Disclaimer: Tolkien's characters, obviously are not mine. However, I will claim Rilluin with vehemence. Mine, Kay, mine!
Swift days passed and, before Aragorn's eyes, Rilluin grew. Leaning against a tree, blossom falling on his head, Aragorn called, "Come on Rilluin, come to your Ada."
Legolas locked his arms around the child, and proclaimed, "No, he wants to stay with me, correct ion nin?" The two pairs of sky blue eyes met, Legolas' eyes sparkling with amusement, Rilluin's alight with intelligence and curiosity. Rilluin held his Atar's gaze for a moment, before crawling off the elf's long legs and getting to his feet.
Warily, Aragorn watched his child getting up to his unsteady feet, and toddle towards him. "There we go," crooned Aragorn, as Rilluin dropped down onto his lap instead. "See, he loves me more."
Narrowing his eyes at both his taunting husband, and Gimli who was watching and guffawing at them, Legolas said, "That is not true."
"I know, but I enjoy seeing your face when you are jealous and annoyed," said Aragorn, smirking at his slightly irritated husband. He glanced down at Rilluin, and found him raising a snail to his mouth. Gently, he tugged it away and murmured, "No, that does not taste nice little one."
"You're right, and you really don't want to chew them, either, just swallow them straight down. And take off the shell if you have the patience," offered Gimli, casually.
Aragorn looked at Gimli in revulsion and knew that disgust was etched on Legolas' face as well. "Do we even want to know, Gimli?"
"I was trapped in a collapsed mine, I was starving. It was that or dirt," Gimli simply said.
Hurriedly, Aragorn covered his son's slightly pointed ears, and said, "By all things that are good, do not teach my son to eat dirt, Gimli. We have enough troubles."
"Oops?" Gimli tried.
Aragorn could tell that Legolas was swallowing laughter, but was doing only a small amount better than Gimli at containing his amusement. He could not remove his laughter from his eyes, nor did Aragorn want him to. "Go on Rilluin, go and pull on your guardian's beard. Do that for your Ada," Aragorn instructed, chivvying the child off his lap. Obediently, Rilluin walked over to Gimli, and stared up at his guardian with accusing eyes. After a pause, he picked up a rock from the ground and offered it to the dwarf.
"Thank you," Gimli said, trying to sound pleased as Rilluin offered another . . . and another.
"I think he wants you to eat them," called the sniggering Aragorn.
"No chance," said Gimli, in a falsely cheery voice.
Legolas slid closer to Aragorn, and the elf's fingers began to card through Aragorn's hair, combing out the light pink blossom that had settled in his curls. "Sitting under a tree that is moulting is not clever, my love."
"Remind me, who did I find sitting reading in this very tree yesterday when he was supposed to be coming to bed?" Aragorn teased, as he tried not to moan out loud at the sensation of the hands in his hair.
"It was a beautiful night, with stars and the flowers and the . . ."
Leaning backwards, Aragorn interrupted, "It was freezing cold, and you were choosing the tree over me."
"The book was very . . . " Without warning, Legolas trailed off, and paused. "Did I just hear Rilluin say what I think he did?" Legolas gasped when he got his breath back, hands leaving Aragorn's hair.
Normally, Aragorn would have complained, but he had heard it too. "I think you did." Lying down to his son's level, on his stomach, Aragorn asked, "Did you just say Ada, ion nin? Did you?"
"No," Legolas answered for the child. "He said Atar."
Aragorn flipped over to face his husband, "He did not, Legolas! He said Ada."
"I am an elf. I think I can hear somewhat better than you, my human love. It was Atar," Legolas exclaimed.
Stubbornly, Aragorn turned back onto his front and placed a hand on Rilluin's soft head of curls, saying, "Now remember who went through eight and a half months of carried you, Rilluin. And now, say Ada Rilluin, say Ada."
"No, Rilluin, say Atar. Atar," Legolas said carefully, slowly pronouncing it, but irritatingly over the top of Aragorn's coaxing. A long hand went over Aragorn's mouth, drowning out the rest of his words, so Rilluin could only heard Legolas instructing, "Say Atar for me Rilluin." Aragorn struggled, but Legolas dropped down onto his back, straddling him and keeping his hands forcefully in place.
Intensely studying a rock, Rilluin muttered, "Ata."
Both fathers groaned, and Legolas flopped down, so that he was laying on Aragorn's back, the elf's thighs still holding Aragorn tightly. Feeling Legolas bury his face in his hair, Aragorn sighed, "He is just talking nonsense again. He just wants to torture us."
