Note: Hello to everyone! This is my first Lord of the Rings fic! All
standard disclaimers and witty comments apply. ^^; At any rate, I began
this fic quite some time ago. I will update whenever I have time, but it
won't be very often, unfortunately. However, more comments and reviews will
be rewarded with swifter updates! *grins* A warning, this most definitely
contains slash, yaoi, shounen ai, homosexuality, gay stuff, or whatever
other terms you prefer to use for this delightful genre of writing. You
have been warned/enticed! ^_~
The sun shone brightly on the forest of Mirkwood, the home of the fair- haired Elves, the archers. Towering trees surrounded the Elf-King's castle for miles around. It was at the base of one of these trees that a young human boy stood, peering up into the lower branches high above his head. About fourteen, his head was covered in thick, dark hair with a hint of curl, and his sharp, brown eyes were bright and lively.
He cupped his hands around his lips and called upwards in the silvery language of the Elves, "Legolas! Legolas, I see your boot dangling there! You cannot hide from me, my friend. Come down from this tree!" He stood with his hands on his hips can gazed into the canopy above. In reply, a large nut from the tree whizzed by him and struck the ground a foot away. He grinned, "Come on, then! You're having fun with me, aren't you? You never miss a target, Legolas. Come down, I say!" Laughter cam from far above and the leaves rustled as a figure lightly jumped from branch to branch and, finally, to the forest floor.
The Elf's skin was smooth, like ivory, and his pale flaxen hair hung to his back. He laughed again, and blue-gray eyes sparkled. "Impatience does not become you, Little One," Legolas murmured, amused.
The human scowled. "I'm not little! I'm almost as tall as you are! Just because you're more than two thousand years old doesn't mean you have to rub it in."
The Elf smiled. "Well, then, Large One..."
"-Hey!"
"...what did you wish me to come down for?" He pushed a lock of hair out of the other's face.
The boy smiled proudly. "I wanted you to see how I've practiced. You will?"
The other nodded, and his young companion fetched a bow and quiver from among the tree's roots. "Point my bow, my friend. What should be my target?" He grinned, "Perhaps the king's apple tree?"
"Nay! My father would not like that. I shall keep you from trouble and point you there, to that cluster of leaves." Legolas pointed into the distance, smiling.
The boy's chin set with determination. He could do it, but it would be difficult. Resolutely, he strung his bow and nocked his arrow, pulling back.
"Left foot..." the watchful Elf murmured, and he adjusted his stance slightly. Aiming carefully, he let loose his arrow. A few moments later, a whoosh of leaves told him that he had made his mark. With a grin he turned to the other, only to find himself being drawn into strong arms. Gently he let go of the bow and allowed himself to be held, slipping his own arms around his lover's waist.
"Perfect shot, my Little One. You have learned well."
"Because of you, Legolas. You taught me." The Elf kissed his neck gently and the younger one shivered. Feather-light lips brushed against the nape of his neck, his jaw, his chin, his lips. He melted into the kiss and clenched the front of Legolas' shirt. "Mm. I like this... better... every time!" Legolas' tongue silenced him, teasing the inside of his mouth.
Finally the two broke away for air. Legolas gazed at him and held his eyes with a seriousness that was usually not there. "I love thee. I am thine, keeper of my heart. I would stay with thee always, Estel, son of man, if thou wouldst permit it." The other's eyes widened, recognizing the Old Tongue and its significance. It took him no time to choose his response. Softly, he returned, "I love thee. I shall keep thy heart. I would have thee with me always, Legolas, Elfin prince, if thou wish it." He entwined their fingers shyly, then, and felt the Truth Magic of their statements flow through him. The Elf let out a small breath and his eyes shone. "For your love, then, I will play you a song. Listen, my Little One." Putting a flute of carved ivory to his lips, the prince began to play a slow melody filled with love and compassion... a promise of forever.
One year later...
Legolas stormed into his father's audience chamber. He dropped a swift, curt bow and angrily spoke, "I have just been informed that he has at last woken up and I am not to be allowed in!" His eyes narrowed. "Father, he's been unconscious for a fortnight! Why did you not tell me that he regained consciousness yesterday?"
Not meeting his son' s eyes, King Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, but his fuming son continued.
"We fought back to back in that battle! He took the poison arrow for me! I defended him and carried him to safety. I held him as he blacked out!"
The king shook his head sadly as the crown prince continued.
