you need
You don't have to hide from me
What you are feeling now
I fill your soul 
  
We will seek together destiny
Troubles have an end
We will carry on hand in hand
You're not alone 
  
People searching desperately outside themselves,
Caught up in thinking of what never helped
And I'd forgotten too that love exists inside of me as in
Those that I wanted from
I feel you now 
  
I'll be there when you need
We will live together
Nothing is in our way
With trust in our soul 
  
We will seek together destiny
Troubles have an end
We will carry on hand in hand
We won't forget we have each other 
  
Love is in the heart of all man
You're not alone.
  
  
                  - You're not alone - Maaya Sakamoto 
  
  
  
It was cold; too cold for him. 
  
The blooming daylight was of a dull, pale sort, as if the sun had been
fatigued by the raging storm that had racked the Lands all day. The
world was suspended between night and day, and trapped in an moment of
silence, cold wisps of darkness lingering like ghosts across the sky.
The cold, icy, breeze tore above the tress, stirring them into low screeches.
  
The cool seeped through him like water through cloth even as thriving
sunlight glided gently over him. The wind clawed at the Man's skin, and
he found himself shivering in the secluded nestle of intertwined branches
under which he'd taken sanctuary, high on top of the sloping hill.
  
Trying to rid himself of the cold emptiness he felt inside, Aragorn rubbed
his arms actively, a frustrated gesture. Caught in the fading dark, the Man
found himself wishing for more protection from the elements besides his
tattered blanket, only dimly aware that no fire could ever thaw the ice that
caged him. 
  
In the midst of his shivers, the ghostly remembrance of Legolas' warmth came
back to him, tormenting him like the thought of water would torture a man
lost in wastelands. A weight he could not explain came with the realization
whose was the warmth he sought, and the coldness settled on his heart like a
fine blanket of snow.
  
Rearranging the blanket around his shoulders, Aragorn let his eyes travel
downward to the modest camp they'd settled while searching refuge from the
storm's icy fingers. The Man glanced across the dying embers at Gimli, who
dozed in a bower under the trees, wrapped in every garment and blanket they
owned in his quest for warmth. 
  
Could he sleep through everything, Aragorn wondered.
  
The realization that Legolas's own blanket was now lying over the snoring
Dwarf as well came with the realization that the Elf himself was nowhere to
be seen. Aragorn felt his features twist into a frown, and searched the
shadows with keen eyes, a strange feeling of apprehension seeping into his
heart.
  
Darting his eyes through the shadowed landscape, Aragorn felt yet another
shiver, long and cold, invade him. He looked through the trees and across
the river; then at the woods far below him, and at last he diverged his
focus up at the sky, where thousands of stars singed, almost as if Legolas,
star of beauty and grace among the Elves, could have found sanctuary between
his less appealing and charming sisters in the Heavens.
  
At last a pale glimmer, a spark of golden in the velvety darkness, caught in
the corner of his eye. For one endless moment the man refused to align his
eyes on the perfect, lone figure at the edge of his vision, his shivers
renewing at the mere thought.
  
And then he succumbed at last, turning to face the vision Legolas was.
  
Legolas stood facing him, pale body wrapped in shadows and gold, blue eyes
glimmering, fair hair flowing, lips rosy. His cape wavered gently around his
ankles, like textured water, and through timid squalls the collar of his
green shirt would be lifted enough to show glimpses of a pure white neck and
chest. There were slight shadows under his eyes, and the shocking prospective
that they came from lack of sleep rose to Aragorn's mind.

He was the most beautiful thing the Man had ever seen. 
  
The rising sun hid behind a fleeting cloud and a bolder breeze flew past
them, scattering the dirt and dead leaves in eddies across the hill. A lock
of shiny golden hair fell into Legolas's jewel eyes, but it did not seem to
bother him as he kept gazing, mutely, at Aragorn. At last the Elf blinked
slowly, gently brushing the stray strand of golden from his face. A shiny
droplet appeared on his face, sliding down his face to die on his lips. More
streaks joined the first quivering drop, and it slowly started to rain.
  
Water was soon trickling down his face and his saturated hair was blowing
freely in the renewed wind, but the Elf seemed oblivious to the weather, his
mind lost somewhere deep within Aragorn's eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he
slowly lifted his head to the sky, as if registering the rain's existence.
Lowering his head, he once again locked his eyes with Aragorn's, and the man
stopped breathing for a second, feeling warmer for the first time during his
watch.
  
"Legolas…" he whispered softly as he motioned for the Elf to join him in his
small haven. With a nod Legolas complied, covering the distance between them
with few, long steps, as if untouched by the pouring rain, and sat down next
to the man with liquid gracefulness. Once the two of them found themselves
in the most confined space, created jointly by a roof of interlaced branches
and a wall of musky trunks, Aragorn took his time to study the Elf closely.
At once he wrapped his blankets around the wet form when he saw Legolas
shiver, dimly aware that his previous coldness had all but vanished.
  
"It'll keep you warm," he breathed as Legolas snuggled closer to him. The
Elf said nothing, but accepted the blanket gladly, a small smile curving his
lips. "What makes you wander through such weather, Legolas?" The Elf
shrugged, some strands of golden hair sliding down his shoulder with the
motion and glittering wet in the scarce lighting.

"I'm but enjoying the beauty of nature, Aragorn, for we cannot know what the
Valar have chosen for us. I want to drink in such beauty as long as I can,
savouring hours of joy in spite of what the new day may bring." The Elf
sighed as he pressed his cheek to his shoulder, his arms curling around his
knees. Aragorn frowned, worried, yet wondering about this urge he had to
protect the Elf. 
  
Aragorn traced a wet line across his lips with the tip of his tongue,
tasting rain. "Whatever the Valar have chosen for you, do not tempt them by
wandering unprotected through such a lousy storm." The Man said softly,
noticing at last that Legolas's bow and quiver were missing. The Elf glanced
up at him, and on his face was a smile that made him look both sad and happy,
wise and innocent. 

"I never thought you to be a superstitious man." 

"I am not." Aragorn replied, with barely veiled defensiveness. "But I am
realistic." Legolas tilted his head, and slowly his smile broadened, his
eyes sparkling like tens of stars. 

"Worrying about an Elf getting sick in the rain, Ranger, is no matter of
realism." 
  
"Is being worried for an old friend a crime?" Aragorn retorted, his voice
dangling between hurt and amusement. 

"No, of course not." Legolas replied, eyes still sparkling. "But I'm no
child."

"Yes, you are." The Man argued, slipping a protective arm around the Elf's
shoulder. "You're no Elf now, but a Human in learning. You're no less naïve
than a child, we can say." At these words Legolas heaved a sigh, and turned
away, focus diverged on the glistening grass licking his ankles. 
  
Aragorn frowned, regretting his words, and was about to apologize, when he
noticed how Legolas was leaning closer to him, letting his fingertips brush
the Man's arm just above Boromir's armband. Aragorn's arm moved under
Legolas's touch, and soon the Elf found himself tracing senseless pattern
across the Man's palm, before tanned fingers curled around his trembling
ones.
  
Aragorn lifted his other hand, and before common sense could drown his
desire, he had closed it to rub his knuckles gently across Legolas's cheek.
The Elf leaned into his hand, eyes closing as he exhaled.

"I wanted this." He whispered, eyebrows drawing together, as Aragorn
allowed his fingers to entwine within the long golden strands framing
Legolas' face. "But it's difficult for me to cope, for I have never been
through confusion and uncertainty before, even if I have no doubt that I will
go through it again. I thought that becoming Human could give me answers, and
yet it did naught but gave birth to more questions. Humanity is, it seems,
naught but confusion. At least to me; at least now."
  
Closing his eyes, Aragorn refused for a moment to reopen them, afraid that
he'd look at his side and find nothing. Afraid to find out that he'd dreamed
the whole morning encounter. Afraid to find out that Legolas was naught but a
beautiful dream born in his doze, for Aragorn had done nothing in real life
to deserve anything akin the fair Prince by his side. 
  
The Man felt like he had to be sure that Legolas was really there somehow, so
he shifted, cautiously, until he could feel the Elf's warm body brushing
against his own, and released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Only then he did open his eyes, and as he did they fell on Legolas as if
after their own volition. 
  
The change that had occurred in the Elf in just a few days was remarkable.
Even Gimli had been surprised, if not pleased, to see how the usually
composed Elf could be caught smiling at nothing. To hear his laugh echo
crystalline and pure in the darkness they wandered through. To see him
flushing and stammering as a mere mortal on moments, seeking physical contact
just as much as he would evade it before.
  
Aragorn had seemed not surprised at the change, and would only smile
secretly at it, as if he was the keeper of a secret known only to himself.
Himself and Legolas perhaps, seeing how the two could often be caught
smiling at each other. At those shared smiles, those brief touches and
wordless exchanges in which both the Man and the Elf's eyes would shine,
Gimli found himself wondering if the borders of friendships had been
trespassed between his two travelling companions to trace new ones born of
stronger feelings. But the Dwarf knew better than question them, and had
settled for merely watching over them, fond smiles blossoming under his
beard when no one was there to witness.
  
Of his change Legolas had been the more surprised of all, and his delight
of being able to understand Aragorn and behave like him was intoxicating
to the Elf. Each step he made toward Humanity would gain him one of
Aragorn's smiles, and at those the Elf's heart would fill with a warmth he
could not name. All he knew was that he wanted that warmth to be inside
him always, and each time he saw Aragorn lips curve up in pride or mirth,
Legolas knew he wanted that smile to never desert the tanned features of
the Ranger.
  
But just as often as he would laugh and be merry Legolas could be seen
staring sadly off into the distance, singing to himself songs so sad to
tear at his companion's hearts. The more Legolas discovered about humans
the more often he would be caught on the verge of grieving, but why that
was, Aragorn wasn't sure. Only the Elf knew the source of his hurt was
the same of his joy, Aragorn. 
  
The man was, indeed, teaching Legolas to be Human, allowing him inside
his heart, but the deepest corners of the Man's soul were closed to him,
and deep inside the Elf wept in regret, whishing, needing, to have more
and not understanding how to grant his wish, or why he whished for such
closeness with the Man in the first place.
  
He was becoming Human, Legolas had concluded, overjoyed and saddened
beyond words, and that was the proof.
  
There was a moment of silence. The storm was gone now, leaving only a few
slivers of dark clouds in the lavender sky. The shadows gathered low on
the horizon and dissipated as the sun's rays suffused the skies, painting
the surrounding hills and plateaus with a wash of gold.

"It's so beautiful." Legolas very nearly whispered. "It's comforting to
see how, despite the shadow growing in the East, the nature keeps
following its rhythms. For now matter what will be of us in the end, the
Dark Lord can make nothing to darken these dawns of beauty." Aragorn only
nodded a small response, lost in his own reverie.
  
A thought occurred him, then. One that did not please him at all,
stabbing his heart with unexpected force.

"Do you regret it?" Do you regret having my heart laid bare in front of
you? Is what you see inside of me too disgusting for you to bear? Legolas
pulled away from Aragorn, turning to face him, and on the Elf's face was
the most radiant smile Aragorn had ever seen.

"Never," Legolas whispered softly. "It may be difficult for me to understand
Men, but I'm glad I'm learning." Aragorn looked away, eyebrows drawn together.
  
"I don't understand," he began and then broke off, lips parted. Legolas
leaned toward him a bit, his eyebrows creased and his head cocked in an
inquisitive gesture. Aragorn glanced at him, a quick glance, before licking
his lips, and then began again. "I don't understand why a fair Elf as you are
wants to know the heart of Men's, creatures so low and rude when compared to
your kin..."
  
"That's not true!" Legolas cried out. Aragorn turned toward him at once,
surprised at the faintly distressed tone in the Elf's melodious voce. They
found themselves looking into one another's eyes, blue and grey locked
together, fathoming those pained words. The Elf's lips felt parched, and he
ran his tongue across them, tasting his own skin, eyes squinted. He seemed to
be attempting to summon the strength to be irate, but lacked the energy for
anything exceeding vague sadness.
  
"Not true at all..." Legolas whispered after long minutes, voice hoarse, and
then looked down, unable to meet the Man's eyes any longer. After looking him
up and down for a moment Aragorn raised his face to the breeze caressing his
cheeks, closing his eyes. When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was
clear and steady.

"You're fond of humans, Legolas," he said softly, and it was not a question.
  
