Disclaimer: Do I look like J.R.R Tolkien? (I'm really hoping to get a 'No'
with this one.)
Summary: Legolas' musings on Aragorn. This is not slash, but it's also not that nice to Aragorn. Views him as sort of a whipping post for Middle Earth. And I have just given you the entire plot. All Legolas POV.
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Duty.
It eats at you. I see it in your eyes, whenever we meet. I can feel it in the air around you, bitter and stifling. You bear it unconsciously, for it is all that you have ever known. Even when you were but a boy, innocent of the burden yet to come, it cloaked you. Haunted the grey depths of your mortal soul, keeping your youthful features solemn and still. I saw it then, though it was not so plain as it is now. All my people see it in you, and shy away. What do we, the immortal race, know of your cares? We, who have eternity to tread our own path, do not understand this destiny that rests heavy against your brow. You may not yet rule, but you already bear the true crown. It has marked you from the beginning, preyed relentlessly on you all of these years.
Duty.
I was not there when you were told of your true birthright. I was far away, but even as distant as I was, I could sense it. Your unknown burden finally bore a name. The darkness preying on your mind – this hidden weakness you so feared in yourself – was given shape. They thought the news would change you, would perhaps break you, who they considered to understand only the gaiety of the elves. They did not see what I saw: that somewhere in your mortal spirit, you had already felt the weight of an unasked for crown. Duty had not spared you your youth. Indeed, it has not spared you at all.
You sacrifice yourself for us.
Do you think that I do not see it? Do you truly think, son of Man, that I am as blind as all those around you? You claimed to choose exile, and they thought you weak. They thought one small weight – one legacy of destruction – was too great a burden for an immature mortal to bear, and so you ran away. I knew better. I knew that your soul had long been crushed beneath the diadem of fate, so much so that you believed there was nothing else. Whatever your own desires for solitude – for freedom – might have been played no part in your decision. You heed nothing but duty, and its chain around your neck. Even in love, you are ruled by duty. Because anyone who loves you so fully deserves your allegiance. Because your race deserves such a queen. But she does not deserve you, hope of the elves. There is no one in Middle Earth who deserves the love of the man who takes onto his shoulders the pain – the responsibility – of us all.
We called you 'hope', that you would be filled with the sweet light of it in your soul and the taste of it in your mouth. We did not see our true reasons, until your grey eyes taught us our mistake. You have no hope, heir of the fallen, but only the weight of all our hopes above you. Why do you bear them so tenderly? How is it, that with only your mortal shoulders to carry them, our hopes have not toppled to the ground? Does your step never falter, with the impossible burden that you bear?
I would bear it for you, but for the trembling of my soul that tells me I have not the strength. I cannot take your burden, man of the west, but I will stand beside you. Duty has made no claims on me, and I may freely follow you to the ends of the earth. To Mordor and death, since that is where you choose to go. And you turn to look at me, as though you understand and are grateful, but I can see the exhaustion of your soul. Do not refuse my loyalty, king among men, for I ask nothing in return. Even beneath the cross of obligation you bear, you owe me naught. 'Tis I who am indebted to you, for the cares that crease your tired face would be my own, if you did not stand between me and fate. In truth, you intercede for us all.
You are speaking to him again, the only other mortal man on this quest we have begun. The others suspect it is to gain a sense of familiarity, of closeness that only one of your own race can provide. I do not contradict them aloud, but have only to glimpse your face to know the truth. It is duty, again. I in a moment of foolhardy devotion revealed – flaunted – your true name in front of the one who would have born your throne. I demanded his allegiance, and he has given it to you. It is all my doing, this time. He will follow you now, though you may not have wished it. He will follow you as I do, faithful to the solitary man – to the one whose birthright has crowned him king. Now you speak with him, you love him, as you do with all the others. They do not see what I do. The pain is hidden deep in your soul, anchor of our people, but it is there. It is duty, always duty, driving you ever onward. Friendship – love – is no less an obligation to you than is the protection of their lives. I alone you do not approach, do not smile with while your eyes betray your agony. Is it because you see that I long for nothing but to stand at your side? I pray that it is. I pray that you always take the watch after mine because you would have no one else find you sleeping, no one else see you off your guard. But you needn't worry, mortal king, for even at night your face is closed to those who would read you. You sleep, yes, but you do not rest. There is no peace for the one who saves us all.
