Title: The Departure of the King
Author: surreysmum
Rating: PG
Characters: Aragorn, Legolas, Arwen
Warnings: deathfic (Aragorn); some homoerotic feelings implied
A/N: my apologies to Viktor Frankle for turning his saying into an old Gondorian proverb.
What is to give light must endure burning.
Legolas stared into and beyond the flames in the fireplace, the old Gondorian proverb echoing in his mind. It was unwelcome. As an Elf, Legolas did not subscribe to the notion that only heat could yield light, that only suffering could yield truth. There are two Great Lights, he reminded himself, that which burns and that which does not, Anor and Ithil, sun and moon. His own people shone more in the fashion of the moon, cool and pale and enduring. But, he supposed, the proverb was true enough in its way for the hot, brilliant, fast-expiring race of Men. True enough for his dearest friend Aragorn: that same Aragorn who had decided to exercise the ancient gift of the Numenorean Kings this very night. Legolas bit his lip hard to suppress the moan of pain that had risen in his throat, and pretended he did not feel the flicker of anger that followed. The Valar had given Aragorn the gift of choosing his own day of death; it was not for Legolas to question it.
Night was falling fast. "Should I leave?" asked Legolas abruptly.
"No," replied Arwen immediately, from where she lay upon the bed, cuddled fully-clothed into her husband's shoulder.
"No, of course not," said Aragorn almost at the same time. "Come here." His voice was strong. His hand as he patted the bed did not quaver as a dying man's should. Legolas stared a few seconds longer into the fire to quell the rebellious expression from his features. Then, as always, he did what Aragorn commanded. He perched on the edge of the bed, on the opposite side from Arwen, and felt his friend's warm hand, now a little gnarled, rub comfortingly up and down his arm. "Do not be angry with me," beseeched the King.
When had it happened, in their century-long friendship, that Aragorn had learned to read him so well? Had it been thus, even as early as that wedding day, still vivid in Legolas' memory, when he had stood swallowing great lumps of gladness and grief whilst making his most polite congratulatory face? At least there had been some gladness that day, gladness that Aragorn was going to his happiness and his well-deserved dignity at last. Perhaps it had been during all those long, pleasant summer days, as King and Queen and royal toddlers had played together in the gardens, and Legolas had lingered and played as well, heart full of quiet comfort at the sight of the joy in his friend's eyes. Certainly Aragorn had known how to understand every flicker on Legolas' face by the time that the last grey ship was made some fifty years gone by, and Legolas, unable to make himself board it with the departing Ithilien colony, had returned to Minas Tirith. He remembered only too well how he had stood there in the Great Hall, unable to speak from the heaviness of his own shame and self-reproach. But the King had gently pushed Legolas' hand from where it shielded his face, and had pulled him into a tight embrace, whispering that nothing could give him greater gladness than Legolas' return, except Legolas' promise to stay.
"Please, do not be angry," Aragorn repeated, and Legolas looked down at the drawn face, the words of a consoling lie forming and then failing on his lips. He would not yield to that shallowness now, not after all these years.
Arwen said, "Of course he is angry, Estel, as am I." Legolas stared. He had thought her entirely resigned. "But we both love you far too much to reproach you now - is that not right, Legolas?" Legolas nodded dumbly.
Aragorn struggled to his elbows. "I have tried to explain this to you, my love," he said earnestly to Arwen. "It is not that I fear the miseries of age, but that I fear inflicting them upon those I love. Do you really think it would be better for me to sink into decrepitude, to live out decades of increasing dependence, failing in my mind and unable to move my limbs? What kind of a man would I be to wish that upon you, or upon my most faithful friends?" He smiled up at Legolas at this last, but Legolas could not return the smile. "It is better thus, truly it is."
"It is what you wish," Legolas replied heavily, "and that is what matters." He turned away and put his face in his hands.
"I do not wish to leave you, Legolas," said Aragorn softly. "I do not wish it at all. To leave my children and Arwen - it is a bitter pill, and it is fully as bitter to leave you, for you have been part of my soul for more than half my life."
"Do not exaggerate," replied Legolas harshly, fighting not to expose a deeper feeling. "It is to your Lady that you should say such things, not to me."
"I say them to you both. No, look at me, Legolas, for you must see that I speak nothing but truth. My dearest Arwen has been to me the night sky, lush and dark, and full of starry illumination to guide me. And you - you are my sunlight, my Golden Elf, warm and steady and ever full of life. Two different lights, two different kinds of beauty, two deep and wondrous loves. Look at me and do not deny this, do not sully it by trying to make it small."
