A/N: I had way, WAY too much fun writing this chapter. That probably warrants a warning of some kind.
WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of non-consensual m/m kissing, cussing, and violence.
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"Imagine there's no heaven."
– John Lennon
Chapter 48: The Tempest
"You've lost it? What do you mean you've lost it?" Gimli said. "How can you lose the sea-longing?"
"The same way that I contracted it, apparently," Legolas said. "It came upon me unlooked for and unasked at Pelargir, and it has abandoned me in the same manner."
"That doesn't make any sense at all!" Gimli snapped. He was pacing Legolas' small room, rubbing the heel of one hand against the stubble on his cheek. "You heard the gull at Pelargir, that's how you got it. There's no trigger for you to lose it, unless you were bitten by a sand-crab in Harad and contracted land-longing as a result."
"I know of no method by which the call of the Valar, once heard, might be unheard," Aragorn said. "There is lore in the House of Elrond of Sindar who resisted the summons, some for many years, but all sailed in the end. I have never heard of any who lost the longing even for a day."
"Perhaps because the remedy is not one that any would choose to take," Legolas said.
"What do you mean?" Gimli said.
Legolas was silent for so long that Aragorn thought he would not answer. His face was turned away from them as he sat in the windowsill, looking out into the darkness over the bay. There was a thunderous, oppressive feel to the air.
"It was the only thing that I could think of," he said at last. "When Dragaer . . . when the sea-captain took me in his quarters I could not bear it. My faer would flee rather than be broken by a mortal Man. So I was not."
Gimli stopped pacing to stare at him. "You were not?" He paled, looking from Legolas to Aragorn and back again. "I – Thranduil said that I – but Legolas, you know I never meant to –"
Legolas turned his head to look at Gimli. His eyes were bleak, but his lips curved in a weary smile. "No, elvellon. It was not your actions that caused me harm. You came into my mind uninvited, it is true, but I could yet have defended against you – even killed you; and I would have done if you sought to hurt me. The images you unleashed were only memories, and they did you more harm than I."
Gimli looked relieved. "Then what . . .?"
"The sea," Legolas said. His head dropped forward onto his knees. "The sea. Its call was the only thing strong enough to overpower the reality of what was happening to me. So I gave myself to it, and in my mind it was my attacker."
Aragorn's breath caught as the import of those words struck him. He braced himself with a hand against the cool stone of the wall. His heart was pounding, his breathing weak in the hollow of his chest.
Legolas gave a ragged laugh. "From the beginning ours was a lovers' mummery, danced to the music of the waves. But never did I imagine that it would end so soon, or be consummated in such a manner!"
"Stop it," Gimli said sharply. "That isn't true, Legolas, and you know it. You said it yourself: you only thought it was the sea. You couldn't face the truth and survive, so you fought back with every weapon you had. That's just good tactics. But Dragaer's dead. You know it was him, whatever else you told yourself before, and he can't hurt you now. So just stop it."
"Gimli," Aragorn said. His voice was hoarse, his throat strained as if he had been screaming. He coughed. "Gimli, imagine for a moment that the way you perceive something does affect its reality. For an Elf, the mind and body are bonded so strongly that what one experiences is real for the other. Whether Legolas knew the truth or not does not matter. At the critical moment he willed it to be the sea, and it was."
"But it doesn't make any sense," Gimli said. "You're talking about the ocean for Mahal's sake. It's a body of water. How could it . . .?"
"The longing is not for the sea itself," Legolas said. "It is for the place beyond and all that it represents: peace, and healing, and home. It is that desire which transcends all other powers in Middle-earth."
He drew a shuddering breath and passed a hand over his eyes. "It is the deepest, oldest bond laid upon an Elven soul: the refuge that has been a hope to the Elves since the time of our first awakening. And it is that which assaulted my mind and faer when Dragaer took my body."
"Wait a minute," Gimli said. "Wait, are you saying . . . what are you saying?"
"When an Elf –" Aragorn began, and stopped. His throat stung with rising bile. He swallowed hard. "For an Elf the act of rape is as much a mental and spiritual attack as it is a physical one. Most cannot survive it. They reject bodily life and answer the Valar's call, fleeing to the last refuge beyond the sea."
Legolas looked at him. "So you knew," he said.
