Idylls of the King
Chapter Four: The Palace of Art
Sorry, took me forever to update, and this site shut-down didn't help much, either. Hope you guys like it! -morrigan
It had been a few weeks since Aragorn had come to Mirkwood, and the human king could hardly remember a time when he had so much fun. The elven life seemed so pleasant and free of cares, and they all welcomed him, despite his strangeness to them. He knew he had his own duties back in Gondor, but he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. His decision had been eased by Galadriel, who told him that time passed by more quickly in Mirkwood than the realms outside, due to her magic, and to the humans back home, his leave had only been a few days, rather than weeks.
Aragorn had spent a generous part of each day with the elven queen, learning from her all he could of the history of the elves and their home of Valinor. The tales of the Valar fascinated him the most, for men had yet to worship any gods in name, and so he learned of Yavanna and Aule and the like, and Galadriel knew much about the queen of the gods, Varda. But the lady would never answer any of Aragorn's questions about her past, or her magic, and soon the mortal learned not to mention such matters.
But they were plenty other things to learn, and Aragorn was trying the best he could to learn Elvish, but it very difficult for him, and he doubted his human tongue could ever perfectly produce the musical tones of the ancient language. Galadriel was a patient teacher, and she reassured him that it was much easier for an elf to learn the human speech than the reverse.
Learning such lore and skills was a draining process, so after his lessons with Galadriel Aragorn spent much time exploring the realm of Mirkwood, which in reality wasn't a natural wood at all. It in fact was a sprawling subterranean citadel, and the elves lived in dwellings hewn from the cavern walls, which were connected with internal passageways and wooden walkways that stretched along the exterior of the structures. From the very rear wall of the huge cave roared a powerful waterfall, which became a wide river that weaved through the elven city, feeding the many plants and trees that blanketed the cavern floor. Aragorn was amazed that such a marvelous forest could thrive in the rocky soil, but he had a feeling the magic of Galadriel helped quite a bit. Through crevices in the high ceiling, air and light could enter, and on some days rain seeped through, creating a thin mist that floated among the trees.
The palace was on the opposite wall from the waterfall, and to walk from it to the falls took nearly a whole day's journey. Near to the palace were the market place and a vast public hall for gatherings and events, as well as a school for the elven children that was run by Celeborn, Galadriel's husband, and a temple of some sorts, in which Galadriel spent much of her time. Then the wall-structures thinned out, to become the villages of the common elves, and nearest to the waterfall were defensive structures, forts and watchtowers that were always manned by a company of elven archers, for the waterfall cloaked a passageway that led to the outside world, and it was the only way anyone could leave or enter.
This particular day, Aragorn found himself glancing at the waterfall, though it could hardly be seen from the palace. Galadriel noticed his gaze, and stopped her tale of the moment.
"You have a question, Aragorn?"
"Well…yes, actually, I do". Aragorn turned to face the lady, then asked, "How did the elves come to live here, in this cave? You have said before that after you led them here from out of the west, they spread over much of Middle-Earth".
Galadriel was silent, then smiled sadly. "I knew you would ask this, so I am prepared to answer. But this tale is a sad and difficult one…are you certain you wish to know? It may reveal some things about your people that may anger or upset you."
Aragorn, now more intrigued then ever, nodded his head eagerly.
"Many ages ago, before the coming of Men, the elves did indeed live in the many regions of this fair land, and formed their own kingdoms and lines. But when Men passed over the eastern mountains, where they had awoke, our downfall came upon us as swiftly as our glory had. At first, elves and Men tried to co-exist, attempting to learn each other's languages and ways, and for the most part Men remained in the south, where your Gondor lies now. But Men, as you know, are hardly ever content with where they are and what they have, and began to come north and set up settlements and forts among the elven villages. The elves tolerated this for awhile, but then Men forgot all they learned and gained from the elder elves, and began to think of them as weak and even deceitful or evil, for the elves were so different from them, in many ways. The wars between the two peoples began, and the elves were no match for the human armies and weapons, since elves had no use for either before the Men came. Sometimes the men would massacre whole kingdoms at a time, and would often take elven youths and maids, willing or nay, to their beds for sport. Soon, only my land of Lothlorien remained, to which all survivors of the raids had fled, but I knew it was only a matter of time before my kingdom would be destroyed as well. I had the option to sail west back to Valinor with the remnants of the elves, which perhaps only numbered two or three thousand, but I wished to stay in Middle-Earth. So Thranduil's elder sister, Areduil took all those who wished to return, and I stayed with Celeborn, Thranduil, and about a thousand and fifty elves, and led them to this place, where we have lived ever since. Men thought we had all left these shores, and eventually forgot about us, and built cities where ours once were." At this, she turned to regard Aragorn with a fond smile. "You are the first human I have met in over three-thousand years, and probably the kindest one of them all. It seems to me that there is hope yet for the race of Men."