Legolas had no words. He reached for both of Aragorn's hands and brought them reverently to his lips. One of those hands escaped his grasp and stroked the bright golden hair for a moment. Then Aragorn fell back tired upon his pillow and Legolas stood and turned his back for a moment, fearing his face revealed too much.
But Aragorn's hand relentlessly sought his, and gripped hard. "And I know also," he said softly but clearly, "how dearly the golden light you shed upon me is bought; I know how you burn, Legolas..." His voice faltered suddenly. "Can you forgive me?"
The warrior in Legolas despised weeping, but there were irrepressible tears in his eyes as his long torment was acknowledged at last. "Forgive you!" he exclaimed. "Nay, it is I who need forgiveness now, for the intrusion of my unconscionable needs into the bosom of your family. I have stayed too long, too close..."
But Arwen would not let that pass. "Should I not have a say in this?" she asked. "Your presence here has given to my Lord great comfort and pleasure, Legolas. And, though at this moment you reck it not, to me also. You have stayed neither too long nor too close." Her voice shook just a little for all her efforts, and Legolas heard clearly the unspoken words. Do not you desert me also!
"Sit," said Aragorn, and once more Legolas sat. "It is the one great regret I take with me to my death. Your pain."
"No," said Legolas urgently. "You must try, please, try not to torture yourself with such an unworthy regret. You have done no wrong."
The King sighed. "We have behaved as we have because we are who we are," he said sadly. "You, because you are the noblest Elf who ever lived. Arwen, because she loves me beyond reason, and far beyond my deserving. And I, most fortunate of Men, because I was too weak to tear away one half of my heart for the sake of the other, even though I knew that the state of things gave Arwen disquiet and you pain."
Arwen kissed his cheek quickly. "The disquiet is long gone; you know that, my love," she said.
He kissed her back. "I have come to believe that, my dearest." He looked back up to Legolas' averted face. "But all those years I have denied you..."
"You must not regret it. I forbid it," replied Legolas, and Aragorn smiled at the unaccustomed tone of command.
"Very well, I will try, if you can assure me of one thing. Did the joy outweigh the pain?"
"A million times over," Legolas told him immediately. "How could you not know that?"
"Well, you do try very hard to conceal your feelings from me." And now Aragorn was teasing, and the room was warm, and it could almost have been an ordinary evening, the three of them together, were it not for the awful reason they had brought themselves to the Hall of the Kings.
A shiver passed through Aragorn, and Arwen shifted to pull the coverlet higher over his body. "Will you lie down beside me," Aragorn asked Legolas, "and once more lend me your warmth and strength as I embark on this fearsome journey?"
Silently, Legolas complied. Aragorn's eyes closed and his chest calmed quickly almost to stillness. Legolas let out a strangled cry, but Arwen said to him, "No, not yet. He explained to me that he will sleep a little. He may even wake up once or twice more. And then, from his last sleep, he will drift away imperceptibly."
"You are so brave... how can I help you, Arwen? When... when this is done?"
But Arwen was looking off into the distance, and there was already a terrible bleakness in her eyes. "I doubt that anyone will be able to help me, Legolas," she said. After a long pause, she added, "It would ease my mind a little, though, if you would promise me that you will sail. You know that Gimli wishes it, and will even accompany you, if you want."
"I know I will not wish it, even though the sea-longing lives within me like a cancer," replied Legolas. "But no doubt that is what I will do."
They fell silent, and the room grew darker as the fire burned low. Legolas heard Aragorn stir, and deliberately closed his ears to the brief murmur of conversation between the Man and his wife, though his heart smote him at the sound of Arwen's smothered sob. Then he felt Aragorn turn his head.
"Do you love me, Legolas?" whispered Aragorn.
"Aye, with all my heart," whispered Legolas.
"And I love you also." Aragorn kissed Legolas chastely but long upon the mouth, and in the embrace of those chill lips Legolas felt the truth of the avowal and took dark comfort from it.
Then Aragorn fell asleep again with a little sigh. Legolas lay wide awake in the darkness, and knew that Arwen did the same, watching the brief red glints of the embers and listening to Aragorn's faint breath. By and by, the last spark fled the fire and the Great Light of Gondor was extinguished forever, leaving the world a cold and comfortless place.
Then a great beauty was revealed in him, so that all who after came there looked on him in wonder; for they saw that the grace of his youth, and the valour of his manhood, and the wisdom and majesty of his age were blended together. [Appendices, The Return of the King]
finis