Aragorn dropped his eyes, ashamed. Legolas turned back to Gimli.
"But I clung still to this life. I perverted the Valar's call: I took the last refuge and made it into a source of horror, and that cannot be undone. The sea's comfort is lost to me."
"But you did it to save us!" Gimli said. "Arwen, and me, and Gondor – the whole bleeding country owes its life to you!"
Legolas shrugged. "It is fitting," he said. "I survived for the sake of Middle-earth, and in Middle-earth I must remain."
"You mean you're trapped here?" Gimli shook his head. "But Thranduil said that you had to sail. To be healed, you have to sail."
Legolas did not answer for a long moment. When at last he spoke his voice was very low and he kept his eyes averted, avoiding the Dwarf's gaze. "It seems that I am not meant to be healed," he said. "Gimli, this is not easy for me . . ."
"Not easy for you?" Gimli roared. "Not easy for you? You sit there and tell me that you're going to what, just suffer for the rest of your life – forever, in other words– and you say that it isn't easy? You know what I say to that? You're giving up. You came this far and you're just giving up. Well to Mordor with that! You are getting on that ship and you are going to bloody Valinor if I have to row you there myself!"
"It does not work like that," Legolas said. "Without the longing to guide me I could sail until the breaking of the world and never find the Straight Road."
"Then we'll put you on a boat with some of Círdan's folk! They can steer the ship and you can just sit tight until you get there."
Legolas sighed. "Here or in the Blessed Realm it will make little difference. There is no healing for me there. I forsook the Valar's blessing, and they in turn have forsaken me."
"The Valar be damned!" Gimli bellowed. He coughed, pressing one hand to his chest, and with the other pointed a stubby finger at Legolas. "What you did wasn't just to save your own life; it was a sacrifice to save us. If they can't understand that then they can go to the Void with Morgoth, the whole bloody lot of them!"
He pivoted on his heel and headed for the door. At the threshold he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "You stay here. I'm going to the shipyard. We are going to fix this." Grabbing his axe from where it had been leaning against the doorframe he went out. The door slammed shut behind him.
In the silence that followed Aragorn stood very still, the blood thrumming in his ears. In the rush of new outrage Gimli seemed to have forgotten his mistrust of him, at least for the moment. Almost it felt as if they were the three hunters again, united against a common foe.
Then Legolas lifted his head. "Do you require me further tonight, my lord?"
Aragorn's heart faltered. "Eru, Legolas," he managed. "After all that has happened, must you continue this cruelty? I am sorry for what I did. If I could give my life to undo it I would. Dragaer came into my mind. Can you not understand what that was like?"
Legolas regarded him steadily. "Forgive me, my lord," he said at last. "How callous of me to forget what the sea-captain did to you."
Aragorn looked away. "That is not what I meant," he muttered. "I only intended . . . I'm sorry. I know that it means nothing now, but I am sorry. I swear by all the Valar that I never meant to hurt you."
A gust of wind blew through the open window, carrying the electric scent of the coming storm. The candles guttered in their holders. Legolas turned his head, looking out into the darkness.
"How strange it is," he murmured. "When I first heard the call at Pelargir I rejoiced, for I knew then that there was a home where I was welcomed, and loved, whatever else might happen. Later when I chose to linger in Middle-earth the longing became an agony within my heart. Many times I wished that it had never come upon me. I prayed to Manwë and to Elbereth that their call might be removed, for I could not bear to refuse them while I yet served another. And now it is gone."
"It is gone," he repeated, and his voice was perilously close to a sob. "There is no home, no healing for me under beech or elm or over sea. I have lost everything." His breath hitched, and his shoulders shook as his hands came up to cover his face.
Aragorn stood silent, uncertain. In all the years of their friendship, through all the trials they had endured, it was the first time that he had seen Legolas weep. He took a step forward, then another, and hesitantly laid his hand upon the Elf's shoulder.
Legolas stiffened. Knocking Aragorn's hand aside, he swung his feet to the floor and stood. Lightning flashed across the sky outside, printing the objects in the room in sharp relief. The stark light caught the tear-tracks on Legolas' cheeks. He swiped a hand across his face.
Thunder rumbled. The wind was gusting wildly now, tearing at the Elf's long hair. Two of the candles' flames streamed and went out.