The human king, however, was in no similar state of contentment. "You mean that the demise of the elves, all the evil they have suffered, came from the hands of my people?"
"It is regrettable to say, but yes."
Aragorn was shocked and disgusted, "Did they really…steal elves away from their homes for their own sick pleasure?"
Galadriel swiftly answered, "You mistake me, Aragorn. I do not make Men to all be vile rapers, but in truth it did happen occasionally. But not all such pairings were born of lust and cruelty; some elves did indeed find true and loving mates among humans. But this was rare and short-lived, for humans die so easily, and only one man survived to come with his elven mate here in Mirkwood. But he of course died within a few score of years, and his mate wasted away with grief soon after…I remember it, so sad it was. Not only did the young elf die, but also the child he carried". Galadriel turned to peer over the balcony, a zephyr of wind stirring her gown and waves of hair. "The babe would have been a girl, and the first half-elf to ever be born".
"Did you say he? The elf was a male?" Today's lesson was becoming a very startling one indeed.
Galadriel laughed lightly, turning to face the human. "Some elven males can bear children, but not all." She reached to rest her hand sympathetically on Aragorn's shoulder. "It seems you have still much to learn, King Elessar, but not today, I think we both have had enough. Come, let us go to supper."
Aragorn nodded, relieved, and followed the elven lady out onto a walkway that led to the public hall. Each week, the royal family held a public feast, and all of Mirkwood was invited to attend, and all elves often did so. It was one of the many ways that Thranduil was able to remain close to his people, and it was closeness Aragorn admired greatly. But tonight was an even more special occasion; it was a night for the greatest bards and dancers to perform, and Aragorn was quite looking forward to it.
Inside the hall, Galadriel and Aragorn greeted many elves on their way to the table where the royal family sat. Thranduil and Celeborn already sat there, talking animatedly with all whom approached, and near them were Isilvanar and her siblings. Aragorn groaned when he saw the twins dressed in identical robes of blue, for Celeduil and Celedriel found great mirth in confusing the untrained eye of the human.
Galadriel sat between her husband and their granddaughter, while Aragorn sat on the other side of Thranduil. The elven king clapped him on the back, beaming at him, and said, "Well, Elf-friend, how was today's lesson?"
Aragorn laughed. "Quite overwhelming, actually".
"Oh? Well, then you shall greatly enjoy tonight's feast…some of the most talented in my realm are here to entertain; even my son Legolas is performing tonight".
To his shame, Aragorn felt a warmth spread through his body and heat his face at the mention of the prince's name. He waited a few moments to ensure the strength of his voice, before politely saying, "Really? He is a singer?"
"Yes, but tonight I think he is dancing. He is one of the best…just like his mother was". At this, Thranduil's voice grew sad and he looked away.
Aragorn was greatly curious about the fate of Thranduil's mysterious wife, but knew it was certainly not the time or place to bring it up. Luckily, he was saved from the awkward situation by the sound of music from the large group of magicians that played as they strolled among the tables. The guests, all seated, turned to look expectantly at a curtained archway in the far wall.
The curtains billowed outwards, and a dancer emerged, leaping gracefully from the azure fabric as if he was a dolphin rising from the sea. He was clad in a shimmering pale green fabric that wrapped around his waist to form a sheath skirt that fell to his knees. The same sheer silk clung to his torso as it rose to knot over one of his shoulders, leaving the other bare. A belt of silver chimes and discs rested low on his slim hips, and similar ornaments were plaited in his lose, light blonde hair. A bangle circled his left ankle, and upon his right wrist was a bracelet inlaid with pearls. Around his neck gleamed a necklace of silver and gold strands that were shaped to look like small leaves, and his sapphire eyes were outlined in black, so that even those farthest away were ensnared by their intensity.
Those eyes Aragorn could recognize in a heartbeat, and he found himself unable to take his gaze off Legolas, as he spun and leapt to the music, often clapping his hands in time to the jubilant rhythm. Thranduil clapped proudly, and then gestured to the plates of food on the table before them, "Come, Aragorn, let us eat!"
But Aragorn could not, and at that moment he cared naught if he ever ate another meal again. As the elves in the hall began to feast and talk amongst themselves, the human sat there, immobile, watching the prince as he danced ever closer to the royal table. He moved from his siblings to spin by Aragorn's seat, then froze with a pause in the music, resting perfectly on one arched foot, the other outstretched behind him, his arms gracefully held above his head. He and the human king were nearly face-to- face, and mortal gray eyes met with immortal blue. Aragorn felt as if all the others in the hall melted away, and would have been content to gaze at the beautiful prince for the rest of his days. But then the music began once more, and Legolas floated away, but his eyes glanced back over his shoulder, and Aragorn was surprised to see a faint blush color the elf's high cheekbones.