Legolas's eyes rose from the ground and Aragorn was there, eyes closed, lips
parted, hair wafting in the breeze. The Elf could do nothing to tear his eyes
off the Man as he watched his slow breathing, gazing at how the sunlight
highlighted and accentuated the hard curves of his face. At last Aragorn's lids
fluttered up, and it was only when a glimmer of grey appeared behind his
eyelashes to greet the sky that Legolas looked down again, his teeth sinking
in his bottom lip.

"I am."
 
Everything seemed to hold still. And to ease the curtain of silence Legolas
opened his mouth without thinking.

"I love them." And the whispered admission seemed to lend the feeling of a
dream to the symphony of silence and sunlight.

"What do humans have, Legolas, that could possibly draw you to them?" Aragorn
questioned in genuine puzzlement, an eyebrow quirked.

"Humans change and grow, with time. They've been given this one likelihood.
They posses a power that makes them dream and hope until the impossible is
made possible. That's what draws me to them. Elves, who know everlasting life,
can desire, but do not dream. They do not feel the need to hope, for they
know time will bring solution to every problem. Yesterday is like Today for
us. Today's like Tomorrow and the rest of Eternity." Legolas shook his head
slowly, tightening his arms around his legs. "I love humans for this hope of
theirs. For their dreams; their way to live their emotions fully in front of
a limited life." Legolas continued in that quiet, soft voice, slowly looking
up at Aragorn again. "I think I have been a human, once, before I took the
appearance you know me with. And I... I want to be human again."
  
Aragorn shook his head, caught in a moment of silence in which his voice had
died inside his chest.

"Why?" He whispered at last. Legolas looked all the way up, meeting Aragorn's
searching eyes, and said, simply,

"To be like you."
  
Aragorn's mouth went dry, his breath caught in his throat as Legolas stared
at him. The Elf was looking at him now with an intensity that made him
shiver, alternating waves of hot and cold down his spine.

"Why?"

"Because of what you are." Aragorn shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm not anywhere as special as you are, my friend. How could you desire,
you beautiful creature, to be like me?"

"You're my Harmony, Aragorn." Legolas said, his voice thick with emotion,
pleading Aragorn to once again understand something his own heart could not
comprehend. The man beside him just stared at him, admiration frank in his
eyes. There was nothing about the Elf that was not perfection itself, and as
the Man ran his eyes down his lithe form, acknowledging the alluring pallor
of the Elf's skin, the glimmer that transformed his hair in a flaming
cascade of gold, he wondered how could such perfection long to be like he
was. "Your courage, your soul, your heart, are wonderful to me!" 
  
Aragorn could not bring himself to believe such a lie, for as sweet as it
was. Part of him refused to believe Legolas. The Elf could not possibly
admire him, could not possibly want to be like him, for Legolas himself was
superior to him in any way, in the man's eyes. And then again, Aragorn
could not be -couldn't believe he was- the fair creature's Harmony. That
was something too wonderful, too special, to be Aragorn's.
  
Legolas himself was too special.

Too special to be his to keep, he reasoned.

And yet, a significant part of him desperately wanted to believe otherwise.
  
Torn, the Man turned around, forcing his eyes away from the beautiful sight
that was Legolas, and the Elf's hand gripped with desperate force to his
shoulder, forcing their bodies to touch with a silver sparkle of warmth.

"I cannot see why you refuse to see your beauty, Aragorn!" Legolas pleaded.
"Why such reluctance in admitting that you're indeed, special? At least to my
eyes? It's you with your strong body, your skin darkened by the sun, your
eyes of the colour of mist, who is beautiful, not me..." Suddenly, a slight
flush suffused Legolas's cheeks, and the Elf let go of Aragorn's shoulder,
turning away sharply at the belated realization his words had been, indeed,
too straightforward, and wondering all the same how could have he said such
things without restraint.
  
Aragorn turned toward him immediately, body stiffening, and after a long
moment Legolas lifted his head, looking up into the man's eyes with
bottomless blue irises tinged with confusion. The Elf's pupils were wide,
lips parted around his own rapid breathing. They found themselves looking
into one another's eyes, something profound and subtle passing between them.
  
For a moment a different glint alighted Legolas's eyes, shining like a
treasure washed up onto the shore. And then, again, Legolas whipped around,
his knuckled fading white around his knees. Realization swept over Aragorn,
like a warm light of gold piercing the haze in his mind. Everything suddenly
became clear to him, as he finally comprehended something he had denied
himself before.
  
He was, indeed, special to Legolas, even though to what extent he still did
not know. But he would not inquire about that right now. All that mattered
now was Legolas, and to savour whatever feeling it was that bonded the
golden creature to him, the lost King.
  
There was someone that cared for him as he was, Aragorn suddenly realized.
Someone that even not knowing love, loved him. And not for his merits, but
for his faults. Someone that truly admired him, and not as a skilled Ranger
or as a noble, but as a mere human. Warmth spread swiftly through Aragorn,
suffusing his soul as well as his body in a wave of peace of mind.
  
Never before had the Man experienced such wonderful feeling. It was oddly
exhilarating and soothing at the same time. It was almost like being
washed with light rather than water. A purifying feeling. And all the
magnificence of that feeling had been brought to life by the mere sight of
Legolas's eyes bare in front of his own.
  
Aragorn's lips twitched upwards, his eyes sparkling. He stood there,
immobile in the dazzling light, looking at the ethereal creature nearly
glowing in the faint radiance spilling over him from the skies. His hair
was like gold; gold spun into threads finer than silk. His pearly skin -as
perfect and smooth as porcelain- nearly glimmered, as if he was made of
pure glass.
  
The man's world was composed solely by him and Legolas right now. The soft
pain his eyes seemed to carry softened for a moment as he gazed at the
flaxen prince, and his face slowly blossomed into a smile, one smile so
pure, innocent despite his years and yet so wise, that made his eyes glimmer.
  
Such a momentous thing it was, one of the Ranger's rare true smiles, and yet
it was being gifted to the sky, the only being there with eyes to witness
the small miracle. Smiling was difficult for him. He did it so seldom, he
had almost forgotten how. Yet the flaxen Elf-man shivering softly beside
him touched him in a place he thought dead long ago. Him... only him would
ever be allowed that deep inside his soul, that much Aragorn knew.
Afterwards, once the treasure that Legolas was would have been reclaimed by
the Ocean, the Man would seal that place forever, making his heart a shrine
to the human Elf; Legolas. 
  
His Legolas. 
  
It was so sweet to call Legolas his, and it seemed so right now, so
astonishingly righteous, when just moments before it has seemed a fantasy
born of foolishness. 

His Legolas; his, his, his...
  
"I... I beg your pardon, Aragorn." Legolas said softly, forcing Aragorn's
mind back to the present circumstances. "I did not wish to embarrass you.
Please forgive my impulsive words and actions if they did, indeed, upset you."
A gentle breeze rose, lifting Legolas's hair from his shoulders and dancing
it round his lithe body as wings of silvery crystal.
  
Legolas was scared, Aragorn could feel it clearly in that moment. He was
frightened of these human feelings that had been suffusing inside him during
their quest and that felt foreign. He needed to be comforted as much as he
would have never needed it before the Fellowship. As the Man leaned slightly
closer, wishing to provide comfort, he found himself overcome by Legolas'
scent. A gentle mixture of vanilla and moonlight, it seemed, and something
else, something delicious; ethereal; intoxicating.
  
Something distinctly Legolas.
  
It was as if each and every pore of his body secreted a perfume of sorts, a
tantalizing scent of freesia and apples, of moonlight and mist and water. Of
earth and leaves after the rain. Legolas smelled of all that Aragorn had
smelled on him during their journey together. And as the alluring scent
filled him, whispering him glimpses of days to come, Aragorn felt the
unyielding desire to taste all those things on Legolas's bare skin.
  
Barely thinking his actions through, the Man found his hand brushing a few
strands of Legolas' golden hair off his neck, brushing his fingertips
against Legolas' skin as softly as he would rose petals. This action
surprised the Prince to some extent, and he stiffened, gasping in a harsher
breath, as if he was tensing up in preparation for an oncoming fight.
  
"Don't be sorry Legolas." Aragorn murmured softly, his voice barely above a
whisper. "To speak your mind is the first step to become human." Aragorn
moved closer as he spoke, fingering Legolas's ear gently and travelling
downwards, his breath wafting across Legolas's pale cheek. Soon Aragorn could
feel the Elf's shoulders unwinding with each breezy word he uttered. "You
must learn to express your feelings with both your voice and your body, and
to never lie to yourself about what you desire. Only then you will be what
you yearn to be."
  
"Express my feeling through my whole countenance?" Legolas questioned
softly, leaning into the Man's touch.

"Let your eyes shine when you're glad, and let them darken when you're
angered, and when you're caught in your desires. Let your guards down. Let
your cheeks tinge, your voice tremble, your tears fall." Aragorn's hand slid
across Legolas's neck up to his cheek and back in a tender caress, and the
man felt the wild beat of Legolas heart fluttering like the wings of a caged
bird. Aragorn suddenly knew what Legolas had discovered during the night
they'd spent in each other's arms: their hearts beat in splendid unison,
each echoing the other. The sensation sent ecstasy rippling through his
body in waves, making tears well in his eyes, though he had not wept in
many years.
  
"The secret of being human is to have no secret at all." Aragorn said
softly, overwhelmed by the simple touch. "Be sincere, Legolas, with yourself
before than with others. And admit to the World the content of your heart,
as often as not." Legolas rubbed his face against his callous hand as a
kitten would, out of desire, eyes closed, cheeks suffused with pale rosy,
and Aragorn smiled. "What is it, that you desire, Human Elf?" Legolas smiled
fondly at the newborn appellation, and then began. 
  
"What I want…" Legolas halted his speech to let loose a sigh. A sigh that
Aragorn afterwards understood to be elicited by his caresses. Legolas
looked up, his eyes loosing inside the misty depths of Aragorn's own eyes.
"I don't want many things, or better yet I do, but I don't know how to name
them yet. But if there's something I really want, it is to be with you,
always. To stand by your side until you draw your last breath, Elven Human."
Legolas's smile was mirrored back at him, and the Elf closed his hand over
the one touching his face. "I want to give you what you gave me. I yearn..."
Legolas trailed off, licking his lips, and rose to his feet after placing
Aragorn's hand on the Man's broad chest, just above his beating heart. 
  
"For something that will never be, as you're my Harmony and it would be
foolish to hope I'll ever be yours." Legolas looked at the sun for a moment,
a long glance in its shortness, and then his eyes aligned back on Aragorn,
as one hand was offered to the man to help him stand. "But I long to see you
find your own Harmony, and I swear on my endless time and human heart, my
Harmony, that I will help you find it." 
  
The Man allowed the Elf to guide him to his feet, and then watched as the
ethereal creature slipped off his grip and ran toward the sun. Once on top
of the hill Legolas twirled around, his mantle streaming around him with
the sound of gurgling torrents on summer eves. His hair fanned round his
body, fair strands getting caught in the light and glittering alluringly.
Light seemed to spill from Legolas's form as he stood, motionless under
the kiss of the morning. 
  
Time lost its meaning, slowing down to a crawl, as Legolas's hair wavered
a moment more in the breeze before settling down his shoulders like a
mantle of translucent gold. Wide blue eyes squinting, Legolas smiled at
Aragorn in that timeless hiatus, and the Man felt wonder reclaim his
breath to leave him smothered. The hills, woods and river held their
breath as the Man and the Elf gazed at each other, one caught in a spell
the other was casting without knowing. 
  
"I swear it Aragorn." Legolas voice came, a butterfly brushing the
heavens with silvery wings. "I'll be with you as long as the Sun will
shine, and even when she'll be fallen, I'll still be by your side, through
the darkness, as your light." At last Legolas moved again, and as he did
time regained its usual pace; the wind stirred, bringing forth a small
melody of trembling leaves and chirping birds. 
  
Still smiling, Legolas darted away, slender form moving with the liquid
grace of a lovely deer, sliding as if dancing through the oddly bright
sunlight. Aragorn did not move to follow the Elf, and would not do it
for what seemed aeons to him, caught in moment of awe.
  
The Man wondered about the small miracle - or great foolishness- that
is finding one's Harmony inside another living creature. And to the
incredible chance which is being your Harmony's own Harmony. A secret
smile curved his lips as he became aware of a profound fact, and he
stood, serenity washing over him with the sunlight.
  
He had already found his Harmony.
  