"If you have no further need of me then I will leave you, my lord," Legolas said. His face was like a mask, dignity held close as the sheen of silver on mirrored glass.
Aragorn stepped back, letting his hand fall to his side. He nodded, numb.
Legolas crossed the room, his bare feet silent on the stone flags. At the door he paused. Half turning his head, his back to Aragorn, he said, "Tell Gimli that it was not his doing. Tell him . . . I am sorry."
He opened the door and went out. Aragorn stood frozen for a long moment behind him, and then his stunned mind processed what Legolas had said and he swore loudly. "Legolas, wait!"
He caught the Elf in the corridor outside. Grabbing Legolas' arm, he pulled him to a halt, swinging him around to face him. "Where are you going?"
Legolas flinched when Aragorn seized him, but made no move to defend himself. "Out," he said.
"To the sea?" Aragorn said. When Legolas did not respond he swore again, his hands tightening on the Elf's arms, shaking him. "Is that where you're going? To the sea?"
Legolas straightened. He stepped back, shrugging out of Aragorn's grip. "The Elvenking has no use for me. You have finished with me. The Valar have turned from me. I gave myself to the sea long ago. It is time to finish it."
"Suicide?" The horror of it robbed the strength from Aragorn's voice, so that it came as a bare whisper.
Legolas looked away. "I should have died rather than allow it to happen," he said. "I would have died . . . but I am still a warrior of Eryn Lasgalen. There is still some honor left to me. Give me that much at least. Let me go."
"So you can do what?" Aragorn said. "Finish what Dragaer began? No!"
Somewhere in the distance a door slammed. Voices sounded: a pair of ladies' maids returning from the banquet to their rooms. Aragorn grasped Legolas' arm. Yanking open the door to his suite, he pulled the unresisting Elf inside.
"There is no honor in that," he said, closing the door behind them. He grabbed the heavy bar and swung it into the latch with a solid thunk of wood on wood. "Not now. Not ever. It is a sin to take the life of one of Eru's Firstborn. I will not be a party to that, Legolas, and I will not stand by and let you die, whether by your own hand or any other."
"So now you have become an authority on sin," Legolas said. He stood with his hands at his sides and looked at the spacious compartment around them. The receiving room was warm, dimly lit by the fire banked in the hearth. The servants had removed Aragorn's bath and prepared the rooms while he was away. But they had left the candles dark.
Aragorn took a long taper from the hearth and lit it from the fire, keeping an eye on Legolas as he did so. "Eru knows I have enough experience on the subject," he said.
The heavy carpet muffled his footsteps as he kindled the lights. The window draperies were tied back and rain lashed the night-blackened glass. His reflection looked back at him as he lit a brazier that stood to ward off the chill from the largest window. Through the doorway to his left was the darkened sleeping chamber, where the bed bulked dimly in the shadows.
Legolas was watching him. "What now, my lord?" he asked. "Will you offer me a cup of wine?"
Aragorn grimaced. Before he could answer Legolas turned his head, apparently listening. "They have gone," he said. He reached for the door.
"Legolas wait!" Aragorn said. "Wait. Please. Think about this. You can still sail –"
"It would do no good," Legolas said. "I explained –"
"Elrond is there!" Aragorn cried. "And Gandalf as well. They can help you."
Legolas stopped. For a long moment he stood motionless, his head bowed. Then he drew a slow breath. "Why are you fighting this? Why can you not just let me go?"
"Because we are talking about your life," Aragorn said. "Eru, Legolas! There is still a way. Why will you not at least try?"
"Because I could not bear it!" Legolas whirled to face him, his hands clenching into fists. Lightning flashed again outside, followed an instant later by a low growl of thunder. The wind rattled the windows.
"That way would mean that I must go crawling to Elrond to beg his help, and I must tell him of my failure, and every detail of my humiliation. He would consult with Mithrandir, and so I would be called to repeat it all for his hearing. There would be discussions with Elrond's healers. The healing he offers cannot be done without going back into the injury, so I must needs submit myself to his touch and relive it all again, and again, and again, and I cannot!"
"I will not," he added more quietly. "As yet Lord Elrond knows nothing of this. I would have it remain so, that when I die there will be one person who remembers me as I was and not as I have become."