"He is only two years old, and already driving us insane," grunted Legolas, his breath warming Aragorn's neck, making him shiver. "He is turning your hair grey."
"What?" asked Aragorn, twisting under his light husband to meet his eyes, but making Legolas sit up again. Almost shouting, he exclaimed, "I have grey hair now? Do I have many?" His aggravation escalated when Legolas began laughing at his irate expression. "I am only ninety years old Legolas, I can not have grey hair. Please, please tell me that you were jesting."
"Very well. I was jesting," Legolas said, and his body sunk down a few inches from his potion on Aragorn's stomach with the human's sigh of relief. "It is not a grey hair, it is a silver hair."
Momentary relief flooding away, to be replaced by irritation. "I am getting old, Legolas. I am getting old and my hair is turning grey—"
"Silver," Legolas corrected him, with an infuriating measure of calm. "And I am three thousand years old. You know nothing of age yet, meleth, and you are getting older, every day, as Rilluin is. You are both getting older, child."
"I am not a child, I was just complaining about being old," argued Aragorn.
"Do you feel old?" Legolas gently asked. When Aragorn replied in the negative, and ever so slightly rolled his hips under the elf, Legolas gasped, "Then you are still young my love, as young as I feel despite having lived for millennia."
Feeling the heat of the couple's gaze, Gimli felt he had to interrupt. "Your son is sitting right here and, I'd like to add, so am I."
"So leave," growled Aragorn, eyes not leaving his elvish husband's for a second.
Gimli hoisted Rilluin onto his shoulder and, in his rumbling voice told him, "Your fathers are being very irresponsible. Only a moment ago they were excited over you talking, and now they are getting excited over something very different."
Faramir's voice floated over the four males. "My Lord Legolas, would you mind removing yourself from the King? He was supposed to end his lunch and attend a meeting a half hour ago."
"It is all the Prince's fault," Legolas called back, but he removed himself from his position on his husband. "Go," he said to Aragorn, "Go and show them who is the oldest man leading the city."
"I am the only man leading the city," muttered Aragorn.
000
Aragorn took his seat and gestured for the other men to sit down as well. "Tell me what you know," he instructed.
Sloath spoke up first, in his incredibly deep, resonating voice. "Sire, the tax raise of the past years has paid off, and the war with Mordor has, effectively, been paid for. Blacksmiths who made armour, men who were drafted, the fletchers of the arrows, the forgers, and the Healers and their supplies, all done. The immediate costs have been met."
"So, I can lower taxes again? We have been all but beggared this land for the past two years, and the people are unhappy. They lost their husbands and sons, and the income they brought, and now they are being taxed to near starvation. The treasury is all but drained," Aragorn stated. It was a fact that had kept him lacking in sleep for many a night. Were something to happen to the Kingdom, a flood, an earthquake, a devouring fire, Aragorn could not afford to pay to repair the damage. "Faramir?" Aragorn wanted an answer from his most trusted advisor.
Next to him, Faramir swept his hair away from his harried face. "Not yet my Lord."
"Why not?" demanded Aragorn, but in a softer voice than he normally used for directions. His Steward was exhausted, and spreading himself out between the work he was dedicated to, and his family life. He and Eówyn had married only a short while after the war, and she had given him his first son at the start of the year after, making him ten months younger than Rilluin. They had named him Théoden, but for short, he was referred to as Théo. Only a few weeks previously, Faramir had announced that Eówyn was expecting a second child and, though they were thrilled, Faramir was stretched between the two things in his life he was dedicated to, and Aragorn could sympathise.
Faramir merely nodded to Sloath, and he continued, "Not yet, sire. In another year, maybe, but any money which comes in that does not go to the basics, goes to the rebuilding of Osgiliath, which we can not delay. The dwarves demand payment for any materials they purchase immediately and there are still people in temporary shelters here, waiting to go home."
Resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands and groan, Aragorn asked, "How far along is the building work?"
A different man, Gambett, spoke up, and Aragorn, as he did every time, had to try not to wince at his gratingly high voice. "We have pictures here sir, engravings done by one of the more . . . artistic dwarves, I believe." Gambett was not a fan of the other races "invading" the city, and as a way to try and combat that, Aragorn had sent him to be an ambassador of Osgiliath, reporting changes and news to Gondor. As the wooden carvings were passed along the row, Aragorn wondered if it had worked at all.
When the engravings landed in his hands, Aragorn rolled his eyes. Apparently not. "A dwarf created this, you say, Master Gambett?"
"Yes sire," said the man, with a hint of unease.
