Set during the fellowship of the ring.
Not my first attempt at a fanfic, but i've never published one publicly before, so please be nice. I do want honest opinions though. This is the first chapter. If you want more, i'll write more. I personally really enjoy writing about Aragorn/Legolas. I don't believe it was very OOC, honestly, and I did my best to make it quite realistic.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the rings, the movies or the books. I do not own JRR Tolkien's lovely characters. In short, I don't own anything!
If I did own them, then Legolas and Aragorn would have admitted their strong feelings towards one another long ago!
Legolas's lavender pale face emerged from the decrepit looking cluster of trees. He was without his bow, and did not have his quiver on his back. His eyes were determined – they were unwavering and full of an unknown emotion. They unnerved Aragorn.
The ranger sat helplessly next to a large pool of water. He felt vulnerable – a feeling that was practically alien to the Dunedain. He felt that Legolas's eyes were on him, burning him, searing into him… waring him down thin. It was as if his cotton tunic was no longer existent, his leggings felt as though they did not create a strong enough barrier between Legolas's piercing green eyes and his feverish skin. His breath quickened, and he attempted to pay attention to the scent of Fangorn forest. Earthen, mossy… fragrant? No. He could not deny that a certain scent was not of the forest. Yet it felt as though it the two scents went hand-in-hand; the ever-familiar odor of Legolas. It was so natural, yet so in-human. It overwhelmed him. Cedar, pine, and several floral notes… it was excruciatingly close, and his heart was set aflutter.
The gentle, almost angelic touch of his dearest friends hand on his shoulder made Aragorn petrify for a moment. It sent a wave of energy through his body – one that he was unable to control.
"Aragorn…" The elf whimpered, a note of desperation in his melodic voice. Legolas began to crouch behind him – his body heat was inevitable. It was felt immediately. The distance between their bodies now was thick; it was like molasses - buzzing with energy and heat. It ached to be closed. No, Aragorn wanted it to be closed. He wanted to…
Why must this happen? Why now, why right now? Aragorn clenched his jaw, attempting to control the wave of arousal that was coursing through him. He was frightened. He was terribly frightened. He did not fear death. He did not fear sickness, nor pain, nor toil. Perhaps it was something altogether different that he feared now.
Legolas slid around Aragorn so that man and elf were facing one another. The ranger felt a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. His stomach leapt as Legolas began to lace his fingers through Aragorn's dark, unkempt hair.
"Mellon… Mela…" Legolas trailed off. His eyes shone brighter than the heavens that now watched them from above. His hair was bright, flaxen. It was like a golden crown upon his head, kissed by the soft moonlight.
Love? But merely a brotherly love… Aragorn's thoughts were racing to compensate for the severe lacking in explanation regarding his feelings. They were muddled, strange… unclear.
Legolas slid his other hand gently under Aragorn's Jawbone, and slowly, inch by inch, brought his face only centimeters away from Aragorn's. Only one more centimeter and their lips would be touching… he would, at long last, know the feeling of the elf's velvety tongue against his own…
"Anngggggh!" Aragorn sat up from his bedroll, his face and his body drenched in a think layer of sweat.
Gimli jumped from his seated position, widening his usually squinted eyes. He peered from underneath his helmet. "Are yeh' fine, lad?"
"T'was simply a… a dream. That is all." Aragorn inhaled slowly. His body felt feverish, sensitive. Similar to the feeling of the intimate moments he shared with his Undomiel. If he did not know better, he might have thought it was arousal. But it could not be. It would not be.
"Its nearly dawn, Aragorn. Perhaps we might leave this camp and move on?" Gimli grunted, his voice lowered.
"Indeed, you are right my friend. We are nearing the borders of the Riddermark, and the halls of Théoden King will soon greet us." Aragorn stood, and wiped his face and neck clean of the cold sweat.
He compounded his bedroll, stowed his dagger and sword in his saddle bad and began to put on his leather overcoat. Gimli began to shuffle about and get his own belongings back into place.
The morning air was cool and damp. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling grounded. It was only a dream, Aragorn. Naught but a simple dream.
The day held a promising, gentle breeze. Soon they would reach the Riddermark, and what they were to expect there, Aragorn felt he did not know. Middle earth had grown much darker, and was now full of uncertainty for travelers. The land of Rohan was no different. As flaxen and warm as the horsemasters and their horses were, it was unavoidable that the darkness would soon touch upon them as well.
Aragorn became aware of a soft padding of feet behind him. He grimaced for a moment, uncertain of how he would react to his dear friend.
"Aragorn. Was your sleep peaceful?" The velvety voice of Legolas was like music to Aragorn's ears – it was like a sudden rainfall during a rainless year. He thirsted for more of it. No, no, no.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to regain control and composure.
"It was. And yours, my friend?"
"Well enough."
Aragorn turned slowly to face the elf, who was far too close for his comfort. His eyes were clear, and his hair was smooth and knot-less as it usually was.
"We are ready to move on, now, I think." Legolas cast his gaze downwards, avoiding Aragorn's eyes.
The ranger nodded. Aragorn would welcome the new terrain they had to cross, and hoped dearly that it would take his mind off of other matters and perhaps help him banish the thought altogether.