Then, Aragorn felt other eyes upon him, as if his entire soul were being searched. He busied himself with cutting open a dinner roll and talking with Thranduil, but it was a long while before Galadriel would look away from him.
The feast had lasted long into the night, and even after Thranduil had retired, as some elves remained in the hall to talk and sing. Most, however, had left long ago for their homes, as another peaceful night fell upon the sylvan cave.
Aragorn, wrapped in his thick cloak, had stopped at the main palace balcony, and looked over all of Mirkwood in wonder. A thick mist had formed in the air, hiding the cavern walls, and the lights that flickered from the elven homes shone faintly through the fog, mimicking the glow of stars.
He heard the sound of light footsteps, and turned to see Legolas coming towards him from the great hall, still dressed in the light raiment of his dance. The prince smiled at him, and hurried to the king's side.
Aragorn and Legolas had spent much of their time together, as Legolas was often free; being the youngest child of seven, he hardly had many royal duties, and was eager and proud to show the man around his father's kingdom. To Aragorn's amazement, the elf had swiftly learnt quite a bit of the human speech, and the king was moved that he had learned it for him alone. He greatly enjoyed the prince's company, and could hardly remember a time when he had smiled and laughed as he had during his stay among the fair folk.
Tonight, Legolas took hold of his friend's arm and pulled him to race through the palace, and Aragorn indulgently followed. He recognized where he was being led: to the makeshift stable where his horse was kept. The first time the prince had took him to see his steed, Aragorn had been amazed at how obediently the horse had responded to the elf, and was no longer wild and dangerous.
Legolas hurried ahead, unlatching the stall door and entering slowly, speaking to the animal with low, soothing words. The horse whickered in response, and as Aragorn reached the stable, it nuzzled the elf's golden hair, chewing playfully at the winnowing strands.
"I think he likes you better than me, Legolas." Aragorn mused, smiling as the prince gently patted the horse's neck.
"Be friend. Not master." Legolas replied wisely, then suddenly grabbed the man's hand and tugged at him insistently. "You ride, yes? Can show?" He asked, now a bit shy, and looked up at the mortal with wistfulness glowing in his blue eyes.
"That's right…you elves don't keep horses…I bet you've never even been on one…" Aragorn murmured, looking at the wall, where the royal bridle hung. The rest of his tack, including the saddle, was in the palace for safekeeping, but the king was no stranger to riding bareback. He took the heavy, leather bridle bedecked with silver crests and bells, then slid it carefully over the stallion's head, fitting the bit and adjusting the buckles before lifting the reins to rest on the horse's withers.
He skillfully leapt onto the animal's back, grabbing the reins and clucking soothingly as the stallion pranced a bit, startled. When the dancing hooves quieted, Aragorn reached a hand down to the elven prince, who himself looked a bit nervous. But he looked at the king's outstretched hand, then clasped his arm, and was easily pulled up to sit behind the human on his steed's back. Aragorn guided Legolas' arms to rest around his torso, then said sternly, "Legolas, hold on as tight as you can, don't let go, no matter what. Do you understand?"
"Yes." The prince said solemnly, then tightened his hold, and pressed himself closely to the man's broad back, resting his cheek upon one velvet- clad shoulder.
Aragorn felt the liquid beat of the elven heart against his back, and closed his eyes briefly as the night breeze lifted the prince's soft hair to ghost against the skin of his neck. With a grin, he urged the horse forward with a light kick, and the animal carried the king and prince out into the forests of Mirkwood
The hooves thundered as they struck the forest ground, smoothly cantering over shallow brooks and rocky paths. With light pressure on the bit, Aragorn guided the horse as it wove among the shadowy trees, the only illumination falling from the houses high above them. Behind him, Legolas gasped with delight, lifting his face to feel the wind rush over his skin.
The horse was eager and well rested over its weeks in the stable, and soon it carried its riders quite far from the palace. The overhead lights were rare now, and Aragorn reluctantly slowed the horse to a walk, trusting the animal to pick its way through the dark forest. Hearing a stream ahead, Aragorn slid off to guide the horse to drink, leaving Legolas upon its back. The elven prince fell forward with a tired but contented sigh, one arm dangling over the horse's neck, while his other hand tangled tightly in the midnight-colored mane, and watched the human walking besides him with bright eyes.
The horse stopped at the stream-bank, and lowered its head to drink. Aragorn reached up to help Legolas dismount, and when the elf had rested his hands upon the king's shoulders, he lifted the light form off easily. As he did so, Legolas' hair fell about their faces like a silken curtain, and Aragorn inhaled deeply, smelling the familiar combination of scents that was unique to the elven prince.