It was not, as Legends say, a place or an event, nor it was the
impalpable remembrance of it. His Harmony did not reside inside a person,
as Legolas's own did. For Aragorn his Harmony was a person, a beautiful
Elf of strong will and fair countenance, shockingly real under Aragorn's
touches; breathtakingly so.
  
The Elf did not know it yet, and maybe he wouldn't discover it for a
long time to come, but he and Legolas were each other's, Aragorn realized.
And whatever it was that bonded them, they'd always be. After his human
life would met its end, they would be each other's in the world beyond
theirs, and then in the one beyond that, forever.
  
And with that certainty clear into his mind and warm inside his chest,
Aragorn stepped forward, toward the dawning day, following the path that
would lead him to where he still did not know, but that would allow him
to be with the one thing that mattered to him the most.
  
Legolas.

His Legolas.

His Harmony.

More than that, even.

Legolas, his...
  


FIN

I hope it was as warm and fuzzy to read as it was to write. *chuckles* Incredibly sugary, 
wasn't it? =) I'd love to hear your thoughts on this small bunch of sweetness, and if you 
want more, just tell me, and I'll report to my muses. =)  


Title: Seeking Harmony – part 03 – Aníron Estel (Elven for “I Desire Hope”, or “I 
Desire Aragorn”) 
Author: Nemesi. 
Disclaimer: *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the Harmony. All the 
characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. 
Summary: Amongst the strange feelings holding his heart in a grip there’s one that 
Legolas finally recognizes: jealousy. He’s jealous of Aragorn. But why? An 
unexpected guide comes to show him why he’s so jealous, and Legolas finally learns 
the nature of his feelings for Aragorn… 
Notes: *smiles* A HUGE thanks goes to all of you that reviewed my story and 
encouraged me to go on. ^_^ Also, I apologize to all the fans of exact timelines, but 
although my story could easily fit into the canon plot somehow, I decided to make 
this an AU. I’ve taken some artistic liberties with the timeline and the plot, most 
notably in that Gandalf and the Three hunters spend some days in the Golden Halls 
of Rohan, and that some weeks stand between the battle of Helm’s Deep and the 
reconquest of Gondor. ^^ 
Rating: PG-13/R 
 

  
* * * * *
  
  
One day it's heaven, one day it's hell  
It's no fairy tale, take it from me  
That's the way it's supposed to be 
You will fly, and you will fall 
God knows even angels fall  
No such thing as you lost it all 
God knows even angels fall.   
       - Jessica Riddle, "Even Angels Fall" 
  
   
The Golden Halls of Rohan were a marvel of white and gold. The glimmering snowy 
walls arched into a high ceiling that seemingly wanted to reach out to heaven, finely 
chiselled columns stood still and proud as ancients knights, shimmering under the 
light spilling from above. The magnificent dining room was gleaming, and servants 
hurried across rivers of light to attend the King’s guests at their table: the Three 
hunters and Gandalf Greyhame.
  
Legolas didn’t quite feel at ease, and kept scanning his surrounding nervously as if 
feeling like his impending doom was looming within the light. Trying to banish his 
discomfort Legolas told himself no danger was lurking in such splendour, like it 
hadn’t since their arrival some days before. Yet, even as he tried get rid of his 
unease, it took him every ounce of his willpower to release the breath he didn’t know 
he was holding in.
  
In his wonder Legolas rested his eyes a long moment on the proud form of the 
Aragorn, sitting opposite him just few seats further toward the end of the table. And 
the Elf was left breathless when the Man turned and their eyes met. Aragorn smiled 
at his comrade, but the Elf did not see it, for as soon as they gazes had met, he’d 
whipped his head around and down, a distressed flush claiming his cheeks.
  
Aragorn narrowed his eyes at the Elf’s antics. He’d noticed Legolas’s growing 
discomfort in the past days, but even though he knew better than question him, he 
couldn’t banish his growing worry. Careful not to be noticed the Man shifted slightly 
in his seat to better face the Elf, his eyes never leaving his lithe form.
  
The Prince of Mirkwood could feel Aragorn’s eyes on him, and his heart skipped a 
beat. It had never happened before, and Legolas pressed a hand to his chest, 
scared, yet trying to feign nonchalance. Was he falling ill? It could not be, for Elves 
did not catch diseases. Yet he worried. Sensations he’d never felt before ran through 
him in waves, and the Elf reacted with silent wonder and small trembles. He did not 
felt at ease. Not ever, when Aragorn was near. His heart pounded so wildly Legolas 
feared anyone around them could hear, and yet a quick glance at the other guests 
told him it was not so.
  
What was it? What was it? What were those alien sensations claiming his mind and 
body and heart? Legolas did not understand. Again he was lost in a plethora of 
answerless questions, just like when Boromir had died, but this time the only one he 
knew could help him was the very cause of his distress, and source of wonder. 
Aragorn blinked, sensing clearly that his friend was struggling with a some kind of 
inner turmoil, and bit his bottom lip as he struggled not to ask, wishing desperately 
to be asked for help.
  
At the end of the table, the Lady Éowyn brought a finger up to her lips in a silent 
gesture of wonder. Catching a glimpse of the exchange between her guests at the 
corner of her eyes, she’d turned her gaze toward the Prince of Mirkwood a little 
wonderingly. Her eyes flashed with some unnamed emotion, and widened briefly, 
before narrowing again. Her eyes were somewhat distant, and a bystander could be 
fooled into describing her gaze as cold, but emotions rippled in the bottom of her 
eyes, dancing like the currents of the Ocean. Understanding, realization, kindness, 
sympathy; pity even. Admiration, sadness and affection. But none of those emotion 
would be voiced, and she averted her gaze and took a small sip from her golden cup.
  
Then, the doom Legolas had been expecting came.
  
Théoden the King beckoned to his guests they could leave the table, if they wished.  
Éomer immediately stood, and bowed low to Aragorn before clasping his forearm and 
guiding him to his feet in all thoroughness. A sharp intake of a breath pinpointed 
Legolas’s reaction to the sight, and Éowyn’s eyes narrowed at her brother’s 
behaviour.
“Aragorn son of Aratorn, I missed you much during our parting. With my King’s 
permission I readied a chamber where we can spar, if you please, and cross our 
swords before letting them sing together in the battlefields.” Aragorn’s eyes 
gleamed, and Legolas’s heart constricted when the Man accepted the invitation 
gratefully and excused himself from the other guests without much of a glance at 
him.
  
Both Gimli and Gandalf glanced worriedly at their Elf companion when a small sniffle 
came from his direction, but Legolas had ducked his head, letting his hair fall like 
curtain and hide his face from his friends’ scrutiny. He’d been asked, plainly, to never 
touch Aragorn in such fashion; to stay as far from him as possible while in front of 
other Men. Why was Éomer free to, then? Gandalf had told Legolas rumours could 
spread; malevolent lies and unproductive marvelling could be born if Aragorn and 
the Prince of Mirkwood kept lying together, singing to each other and sharing hugs 
and touches as often as they could. Albeit painfully Legolas had agreed to distance 
himself from the Man, confused, yet conscious it was for Aragorn’s sake. But the Man 
seemed to care not for the sudden change in Legolas’s behaviour, and this 
nonchalance of his troubled Legolas more than the distance itself.
  
Abruptly, Legolas rose to his feet, announcing that he felt fatigued from the day’s 
antics and that he would be taking a stroll in the gardens to find solace in the beauty 
of nature. Then, wordlessly, he headed off, out of the room and as far from the 
aching inside him as his legs could carry him. Gimli and Gandalf shared a look then, 
a long, worried look, both knowing the cause of Legolas distress and both wondering 
how to cure him. In her seat, Éowyn closed her eyes, sighing almost inaudibly, for 
she too knew.
  
A tear was halfway down her cheek, and Legolas already out of sight, when Éowyn 
rose, gliding through the light as if weightless, and left the Dwarf and the Wise to 
their silent worry to locate and aid the elven Prince.
  
And locate and aid him she did.
  
  
* * *
  
  
The dining room’s doors closed behind him and in an instant, Legolas’s calm façade 
shattered, his pacing evolving into running. Instinctively, he covered his face with 
one hand, attempting to stop the tears that were just beginning to sting the back of 
his lowered eyelids. But he knew that – no mutter how far he went, how swiftly he 
ran, for him there was no place to hide. For what chased him, scaring him even, was 
inside of him.
  
The Elf ran blindly down the course until he crashed, violently, against the 
breastwork on the upper walls. He leaned fully against it wishing, desperately, to be 
out of breath, but, inexorably, his breathing was steady and even. He would force 
irregular mouthfuls of air down his throat then, feigning breathlessness, and burning 
moisture gathered behind his closed eyelids when even such last resort proved vain.
  
Legolas wasn’t mortal.
He would never be.
  
Overhead clouds fled at his sight and sunlight bared its fangs at the Elf as his 
breaths caught and rose in the cool air. Every breath he took –be it slow or forcefully 
uneven- made his chest and eyes burn. The air felt suddenly heavier, almost as 
though the sky itself was descending upon him. The parapet seemed to loom taller 
than it had first looked to him, casting oddly long and cold shadows upon him when 
he could have easily looked over it to the plains below few moment before.
  
The breeze blew again, echoing like rushing water in his ears, and gracefully swaying 
tendrils of gold rose to dance with the wind. Legolas took a deep breath in, willing his 
heart to stop aching. He held his breath for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut 
before letting it out in a loud sigh. The Elf opened his cerulean eyes just a crack, 
looking at the dark shadow lapping his feet, and it was in that moment that he saw 
he’d slid down almost to his knees, knuckles still white around the edges of the 
breastwork, arms stretched above his head painfully.
  
Unable to support himself any longer, Legolas felt all of his muscles sag without 
warning. His knees finally connected to the ground, his forehead rested on the 
breastwork, and yet he could not uncurl his fingers, instead tightening his grip until 
he felt burning scratch appear on his palms.
  
He couldn’t understand! What was the feeling claiming him so strongly, filling his 
heart and mind with ache? It could not be… it could not be… and yet in his confusion 
Legolas was left with only one certainty. He was jealous. Jealous. Jealous. But why? 
It had never happened before. Not even when he’d seen the Lady Arwen pledge her 
life to Aragorn her Lord. He’d felt something then, but the icy grip clenching his heart 
now was different than the dull pang, the wondering feeling, the brief brush of cold 
he’d felt then. It was as if a different person was inside of him.
  
And Legolas did not like this other person, if all of its emotion would pain him so 
much.
  
Distraught, Legolas ducked his head, allowing his hair to slide forward and obscure 
his features, and heaved a weary sigh. He was tired of this silent clashes taking 
place inside of him. Tired of the voices in his head, tired of fighting, tired of 
everything in general. Tired of needing someone he could not…
  
“Master Elf?” Legolas’s back straightened with seemingly painful quickness, and he 
whipped around, surprise and distress mixing over his fine features. When Éowyn’s 
grave countenance met his eyes, he felt himself shiver. Whishing to have some 
control of his actions, Legolas twisted his head away, letting golden tendrils fall as a 
curtain to hide his dismayed features from the woman’s eyes. Only afterwards, when 
the silence had become unbearable, he fought to stand, and let his gaze flicker over 
the misty outlines of the faraway mountains.
  
At this point Éowyn moved too, walking toward him as he fought to keep from 
further showing his suffering. Finally she stopped, hands clasped together against 
her bosom. She was so close to the Prince that her vest brushed lightly against his 
legs, yet she relented touching him, and he was grateful for that. Taking a deep 
breath in Legolas glanced at the Lady out of the corner of his eye. She had come 
seeking him out because she wanted to help. It wasn’t hard to sense, but simply too 
hard to accept. Legolas was too proud to ever seek aid, lest of all when his soul and 
heart were concerned.
  
Legolas’s back straightened with a shiver. Heart…?
  
He turned away from her, hoping she’d leave him his solitude. She didn’t. But if he 
was expecting her to tell him in honeyed tones of how he should stifle his distress for 
the sake of their quest, he was disappointed.
“Tell him how much he means to you,” her voice was soft, barely audible even, but 
on Legolas it had the effect of a battle cry. Startled, he turned toward her, and 
Éowyn fixed him eyes so intense that seemed to hold worlds in them. “For he won’t 
know until you admit it – to yourself before than to him.” He let out his breath, only 
then realizing that he’d been holding it.
  
“Aragorn?” Legolas’s voice was genuinely dubious, as if he’d never even considered 
the notion before. “He’s my king and comrade. I care for him for certain, and he 
knows.” The woman flickered her gaze over the flaxen Elf, unable –or unwilling- to 
suppress the glint of amusement in her eyes. 
“Is he the one your heart thinks I was speaking of?” Legolas looked away, and 
following his lead Éowyn turned her gaze eastwards. 
  