"So you choose to die rather than take the chance that you might live," Aragorn said. "Gimli was right. You are giving up. You defeated Dragaer but you will not fight to save yourself!"
"There is nothing left for me to fight for!" A window banged open in a howl of wind. Legolas spread his hands as if to take in the room, the storm, and the whole world around them. "Arwen is safe. Gondor is safe. You are secure on your throne. Eryn Lasgalen is at peace. I am not needed. Why must you keep me here to torture me?"
"Because I need you!" Aragorn shouted. He caught himself, shaking, and forced his fists to open. He continued more calmly. "Were it not for you Minas Tirith would now be overrun. Were it not for you I might . . . there is no telling what I might have done, to Arwen, to Faramir . . . You saved me, Legolas. You saved us all. Will you turn your back on them? On Gimli? On Arwen? Your life has worth greater than just your skill with the bow and the blade. There are people here who care about you. There are people here who need you."
Legolas stared at him. "You need me," he said softly. "Yes. I have seen exactly how you need me."
Aragorn looked away. "Don't," he said.
"Why not?" Legolas said. He paced forward, placing one foot deliberately before the other. "I am already broken. Dragaer took everything from me. You took everything from me. Why should you not have my body as well?"
He was a hand's breadth away. Aragorn's breath had ceased. His heart was hammering. Legolas pressed the flat of one hand against his chest. He slid it slowly up to the junction of Aragorn's neck.
"Why not?" he said again.
Aragorn knocked his hand away. "Stop it," he said. "Valar, Legolas . . ."
"We have already established that the Valar have nothing to do with this," Legolas said. "I am forsaken. Even were I to cast myself into the maw of the sea Mandos would not have me. Yet you say my life has worth. If so, it is because you command it so. So command it. Command me."
Aragorn backed away. He was trembling. "No," he said. "This is madness."
"Ah, and you are the expert on that as well," Legolas said. His face was lit with fey humor, though his eyes were still dark. "But you bade me swear an oath to you, Elessar, and I have not forgotten."
His hands moved to his collar, unbuttoning his shirt. The bruises at his throat were finally beginning to yellow, save for one livid mark upon the juncture of his neck. That one was still as fresh as it had been the night that Aragorn had made it.
"There is no honor left for me in life or in death," Legolas said. He pulled his shirt back to bare his chest and neck. His hands dropped to the fastening of his leggings. "What reason is there for me to stay, then, save as your whore?"
"Stop it!" Aragorn shouted. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" he grabbed Legolas' arms, pulling his hands away. "I told you, it wasn't me! Dragaer did this to you, to me. He was inside my mind. I never intended any of this!"
"You did!" Legolas shouted back. "Do not lie to me! Dragaer told me himself: he first tried to turn you against Arwen, but he could not! He could not! You resisted, you were too powerful for him. But for me you did not resist. You wanted it."
"No!" Aragorn said. "I never –"
"Morgoth's Void, Aragorn!" Legolas swore. "I am sick of your lies. I am sick of you. Your gaze, your touch, your scent that I cannot get off of my skin – I am sick unto death of it but I cannot die! You bid me to stay, and to fight – how dare you. You have not the courage to face your own heart, but you presume to order mine."
The open window was swinging madly, banging against the wall. The wind swept the loose parchments from the desk, blowing them around the room. All of the candles had gone out. Legolas' face was white with fury, alternately lit by the fire and by flashes of the lightning outside.
"You would order me to remain like this for an eternity, and you cannot imagine what even a single hour costs me," he said. "You knew that what you planned meant death for an Elven faer, but you did not reckon what it would mean to live. You know nothing of the pain, of the humiliation, of facing a crowd of ten thousand and knowing that they all know how you are defiled. You know nothing of what you have done – but you will. By Elbereth I swear you will."
He shoved Aragorn backward. Aragorn stumbled, his heel catching on a fold in the carpet. He half-fell against the wall, his head striking painfully against the stone, and then Legolas' hands were on him, gripping the back of his neck, and Legolas' body was crushed against his, and Legolas' mouth was on his, hard and demanding as the waves that battered the shore outside.
Aragorn struggled, reaching up to grasp Legolas' wrists. With an effort he wrenched the Elf's hands away. "No," he gasped. "Legolas, stop!"