He held Legolas longer than necessary, not a hard thing to do, since he felt no heavier than a feather, and Aragorn noted how his fingers nearly met as his hands cradled the elf's slim waist. Although he was loathe to do so, he then placed placed Legolas' bare feet on the mossy ground, then saw to the horse, slipping of the bridle to allow for grazing.
When he turned, he saw the elf sitting serenely upon a high rock, absently swinging a long leg to and fro. To Aragorn, it seemed as if Legolas was a creature from myth, so beautiful and ethereal he was. His pale skin glowed with the inner light that resided in all elves, as if his physical body had been woven around one of Varda's beloved stars. The luminescence cast a silver wash over the glen, and in a branch above, a nightingale warbled softly. Aragorn struggled not to blink, fearing that all he beheld was a dream, for so perfect and beautiful it was. But when his eyes closed briefly then opened once more, Legolas was still perched there, his eyes now peering at the human.
Aragorn walked over to him slowly, wondering if sitting besides the prince uninvited was too forward. As he paused, considering this, Legolas suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him down to sit on the rock as well. With a fond murmur, he reached up to touch the king's dark hair, surprising Aragorn, who sat motionless and gazed at the luminescent elf's delicate features, feeling quite content as the deft fingers ran through the mused midnight strands. Soon, however, Legolas withdrew his touch, and the human felt disappointment and longing stir in his heart.
"Here!" Legolas laughed, holding his hands out to show Aragorn the leaves and twigs he had removed, bits of Mirkwood that inadvertently ended up in the man's hair during the ride. He tossed them away, then looked out once more on the beauty of his father's realm.
Aragorn, however, had eyes only for the beauty sitting next to him, less than a hand's breadth away. Looking upon the elf's long eyelashes, slightly upturned nose, soft lips and elegantly pointed ears, he could no longer resist the temptation to touch the elf.
Silently, slowly, he reached over to gently turn Legolas' face back to his, then ran his fingers through the liquid fall of his silver-gold hair, on the pretense of returning the leaf-removing favor. Deep down, he knew the soft strands were clean, for Legolas had been well sheltered behind the king's much larger frame. But how could he stop, watching the elf's silken hair flow through his rough fingers like water, and he inhaled the faint fragrance of jasmine, which Legolas always seemed to exude. It was fast becoming Aragorn's favorite scent, just as the prince's dulcet voice raised in song was now the most treasured sound of all to the King of Gondor.
Soon, caressing Legolas' hair was no longer enough, and Aragorn could not help it as his touch moved to feel the smoothness of the elf's pale cheek, and Legolas' eyes widened, but then they closed, their fringe of thick lashes laying flush against his high cheekbones, and his lips opened slightly with a sigh.
His gaze now drawn to the prince's lovely mouth, Aragorn let his fingers drift down to rest against the perfect lips, and to him it seemed that they were made of rose petals, so soft was their texture. He could feel Legolas' breath waft past his fingertips, and was relieved that the prince was breathing evenly and calmly, and did not seemed frightened at all.
The last thing Aragorn wanted to do was offend or startle the fair being in any way, yet he could no sooner stop his tender explorations than he could stop the rapid beating of his mortal heat. His hand drifted lower still, tracing the long, slim neck to rest at the base of the elf's throat, feeling the silkiness of his skin as it stretched over the delicate bones of his neck and chest.
Legolas emitted a soft sound, something between a whimper and a sigh, and Aragorn's gaze was pulled from the elf's throat to his eyes, which had opened to stare back at him with pupils so dilated, the sapphire irises were no more than thin rings of blue. Their intensity and beauty so affected the man that he decided he had better stop his curious hands, ere he do something that might upset the elf. Clearing his throat, he moved his fingers from the elf's skin to the elaborate necklace he wore. Aragorn didn't have to feign admiration for the craftsmanship that had formed the leaves out of gold and silver with such unsurpassable skill.
The prince smiled, then reached up to touch the necklace as well. "You like, yes?"
"Yes…it's very beautiful."
"From my mother…she wore all of day, since was child". Legolas murmured, then with his other hand motioned to his face. "Look like her, father says."
"Then she too must have been quite lovely…but you have never seen her?"
Legolas' smile melted a bit, and his hands rested silently in his lap. Aragorn immediately wanted to kick himself for prying, but then the elf spokes softly, "Nay…she go west…after I born. Too long she lived in cave, missed the sun…parents, friends…" Now his composure was faltering, "She…not want me! Left me…" Legolas' voice broke, and to Aragorn's shock, he saw tears spill from the elf's lucid eyes.