"You say I may not see him? I bid you, speak, Father, and explain!" He glared. He knew that it was forbidden to speak to one's Lord in such a manner, but thoughts of his dark-haired human lover replaced his care for court etiquette. The king remained silent. Legolas' fists clenched until, suddenly, a tear slipped down Thranduil's cheek. His father was weeping. The Elf knelt at his father's feet. "Father... I meant not to upset you. Forgive me, I beg of you, for my sharp tongue. But I pray you, tell me why I am to be refused the right to see him!"
The King of Mirkwood gazed sorrowfully down at his Legolas and placed a gentle hand on his son's head. "My son, I do not weep because of you but for you. I am sorry."
The prince paled. "He is not... he has not..."
"Nay, good Legolas, he lives yet, and healthy as you or I in body. But his mind, my son, has suffered greatly - he remembers nothing!"
Legolas leapt up in horror. "No. No! He cannot have!" Heart pounding, he ran down the length of the hall and out the ornately carved doors at the end. He dashed through the palace corridors and to a halt in front of the door to the room where his lover had lain. "Move aside," he hissed, and the guards dared not stop him. His hand shaking, he turned the handle and stepped into the room.
Sunlight streamed in from the balcony, casting a natural light on the room. The richly wrought bed was neatly made and empty. The boy sat at a large white desk by the window and turned swiftly as he heard the door open. When he saw who it was, the human relaxed and smiled. "Hello!"
He must know me, Legolas thought desperately as he fought to keep his face calm and his voice steady. "Hello, Little One."
The other frowned. "I'm not so little as all that. I'm..." he paused. "Sixteen next month, I believe they told me. And you must be Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil, crown prince of Mirkwood. An honor, your highness." He bowed low.
The warm breeze entering through the open window did not seem to touch Legolas, whose heart had clenched as though a hand of ice had penetrated his chest. Never before had Estel spoken to him with such formality. It was true, then.
"Aye. And you are...?" he asked politely, his heart breaking inside.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Ilsildur." His eyes filled with a pride that Legolas had never seen before, his shoulders thrown back with a self-importance that didn't fit his young body. A single tear trickled down Legolas' face as he turned away; he watched it explode on the tiles below. "Ah. Well, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Ilsildur, farewell. I must depart." His eyes closed briefly in pain. "I am glad to have made your acquaintance." With a stiff nod, Legolas exited the room, ignoring the respectful bows of the guards outside. Minutes later, hoofbeats could be heard as Legolas fled from his sorrows, tears now streaming freely down his face. He did not see Aragorn again for many, many years.
The sun shone brightly on the forest of Mirkwood, the home of the fair- haired Elves, the archers. Towering trees surrounded the Elf-King's castle for miles around. It was at the base of one of these trees that a young human boy stood, peering up into the lower branches high above his head. About fourteen, his head was covered in thick, dark hair with a hint of curl, and his sharp, brown eyes were bright and lively.
He cupped his hands around his lips and called upwards in the silvery language of the Elves, "Legolas! Legolas, I see your boot dangling there! You cannot hide from me, my friend. Come down from this tree!" He stood with his hands on his hips can gazed into the canopy above. In reply, a large nut from the tree whizzed by him and struck the ground a foot away. He grinned, "Come on, then! You're having fun with me, aren't you? You never miss a target, Legolas. Come down, I say!" Laughter cam from far above and the leaves rustled as a figure lightly jumped from branch to branch and, finally, to the forest floor.
The Elf's skin was smooth, like ivory, and his pale flaxen hair hung to his back. He laughed again, and blue-gray eyes sparkled. "Impatience does not become you, Little One," Legolas murmured, amused.
The human scowled. "I'm not little! I'm almost as tall as you are! Just because you're more than two thousand years old doesn't mean you have to rub it in."
The Elf smiled. "Well, then, Large One..."
"-Hey!"
"...what did you wish me to come down for?" He pushed a lock of hair out of the other's face.
The boy smiled proudly. "I wanted you to see how I've practiced. You will?"
The other nodded, and his young companion fetched a bow and quiver from among the tree's roots. "Point my bow, my friend. What should be my target?" He grinned, "Perhaps the king's apple tree?"
"Nay! My father would not like that. I shall keep you from trouble and point you there, to that cluster of leaves." Legolas pointed into the distance, smiling.
The boy's chin set with determination. He could do it, but it would be difficult. Resolutely, he strung his bow and nocked his arrow, pulling back.