Heart… 
  
It was in that moment that, low down under the walls, Aragorn came into view. He 
had entered the gardens while discussing animatedly with Éomer about some issue 
or another, and Legolas’s eyes widened at the sight. The Elf studied the Man’s 
ragged beauty for a long moment as he came to a stop directly under the walls 
Legolas was on, while the Lady beside him shifted her gaze carefully from one to the 
other in silence.
  
At last Legolas nodded, not meeting the Lady’s eyes yet. 
  
“Aragorn is…” Legolas hesitated and moment, and then began again, his tongue 
tracing a wet line across his lips. “Aragorn is the only one in the World who 
understands me completely, and I love him dearly, like a brother, but even more. 
He’s the one I’d follow into the very fires of Mordor: my friend, my brother, my 
Liege. The one who holds all my trust and thoughts. He’s…” It has been like the mere 
sight of Aragorn had summoned words he could not find before to his lips, but now 
hesitance made itself known inside Legolas’ voice. The Lady Éowyn glanced at him, a 
small glance, as if expecting to see the cause of his uncertainty chiselled within his 
eyes, but the Elf still wouldn’t look at her.
  
“Is the Elven Legend of the Harmony known in these lands, my Lady?” Legolas 
questioned at last, and the small nod he caught with a brief glance at her was all 
that he needed to go on. “Aragorn… Aragorn is my Harmony.” Her eyes widening 
briefly Éowyn leaned slightly forward, and Legolas forced himself to relax: the golden 
Lady of Rohan wasn’t the enemy. “Since the day I discovered this he became my 
teacher in my quest to understand human’s emotion, correcting me with kindness 
and always willing to take me back with a smile if I ever stray. But now…” Suddenly 
Legolas’s voice sounded so weak, so tiny. A nearly inaudible cracked sob. He 
shivered under Éowyn’s pale blue gaze, chest heaving arduously as he inhaled 
through sharp gulps of air. What had Aragorn taught him? Be sincere, Legolas, with 
yourself before than with others. And admit to the World the content of your heart, 
as often as not.  “Now… I’m lost inside my heart, for I don’t know what it is that I 
feel anymore.” He said after a breathless pause.
  
Legolas fell silent for a moment, then. Trees willowed and fluttered in the slight 
breeze, and faraway birds chirped in discordance to the new wave of gravity that had 
fallen over the Elf and the Woman. Golden hair rose in the breeze and fell across the 
Lady’s visage, clouding over her eyes as she gazed unseeingly at the horizon. At last 
she spoke, and when she did her voice was slow and even.
  
“I think, Master Elf, that you choose but a poor teacher, for Aragorn forgot to teach 
you the most important lesson about human’s feelings. The most sacred and painful; 
the very one lesson he should have taught you first. It seems that you’re learning it 
though, but I foreseen grief for you if you’re to learn this lesson on your own.” 
Legolas turned toward her, eyes wide and lips parted as he searched for words to 
defend Aragorn, but he soon gave up and turned away again, aware that Éowyn’s 
eyes fell on him as soon as he turned.
  
“I asked him to teach me, but sometimes the lessons we most desire bring us 
enough pain to kill.” Éowyn acknowledged this with a nod, her hands clenching 
tighter together.
“You speak true words, noble Elf, but I still hope that you could come to know this 
lesson in any other way but this.” His grip tightened on the edge of the parapet and 
nodded her his permission to go, to explain him and teach him, willing now to accept 
the help she was offering him.
  
“You love him.” She said at last, and albeit certain her voice sounded pained. Its 
power reached into his very soul. It was not loud, but soft; not commanding, but 
pleading; not angry, but firm; impossible to ignore, as if it held the ring of truth. 
Legolas focused on her, blue eyes doubtful.
“I do.” He said carefully. “He’s dear to me, and he knows it.” Éowyn shook her head, 
dismayed, and the Elf paused in is speech.
“Elves, it’s said, know only one kind of love. They love both nature and other living 
creatures as they love themselves. The sharing of a song with the trees of a wood is 
no less to them than the sharing of their soul with another. Yet, for humans, there 
are two kinds of love. The love you’re speaking of, Master Legolas, is what we 
human call Affection. But the other kind of love, the one that has no other name but 
its own, but that we can name Passion, it’s what really binds you to Aragorn.” The 
Lady Éowyn paused, grave, and Legolas could only stare at her, aghast. Passion? 
Love was… different from affection?! His eyes fell immediately on Aragorn, but for 
some reason he couldn’t bare to look at him, not right now, and turned back toward 
Éowyn in surprise and wonder.
  
The Lady had turned to the pair in the garden now, and as she spoke her eyes 
remained trained on them, as if hypnotized.
“You’ve no shame in admitting that you love him, and for this I’m glad. But now you 
must endure a further admission to really learn the lesson you yearn for. You do not 
only love him, Master Elf, but you’re in love with him also, and always will if he’s 
your Harmony as you told me.” Legolas eyes grew wide, and he looked down at his 
hands, then at Aragorn, small trembles wracking his body. Love…? Such a possibility 
had never entered his thoughts. I’m in love with… Aragorn? He felt a knot form in his 
throat and clenched his fists.
  
Aragorn and him shared a bond that ran deeper than any friendship, any brotherly 
love, any lovers’ affair. Aragorn was Legolas’s Harmony too, and this made him even 
special to the Elf. In fact Legolas couldn’t bear to think of a life without the Man. The 
sudden realization that Aragon was, after all, mortal and would have to leave him 
one day, stabbed his heart with incredible force and Legolas reeled back a step, as if 
physically wounded.
  
Aragorn was the most loyal friend he’d ever had. And something more than that. He 
was the reason why he’d decided to take part on the Quest for destroying the Ring in 
the first place. The reason why he’d stood up against Boromir at the Council, 
mindless of the rage he could stir in the Man or the shame he could bring on his own 
Reign. Aragorn was the reason why he’d kept on fighting; the reason why he kept on 
believing, because with him by his side Legolas felt like everything was and would 
always be all right.
  
But whenever Aragorn was near now feelings different from the affection and 
admiration and friendship he’d always felt for him stirred inside the Elf. Only thinking 
about the Man made his heartbeat speed up. His vision ruled his dreams and had 
done so since they had first met in Imrails so long ago…
  
Was that love? Did that count as love?
  
Yes…
  
Yes, it did.
  
That was the truth. He’d fallen in love with Aragorn. He’d felt affection for him, an 
almost brotherly kind of love… but he hadn’t known desire and passion until he’d 
seen the depths of the Man’s heart after Boromir’s death.
  
As realization swept through him Legolas felt refreshed, purified, renewed. And yet 
he felt dirty. He’d betrayed Aragorn with his feelings, and the knowledge the Elf 
himself hadn’t been conscious of them did not lessen the guilt. One of Legolas’s 
hands rose and stretched toward Aragorn, as if in a mute call, and the Man’s name 
left his lips in the form of whisper. Aragorn loved him, this much Legolas knew, but 
Aragorn loved him the same way he loved any of his comrades. But Legolas couldn’t 
help –or change- how he felt. He loved Aragorn. The Man, the Ranger, the leader, 
the King, everything he was, had been and would ever be. This time tears won their 
struggle for freedom and one quivering drop leaked down his cheeks, and the Lady 
Éowyn felt guilt surge in her heart. She’d stirred grief inside of the Elf. A feeling that 
was lethal for those of his kin, and she found herself hoping Legolas was different 
from other Elves.
  
Almost if sensing Legolas’s gaze on him Aragorn glanced up at last, and upon seeing 
the Elf gazing out him a radiant smile curved up his lips. A smile Legolas couldn’t 
restrain from mirroring, thankful for the great distance that stood between them and 
masked, somehow, his tears. But Aragorn felt them, even without seeing them, and 
his expression turned pained. Slowly he raised his hand, letting his thumb slide down 
through the air softly, as though drying Legolas’s tears despite the distance. And the 
Elf tipped his head, leaning into a touch he couldn’t be feeling and yet shuddering at 
it. 
  
It’s all right, Legolas told himself, and suddenly tears were gone, and his eyes were 
as dry as if they’d never known the moisture of tears in all his life. In the gardens 
Aragorn angled his head slightly, sensing the minute change in the Elf, and dropped 
his hand. A servant entered the gardens then, and told something to Aragorn who 
immediately glanced at him, then back at Legolas, before smiling to the Elf and going 
back inside the Castle. 
  
Aragorn disappeared in a lurking shadow, and Legolas released the breath he was 
holding. It was not all right, it would never be. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t. 
And in a moment of peculiar clarity he saw it wouldn’t have changed anything. It was 
too late for him, and now he knew.
“I love Aragorn.” He admitted a last, so softly that the Lady Éowyn almost didn’t 
hear him. “I’m in love with him.” And for the first time that truly felt wrong. Éowyn 
placed a comforting hand on his face, and Legolas looked down at her with sad eyes.
  
“Will you be all right?” she questioned gently, and for the first time Legolas was 
aware of the countless emotions wafting by her seemingly cold gaze. Pressing a hand 
to his chest Legolas bowed his head, caught in a magnificent feeling of awe and 
respect for the golden Lady in front of him.
“I will be.” He assured, and she smiled at him, the first smile to graze her features in 
days. A smile that died swiftly, when the Elf spoke again. “But my feelings for him 
are wrong.”
“Feelings are never right or wrong.” She retorted with gentle severity. “They just 
are.”
“Yet I must forget him.”
“Why?” She questioned, her features darkening in a frown.
“Because he will reject my love if he ever gains knowledge of it, and even if I’m told 
I’m strong within my kin, I could not bear to lose him: not now that I know I love 
him. I’d rather be merely a friend to him till the end of his life than risk what we 
have.”
“Do you think so lowly of him?” Éowyn was surprised, and Legolas smiled at her.
“No. I think highly enough of him to know he’d never accept my feelings if they could 
go against Gondor’s sake. And he also loves another, and her happiness come first to 
him, as it is right.” Taking Éowyn’s hand away from his face Legolas touched his lips 
to her soft skin. Asking the mute permission to keep holding her hand he guided her 
back inside, to where Théoden and Gandalf were having counsel.
“Don’t deny yourself love, Master Legolas, I plead you.” Éowyn said at last. “And 
don’t let your eyes wander far from your own self when searching for the object of 
Aragorn’s affection.” Legolas smiled, but the meaning of it was for him alone to 
know, as well as the deepest meaning of Éowyn’s words was known just to her.
  
Later that day, when Gandalf, Théoden her King and the Three Hunters took their 
leave from Rohan at the head of three-thousand horsemen, Éowyn stood in front of 
the Golden Hall’s doors, a glittering sword thrust in the ground before her.
  
Tears were in her eyes as they disappeared into the dawning light, and while most of 
her tears were for her King, her bother, and Aragorn her impossible love, some were 
for the Elf and for the painful feelings he held. And when Legolas looked up one last 
time, smiling gloriously up at her, she raised one of her hands in wave, and let her 
tears fall.
  
Legolas wanted to forget Aragorn. And even thought Legolas was her rival for her 
beloved’s affection, Éowyn found herself praying the Valar to stop such a thing from 
happening. For she felt –she knew- that more than one heart would break if Legolas 
were to succeed.
  
Aragorn’s own before than any other.
  
  
  
  
  
- TBC
  
  
  
*scratches back of head* Legolas was too emotional and… naive, wasn’t 
he? Gawds, sorry, I ended up making him lame… @_@ Well, I still hope that 
all you liked (and will review!!)  this part. ^_^ Since I think I left things 
hanging this time, I’m already working on a sequel… see you in the next 
chapter! ^_^ 
  


Title: Seeking Harmony – part 04 – There and Back Again. 
Author: Nemesi. 
Disclaimer: *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the Harmony. All the characters 
here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. 
Summary: Legolas decides something must be done about his growing feelings for the 
future King of Gondor. Will Aragorn be able to bear Legolas’s countermeasures? 
Notes: Thanks to all who reviewed this, especially to those who reviewed my story more 
than once. You reviews mean a lot to me, more than I will ever be able to say. ^_^ I can 
only hope you all will like this chapter as much as you liked the previous ones. ^^ 
Notes -take 2: The song Legolas sings to Aragorn is “I’m the Wind” from Soundtrack of 
the PSX Game “Castlevania”. This chapter may be a bit sad, even sadder than the 
previous one, but I just love happy endings… *winks* 
Rating: PG-13/R 
 

  
* * * * *
  
  
To hear you say my name, to see you search my eyes 
To feel you touch my hand, it more than satisfies  
If I was not the first, just say I'll be the last  
It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask  
Now I can only dream of being all you need  
I can only try to be the reason why  
You think about today and forget about the past  
It's too much to expect, but it doesn't hurt to ask  
It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask 
       - Not Too Much To Ask, Mary-Chapin Carpenter 
  
  
  
But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me, 
What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea? 
 			- Song of Galadriel – The Fellowship of the Ring - 
  
  
  
He was there again, like all the previous nights.
  