"Oh, Legolas…" He drew the prince close, letting him cry into his shoulder. "Aye, your mother may have not wanted to live in this place, fair though it is, but I can vow, she did love you. She knew she could not do you well, raising you while unhappiness lived in her heart. But of course she wanted you…I have a feeling all that look upon you cannot help but care for you…" He said the last with humor, but it rang with truth.
Aragorn was relieved when the elf quieted, but grew concerned yet again when he felt the coolness of his bare shoulder. When Legolas shivered slightly as a breeze sang past them, he said, "I'm sorry, Legolas, I should have realized how cold you must be! Here…" He unfastened his cloak to wrap it around Legolas' slim shoulders, then pulled the prince close to him, enfolding him in his arms.
Legolas' head fit perfectly in the hollow of the king's neck, and he whispered a grateful thank-you in elvish, his hands clutching at the front of the man's tunic. As Aragorn sat there, protectively holding the fair prince and resting his chin atop the golden head, he had never felt more at peace, and vowed to himself that such a beautiful being should never again be sad. And it was then that the King of Men realized that the strange feelings he harbored for Legolas went beyond friendship, protectiveness, or kindness…
…Aragorn, for the first time in his life, was in love.
A/N: Awww…Aragorn's in looove (well, so's Leggy, but I'll save that for the next chapter). Yeah, I know, I kinda left them stranded in the forest, but I wanted to end this chapter where it stands…so let's just assume they got back to the palace safe and sound, 'kay? ^_^
Chapter Four: The Palace of Art
Sorry, took me forever to update, and this site shut-down didn't help much, either. Hope you guys like it! -morrigan
It had been a few weeks since Aragorn had come to Mirkwood, and the human king could hardly remember a time when he had so much fun. The elven life seemed so pleasant and free of cares, and they all welcomed him, despite his strangeness to them. He knew he had his own duties back in Gondor, but he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. His decision had been eased by Galadriel, who told him that time passed by more quickly in Mirkwood than the realms outside, due to her magic, and to the humans back home, his leave had only been a few days, rather than weeks.
Aragorn had spent a generous part of each day with the elven queen, learning from her all he could of the history of the elves and their home of Valinor. The tales of the Valar fascinated him the most, for men had yet to worship any gods in name, and so he learned of Yavanna and Aule and the like, and Galadriel knew much about the queen of the gods, Varda. But the lady would never answer any of Aragorn's questions about her past, or her magic, and soon the mortal learned not to mention such matters.
But they were plenty other things to learn, and Aragorn was trying the best he could to learn Elvish, but it very difficult for him, and he doubted his human tongue could ever perfectly produce the musical tones of the ancient language. Galadriel was a patient teacher, and she reassured him that it was much easier for an elf to learn the human speech than the reverse.
Learning such lore and skills was a draining process, so after his lessons with Galadriel Aragorn spent much time exploring the realm of Mirkwood, which in reality wasn't a natural wood at all. It in fact was a sprawling subterranean citadel, and the elves lived in dwellings hewn from the cavern walls, which were connected with internal passageways and wooden walkways that stretched along the exterior of the structures. From the very rear wall of the huge cave roared a powerful waterfall, which became a wide river that weaved through the elven city, feeding the many plants and trees that blanketed the cavern floor. Aragorn was amazed that such a marvelous forest could thrive in the rocky soil, but he had a feeling the magic of Galadriel helped quite a bit. Through crevices in the high ceiling, air and light could enter, and on some days rain seeped through, creating a thin mist that floated among the trees.
The palace was on the opposite wall from the waterfall, and to walk from it to the falls took nearly a whole day's journey. Near to the palace were the market place and a vast public hall for gatherings and events, as well as a school for the elven children that was run by Celeborn, Galadriel's husband, and a temple of some sorts, in which Galadriel spent much of her time. Then the wall-structures thinned out, to become the villages of the common elves, and nearest to the waterfall were defensive structures, forts and watchtowers that were always manned by a company of elven archers, for the waterfall cloaked a passageway that led to the outside world, and it was the only way anyone could leave or enter.
This particular day, Aragorn found himself glancing at the waterfall, though it could hardly be seen from the palace. Galadriel noticed his gaze, and stopped her tale of the moment.
"You have a question, Aragorn?"
"Well…yes, actually, I do". Aragorn turned to face the lady, then asked, "How did the elves come to live here, in this cave? You have said before that after you led them here from out of the west, they spread over much of Middle-Earth".
Galadriel was silent, then smiled sadly. "I knew you would ask this, so I am prepared to answer. But this tale is a sad and difficult one…are you certain you wish to know? It may reveal some things about your people that may anger or upset you."
Aragorn, now more intrigued then ever, nodded his head eagerly.