You are blaming yourself for this. I can feel the guilt radiating from you, the strain of it almost equal to the mantle of responsibility you have dawned. Responsibility you did not want, for a fellowship that does not deserve your service. Will fate never let you free? You are everywhere now, harsh and commanding, and the others resent this. They see you unyielding where once you would have shown mercy, and consider it a betrayal. They cannot hear the silence of evil that follows us, the terrifying darkness that signifies the end of all life. Once again, son of man, you are all that stands between us and death. Do you never break? Do you never stumble over a decision, nor dwell for a moment on your own fears? I am eternal, and yet I feel mortal beside you whose strength is unfailing. Your grey eyes, so much duller than my own, see the invisible enemy gaining fast upon us, and lead us on. And it only wears more on your soul that we still follow. You would not have us follow you into the hell of the dark lord, into the fires of the earth. And do you not see, grey king, that that is why we do? It is your reluctance to see us harmed that keeps us always by your side. But I remain a step beside, a step behind. It is where I belong, for you are king. I would not demand the allegiance of others if you did not already have my own.
I arrive only just in time to watch him die, the enemy already far beyond our reach, beyond our vengeance for his murder. We feared his weakness, and he has proven it today to us all. He failed the test, yet you treat him as though he is worthy of a warrior's death, worthy of the praise your words impart. The devotion in your eyes is what he last sees, and I find myself grateful that he has never noticed the obligation that lies behind it. But I know better than to disregard your loyalty as the mere product of responsibility. I understand that, weighted by a fate heavier than death, your trust is still your own. It is a beautiful thing, and I cherish the piece that you have bestowed upon me. You honor a man who does not deserve it, and in return duty pushes the thorn deeper within your side.
I hear his last words well, heir of the white city, and know that he intends them as a blessing, as a fealty. And I cry out silently, because I alone recognize what they do to you. They are nothing but a reminder of yet another burden besides the one you now bear, the weight of a crown pressing on your chest. He has willed to you a legacy you did not want, but you will accept it as though you have desired it all along. I know you well, son of the earth, and your protests lie only in the grey of your eyes. My grievances, which have had millennia to be quelled, lie ever ready on the tip of my tongue. I do not understand you, though you are but a mortal man. I cannot see what your path is, though I feel the duty that keeps you from straying. I cannot understand your choices to mourn the one who broke us and yet stay from following the one we swore with our lives to protect. I see not what it is that saves you, Aragorn, but as long as you lead I will follow. As long as your steps – weighted down by the hopes of all Middle Earth – do not falter, I will stand beside you. But I will remain a step beside, a step behind, for you are my king. And my allegiance, my life, is yours.
Summary: Legolas' musings on Aragorn. This is not slash, but it's also not that nice to Aragorn. Views him as sort of a whipping post for Middle Earth. And I have just given you the entire plot. All Legolas POV.
__________________________________________________________________
Duty.
It eats at you. I see it in your eyes, whenever we meet. I can feel it in the air around you, bitter and stifling. You bear it unconsciously, for it is all that you have ever known. Even when you were but a boy, innocent of the burden yet to come, it cloaked you. Haunted the grey depths of your mortal soul, keeping your youthful features solemn and still. I saw it then, though it was not so plain as it is now. All my people see it in you, and shy away. What do we, the immortal race, know of your cares? We, who have eternity to tread our own path, do not understand this destiny that rests heavy against your brow. You may not yet rule, but you already bear the true crown. It has marked you from the beginning, preyed relentlessly on you all of these years.
Duty.
I was not there when you were told of your true birthright. I was far away, but even as distant as I was, I could sense it. Your unknown burden finally bore a name. The darkness preying on your mind – this hidden weakness you so feared in yourself – was given shape. They thought the news would change you, would perhaps break you, who they considered to understand only the gaiety of the elves. They did not see what I saw: that somewhere in your mortal spirit, you had already felt the weight of an unasked for crown. Duty had not spared you your youth. Indeed, it has not spared you at all.
You sacrifice yourself for us.
Do you think that I do not see it? Do you truly think, son of Man, that I am as blind as all those around you? You claimed to choose exile, and they thought you weak. They thought one small weight – one legacy of destruction – was too great a burden for an immature mortal to bear, and so you ran away. I knew better. I knew that your soul had long been crushed beneath the diadem of fate, so much so that you believed there was nothing else. Whatever your own desires for solitude – for freedom – might have been played no part in your decision. You heed nothing but duty, and its chain around your neck. Even in love, you are ruled by duty. Because anyone who loves you so fully deserves your allegiance. Because your race deserves such a queen. But she does not deserve you, hope of the elves. There is no one in Middle Earth who deserves the love of the man who takes onto his shoulders the pain – the responsibility – of us all.