Standing in the scattered field where only days before the Men of Gondor and Rohan had 
faced the toughest battle of their lives.
  
He was there again, looking up at the few, small windows of Minas Tirith in hope to 
catch a glimpse of the King’s shape outlined against the torches light.
  
Legolas watched the full Moon glittering high above him, silvery wisps of clouds drifting 
gently on unseen currents of air. The sky peering down through the clouds in lakes was 
painted with darkened blue, dimming to deep purples as the eye traveled toward the 
faraway peaks, and scatted with stars. The river lapped gently at his feet, not quite 
touching, almost not daring to. The cool breeze of night caressed his skin with equal 
carefulness. 
  
He looked strangely fitting just standing there: the Elf and the moonlight blended 
perfectly, as though he was just slightly more substantial than everything else around 
him. He’d always thought twilight to be sad and lonesome, created only to provide shelter 
to whoever needed conceal, be it to hunt or to weep. And in the last few weeks, he had 
grown to savour those shadows and welcome them as old friends.
  
Because from them he could watch over Aragorn without being seen, or heard or felt, just 
as he wished. Because under their protection he wouldn’t have to fight the tears that 
inevitably came as he gazed upon his Harmony, so close to him and yet outside his reach. 
Because in their conceiving spell Aragorn’s eyes could not see him, and widen in 
surprise, or narrow in anger, as they would surely do.
  
Legolas felt content just to stand on that sandy shore, watching the Moon glittering in 
both the sky and the river, with the soft winds gently blowing his hair, feeling as part of 
his surroundings as he’d ever do. But the dark rocky shape of the Capital of Men stood 
behind him, still and statuesque and mysterious, calling out to him in mute fashion, and 
after the briefest moment of peace, his thoughts became haunted.
  
Pushing a strand of his golden hair behind his left ear, Legolas tipped his head to the side, 
and the shadowed shape of Minas Tirith was there, towering and sorrowful, like a 
gravestone. Turning back around Legolas met the blurred reflection of his eyes in the 
waters, wondering at the pain and sadness he saw in them. Slowly he knelt down, and 
fingered the face reflected off the river. Concentric ripples danced around the points of 
contact, sending flickers of light to lighten his eyes.
  
How long had it been since those very eyes had last flickered over Aragorn? How long 
had it been since those pointy ears had caught the husky whisper of the Man’s voice? 
How long… how long had those lips dreamed to touch the Ranger’s, nai, the King’s? But 
the blue eyes would not answer, silent, obscure, only reflecting the sky above. Showing 
burning sadness and no trace of hope.
  
//Let it go…// he told himself firmly, like he had done a billion times since he’d left. //I 
did it for him. I did it to spare him any pain. I did it because I love him, while I can’t. 
Because I love him, while he doesn’t. Let it go, Legolas. Just let it go.// 
  
“I chose this,” he whispered, unable to stop the pleading note in his voice, talking to 
someone who was not there, if not in the depths of his memories. “And I do not regret it. 
But as I told you once, my Lady, just too often the lessons we desire to learn the most 
hurt us enough to kill.” When still the eyes would not respond Legolas splashed his hand 
across his reflection, and watched it ripple and dance for a moment. Then he stood and 
looked up at the sky once again, knowing that he was but merely running away, and 
trying to desperately convince himself he wasn’t.
  
Hurt, confused, more human in that mere moment than most of the creatures sleeping in 
the arms of Minas Tirith, Legolas closed his eyes, parted his lips, and let his sadness be 
painted into sound. His song flew. Flew on silvery winds across the skies, and as he 
listened to his own pained voice, the Elf could do nothing to stop the flood of 
memories…
  
  
* * * * *
  
The riders had found a place where to camp at last, and stopped, grateful for the chance 
of getting some refresh. The road back from Isengard was long, and they had ridden in 
haste, so the prospective of a night of rest was welcomed by many –especially the two 
Hobbits retrieved from Orthanc- with relief. Fires were lit, bread was shared, and pale 
yellow and ruby wine flowed as the Men’s spirits lifted. 
  
The hour was late, and night swept over the fields as the Moon tiptoed across the sky, its 
pale light chasing retreating pools of darkness across the grassy ground. As each minute 
flew by, another head laid down on its padding to rest. All too soon silence filled the air 
like mist. Dreams rouse to visit the sleeping, while nightmares crawled to the waking 
ones.
  
It was one of those night in which amazing things could happen; one of those nights in 
which history could be written in front of the eyes of the few present to witness it. And 
the chance was taken indeed, for a new chapter of the life of Aragorn, the Lost King of 
Gondor, was being written, without him knowing, by one that loved him more than life 
itself.
  
Around one of the fires scattered across the fields five figures had huddled, and now 
stood silently, trading glances. Their breath rose into the blue in small white puffs. Pastel 
light illuminated their features as unease rose among them. The silence wasn’t soothing 
in that one corner of the camp. Rather, it was oppressive. The wind picked up, bringing 
forth the scent of tempest, and dark clouds hovered overhead, almost as if to warn them 
to go to sleep, and postpone their acting, but the warning was ignored.
  
Surreal as the scene before them was -- the pillars of silvery light that spilled across the 
fields from patches in the cloud-sheet above, the opalescent gleam reflected off of the 
gushing river nearby, the anticipatory hum in the atmosphere, the whisper of the wind 
among the faraway trees – the small assemblage lose concentration at the mere sight of 
Legolas.
  
Fair he was, and venerable he looked in the way he moved. Slowly, gracefully, and yet as 
if weighted with ancient pain. Around him, drawn in a semi-circle, the remnants of the 
Fellowship of the Ring, all but Aragorn, stood in nervousness. Pippin’s fingers curled in 
his shirt, and he remained silent for one more moment, gathering what courage was 
needed to shatter the silence, before going back to worrying the rim of his tunic.
“Legolas…” the Hobbit glanced briefly at the direction in which Aragorn had 
disappeared earlier, all but aching to see the Man come back and stop this nonsense.Now.
  
Legolas had secured his bow and was checking the knives resting in the scabbard 
strapped onto his back when he looked up at the Hobbit, a brief glance, before bending 
down to check the contents of his bag.

“Yes, Master Pippin?” Pippin focused back on the Elf, even though he glanced toward 
the faraway campfire where he’d last seen Aragorn a couple of times.

“I… you… are you sure you have to?” He blurted out. Legolas smiled, even though what 
good it could be with Pippin behind him, he was not sure.

“Indeed I have.”

“But…” the Hobbit bounced slightly on his toes, restless. “It’s so… sudden!” Next to him 
Merry was quick to agree.

“More than sudden!” The other Hobbit countered, nodding fervently. “All was well when 
we were dinning!” Legolas rose to his feet, and draped his grey cloak around his neck.

“That was the last meal I would share with you, I did not want to weight your hearts with 
the knowledge of my departure.” The Elf brought two fingers up to his mouth, and blew 
around them, producing a brisk whistle.
  
As if generated from the mist Arod, the horse Théoden had let Legolas ride during their 
campaign, came striding up to the Elf, his mane woven of the moonlight itself. The beast 
skipped to a halt in front of Legolas, and when the Elf patted his muzzle affectionately, 
Arod whinnied loudly.

“I’ll send my friend Arod back to his Master Théoden as soon as I reach my destination, 
whatever it will be, and let him bear tidings of my journey if I’ll reckon that wise.”
  
“You don’t have to.” Gandalf interjected quietly. “I already asked the King, and he 
agreed gladly. Arod is yours now: a present from Rohan to Mirkwood in sign of 
friendship.” Legolas glanced up at him, a smile on his lips.

“I… thank you, Mithradir.” The Elf turned, and gently ran his fingertips down Arod’s 
neck. The stallion leaned into the touch gladly, thumping his nose gently against 
Legolas’s chest. “His presence is sure to ease my loneliness.” In the moments of stillness 
that followed, Legolas felt like they all would hear his heart breaking, and he bit his lip 
slightly, feeling that there was something more he should say, but not finding the voice 
to.
  
“I… suppose I’d better go now.” He said at last. “I should ride with the night.”

“That would be prudent, indeed.” Gandalf agreed quietly. Nodding, Legolas went to hoist 
his small baggage onto Arod’s back. Behind him Gimli opened his mouth, then closed it, 
and turning his head he tried to nonchalantly rub his eyes. Merry had his eyes pined to the 
ground, and he thought he’d go crazy if the crackle of the air being sucked in and then 
squeezed out his own fists as he clenched an unclenched them wouldn’t stop echoing in 
the camp. Pippin kept shifting from foot to foot, sniffling now and again. At last the 
younger Hobbit took a step forward, hands clasped together behind his back, tracing 
small circles in the mud with a toe as he struggled for words.

“I… I really wish you wouldn’t leave us, Master Legolas.” He said, feeling hoarse. “I 
don’t want you to go away like Frodo and Sam and… and… and like Boromir did.”
  
Legolas glanced at his young friend over his shoulder, hands paused over his baggage. 
Sensing the little one’s distress Legolas turned fully, fair features lit up with a smile.

“Pippin… I’m not dying.” He said softly. “I’m not leaving you forever. I’m just going 
back to Mirkwood, nothing more. So…” Legolas dropped on his knees in front of Pippin, 
who was quickly losing his battle with his sobs. “One day, when the Shadow in the East 
will be banished, if you’ll still wish to see me, we’ll meet again.” Pippin sank his teeth 
into his bottom lip and, not knowing what else to do, nodded slowly. When Legolas made 
to rise, though, the Hobbit jumped forward and wrapped his arms around the surprised 
Elf, barely keeping himself from squeezing too tight.

“Good luck, Master Legolas.”

“To you too, my friend.” Legolas whispered back, putting his own arms around Pippin 
and squeezing gently.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.” Merry queried in a whisper, he too 
stepping closer to the Elf.

“It’s because…” Legolas let go of Pippin and stood gracefully, turning back toward his 
steed. The Elf’s hand rose to pat Arod’s nose affectionately, and he neighed lowly in 
reply, one of his hoofs knocking against the grassy ground. Unconsciously Legolas 
ducked his head, so that his hair would slide forward and further conceal his visage as he 
hauled himself onto Arod’s back. His moves were heavy and dawdling, incredibly 
different from the light, fluid flow the ones of his kin moved with. It seemed he’d had a 
sudden weight dropped onto his shoulders, but it looked like he wouldn’t dare pausing 
long enough to shrug it off. “…I need to. Have to.”
  
Pippin had walked backwards until his shoulder had bumped into Merry’s, and his 
cousin’s arm was now curled around him. The Hobbits traded worried looks, and then 
glanced up at their other companions, pleadingly. Gimli heaved a sigh, and took a step 
forward, shaking his head.

“Surely.” He said soberly. “We could find another solution. My words indeed will seem 
rude to you, but they need speaking: running away never helps. It is but work of 
cowardice, and usually complicates matters rather than lead to their solution. I surely 
expected you, of all people, to understand such a simple concept as this.”
  
“I know.” Legolas spoke softly, guilt wafting by his eyes. “Yet you’ve to realize, my 
friend, that sometimes running away is not a matter of cowardice. Rather it may be an act 
of courage.” To that, Gimli had no reply, and he merely nodded, eyes downcast. After a 
pause he rubbed harshly his nose with the back of a broad hand, and then looked back up 
at the Elf. “I still wish to show you The Caverns of Helm’s Deep, Legolas, and I’m 
willing to visit Fangor with you, if that’s the price to pay to see my wish granted. I will 
reckon the words you gave Pippin as meant for all of us then, and wait for us to meet 
again.” Legolas bowed his head.
  
“But…” Pippin began then, clasping and unclasping his hands as he stared up at Legolas. 