"Then why is it signed in elvish script, as E.L. Nidillion? He has been artist of the dwarfish and elvish alliance for the past year. Surely you have heard of him, you work with him on a weekly basis," Aragorn pointed out, biting back a smirk at the outraged, humiliated expression on the councillor's face, but Faramir failed to contain a tired chuckle. That distracted Aragorn for a moment: Faramir had the self control of an elf.
"Forgive me. I may have been confused," Gambett muttered.
When Aragorn had taken over as King, he had kept with the same councillors, to keep the people happy, and to benefit from their experience, but it did not mean that he liked them all. Gambett was one he did not like, but Sloath was one he did. "No matter," said Aragorn, and started to study the picture. The intricate engravings depicted the half built city, the walls of which were half assembled, the main hall and Leader's house completed, but the normal houses were not even started. It had been completely demolished and was being rebuilt from scratch, by elves, humans and dwarves.
The image of the half built city would be fixed in that for always, never completed, never aging. Never aging. The thought hit him as violently as a hammer in the hands of a dwarf.
Trying not to seem pleased, Aragorn merely said, "I will speak to Master Gimli about the building, to see if I can arrange for the money to be paid in another way, or at another time. Either way, I want houses made before winter, and taxes lowered. For now, gentlemen, thank you." Aragorn pushed back his chair and, as he moved towards the exit, he brushed a hand across Faramir's shoulders, signalling for the younger man to come.
Obedient as ever, Faramir followed his King out of the room, and into Aragorn's study, where he lent against a wall. "Yes, Aragorn?"
"Go home to your wife and child, Faramir. You look exhausted," Aragorn told him, dropping down into a chair. The moment Faramir looked as if he was going to argue Aragorn pre-empted him and said, "I do not want you arguing with me. You are not at your best, and that is where I need you. You can be no help if you do not explain things when I direct questions at your or if you lose control of your laughter. You know this to be true."
"Yes, Aragorn. I have not been doing my best by you, and you deserve more," sighed the Steward, moving to rest his weight on a chair opposite his King. He seemed to Aragorn to resemble a child, being scolded for failure.
Restraining his chin in his hands as he spoke, Aragorn curiously asked, "When was the last time you took a day off, other than the Sundays I force you to leave for?"
For a moment, the Steward sank into thought, but then said, "The day after Théoden was born, though I took the day before that too, besides the occasional afternoon when you have sent me away."
"Faramir!" Aragorn exclaimed, taken aback. "You are in charge of your own holidays, mellon nin, and I must assure you that not everything is important enough to require your attention."
"I like to know what is happening," Faramir protested. "It is my job."
"You remind me of Erestor. He was almost constantly working, and his lover got angry at him for that," Aragorn quietly chuckled. "I would advise you not to anger your pregnant wife. I know that when I was pregnant I never wanted Legolas to stop holding me, let alone leave my sight." Not that that had changed much. "Go back to your family."
Faramir gave one last attempt on principle, but Aragorn could already tell that he had been swayed. "But my work. . . ."
"It will be done," Aragorn assured him, and nodded him towards the door with a small grin. "Go."
000
When Aragorn got through his own work and Faramir's, it was getting dark, and he was quivering with the impatience of wanting to tell Legolas the idea that had come to him whilst examining the carving.
Eventually, he got into his and Legolas' private lounge, and found his elf and child seated on a sofa, opposing Erestor and Glorfindel who also shared one. A smile slid onto Aragorn's face, as it did almost every time he saw his small family. Legolas turned to greet him with the sweetest smile, and Aragorn felt the tension from the day slip away. Moving close, he pressed a kiss to his son's forehead and tried to do the same to Legolas, only the elf moved. The couple's lips met in a chaste kiss, which quickly turned less innocent.
Through the bond, Aragorn growled, "I want you, now."
"You have wanted me all day," Legolas replied, amusement mingled with lust in his voice.
"Who can blame me?"
"Tonight, I promise."
They only drew away when Erestor cleared his throat behind them. "We are still sitting here, you realise," the elf pointed out. "Spare our eyes."
"Hypocrite," Legolas teased over Aragorn's shoulder.
"In that case, spare your son's eyes," Glorfindel snickered.
"That is the second time today we have been chastised for showing affection today," sighed Legolas. "Maybe our friends are trying to tell us something."
"Maybe," Aragorn agreed. Rilluin's pleading blue eyes met his, and the child raised his arms. Obligingly, Aragorn hoisted him into his arms, but took a seat on the sofa so that he could nestle into the warmth of his husband's hold. Rilluin took a place in his lap, and reached out for the stuffed rabbit the twins had bought him. Stroking the long, velvet ears, the child settled down.
