The clash of steel against steel rang out in the early morning air, disturbing what was an otherwise quiet day. A group of combatants warily circled a lone swordsman, now advancing upon him, now retreating. Each attack faltered as the lone man wielded his mighty sword with arms that never seemed to tire.
"How long do you think he'll keep this up?" Merry wondered.
Gimli frowned as Aragorn fended off another attacker. "Until he's worn down all of his soldiers, from the looks of things. Or until he remembers he has guests to entertain."
They watched in silence a few more minutes. Aragorn had suddenly decided his men needed more sword training. That this new regimen coincided with Legolas' departure, no one mentioned, lest he earn a sharp rebuke, such was Aragorn's mood these last few days.
"Well, by the looks of things it won't be much longer," Pippin declared. "Everyone seems to be getting tired. Except Aragorn, that is."
Merry sighed. "I was so looking forward to winning that bet. I do enjoy Rohirric ale."
"Don't worry, Merry. I'll be certain to have Eomer send you a barrel or two."
They glanced up to find Eowyn standing, her eyes on the warriors below. Faramir had not been spared the sword practice and was on the field now, one of the attackers against the king. She flinched and clapped a hand over her mouth as Aragorn made an uncomfortably close strike toward Faramir's throat. Faramir sidestepped and ducked just in time. Eowyn breathed a sigh of relief and sat down beside Merry.
"I still can't believe Legolas hit Aragorn and then left," Sam put in. "Those two have always been so close and all. And to think, Gimli and Merry think they're in love."
"Love does funny things to people, Sam," Eowyn replied. "Sometimes we hurt those we love the most."
There was silence as the others pondered her words.
"I wish there was some way we could fix things for them," Merry said at last. "If Legolas came back, maybe . . ."
"Legolas won't come back," Gimli told them. "He's more stubborn than a Dwarf. We have to hope that Aragorn comes to his senses and goes after him."
The five of them turned back to watch Aragorn and shook their heads. The chances of that happening soon did not seem likely.
000
Aragorn made his way to his bedchamber, his footsteps slow. He was long past regretting his decision to host a reunion of the Fellowship. Nothing had gone as he had hoped. The Hobbits had begun to wear on his nerves, and Gimli looked ready to bury his axe in Aragorn's skull. Eowyn was not speaking to him, and Faramir gave him searching looks when the Steward thought he was unaware. And Legolas, well . . . the less time spent thinking of him the better.
Except he could not stop thinking of him and the way he had made Aragorn feel, at all. For a little while Aragorn had been happy again. There had been laughter and song in his life. Companionship. Now Legolas was gone, and there was no light, no warmth. There was only emptiness.
In his room, he took off his boots and set them aside. He prepared for bed, his movements automatic, before adding another piece of wood to the fire. Something caught his eye as he stood again, and he knelt to retrieve it, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the object he now held-a small golden clasp in the design of a leaf such as those that closed Legolas' tunics. One end of it was broken and hanging.
"I want to see you . . . without clothes."
The frantic removal of a tunic, the sound of something hitting the wall and falling to the floor.
"Now you. I want to touch you."
Aragorn let the scene replay in his head, over and over, each time more slowly than the last. Legolas had been right–it had been beautiful between them, and bound to happen eventually. If he was honest with himself he had felt desire for the Elven archer for many years, long before that desperate kiss at the Black Gate. And Legolas was right, too, when he had pointed out that there was something between them.
And what had he done? He had panicked; he had pushed Legolas away. He was king, with duties and responsibilities to his people. They wanted, no, expected an heir some day, even though he had given no real indication that he would marry. They would not understand if he took a male lover. Those were the reasons he had clung to, but deep inside he had known they were mere excuses.
The truth, of course, was that he was afraid. He had given his heart once, and it had been shattered completely. He had been a shell of a man since Arwen's death. To risk his heart again, to live through that kind of pain once more, was something he did not think he could do.
He should have known it was already too late to guard his heart. It had already decided for him, though he had buried the feelings deep inside himself. Now they stirred within him, demanding acknowledgement, and this time he listened. Really listened. He closed his eyes as one thought, one truth, broke free of the walls he had erected—he loved Legolas. He always had. He always would.
And he needed him. Gods, how he needed him. Regret pelted Aragorn now, for not seeing, not wanting to try, for not accepting the love he had seen shining in Legolas' eyes. And for the pain he had caused. Valar, how could he ever earn Legolas' forgiveness?
He had been a fool, but no more. He would go to Legolas. He would explain. He would beg, do whatever it took to persuade Legolas to forgive him. He had to get to Legolas. His heart demanded it.
Aragorn hurried to the door and shouted for a servant to fetch Faramir. For what he planned to do, he needed an ally on the Council. He then took out his traveling pack and began throwing clothes into it. There was a knock, and he answered it, tunic in hand. He was surprised to find Gimli standing there.
"Aragorn-."
"Not now, Gimli," Aragorn interrupted. "I'm in a hurry."
"Hurry for what, Sire?" Faramir had arrived in time to hear.
"Good, Faramir . . . I'm riding north to the Woodland Realm."
"The Woodland Realm, Sire?"
"Yes. I'm going to win my consort, to claim him if he'll have me." He peered at Faramir for several moments. "Will there be any objections from the Council?"
"None that can't be dealt with."
Aragorn nodded. "Thank you." He turned back to Gimli once Faramir had gone. "Now then, what was it you wanted?"
The Dwarf grinned. "I came here to beat some sense into you, but I see it's not necessary. Too bad."
000
Legolas stared at the forest before him from the flet which he had climbed up to with slow steps. He had been here for nearly two days, wanting to spend time alone with his thoughts away from the concerned looks and well-meaning questions of his family. The sun was arcing its way toward the horizon, and he watched its course with a wan smile. These trees, this sunset . . . He would miss these things.
He shivered in the stirring breeze and drew his cloak more securely about his frame. He should build a fire, he thought, but he did not have the energy. Instead he sank to the wooden platform listlessly.
"Last night was a mistake; it should not have happened."
Legolas closed his eyes as the words echoed in his head. He wished that he could purge them from his mind, but they were there in his heart too, twisting like knives.
"I don't want you."
A tear slid down his cheek, but he ignored it. Thank the Valar no one knew how badly he hurt, how he grieved for what he had lost. For what he had never had. Though they would find out, he supposed, soon enough.
He was fading.
TBC