“What about Strider? I thought you lov—”

“Please, don’t.” Legolas said, tilting his head harshly toward the Hobbit, yet not finding 
the courage to turn fully. “Right now I can’t…” He broke off and whipped around, 
knuckles turning white as he clenched his hands. He closed his eyes as a gust of wind 
ruffled his clothes and hair. A brief, awkward silence descended on the party as they 
stood in the near-silence of the evening.
  
The Hobbits knew.
  
Legolas didn’t know how, or why, but they knew. Did everyone know, then? Gimli, 
Gandalf, Éomer… did they know? Did Aragorn know? Shock claimed the Elf as he 
pondered the prospective. Surely he hadn’t been that obvious, had he? No… he knew his 
behavior toward Aragorn had not changed since the days in which friendship was all that 
bonded him to the Man. He was more secretive now, if anything. Less talkative, more 
thoughtful. He’d grown somewhat colder, somehow more reserved. Those shields of cold 
emotions he’d used to conceal his feelings hadn’t turned into hints to reveal then, had 
they? But how… how did the Hobbits know, then? 
Why?
  
A long, electric shiver made his back arch slightly, and he reached out and down, hands 
clasping Arod’s neck blindly as he gazed at the ground. Legolas heaved a sigh. Like a 
curtain closing, a tendril of golden hair fell over his shoulder and hid his features. Again 
questions rose in his mind. Over and over again, wherever he turned his eyes and ears to, 
Legolas would find only questions and no answers.
  
He’d never expected love to be so complicated, or so painful.
  
“Legolas…” They all swiveled around at the sound of a new voice, and indeed it was 
Aragorn. The man flickered wide eyes over the assemblage in surprise, registering with a 
note of concern how each person would advert his gaze. At last he focused on Legolas, 
and albeit the Elf did not turn away the unease just swelled inside the Man. He took in the 
Elf’s current position, and his eyes widened, the corner of his lips twitching nervously. 
Why was Legolas mounting Arod, Aragorn wondered, his baggage hoisted on the horse’s 
back as if ready to leave and—
  
Oh, Gods…
  
“Legolas,” he breathed again, voice all but gone, lips twitching helplessly up and down as 
he tried to smile. “I see that… you’re about to…” the Man licked his lips. “…go 
scouting, and for your concern I’m grateful, but ’tis indeed late to run such errands, my 
friend. Why don’t you dismount Arod to join us at the campfire? The night’s cold and--”

“I’m leaving, Aragorn.” Legolas told him softly, but the Man couldn’t -would not let 
himself- hear him, and refusing to acknowledge the shivers now wracking his body he 
went on, huskily.

“—and surely you can wait till the morning to go and attend to whatever mission you put 
upon yourself.”

“Aragorn…” the Man’s fists clenched, his trembling smile fading, and his nails dug into 
his palms painfully, drawing blood.

“Your errand is surely not that pressing--”

“…Aragorn…”

“I’m sure it can wait. It would be dangerous to ride alone and--”

“…I’m leaving.”

“—and whatever it is that you must do, it can surely wait for the morning so that I can 
join you.” 

He said at last, and then closed his mouth, astonished at the mere sound of his voice. 
Surely that cracked whisper hadn’t been his?
 
Legolas shook his head, pain wafting by his eyes.

“No. I’m going, Aragorn. Alone. Now.” Aragorn’s eyes narrowed, and misty grey 
became ice. Two long strides took him to Arod’s side, and when he looked up at Legolas 
the Man’s arm curled around the beast’s neck: an affectionate gesture into which Arod 
leaned, but also a mean to hold his rider back. The Elf did not miss that.

“Why?” Legolas drew his lips back into a small smile, and then parted them, but it was 
Gandlaf’s voice to resound.

“Pressing errands are summoning him back to Mirkwood. Prince Legolas is needed in his 
native Kingdom now, and he’s in haste to leave. Surely you understand he has to go, 
whether we wish him to or not.” Though spoken softly the words held power, and would 
not admit replies or questions. Legolas merely nodded under Aragorn’s inquisitive gaze. 
Gimli and Merry shifted uneasily, troubled by such an open lie, both aware of the 
unspoken reason that was forcing Legolas to leave. Pippin bit his bottom lip, shivering in 
the Wise’s shadow. It seemed to have stretched to a bizarre length when he spoke, almost 
as if Gandalf himself had grown taller.
  
Poor Aragorn… the small Hobbit thought. Poor Legolas… poor all of us…
  
The Man shook his head slowly, lips parted around words he could not voice, eyes wide 
and alight with denial.

“You can’t…” he whispered in an exhalation. Legolas smile grew, and so did its painful 
quality. The Elf gingerly reached down and gently brushed Aragorn’s arm away from 
Arod’s neck, careful not to touch the Man’s tanned skin. In his shock Aragorn did not 
protest, nor react, when his arm was moved, and he let his hand fall limply at his side.

“You can’t leave. I… We need you.” But Legolas would not answer; would not move. He 
just stared at the Man, eyes half-lidded and saddened. “Are you going to drift away, like 
wind? To slid through my fingers like mere sand? You can’t… you… you promised, 
and…” Aragorn’s eyes burned. All the touches they’d shared, all the words spoken… had 
they been just lies? The most sacred moments of the Lost King’s life were just that? Lies 
spoken in the midst of some cruel game, or without enough thinking? But Legolas… 
Aragorn had though…
  
Aragorn blinked, head shaking and eyes lowering to the ground as doubt hit him. What 
had he though, exactly? Flashes of silken hair and warm hands had filled his dreams and 
his reality for weeks. Dreams of an eternity spent by Elf’s side had become his daily 
companions, but…
  
What had he thought?
What exactly did he want?
  
“You promised.” He murmured at last. “You can’t leave.” Legolas closed his eyes, his 
expression bleak as his heart broke yet again. His head bowed a little, and he briefly shut 
his eyes tighter. Another silence befell the clearing, the usual nighttimes sounds gone. 
Even the trees, which had been rustling in the breeze as if trembling in anticipation, had 
gone still under loads of silence. At last Legolas opened his eyes and spoke, his voice 
strangely young and vulnerable.

“I have to.” Aragorn looked up, betray and hurt alike in his gaze. Legolas felt the burning 
prick of tears in his eyes, and as he closed them some quivering droplets escaped to shine 
on his lashes. 

Torn by unnamed pain – a pain Aragorn did not seem able to acknowledge nor 
understand, caught as he was in his own- Legolas painted his farewell into song.
  
I can pretend  
I am the wind  
And I don't know if I will pass this way again  
All things must end 
Goodbye, my friend 
Think of me when you see the sun or feel the wind.
  
Lids fluttering up Legolas gazed at Aragorn for a long moment, fair features twisting as 
guilt surged in his heart. Legolas felt that it could not –should not possibly- end like that. 
As he continued to gaze at the Man, his body an opalescent shadow in the moonlight, a 
thousand possibilities of what he should do raised in his mind, and the Elf repressed the 
urge to jump down his steed, throw himself in Aragorn’s arms and whisper amidst tears 
that he was deeply in love with him; that the Man had ruled his dreams and had done so 
since forever.
  
Finally, though, Legolas only patted his steed’s neck, and Arod obediently turned away, 
albeit reluctantly, while shrugging his head with a shrill neigh.

“Namarie.” Aragorn only mouthed a silent denial. The wind picked up a bit, bringing a 
small breath of cold air. Legolas snuggled closer to the warmth of Arod’s hairy neck as 
his own skin prickled in the cool hair, and urged his steed into a light trot, not caring 
where they were going, as long as it was as far as possible from Aragorn. Because he 
loved the Man. Enough to long for him despite destiny and logic and nature. Enough to 
make him the centre of his world. Enough to grieve.
  
Just enough to let him go.
  
Without turning back Legolas urged Arod to quicken up slightly, and his shape soon 
became but a blurred spot of pale light against the darkened tones of the sky. At first 
Aragorn did nothing. He could not move; could not speak; could not think. The dull ache 
in his chest had intensified into a burning pain that paralyzed him, depriving him of any 
spirit. Then reality came crashing down on him, the floodgates opened, and Aragorn 
reeled back, overwhelmed, chest heaving as if he was mortally wounded.
  
Legolas… was… leaving.
  
Barely thinking his actions through, Aragorn whipped around and ran toward his own 
stallion, swung up onto the saddle and seized the reins, forcing the poor beast to turn with 
a neigh of pain. 

He wouldn’t –couldn’t- let Legolas go. Not like that. Not now, not ever. Legolas was his, 
and he was Legolas’s, forever. And Aragorn felt the sudden need to tell the Elf, to let him 
know just how important he was to him; how strongly the King of Men felt for the Prince 
of Elves without him knowing.
  
But Gandalf wouldn’t allow it. Not now, when Gondor and the whole Middle Earth 
needed Aragorn to guide them through the shadows of that dark age and beyond. Holding 
up his staff he murmured an Elven chant under his breath even as Aragon dug his heels in 
his steed’s sides, and the stallion immediately halted, as if frozen, and nothing Aragorn 
did could rouse him.
  
In the midst of his twined anger and desperation Aragorn shouted at Gandalf, using 
words he would not remember afterwards. He cried out his helplessness, using his 
heritage as a mean for Gandalf to obeying him, empty menaces escaping him between 
ragged shouts and kicks developed to the sides of his horse. But Gandalf was deaf to his 
prayers, and Legolas was now a small star near the top of the hill.
  
His muscles sagged, and Aragorn leaned heavily against his steed’s neck, spent, watching 
Legolas’s retreating form, aching for the Elf to turn around, if only to look back once 
before he was gone. Hope rose in Aragorn without warning at the thought. Legolas… 
Legolas would turn around. Surely. The Elf would turn around and smile at him and, 
despite the distance, see the emotions rippling in the Man’s eyes; and then Legolas would 
turn his steed, and he’d gallop back down the hill, and he’d jump down the horse into 
Aragorn’s arms, and he’d—
  
But Legolas never paused; never turned around, and the Elf was soon swallowed in the 
unfeeling dark sky, gone like an evanescent dream. Rain was falling now in angry 
downpours, but Aragorn was oblivious as he stared at the blurred line of the horizon. At 
last, as the world about him went out of focus, and nothing of the Elf remained behind if 
not his memory, the Man hid his face in the furry neck of his steed, and albeit his eyes 
remained dry, his shoulders hitched as sobs overwhelmed him. For the first time in his 
life Aragorn son of Arathorn, King of Men, was silently begging and pleading to whoever 
would listen to be but a mere Ranger – or a criminal, a beggar, a leper even.
  
Because lower people were allowed to do the only thing that mattered to him now and yet 
he could not do.
Follow Legolas. 
  
  
* * * *
  
The song of Legolas came to its whispered end, and the Elf focused on his blurred 
reflection upon the water. In truth he’d never left Aragorn. How could he? He’d watched 
the Man journeying from faraway shadows, and more than once his arrows had saved his 
life without him realizing it. 

Legolas had tiptoed across the Path of Dead behind Aragorn, letting the mist of the spirits 
run through his fingers as he advanced, welcomed, somehow expected. He’d sang softly 
to the Ocean when Aragorn had sailed from Pelargir toward Gondor. He’d lurched into 
the shadows of Minas Tirith during the battle of the Pellenor’s Fields, his singing bow 
deadly for the Dark Army of Sauron. Legolas had witnessed the return of the King to the 
City of Men from atop a nearby hill, twined pride and pain swelling inside his heart. And 
never –ever- mortal eyes saw him. He was a glimpse of golden in the battlefield, a pale 
gleam shimmering over gushing water, a stray ray of light flashing at the edge of the 
vision. Never visible, never more substantial that a gust of wind.
  
But days had passed since the reconquest of Gondor, and since Legolas had last seen 
Aragorn. Oh, how much Legolas desired to see the Man, now! To feel his touch upon his 
skin, his breath wafting by his ears. He longed to let him know how much he loved him, 
even if rejection would be all that he attained. Tears blurred his vision, and the Elf was 
about to rub at his eyes harshly when a voice came, whispering his name with hesitance. 
The elf whipped around, hair swirling around his body, eyes glistening, and the urge to 
run away and the one to stay twined inside him, leaving him breathless and confused; for 
in front of him stood a vision escaped from his dreams.
  
“Aragorn…”
A/N: Ok, everyone, next chapter is the last one. If you want, I will write an Epilogue 
dealing with the whole “Arwen thing” (note to Riley: my heart too will pang while 
writing that one part, but ehy! If I do write it, nothing will be between Leggy and 
Aragorn anymore and they will be free to live their love!!! *waves her Aragolas flag*). 
  