We called you 'hope', that you would be filled with the sweet light of it in your soul and the taste of it in your mouth. We did not see our true reasons, until your grey eyes taught us our mistake. You have no hope, heir of the fallen, but only the weight of all our hopes above you. Why do you bear them so tenderly? How is it, that with only your mortal shoulders to carry them, our hopes have not toppled to the ground? Does your step never falter, with the impossible burden that you bear?
I would bear it for you, but for the trembling of my soul that tells me I have not the strength. I cannot take your burden, man of the west, but I will stand beside you. Duty has made no claims on me, and I may freely follow you to the ends of the earth. To Mordor and death, since that is where you choose to go. And you turn to look at me, as though you understand and are grateful, but I can see the exhaustion of your soul. Do not refuse my loyalty, king among men, for I ask nothing in return. Even beneath the cross of obligation you bear, you owe me naught. 'Tis I who am indebted to you, for the cares that crease your tired face would be my own, if you did not stand between me and fate. In truth, you intercede for us all.
You are speaking to him again, the only other mortal man on this quest we have begun. The others suspect it is to gain a sense of familiarity, of closeness that only one of your own race can provide. I do not contradict them aloud, but have only to glimpse your face to know the truth. It is duty, again. I in a moment of foolhardy devotion revealed – flaunted – your true name in front of the one who would have born your throne. I demanded his allegiance, and he has given it to you. It is all my doing, this time. He will follow you now, though you may not have wished it. He will follow you as I do, faithful to the solitary man – to the one whose birthright has crowned him king. Now you speak with him, you love him, as you do with all the others. They do not see what I do. The pain is hidden deep in your soul, anchor of our people, but it is there. It is duty, always duty, driving you ever onward. Friendship – love – is no less an obligation to you than is the protection of their lives. I alone you do not approach, do not smile with while your eyes betray your agony. Is it because you see that I long for nothing but to stand at your side? I pray that it is. I pray that you always take the watch after mine because you would have no one else find you sleeping, no one else see you off your guard. But you needn't worry, mortal king, for even at night your face is closed to those who would read you. You sleep, yes, but you do not rest. There is no peace for the one who saves us all.
You are blaming yourself for this. I can feel the guilt radiating from you, the strain of it almost equal to the mantle of responsibility you have dawned. Responsibility you did not want, for a fellowship that does not deserve your service. Will fate never let you free? You are everywhere now, harsh and commanding, and the others resent this. They see you unyielding where once you would have shown mercy, and consider it a betrayal. They cannot hear the silence of evil that follows us, the terrifying darkness that signifies the end of all life. Once again, son of man, you are all that stands between us and death. Do you never break? Do you never stumble over a decision, nor dwell for a moment on your own fears? I am eternal, and yet I feel mortal beside you whose strength is unfailing. Your grey eyes, so much duller than my own, see the invisible enemy gaining fast upon us, and lead us on. And it only wears more on your soul that we still follow. You would not have us follow you into the hell of the dark lord, into the fires of the earth. And do you not see, grey king, that that is why we do? It is your reluctance to see us harmed that keeps us always by your side. But I remain a step beside, a step behind. It is where I belong, for you are king. I would not demand the allegiance of others if you did not already have my own.
I arrive only just in time to watch him die, the enemy already far beyond our reach, beyond our vengeance for his murder. We feared his weakness, and he has proven it today to us all. He failed the test, yet you treat him as though he is worthy of a warrior's death, worthy of the praise your words impart. The devotion in your eyes is what he last sees, and I find myself grateful that he has never noticed the obligation that lies behind it. But I know better than to disregard your loyalty as the mere product of responsibility. I understand that, weighted by a fate heavier than death, your trust is still your own. It is a beautiful thing, and I cherish the piece that you have bestowed upon me. You honor a man who does not deserve it, and in return duty pushes the thorn deeper within your side.
I hear his last words well, heir of the white city, and know that he intends them as a blessing, as a fealty. And I cry out silently, because I alone recognize what they do to you. They are nothing but a reminder of yet another burden besides the one you now bear, the weight of a crown pressing on your chest. He has willed to you a legacy you did not want, but you will accept it as though you have desired it all along. I know you well, son of the earth, and your protests lie only in the grey of your eyes. My grievances, which have had millennia to be quelled, lie ever ready on the tip of my tongue. I do not understand you, though you are but a mortal man. I cannot see what your path is, though I feel the duty that keeps you from straying. I cannot understand your choices to mourn the one who broke us and yet stay from following the one we swore with our lives to protect. I see not what it is that saves you, Aragorn, but as long as you lead I will follow. As long as your steps – weighted down by the hopes of all Middle Earth – do not falter, I will stand beside you. But I will remain a step beside, a step behind, for you are my king. And my allegiance, my life, is yours.