"You want it," Legolas said. He was breathing hard. His mouth was reddened, abraded by the friction of Aragorn's whiskers. "Admit it. You have always wanted this."
"No!" Aragorn caught his shoulders as he came forward again, pushing him back. "I loved you, Legolas, as one brother loves another. But my heart is given to Arwen. You know that!"
"This was never about love!" Legolas snapped. "This is about power. You claimed the Evenstar for your own, but you would master a Prince of the Sindar as well. In every way imaginable you would have me."
He grabbed Aragorn's arms and twisted, pulling him off balance as he hooked one foot behind his. Aragorn crashed to the floor with Legolas on top of him.
"So," Legolas gasped. "You have me, my lord. Now the Prince will master his King."
He braced a hand against Aragorn's neck. Powerful, bow-calloused fingers dug into Aragorn's flesh. His face flushed as the pressure grew, his lungs straining for air. The blood was roaring in his ears.
With his free hand Legolas tore open the lacings of Aragorn's tunic. He pushed the leather aside, sliding his hand under the shirt beneath. Aragorn's fists clenched as long fingers tickled the hair that trailed across his belly, down to the fastening of his leggings.
Legolas straddled his leg, forcing one knee between his thighs. Aragorn bucked at the touch, and Legolas' hand slipped from his throat to the floor. Aragorn rolled to his side, throwing the Elf off him. Legolas tucked his shoulder down as he fell, rolling in one quick motion to his feet again.
He spun and kicked as Aragorn was climbing to his feet, striking him in the chest. Aragorn flew backward, smashing into the chair that stood before the desk. Legolas lunged after him, and Aragorn lashed out wildly, catching the Elf with a fist just below the jaw.
Legolas staggered. Aragorn got to his feet, one hand pressed to the back of his head.
"Are you all right," he began, and then Legolas hit him with two swift rights and a left hook that exploded against his cheek and knocked him across the room and into the fireplace mantle.
Aragorn crumpled to his knees as stars broke across his vision. There was a metallic taste in his mouth. He spat into the hearth and ran his tongue over his teeth, checking that they all were still there. His face stung: the sword cut over his cheekbone had reopened. He touched it and his fingers came away red with blood.
Something moved behind him. He turned his head slowly, blinking his eyes to focus. A pair of bare feet stood at the edge of the hearthrug.
"Are you going to kill me, Legolas?" he asked. "Whatever you do, it will be nothing more than I deserve."
"What you deserve . . ." Legolas began, and then stopped. For a time he stood silent, and there was no sound but the hiss of rain and a trailing rumble of thunder. The storm was moving off. "I do not know what you deserve," he said.
Slowly he knelt. He brushed the hair back from Aragorn's face, his fingers trailing close to but not touching the cut on his cheek. "Tell me truthfully, Aragorn, if you can. In all the years that we have known each other, did you ever desire me?"
Aragorn closed his eyes. "I do not know," he said. "That I was aware of, in my mind, no. No. I loved Arwen from the moment that I saw her, and before her there were others . . . Elven maids I had no hope of ever winning, but as I neared manhood they appeared in my dreams."
He took a deep breath, opening his eyes and meeting the Elf's gaze. "You were my friend, a brother closer to me than Elrond's sons. I idolized you. Everything that you did: hunting, tracking, your skill upon the battlefield, the way you moved. I wanted to be you. The way you spoke, sang, laughed, breathed . . . the way you looked."
He reached up a hand, skimming the fine threads of Legolas' hair with the backs of his fingers. "Valar, Legolas, do you have any idea how it feels to be a sixteen-year-old boy with spots on his forehead and a best friend who is the fairest Prince in Mirkwood?"
Legolas moved his head away. Aragorn let his hand fall back to his side. "I loved you," he said. "I love you still. It is possible that some part of me desired more . . . but if so it was buried so deeply that I myself did not know it."
Legolas sat back on his heels. His hands were open in his lap. His shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, exposing the flat planes of his chest and stomach. "Then why did you not resist?" he whispered. "If you loved me as you say, why did you listen when Dragaer turned you against me?"
Aragorn sighed. "I did not realize it at first," he said. "What it meant. When I did . . . by then it was about control. I believed that I had to master you, for your own protection and for mine. I had to break you like a horse to the bit. The method did not matter."