And maybe, once Arwen too has seen that Aragorn belongs to Legolas, I could add… 
*blushes & grins* a lemony bonus chapter in which Legolas wants to learn the final 
lesson in human love: how it feels to make love with a mortal. *giggles* But the decision 
is all yours – the voting starts now! ^_^ 



Title: Seeking Harmony – part 05 – Crèid (To believe)
Author (including email): Nemesi  Nemesi82òhotmail.com
Pairing(s):Legolas/Aragorn
Rating: PG13/R
Summary: No one wants to wake up from pleasant dreams.
And if to be holding Legolas again is just a dream,
surely Aragorn wishes to wake up never again. After
all, in real life, Legolas is gone to Mirkwood and
does not love him… right?

Disclaimer: *sighs* I own nothing but the silly theory of the 
Harmony. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. 
Tolkien. 
Summary: No one wants to wake up from pleasant dreams. And if 
to be holding Legolas again is just a dream, surely Aragorn wishes 
to wake up never again. After all, in real life, Legolas is gone to 
Mirkwood and does not love him… right? 
Note: WARNING! Mushy stuff ahead! HEAVILY mushy stuff 
ahead!!!! This is *incredibly* sappy. *offers around some bonus 
ticker for a free visit to the dentist* Exaggeration is my second 
name, I guess. *giggles* And it’s Aragorn’s too, It seems. Oh, that 
Man just knows his way with words…  ^_- 
Note 2: This takes place before, during AND after the previous 
chapter. Just how did Aragorn feel while Legolas was away? And 
what was he doing, and feeling, as Legolas sang? And what will he 
do now that they’ve meet again? Now we all know. ^_^ 
Rating: PG-13/R 
 

  
* * * * *
  
  
There’s a red fox torn by a huntsmen’s pack  
That’s my soul up there  
There’s a black winged gull with a broken back  
That’s my soul up there  
There’s a little black spot on the sun today  
It's the same old thing as yesterday  
 
I have stood here before inside the pouring rain  
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain  
I guess I'm always hoping that you’ll end this reign  
But it’s my destiny to be the King of pain 
      - King of Pain - The Police 
   
  
oh I am what I am 
I'll do what I want  
but I can't hide  
I won't go  
I won't sleep  
I can't breathe  
until you're resting  
here with me  
I won't leave  
I can't hide  
I cannot be  
until you're resting  
here with me 
			-Here with Me - Dido
  
  
Some say dreams are enjoyable only before you realize them: then 
they become reality, and thus dull.
Aragorn had dreamed the walls of Minas Tirith for his whole life, 
and now that he dwelled inside them, the glimmering sections of 
solidified moonlight of his dreams were but unfeeling fences of 
cold rock, dull and heartless. In a word, reality – wonderful illusion 
made bitter reality in front of his eyes.
Yet, there was a dream he knew – he just knew – he would savour 
ten times more if it were to be realized.
Ai! You’re breaking my heart, Legolas. 
A weary sigh escaped him as Aragorn left his chambers, cloaked in 
twilight and sorrow.
Where are you? Are you safe? 
The Man walked down the gloom corridors slowly, limping 
through a long series of twisting, never-ending hallways slowly, 
leisurely, as he didn’t have a care in the world. The high ceiling 
and the cold walls were fused with the oddly dense shadows, 
overlapping and melding, so that he felt like moving through layers 
of darkness.
Do you ever think about me? Dream about me as I do about you? 
The Man staggered and limped as he went, his body worn-out 
beyond words. Worry and tension had been his companions for the 
last weeks, and during the endless nights sleep had proved 
impossible. Every time he closed his eyes darkness descended 
upon him, closing in on him like towering walls. All he wanted 
was to run away, to leave Gondor, and the city he’d dreamed of for 
decades, even if only for one night.
Do you ever miss me, tortured by the distance as I am? 
He moved through the shadows as one of them, eyes downcast, 
knowing the depths of the castle and its every corner and shadow 
too well to really need to watch where he was going. And when he 
finally left first the Tower and then the Citadel, it was like drawing 
in the very first breath of life – like being born in that one instant 
admits moonlight and mist and blue.
Do you – will you ever- feel for me as I… 
The breeze was unnaturally cold that night, and the Man tucked the 
high collar of his tunic up around his neck a little tighter. Or maybe 
it was just him feeling cold, colder as he’d ever felt, all alone in the 
darkness, without any light to guide and warm him. Without 
Legolas by his side. His feet splashed over the wet ground as he 
went, noisy as no Ranger should be. But no Ranger should feel that 
weary either, Aragorn would retort if he had the spirit to. 
Stumbling upon unsure legs Aragorn walked for a few more 
moments, then stopped and sighed, looking up. At last he found 
himself leaning his with his back against the cold walls of Minas 
Tirith, glistening wet with evening dew, icy water seeping through 
his clothes to add to the coldness.
His lids felt heavy, and Aragorn complied the silent order, though 
he discovered it to be a mistake soon afterwards, when glimpses of 
golden hair and glittering blue eyes filled his mind and soft ache 
filled his heart. Frustrated with himself Aragorn turned around and 
touched his forehead to the wall, in search of refuge and solace 
from his demons. From his loneliness and pain. From his fears, and 
the feeling of overwhelming loneliness that was drowning his 
heart. He hated feeling this way, so helpless and exhausted. 
Beaten, something the King of Men couldn’t allow himself to be.
Dark locks were soon plastered to his clammy face and neck, and 
water glistened on his skin, tracing curves down his cheeks like 
teardrops would. An icy drop ran from the wall down his hand, 
pressed fatly against the rock wall, and he immediately curled his 
fingers, delivering the protective fence a desperate blow.
After a moment more of distress, he turned, and whipped his head 
back, slamming it against the wall and barely registering the pain. 
Forget. He wanted to forget. Never before had he felt so helpless, 
sorrow and exhaustions twining in his veins like poison. The 
mantle of leadership that for so long had been placed on his 
shoulders, felt now as heavy as ever, and not for the first since the 
beginning of their quest – no, since Legolas had left- Aragorn 
wished to be someone else. Anyone else.
He straightened against the wall and lowered his head, his damp 
hair falling across his face in heavy locks. Grey eyes shut against 
the gloomy light, he sank his teeth into his bottom lip, not aware of 
the tiny drops of blood his action drew forth. Aragorn closed his 
eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the cold air coat the insides of his 
mouth with its rusty taste, clawing its way down his lungs. Without 
reason he suddenly found himself lost in the memory of a cobalt 
dusk, a dusk in which the Elf had fled, tears shimmering in his 
eyes. The last sunset they’d seen together, that had started serenely 
and ended mournfully. Burning moisture welling in his eyes 
caused the Man to start and blink rapidly. How strange, that the 
tears he had repressed for all his life now gathered for such small 
matter: being abandoned.
He found himself praying to Deities he wasn’t sure he even 
believed in anymore, let alone trusted, pleading to be allowed to 
see Legolas again, even if for just one time, for the fleetest of 
instants; even if he’d have to surrender his life immediately 
afterwards, but soon; right then, right there, for he knew he could 
not bare such loneliness and darkness anymore.
‘He’s the only thing in this darkened world that really matters to 
me,’ the Man silently realized. True to his word Aragorn would 
have followed Frodo to Mordor, but for Legolas… for Legolas he 
would have thrown himself inside the very fires of those cursed 
lands and come through death just to whisper the Elf’s name, 
gazing in those wondrous marine irises of his.
‘What am I going to do without him, now?’ The man choked back 
a sob and leaned his head back on the wet coldness of the stony 
wall. 
“I need you, Legolas.” He said in such a far off voice that it was 
almost a whisper, his eyes watering behind his lowered eyelids. “I 
love you. I hope you know that.”
His muscles sagged without warning, and Aragorn slid down the 
wall some, knees bending under the weight of his pain. Aragorn 
may not have been an Elf, but he knew. He knew his grief was 
killing him. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. With a sigh 
which ended as a painful groan, he moved from the wall, slipping 
out the shadow he was lurking in only to slip into another one. 
Suddenly, he came to an halt. His tired, yet keen eyes quickly 
scanned his darkened surroundings, looking for any sign of 
movement.
The sky was livid, that liquid tone of black it turns to after storms. 
Walking on top of the fence stray soldiers, be they Dùnedain, Men 
of Gondor or of Rohan, spurted forth: shadows from the shadows. 
Inside the city the lights had long since gone out, and he guessed it 
was past midnight. The fields would have been completely 
drowned in the darkness, if not for the torches hanging from the 
walls, the soft grey mist floating through the air and the patches of 
pale moonlight running over grey grass. Little creatures hid around 
him, but in their buzzing and whispering, Aragorn’s keen ear 
suddenly caught a different note.
He ran his eyes back over the walls and gates and fields and hills 
again, and this time something caught his eyes. A pale radiance 
seemed to come from the riverside, low down the hill and behind 
the Castle. He narrowed his eyes at it. Then, almost after their own 
volition, his legs carried him forward and forward, until he reached 
the shores. Someone was there, like he’d expected.
He halted for a moment, staring numbly at the lone figure glittering 
in the moonlight, and for Aragorn time froze. It was unfocused for 
the mist, and Aragorn could no see their face, but this was 
someone the Man couldn’t stop from recognizing - even between 
dozen billions of people, even after dozen billions years. The world 
reached a grinding halt, Time screeching like gears of failing 
machinery and slowly decomposing to ashes. 
 
Aragorn’s heart pounded in his ears.
Pound…  
The radiance of the moon flickered gently through the mist. Water 
shimmered in swaying pools on the ground. The rustling sound of 
distant trees trembled in the air, sounding as if it came from a 
whole different world, far and impalpable. Drowned in a dreamlike 
atmosphere, the figure tipped its head up, taking a deep breath in.
Aragorn’s heart continued to pound.
Pound… pound…
A colder breath of wind blew by then, making a few silken strands 
whip around snowy cheeks, almost iridescent under the faint 
moonlight leaking through livid clouds. Shining little droplets 
clung to golden hair, and as the figure gave its head a slight toss 
the quivering droplets rose, glittering like diamonds in the eldritch 
light.
…Legolas… 
 