"Many ages ago, before the coming of Men, the elves did indeed live in the many regions of this fair land, and formed their own kingdoms and lines. But when Men passed over the eastern mountains, where they had awoke, our downfall came upon us as swiftly as our glory had. At first, elves and Men tried to co-exist, attempting to learn each other's languages and ways, and for the most part Men remained in the south, where your Gondor lies now. But Men, as you know, are hardly ever content with where they are and what they have, and began to come north and set up settlements and forts among the elven villages. The elves tolerated this for awhile, but then Men forgot all they learned and gained from the elder elves, and began to think of them as weak and even deceitful or evil, for the elves were so different from them, in many ways. The wars between the two peoples began, and the elves were no match for the human armies and weapons, since elves had no use for either before the Men came. Sometimes the men would massacre whole kingdoms at a time, and would often take elven youths and maids, willing or nay, to their beds for sport. Soon, only my land of Lothlorien remained, to which all survivors of the raids had fled, but I knew it was only a matter of time before my kingdom would be destroyed as well. I had the option to sail west back to Valinor with the remnants of the elves, which perhaps only numbered two or three thousand, but I wished to stay in Middle-Earth. So Thranduil's elder sister, Areduil took all those who wished to return, and I stayed with Celeborn, Thranduil, and about a thousand and fifty elves, and led them to this place, where we have lived ever since. Men thought we had all left these shores, and eventually forgot about us, and built cities where ours once were." At this, she turned to regard Aragorn with a fond smile. "You are the first human I have met in over three-thousand years, and probably the kindest one of them all. It seems to me that there is hope yet for the race of Men."
The human king, however, was in no similar state of contentment. "You mean that the demise of the elves, all the evil they have suffered, came from the hands of my people?"
"It is regrettable to say, but yes."
Aragorn was shocked and disgusted, "Did they really…steal elves away from their homes for their own sick pleasure?"
Galadriel swiftly answered, "You mistake me, Aragorn. I do not make Men to all be vile rapers, but in truth it did happen occasionally. But not all such pairings were born of lust and cruelty; some elves did indeed find true and loving mates among humans. But this was rare and short-lived, for humans die so easily, and only one man survived to come with his elven mate here in Mirkwood. But he of course died within a few score of years, and his mate wasted away with grief soon after…I remember it, so sad it was. Not only did the young elf die, but also the child he carried". Galadriel turned to peer over the balcony, a zephyr of wind stirring her gown and waves of hair. "The babe would have been a girl, and the first half-elf to ever be born".
"Did you say he? The elf was a male?" Today's lesson was becoming a very startling one indeed.
Galadriel laughed lightly, turning to face the human. "Some elven males can bear children, but not all." She reached to rest her hand sympathetically on Aragorn's shoulder. "It seems you have still much to learn, King Elessar, but not today, I think we both have had enough. Come, let us go to supper."
Aragorn nodded, relieved, and followed the elven lady out onto a walkway that led to the public hall. Each week, the royal family held a public feast, and all of Mirkwood was invited to attend, and all elves often did so. It was one of the many ways that Thranduil was able to remain close to his people, and it was closeness Aragorn admired greatly. But tonight was an even more special occasion; it was a night for the greatest bards and dancers to perform, and Aragorn was quite looking forward to it.
Inside the hall, Galadriel and Aragorn greeted many elves on their way to the table where the royal family sat. Thranduil and Celeborn already sat there, talking animatedly with all whom approached, and near them were Isilvanar and her siblings. Aragorn groaned when he saw the twins dressed in identical robes of blue, for Celeduil and Celedriel found great mirth in confusing the untrained eye of the human.
Galadriel sat between her husband and their granddaughter, while Aragorn sat on the other side of Thranduil. The elven king clapped him on the back, beaming at him, and said, "Well, Elf-friend, how was today's lesson?"
Aragorn laughed. "Quite overwhelming, actually".
"Oh? Well, then you shall greatly enjoy tonight's feast…some of the most talented in my realm are here to entertain; even my son Legolas is performing tonight".
To his shame, Aragorn felt a warmth spread through his body and heat his face at the mention of the prince's name. He waited a few moments to ensure the strength of his voice, before politely saying, "Really? He is a singer?"
"Yes, but tonight I think he is dancing. He is one of the best…just like his mother was". At this, Thranduil's voice grew sad and he looked away.
Aragorn was greatly curious about the fate of Thranduil's mysterious wife, but knew it was certainly not the time or place to bring it up. Luckily, he was saved from the awkward situation by the sound of music from the large group of magicians that played as they strolled among the tables. The guests, all seated, turned to look expectantly at a curtained archway in the far wall.