"Left foot..." the watchful Elf murmured, and he adjusted his stance slightly. Aiming carefully, he let loose his arrow. A few moments later, a whoosh of leaves told him that he had made his mark. With a grin he turned to the other, only to find himself being drawn into strong arms. Gently he let go of the bow and allowed himself to be held, slipping his own arms around his lover's waist.
"Perfect shot, my Little One. You have learned well."
"Because of you, Legolas. You taught me." The Elf kissed his neck gently and the younger one shivered. Feather-light lips brushed against the nape of his neck, his jaw, his chin, his lips. He melted into the kiss and clenched the front of Legolas' shirt. "Mm. I like this... better... every time!" Legolas' tongue silenced him, teasing the inside of his mouth.
Finally the two broke away for air. Legolas gazed at him and held his eyes with a seriousness that was usually not there. "I love thee. I am thine, keeper of my heart. I would stay with thee always, Estel, son of man, if thou wouldst permit it." The other's eyes widened, recognizing the Old Tongue and its significance. It took him no time to choose his response. Softly, he returned, "I love thee. I shall keep thy heart. I would have thee with me always, Legolas, Elfin prince, if thou wish it." He entwined their fingers shyly, then, and felt the Truth Magic of their statements flow through him. The Elf let out a small breath and his eyes shone. "For your love, then, I will play you a song. Listen, my Little One." Putting a flute of carved ivory to his lips, the prince began to play a slow melody filled with love and compassion... a promise of forever.
One year later...
Legolas stormed into his father's audience chamber. He dropped a swift, curt bow and angrily spoke, "I have just been informed that he has at last woken up and I am not to be allowed in!" His eyes narrowed. "Father, he's been unconscious for a fortnight! Why did you not tell me that he regained consciousness yesterday?"
Not meeting his son' s eyes, King Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, but his fuming son continued.
"We fought back to back in that battle! He took the poison arrow for me! I defended him and carried him to safety. I held him as he blacked out!"
The king shook his head sadly as the crown prince continued.
"You say I may not see him? I bid you, speak, Father, and explain!" He glared. He knew that it was forbidden to speak to one's Lord in such a manner, but thoughts of his dark-haired human lover replaced his care for court etiquette. The king remained silent. Legolas' fists clenched until, suddenly, a tear slipped down Thranduil's cheek. His father was weeping. The Elf knelt at his father's feet. "Father... I meant not to upset you. Forgive me, I beg of you, for my sharp tongue. But I pray you, tell me why I am to be refused the right to see him!"
The King of Mirkwood gazed sorrowfully down at his Legolas and placed a gentle hand on his son's head. "My son, I do not weep because of you but for you. I am sorry."
The prince paled. "He is not... he has not..."
"Nay, good Legolas, he lives yet, and healthy as you or I in body. But his mind, my son, has suffered greatly - he remembers nothing!"
Legolas leapt up in horror. "No. No! He cannot have!" Heart pounding, he ran down the length of the hall and out the ornately carved doors at the end. He dashed through the palace corridors and to a halt in front of the door to the room where his lover had lain. "Move aside," he hissed, and the guards dared not stop him. His hand shaking, he turned the handle and stepped into the room.
Sunlight streamed in from the balcony, casting a natural light on the room. The richly wrought bed was neatly made and empty. The boy sat at a large white desk by the window and turned swiftly as he heard the door open. When he saw who it was, the human relaxed and smiled. "Hello!"
He must know me, Legolas thought desperately as he fought to keep his face calm and his voice steady. "Hello, Little One."
The other frowned. "I'm not so little as all that. I'm..." he paused. "Sixteen next month, I believe they told me. And you must be Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil, crown prince of Mirkwood. An honor, your highness." He bowed low.
The warm breeze entering through the open window did not seem to touch Legolas, whose heart had clenched as though a hand of ice had penetrated his chest. Never before had Estel spoken to him with such formality. It was true, then.
"Aye. And you are...?" he asked politely, his heart breaking inside.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Ilsildur." His eyes filled with a pride that Legolas had never seen before, his shoulders thrown back with a self-importance that didn't fit his young body. A single tear trickled down Legolas' face as he turned away; he watched it explode on the tiles below. "Ah. Well, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Ilsildur, farewell. I must depart." His eyes closed briefly in pain. "I am glad to have made your acquaintance." With a stiff nod, Legolas exited the room, ignoring the respectful bows of the guards outside. Minutes later, hoofbeats could be heard as Legolas fled from his sorrows, tears now streaming freely down his face. He did not see Aragorn again for many, many years.