…pound… 
 
One of Legolas’s hands rose, as he, eyes closed and lips parted, 
slid his fingers through his hair to tame the work of the wind, 
accomplishing the motion in a slow fashion, as if he had no cares 
in the world; no hurry; no hope. In that brief moment Aragorn 
could see Legolas’s profile outlined clearly against the sky. Dim 
emotions obscured his gentle features in slow succession, and 
when he opened his eyes again they were like the sky above, dark 
and scattered with stars. Aragorn’s face paled, and he moved his 
mouth in his incredulity, swallowing air through jagged breaths.
…pound.
For a moment Aragorn thought he was merely dreaming, but even 
as he did, he was caught in the realization that his mind couldn’t 
have conceived something as beautiful as the flaxen Elf standing in 
front of him. During their forced parting Aragorn had seen 
Legolas’s face a hundred billion times in his mind’s eye. He’d 
played the sound of his voice over and over in his head until he 
feared that he would go crazy with need. And yet not even in his 
most beautiful dreams he had been able to replicate the perfection 
this lithe figure held.
Aragorn’s senses seemed to shrivel suddenly to focus solely on the 
ethereal creature standing a few paces away from him. Legolas 
stood in a stream of moonlight, slender figure dappled in silver and 
the grey of shadows, a vision of dignity and grace and profound 
sorrow. A shiver chased its way down Aragorn’s spine, and he 
found himself reaching out tentatively, as if to touch him. But the 
gap between them was wide and his legs would not carry him 
forward, rooted as they were to the ground.
The mere sight of Legolas was enough to take Aragorn’s breath 
away, but when the Elf parted his lips, to let a song flow, the world 
itself was left breathless.
Legolas sang. Of stormed oceans and endless shores; of life and 
love; of pain and longing twined together like lovers. His song 
tasted like mist and moonlight; like summer rain and drenched soil, 
reminding the Man of times and places he’d never lived, 
whispering in his ears of times to come and of times already gone.
Caught in his song, Legolas held out his arms and tilted his head 
back, arching his body, offering to the moonlight the lovely 
expanse of his white throat. Light suffused through him to lighten 
the shadows of nightfall, and the very darkness around Aragorn’s 
heart and body and soul began to fade, chased away by golden 
brilliance.
Aragorn’s Light was back to him.
The world itself was fading around the Man, drowned in the 
twilight mist. The air was a cold caress against is hot skin, and he 
allowed himself to close his eyes, savouring the feeling for a brief 
moment. Then, all too soon, the melody came to it whispered end, 
and the world was free to move again. The noise of the rushing 
branches echoed again in the trembling air. The wind rose once 
more from the secret cradle it had gone resting. Time restarted its 
endless flow again.
Taking in a deep, flowing breath of misted air Aragorn dug his 
nails in his palms hard enough to draw blood, trying to sooth his 
wild heart a tad and awake himself to action. His efforts proved 
vain though, for wonder claimed him once more when his eyes 
were opened again.
As he watched, a faint ray of moonlight slid through the grey fog 
to get caught in Legolas’s figure, turning his hair into fluid gold, 
his skin translucent, his lips rose, his eyes into gleaming stars. It 
sculpted the planes and the gently sloping curves of his face out of 
silver; unmarred like a statue of marble he was, like a glitter of the 
Ocean’s face, and Aragorn had to swallow the awe that was rising 
fast inside him. 
“Legolas… ?” He called hesitantly, his voice reduced to a tentative 
whisper, as if he was scared the Elf could shatter the moment he 
raised his voice.
Afterwards it all unfolded before his eyes as if Time was flying on 
tired wings.
Legolas turned around to face him, eyes wide, and golden, soft hair 
swirled around his body like Ocean’s waves. Tears glistened in the 
Elf’s unique eyes, and Aragorn’s throat tightened around all the 
pleads and questions he wanted to voice. He choked on all the 
promises he wanted to make him, and remained silent, even if he 
was hungering for the sound of a voice.
Moonlight wrapped about the Man and the Elf, bathing them in a 
halo of light. It was like being caught inside a diamond, with no 
sound other than that of their brisk breathing; with no one else save 
for the two of them, caught, willing or not, in a world composed 
solely by their beating hearts, liquid moonlight and accomplice 
mist.
“Aragorn…” Legolas’s voice glided through the air like on 
butterfly wings, and before he knew Aragorn had strode forward 
and captured his Light in the circle of his arms, holding Legolas to 
him like he’d die without him. Caught, wanting to flee and yet not 
to, and hating himself for responding so quickly and powerfully, 
Legolas wound his arms around Aragorn’s neck, rising on his 
tiptoes to better accomplish the task, and pressed their bodies so 
closely together it seemed he wanted to become one with the Man.
After an eternity that was too short to sate Aragorn’s needs, the 
Man slowly moved away, mouthing the Elf’s name over and over, 
all the while smoothing the hair back from his fair face with 
anxious caresses, incredulity clear on his face. Legolas stared 
deeply at his King, eyes rippling with affection, but even as he 
gazed, worry rose to cloud his eyes. This Man was his personal 
vision of happiness, yet today, as he watched him, Legolas’s eyes 
burned: the fire that Aragorn was had extinguished, and all that 
remained was the pale smoke rising after the ashes had cooled.
The Man was dangerously close to breaking point. A deadly 
paleness had overtook golden auburn on his face. His silver eyes 
were clouded, blunted to a dead grey. The shining flames that 
dwelled in the depths of his gaze had been extinguished, drowned 
in dull shadows. He seemed to have shrunk, dwarfed by a terrible 
weight into a shadow of the old Aragorn. 
The Elf had never seen him this vulnerable, ever.
Quickly forgetting his carefully plotted plan of separation, Legolas 
reached up and gently fingered Aragorn’s pale cheek. The Man 
snagged the Elf’s hand as it made to retreat, and intertwined their 
fingers in a shocking contrast of snow against auburn. Legolas 
smiled, his eyes softening, and savoured the rough feeling of 
Aragorn’s stubble on his fingertips as the Man placed small, soft 
kisses across the inside of his wrist.
“What ails you, my King?” Legolas asked at last, his melodious 
voice hushed into a whisper. 
“Are you a dream?” Aragorn replied, pressing his lips to Legolas’s 
skin in one last, desperate kiss. The Man’s voice was like a 
tapestry. Shimmering threads weaved through it: the designs of 
sorrow, need and pain, entwining with another strand Legolas 
could not name at first. It was fear, he suddenly understood, but 
fear of what, he did not know.
Standing so close to the Elf, Aragorn could feel his senses 
gradually getting intoxicated by Legolas’s scent and warmth, but it 
still wasn’t enough a proof to him, who knew all too well that the 
most hurting dreams are just the more realistic, more so if they 
deal with one’s deepest needs and hopes. 
“Are you?” He whispered again, an added thread weaving through 
his voice: the thread of supplication.
Legolas smiled, albeit painfully, and closed the distance between 
them again, gently caressing Aragorn’s cheek. 
“Do I feel like a dream?” The Elf whispered back, a rose petal 
falling on the ground, as his fingers crawled up the man’s face to 
gently tuck a lock of dark hair behind his ear. The man leaned into 
the touch, and his eyes narrowed as he went pensive for a moment. 
“Yes.” He said at last, with a shake of his head. “A beautiful dream 
that will fade with the morning, like in all these past nights. I will 
reach out for you, and you will fade before I can touch you. Before 
I can feel you. Before we can…” and he stopped himself, merely 
staring at the Elf as he exhaled shakily. Legolas feel the desperate 
need and longing for him radiating off of Aragorn in waves. While 
part of him rejoiced that he’d been missed as much as he had 
missed the Man, another part withered and died painfully at mere 
thought of having hurt the Man that meant so much to him. 
Closing his eyes, Legolas lowered his head, gazing down 
unseeingly at their touching chests, feeling Aragorn’s heart 
thumping wildly against his own.
There was a moment of silence, and Aragorn feared his scattered 
words had been comprehended somehow; that his deepest feelings 
had been revealed, and the Elf was searching a graceful way to 
reject him. Pain rose to his heart, and something inside the King of 
Men suddenly cracked. His dream was starting to become like real 
life: a nightmare. A nightmare in which Legolas did not care for 
him. A Nightmare in which there was no Light for him, if not that 
of a pale star that was less than enough for him who had known the 
wondrous luminosity of Mirkwood’s Midsummer Sun. Closing his 
eyes like Legolas had done before, Aragorn tipped his head 
backward, letting pale moonlight shine down his pained features as 
the nightmare grew around him.
It was then that Legolas leaned down, touching his soft lips to 
Aragorn’s chest, just where his heart lay. The Delusion Aragorn 
was trapped in suddenly became Dream, and Dream became 
Reality. A shiver coursed down the Man’s spine, and his fingers 
ran through Legolas’s soft hair after their own volition, holding 
him close. Aragorn ran his hand leisurely down Legolas’s neck and 
then back up to his cheek, cherishing the touch, as Legolas slowly 
moved away.
Silence prevailed once again. Aragorn gazed at the Elf in his arms 
for one long moment, then he slid his hand down his face to cup 
the angle of his jaw, and tilted the Legolas’s head upward. Blue 
and silver met in a clash of emotions. 
“I’m sorry for hurting you.” Legolas breathed softly, watery blue 
eyes staring into pained silver ones, looking for forgiveness. “I 
never wanted to hurt you, Aragorn. That’s the last thing I’d ever 
want to do. I’d be your sword and shield and shelter and light if 
that was enough to prevent any pain from reaching you. But I’m 
the only one to blame for the pain haunting you now. I’m so sorry, 
Aragorn, so sorry…”
“I’m the one who’s sorry, Legolas.” The Man breathed. “Please 
forgive me… forgive whatever I did that chased you away. Was it 
my mouth that offended you? Then forgive my words, and if an 
apology is not enough, I’ll rid myself of my tongue. Was it my 
hand? Then I’m ready to cut it away. Or was it my humanity that 
offended you? If that’s so, I will tear my mortal heart out my chest 
and place it at you feet. I could live without my heart, but I could 
never do without you. I couldn’t even go on if you weren’t by my 
side. I need you. Please believe me. I need you more than the air I 
breathe.”
“You did naught; don’t weight your heart with blames that are not 
yours.” Legolas uttered softly, and Aragorn slid his thumb across 
his cheek in a tender back and forth fashion, offering reassurance 
as well as searching it. Legolas leaned into the touch, lips caressing 
the Man’s chin as he sighed. “I wished you to be happy. I thought 
your happiness dwelled in a place you could reach only without 
me. It thought it resided in a place where a Man and a Elf can’t be 
as close as we are. That’s why I evaded you, even if that pained 
me. I thought my pain a small price for you happiness. But--”
“Legolas,” the Man interrupted gently. “An happiness in which 
you’re not with me is no happiness at all. Days have been dark and 
broody since you left, and Nights became nightmares of ice. Stay 
with me tonight.” Aragorn halted, wrapping one arm around the 
Elf’s waist and bending his head enough to kiss the top of the Elf’s 
head. “Please Legolas… don’t leave me… Whatever you do, just 
don’t leave me again. Legolas… you promised me to stay by my 
side until my Harmony was found… I beg of you, now: change 
your oath,” The elf shuddered softly, as if suddenly cold, and drew 
in a sharp breath. “And say you’ll stand by my side until I breathe 
my last breath.”
Legolas’s eyes widened as he looked up at the man, but he said 
nothing, only welcoming the Elf when he hid his face in the hollow 
of his neck, inhaling his scent like a drug. The man’s fingers ran 
slowly through Legolas’s golden hair, his breath a soothing caress 
over his pointed ear. To their delight both rediscovered that 
Legolas fit perfectly in the Man’s arms, and from that moment on 
no other place in the world would be more homely than their 
embrace for them.
“I will.” Legolas breathed. “I will stay by your side tonight, as well 
as the rest of your nights, until you leave this lands to meet the 
Lady Death.” And then I’ll follow you in her embrace, my love. 
Gently, always gently, Aragorn reached down and lifted the lithe 
frame of Legolas into his arms. The Man touched his lips to the 
Elf’s forehead in an affectionate gesture when Legolas leaned his 
head against his chest, arms curled loosely about the powerful 
column of the Man’s neck. Clutching Legolas even closer, Aragorn 
moved his first step back toward Gondor, heading toward reality 
and duty and war with light steps; lighter than those of a mere 
Ranger. Lighter than those of a Elf, even.
He didn’t heed his comrades clattering across the stone ground 
around him when he entered the Citadel; didn’t glance at them as 
they swarmed about him, aligning then behind him in a silent file; 
didn’t bother to answer the few that managed to whisper some 
scattered words. All he was aware of was the Elf in his arms.
Stunned, practically non-existent for the Prince of Elves and the 
King of Men, Dùnedain and Rohimirr and Men of Gondor alike 
stood, lips parted in mute shock. They couldn’t move nor talk, for 
amaze had caught their breaths at the sight of Aragorn.
Tall he was, and kingly, more than he’d ever been. Most of the 
lines of care that had clouded his features in the past days had 
disappeared, and their King seemed suddenly younger, and yet 
wiser. Some thought they saw a dazzling star shone on his brow, 
but all those that had eyes to see perceived a blazing light inside 
his eyes. Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elrond was shining 
at his apex, and wonder filled those that saw him.
It was like a dream: a pale light lined everything in their sight with 
blurry edges. Never had they seen their King like that before, but 
suddenly all wished to gaze at him in such guise always and 
forever, for hope ignited in their hearts as Aragorn walked forth. 
None thought wrong of the closeness of the Man and the Elf, but 
many rejoiced in it. In that moment, as they looked, they did not 
see two males enclosed in the warmest of embraces; rather they 
saw a Man, the proud and mighty King of all Men, carrying a 
stream of dreamy sunlight, a sparkling diamond, in his arms, and 
receiving endless blessing and strength from such closeness. Silent 
vows were uttered that night, and words of hope were whispered in 
the wind as the splendour of Elessar was revealed to them.
At last Aragorn came to end of his walk, and whether he found his 
chamber’s doors open or rather some bowing Dùnedain had held 
them open for him he was not sure. All he knew was that he was 
now free to lay Legolas on his bed and rest beside him as it was 
right, letting the Elf’s steady breath lull him to sleep like he’d 
dreamed.
After a too long time Legolas was finally laying again on 
Aragorn’s bedstead, but the Man would not join him; not yet. 
Legolas shivered softly at the loss of physical contact and silently 
held his arms out to Aragorn when the Man hovering above him 
pulled back some to admire him. The splay of hearth-fire gave 
Aragorn’s skin a bronze glow as he gazed down at the Elf below 
him, lithe body gleaming softly on the dark sheets, golden hair 
fanned across the pillows like rays of the Sun.
Letting himself go in the blissf