"How was your day?" murmured Legolas.
"Hard, I had not appreciated how much work Faramir does," Aragorn said. "But I had an idea. I think we should have a portrait done, of the three of us. That way, we could be captured forever in the happiness we are in. Never growing old."
Legolas shifted uneasily, "A portrait like that is expensive, Aragorn. Atar had one made of me, Laurient and him, and it cost a small fortune. The things are huge."
Deflating, Aragorn said, "That is true. There is no money in this Kingdom anymore for luxuries like that. Forget it."
He had dwelt on the idea all afternoon, and into the evening, liking it more and more, and knew his disappointment showed no his face when Glorfindel asked, "Why not ask for a small one? It may not have the impact that you desire but it will cost less, and you will still be seen there forever."
Shooting the golden elf a grateful glance, Aragorn said, "You are right." He turned beseeching eyes to Legolas, and the elf rolled his blue ones.
"You want me to find an artist for you?" he asked, with an overdramatic sigh.
"I have quite a bit of work on," Aragorn said, "And I am trying to help out Faramir too, spread the work out between other employees. He is almost the opposite of me. He adores his work, and his family, but he feels that he needs to put the kingdom first."
"Unlike you, most of the time. If you can run away to me. . ." Legolas murmured.
"Then I will," finished Aragorn with a grin.
Glorfindel prodded at Erestor's side, "If only you were like that," he said. "You always insist on working."
"It is always about duty," argued Erestor. "Some things have to come first."
"I understand, you just amuse me when you are angry." The Balrog Slayer glanced up at Aragorn and Legolas, and said, "You and Faramir are just different ends of a spectrum, that is all."
"You want this as soon as possible?" queried Legolas, to his slightly embarrassed husband. At Aragorn's nod of affirmation, he added, "Then I shall go find someone to do this for you."
000
As Aragorn tucked Rilluin into bed, he sighed. No matter how much it seemed that his child grew, he was still small. Most children his age would be getting a proper child's bed, but Rilluin would not need it for another half a dozen months. His development was too slow for a normal child, and it worried his fathers.
Gazing over the cot bars, leaning on the edge, Aragorn murmured, "I do not want this portrait just for vanity. I want to have a picture of all of us, just in case something happens. Your Atar would not want me thinking of this, but . . . you are growing up fast, I am getting older. Life goes fast. I want to be able to look at you like this, to never forget. Just in case."
With that, he pressed a kiss to the child's forehead, breathing in the powdery scent, and left the room. In his bedroom, he rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment. There was nothing, and no husband, to do. He would just have to get changed, and wait.
Two and a half hours later, he was still waiting, curled up in a chair, reading the Memoirs of the last King's Steward, utterly alone. He had not taken in a word from the previous six pages, and his eyes kept on drifting closed. Sighing, he stood, hugging himself slightly, and opened the door. The two guards outside it stared straight ahead, until Aragorn leant against the door frame and cautiously said, "Bardlet?"
The guard on the left turned around, and bowed his head. "Yes your Majesty."
Trying not to roll his eyes at formality, Aragorn asked, "Do you know the schedule for the royal guards?"
"Yes sire," the guard promptly replied. "Off by heart."
"We should worry about that, I feel, but not at the moment. Can you tell me when the detail assigned to Legolas is due to change?" Aragorn asked.
"Not for another three hours, sire."
Damnation. Legolas would not have to return to the King's House until then, and Aragorn knew that he could not stay awake for that long. Taking a breath, he then asked something that had been on his mind for weeks. "What would happen if Legolas was now attacked, away from here?"
"He would be defended with the guards' lives first and foremost, and then, if the Consort was injured or not, taken or not, as soon as anything happened, the alarm would be raised," Bardlet recited.
"Alright. I was just . . . checking. There have been no alarms?"
"No, sire."
"Goodnight, Bardlet," Aragorn slipped back inside the room and, for a moment, stood with his back against it, to exhale deeply. There was only one other thing to do. 'Legolas, where are you? If you are up a tree again. . .''
The voice that replied was weak. 'I am talking to someone. I will be a while.'
'How long?' Aragorn asked, wondering how far away Legolas would have to be for the bond to be so faint. Sinking deeper into the connection, he realised that he could barely feel his lover's emotions.
'As long as it takes. You should go to bed,' Legolas replied. 'It would be rude for me to just leave at the moment.'
There was no way for Aragorn to reply that would not be selfish or the start of a row. He was forced to be away from Legolas most days, but the elf was almost always waiting for him to return, never too busy for him. Never was he busy nights. Not only in two years had they slept apart. Until now, it seemed.