The curtains billowed outwards, and a dancer emerged, leaping gracefully from the azure fabric as if he was a dolphin rising from the sea. He was clad in a shimmering pale green fabric that wrapped around his waist to form a sheath skirt that fell to his knees. The same sheer silk clung to his torso as it rose to knot over one of his shoulders, leaving the other bare. A belt of silver chimes and discs rested low on his slim hips, and similar ornaments were plaited in his lose, light blonde hair. A bangle circled his left ankle, and upon his right wrist was a bracelet inlaid with pearls. Around his neck gleamed a necklace of silver and gold strands that were shaped to look like small leaves, and his sapphire eyes were outlined in black, so that even those farthest away were ensnared by their intensity.
Those eyes Aragorn could recognize in a heartbeat, and he found himself unable to take his gaze off Legolas, as he spun and leapt to the music, often clapping his hands in time to the jubilant rhythm. Thranduil clapped proudly, and then gestured to the plates of food on the table before them, "Come, Aragorn, let us eat!"
But Aragorn could not, and at that moment he cared naught if he ever ate another meal again. As the elves in the hall began to feast and talk amongst themselves, the human sat there, immobile, watching the prince as he danced ever closer to the royal table. He moved from his siblings to spin by Aragorn's seat, then froze with a pause in the music, resting perfectly on one arched foot, the other outstretched behind him, his arms gracefully held above his head. He and the human king were nearly face-to- face, and mortal gray eyes met with immortal blue. Aragorn felt as if all the others in the hall melted away, and would have been content to gaze at the beautiful prince for the rest of his days. But then the music began once more, and Legolas floated away, but his eyes glanced back over his shoulder, and Aragorn was surprised to see a faint blush color the elf's high cheekbones.
Then, Aragorn felt other eyes upon him, as if his entire soul were being searched. He busied himself with cutting open a dinner roll and talking with Thranduil, but it was a long while before Galadriel would look away from him.
The feast had lasted long into the night, and even after Thranduil had retired, as some elves remained in the hall to talk and sing. Most, however, had left long ago for their homes, as another peaceful night fell upon the sylvan cave.
Aragorn, wrapped in his thick cloak, had stopped at the main palace balcony, and looked over all of Mirkwood in wonder. A thick mist had formed in the air, hiding the cavern walls, and the lights that flickered from the elven homes shone faintly through the fog, mimicking the glow of stars.
He heard the sound of light footsteps, and turned to see Legolas coming towards him from the great hall, still dressed in the light raiment of his dance. The prince smiled at him, and hurried to the king's side.
Aragorn and Legolas had spent much of their time together, as Legolas was often free; being the youngest child of seven, he hardly had many royal duties, and was eager and proud to show the man around his father's kingdom. To Aragorn's amazement, the elf had swiftly learnt quite a bit of the human speech, and the king was moved that he had learned it for him alone. He greatly enjoyed the prince's company, and could hardly remember a time when he had smiled and laughed as he had during his stay among the fair folk.
Tonight, Legolas took hold of his friend's arm and pulled him to race through the palace, and Aragorn indulgently followed. He recognized where he was being led: to the makeshift stable where his horse was kept. The first time the prince had took him to see his steed, Aragorn had been amazed at how obediently the horse had responded to the elf, and was no longer wild and dangerous.
Legolas hurried ahead, unlatching the stall door and entering slowly, speaking to the animal with low, soothing words. The horse whickered in response, and as Aragorn reached the stable, it nuzzled the elf's golden hair, chewing playfully at the winnowing strands.
"I think he likes you better than me, Legolas." Aragorn mused, smiling as the prince gently patted the horse's neck.
"Be friend. Not master." Legolas replied wisely, then suddenly grabbed the man's hand and tugged at him insistently. "You ride, yes? Can show?" He asked, now a bit shy, and looked up at the mortal with wistfulness glowing in his blue eyes.
"That's right…you elves don't keep horses…I bet you've never even been on one…" Aragorn murmured, looking at the wall, where the royal bridle hung. The rest of his tack, including the saddle, was in the palace for safekeeping, but the king was no stranger to riding bareback. He took the heavy, leather bridle bedecked with silver crests and bells, then slid it carefully over the stallion's head, fitting the bit and adjusting the buckles before lifting the reins to rest on the horse's withers.
He skillfully leapt onto the animal's back, grabbing the reins and clucking soothingly as the stallion pranced a bit, startled. When the dancing hooves quieted, Aragorn reached a hand down to the elven prince, who himself looked a bit nervous. But he looked at the king's outstretched hand, then clasped his arm, and was easily pulled up to sit behind the human on his steed's back. Aragorn guided Legolas' arms to rest around his torso, then said sternly, "Legolas, hold on as tight as you can, don't let go, no matter what. Do you understand?"
"Yes." The prince said solemnly, then tightened his hold, and pressed himself closely to the man's broad back, resting his cheek upon one velvet- clad shoulder.
