Stay

A Lord of The Rings Fanfiction

All along it was a fever

A cold sweat hot-headed believer

I threw my hands in the air, said, 'Show me something,"

He said, "If you dare, come a little closer."

Watching. That was all he could do. That was all he could realistically hope for. Aragorn watched the golden haired elf always. Watched him test the string on his beloved bow, make new arrows, press a strong yet soft hand against the trunk of a tree and listen to nature speak, trail the fingertips, calloused from centuries of archery, along the shaft of an arrow he had made himself. Aragorn was an expert in the blond elf; he knew his every mood, actions, thought and feeling. He was a historian of the blond elf, keeping a mental book of everything Legolas. Sometimes he wondered if their friendship was merely a dream. Surely, surely, he did not deserve to be in the presence of such an ethereal creature? Perhaps he was delirious, sick with fever. He woke at night, his dark hair slick with sweat, gasping for breath he could not find, scrambling from his bed trying to find something, anything the Woodland Prince had given him, had touched or even looked at, to remind himself it was not a dream – he existed. Aragorn knew how Legolas perceived him: the perfect friend. Never did he think words that should hold such honour could be daggers in his heart. He hid the pain in his grey eyes well, so that the sparkling blue pools would not see, could not ask and therefore never know. But sometimes, sometimes, for just a split second, he thought he saw Legolas staring at him the same way. Desperation and want etched across the flawless plains of his face. Aragorn's eyes beg him to say something, anything, his soul and heart scream it in perfect unison, but he does not. It is as though he is afraid, daring him to move first.

Round and around and around and around we go

Oh now, tell me now, tell me now, tell me now you know

But he cannot. Aragorn, heir of Isildur, heir to the throne of Gondor, was afraid. Terrified. And so it continued. This game that neither was truly sure the other was playing, but to afraid of the repercussions to find out. If either knew what they felt, they were not willing to act on it either. And so it became stolen glances in the light of a fire, a catalogue of memories in Aragorn's mind, of the sound of Legolas singing, his face in firelight, the look in his eyes when he spoke of the stars. The pain in his heart when Legolas referred to him as 'mellon nin'.

Not really sure how to feel about it

Something in the way you move

Makes me feel like I can't live without you

It takes me all the way

I want you to stay

Aragorn did not know if what he felt was correct, or what the Valar had intended. He thought of Arwen's beauty. Why could he not love her as she loved him? The way Legolas moved, talked, breathed, it was a drug to him and he was so deeply addicted he could not fight it. He could not be without Legolas' presence, even if he only considered him a friend. The gaping hole in his chest every time Legolas left proved that.

It's not much of a life you're living

It's not just something you take – it's given

Aragorn was frozen. Frozen in time waiting for Legolas to see him as he saw him. To notice all the details about him, to show him something. Any form of acceptance of his feelings. To give him his love, for he could not snatch it from him.

Round and around and around and around we go

Oh now, tell me now, tell me now, tell me now you know

A cycle. Pain and anger and longing. Such desperate longing. Just for a glance. A favourable look. The love he bore for Legolas ate at him. He watched him take on scores of orcs and spiders that tried to invade Mirkwood and treated the wounds after. He listened to every complaint and funny story. And he waited.

Not really sure how to feel about it

Something in the way you move

Makes me feel like I can't live without you

It takes me all the way

I want you to stay

Aragorn was losing resolve. The years were passing. He was to be King of Gondor soon. Legolas was his heart's desire, but Arwen loved him. Surely he could grow to love her? She was beautiful and kind, with a good heart and noble spirit, everything he could want. She was not Legolas, no, but she loved him. He did not know how much more waiting he could take.

Ooh, ooh, ooh, the reason I hold on

Ooh, ooh, ooh, 'cause I need this hole gone

Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving

'Cause when you never see the light it's hard to know which one of us is caving

She was beautiful in her green gown. Her dark hair tumbled around her, her skin shone and her deep blue eyes sparkled with happiness. He was marrying her. The pain was too much. Arwen loved him. He could love her. He could not help but look to Legolas, a habit he supposed, and saw the pain on his face. Aragorn felt anger. He had waited for so many years for him to notice, to save him from this pain he felt. Well, he could not do it anymore. He had not seen and Aragorn had caved.

Not really sure how to feel about it

Something in the way you move

Makes me feel like I can't live without

It takes me all the way

I want you to stay, stay

I want you to stay, oh.

It is many years later when the vision from a dream comes to him again. Takes an aged hand in his own one, still young and calloused from archery. His golden hair shines, whereas Aragorn's hair is now grey. The flawless face is still as remembered – without the lines and age that Aragorn's has accumulated. He lay on his death bed now, his breaths swallow and numbered. Tears fill his still youthful grey eyes when Legolas looks at him with those beautiful blue eyes and presses a soft kiss to his lips, placing his forehead against Aragorn's own, and, as he counts the Man's final breaths, whispers,

"I want you to stay."

A/N: Ok, so this is my first really angst piece, also it's my first LOTR fanfiction attempt, so feedback is appreciated! Just came to me whilst listening to the song and I had to do it, so here it is!

Disclaimer: If I owned this, Aragorn/Legolas would be cannon. All rights to the great Tolkien.

Elvish Translations:

Mellon nin = my friend