There was nothing more to do but slip under the covers, and try to fall asleep.
000
Legolas dropped down from his tired horse, at last. The sky above him was already turning grey with the start of dawn light, and he was more than pleased when a stable boy offered to take his horse from him. He released the horse to him, and trotted up to his home, grumbling guards following him up the steps.
When he got to his bedroom door, he said, "Go home, go to sleep. Thank you for coming out such a long way. You are done for today." They thanked him, and turned away as Legolas glanced over at the guards at his door. "I assume that he is in there?"
"Yes my Lord," Bardlet reported. "He came out about four hours ago to ask for you and . . . there were noises about three hours previously. I checked on him, but he was asleep.
Holding back a sigh — Aragorn did not dream every night anymore, only ever other — Legolas said, "Alright, thank you," and stepped into their room. The room was still dark, the curtains drawn closed, but Legolas' eyes were only drawn to the round lump in the middle of his bed, which he could only just see. Hurriedly, Legolas pulled off his clothes, and joined his husband under the covers. Aragorn was curled up into a tight ball, his back rigid with tension.
Running his fingers down the curved spine, Legolas murmured to the sleeping man gently. "Melda nin, relax. I am back now." Still asleep, the human uncurled somewhat, and rolled against Legolas, into his arms. "That is better," breathed Legolas.
000
Aragorn woke to one of Legolas' strong arms around his chest, holding him tightly against him. Twisting over in the hold, Aragorn gazed at the sleeping elf, who looked as if he had been sculpted from white stone. He pressed a kiss to the marble white cheek, and called, "Legolas, it is morning. Time to wake up."
"No, it is not," muttered the elf, making Aragorn chuckle.
"Yes, it is, because you have some explaining to do about a broken promise last night," Aragorn chided. Legolas' nostrils flared ever so slightly as he sighed, and forced open his eyes. Frowning at the dull shade of his eyes, Aragorn asked, "How long did it take you to get in last night, love?"
"Far too long," Legolas said, his eyes closing again, resting his head against Aragorn's. "But I found you a portrait artist. I was also directed to a landscape painter, an engraver, a carpenter, and a sculptor, one, only one, of who lived in Minas Tirith. Which is why I took so long."
"I understand," Aragorn said, "Do not worry. You said that it would be rude to leave? You are the King's Consort, you are allowed to be impolite to get back to me. I can make that a law if you wish."
Pulling himself up to sit against the pillows, Legolas poured a glass of water from the pitcher at the side of their bed. He drank half, and then threw the other half over his head. Shaking the wet hair from his face, more awake, Legolas said, "She was . . ."
"She?" Aragorn immediately asked, pouncing on the word. "You were with a woman?"
"The portrait artist is female," growled Legolas, narrowing his eyes. "She was saying that money has been too tight, and she has not been able to buy any new supplies, and how grateful she was that we were hiring her."
Aragorn pressed his face into his palm, and groaned, "It is really that bad out there? We need to get these taxes lowered. It is the least we can do."
"Well, we have helped one woman, which is a start. And I may have promised to hire her once a year. We can have a yearly portrait, small ones. Also, I may have paid her in advance, from my own purse."
Aragorn should have argued, about giving away money before something was done, but he did not, once more merely nodding.
"We should get up, meleth," Legolas said. "I arranged for an escort to pick her up. She will be here later today."
000
Legolas and Aragorn sat, in position for the portrait. Direni, the artist, had set them up in the exact way she wanted, in correspondence with the couple. Rilluin was not, however, sitting still. Legolas had to leave the sitting, and return with a toy just to keep the child in roughly the same position.
"Head up, just a little bit your Majesty," called Direni from her seat, peeking over her easel.
"Which one?" smirked Legolas.
"You, my Lord,"
Legolas obeyed.
Through the bond, he sent, 'We should stop being called the same thing. Particularly if it confuses our son.'
'I am sure it makes sense really,' said Aragorn.
As if instructed, Rilluin glanced up at the father who had carried him, and clearly pronounced, "Da," then turned to Legolas, "Tar."
Legolas turned down to the child, grinning inanely.
"Your Majesty, head up please," called the painter.
Unable to wipe the smile from his face, Legolas looked back up.
A/N: OK I have three people to thank for this chapter. A) Lauren, you gave me the idea. So thank you, and happy belated birthday. B) Kaylee, giggle, sharing your birthday with my other awesome reader. C) Aralas, also helping me out. Oh also, Rent-a-blank, my beta, who I am forever grateful for. Thank you.
So, reviewers, what did you think? And any ideas for me?