He shook his head. "Or maybe it did. I do not know. It was madness, but everything that I can remember of that time was equally mad. The whole world seemed to be conspiring against me. I was so afraid, every hour I was afraid and there was no one to whom I could turn. Except for you. Except for in this way."
He fell silent. Legolas rose to his feet, paced a few steps to the open window. He caught the swinging frame and held it still. The fading breeze lifted tendrils from the disheveled mass of his hair as it fell over his shoulders and down his back.
"And this was the only way," he said.
Aragorn drew a slow breath, released it. "Yes," he said. "Legolas, I cannot swear that I never felt any desire for you. Eru, a man would have to be more than human to travel months alone in the Wild with you and never have . . . but I would not have acted on it. Even had I been aware I never would have acted on it. Your friendship is too important to me."
He turned his face away, staring into the fire. "Dragaer knew the depth of the love that I felt for you. But he did not understand the nature of it. He . . . I knew his mind too. Valar, I spent months seeing through his eyes, though I did not know it. He was intelligent, patient, cunning, ruthless . . . but he knew nothing of affection or loyalty except as weapons to be leveraged against those who felt them. He could not conceive of love without lust, allegiance without control. What I feel for you – what I truly feel for you, in my own mind and heart – was beyond his ability to imagine."
There was a long silence. Aragorn closed his eyes. His head was throbbing. He could feel a lump swelling above his left eye where Legolas had struck him. He was tired to his bones, exhausted by the weight of all that had been said and done this night.
There was a click as Legolas fastened the window. A pause, and then a hand touched Aragorn's shoulder. He lifted his head.
"I have no forgiveness to offer you," Legolas said.
"I do not ask forgiveness," Aragorn said. "I ask for nothing from you, Legolas, except that you live. Please. Even without the sea-longing there is yet hope in the Undying Lands."
"You ask nothing of me except that I bind myself to this living death for an eternity," Legolas said dryly. Then he sighed, looking toward the rain-washed window. The glass reflected wavering images of the room against the dark night outside.
"It would do no good in any case. I might escape this sickened body, but without the Valar's call I would remain as one houseless, forever wandering the shore but unable to cross to the Halls of Mandos. In time that would become as great a suffering as I now endure."
"But as it is now you might not have to endure it for long," Aragorn insisted. "You do not need the Valar's call to reach Tol Eressëa. Elrond is there, and the Lady Galadriel. They might help you."
Legolas bent his head. "Elrond is there," he said. "And so is my mother; and so are my grandfather and two of my brothers if Mandos has released them from his halls. Shall I go to them as I am now and tell them all that has happened to bring me thus? Could you do that?"
Aragorn was silent. Legolas hunkered to one knee, facing him at eye level. "I will not die tonight," he said. "I will remain in Middle-earth at least so long as you live. Do not ask more of me than that."
"But –" Aragorn began. Legolas stopped him.
"Enough," he said. "This is my choice. I also loved you once, Estel."
Aragorn gripped his arm. "I do not ask that of you," he said. "I would have you find peace, not live your life in torment. I owe you my sanity, my life, and my soul. I know what that cost you. I could not bear to take any more, that you should linger so for my sake, with nothing in return."
"You can do nothing else. There is nothing left for me in Middle-earth or over the sea." Legolas said. "You cannot change that, whatever you might wish. The price is paid and cannot be undone."
Then he paused, and tilted his head as if considering something. "But perhaps . . ."
"What?"
"When all is lost," Legolas said slowly. "When the body is broken and all chance for healing and peace and home is gone, and the gods themselves have turned their backs . . . perhaps there is one thing yet that remains."
"What is that?" Aragorn asked wearily, sick at heart. "What remains, Legolas?"
Legolas lifted his head, and a new light was kindled in his eyes. In that moment he seemed not the victim of rape and torment, not the object of lust and obsession, but as he had been in their friendship of old. He looked again the warrior Prince who had defended his home during centuries of war, who had given his bow and his skill in a quest to save Middle-earth, who had battled the forces of darkness and had felled a Nazgûl, who had chosen to serve for love of his people and his forest and for a Ranger who would become King.
"Me," he said.