Aragorn felt the liquid beat of the elven heart against his back, and closed his eyes briefly as the night breeze lifted the prince's soft hair to ghost against the skin of his neck. With a grin, he urged the horse forward with a light kick, and the animal carried the king and prince out into the forests of Mirkwood
The hooves thundered as they struck the forest ground, smoothly cantering over shallow brooks and rocky paths. With light pressure on the bit, Aragorn guided the horse as it wove among the shadowy trees, the only illumination falling from the houses high above them. Behind him, Legolas gasped with delight, lifting his face to feel the wind rush over his skin.
The horse was eager and well rested over its weeks in the stable, and soon it carried its riders quite far from the palace. The overhead lights were rare now, and Aragorn reluctantly slowed the horse to a walk, trusting the animal to pick its way through the dark forest. Hearing a stream ahead, Aragorn slid off to guide the horse to drink, leaving Legolas upon its back. The elven prince fell forward with a tired but contented sigh, one arm dangling over the horse's neck, while his other hand tangled tightly in the midnight-colored mane, and watched the human walking besides him with bright eyes.
The horse stopped at the stream-bank, and lowered its head to drink. Aragorn reached up to help Legolas dismount, and when the elf had rested his hands upon the king's shoulders, he lifted the light form off easily. As he did so, Legolas' hair fell about their faces like a silken curtain, and Aragorn inhaled deeply, smelling the familiar combination of scents that was unique to the elven prince.
He held Legolas longer than necessary, not a hard thing to do, since he felt no heavier than a feather, and Aragorn noted how his fingers nearly met as his hands cradled the elf's slim waist. Although he was loathe to do so, he then placed placed Legolas' bare feet on the mossy ground, then saw to the horse, slipping of the bridle to allow for grazing.
When he turned, he saw the elf sitting serenely upon a high rock, absently swinging a long leg to and fro. To Aragorn, it seemed as if Legolas was a creature from myth, so beautiful and ethereal he was. His pale skin glowed with the inner light that resided in all elves, as if his physical body had been woven around one of Varda's beloved stars. The luminescence cast a silver wash over the glen, and in a branch above, a nightingale warbled softly. Aragorn struggled not to blink, fearing that all he beheld was a dream, for so perfect and beautiful it was. But when his eyes closed briefly then opened once more, Legolas was still perched there, his eyes now peering at the human.
Aragorn walked over to him slowly, wondering if sitting besides the prince uninvited was too forward. As he paused, considering this, Legolas suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him down to sit on the rock as well. With a fond murmur, he reached up to touch the king's dark hair, surprising Aragorn, who sat motionless and gazed at the luminescent elf's delicate features, feeling quite content as the deft fingers ran through the mused midnight strands. Soon, however, Legolas withdrew his touch, and the human felt disappointment and longing stir in his heart.
"Here!" Legolas laughed, holding his hands out to show Aragorn the leaves and twigs he had removed, bits of Mirkwood that inadvertently ended up in the man's hair during the ride. He tossed them away, then looked out once more on the beauty of his father's realm.
Aragorn, however, had eyes only for the beauty sitting next to him, less than a hand's breadth away. Looking upon the elf's long eyelashes, slightly upturned nose, soft lips and elegantly pointed ears, he could no longer resist the temptation to touch the elf.
Silently, slowly, he reached over to gently turn Legolas' face back to his, then ran his fingers through the liquid fall of his silver-gold hair, on the pretense of returning the leaf-removing favor. Deep down, he knew the soft strands were clean, for Legolas had been well sheltered behind the king's much larger frame. But how could he stop, watching the elf's silken hair flow through his rough fingers like water, and he inhaled the faint fragrance of jasmine, which Legolas always seemed to exude. It was fast becoming Aragorn's favorite scent, just as the prince's dulcet voice raised in song was now the most treasured sound of all to the King of Gondor.
Soon, caressing Legolas' hair was no longer enough, and Aragorn could not help it as his touch moved to feel the smoothness of the elf's pale cheek, and Legolas' eyes widened, but then they closed, their fringe of thick lashes laying flush against his high cheekbones, and his lips opened slightly with a sigh.
His gaze now drawn to the prince's lovely mouth, Aragorn let his fingers drift down to rest against the perfect lips, and to him it seemed that they were made of rose petals, so soft was their texture. He could feel Legolas' breath waft past his fingertips, and was relieved that the prince was breathing evenly and calmly, and did not seemed frightened at all.
The last thing Aragorn wanted to do was offend or startle the fair being in any way, yet he could no sooner stop his tender explorations than he could stop the rapid beating of his mortal heat. His hand drifted lower still, tracing the long, slim neck to rest at the base of the elf's throat, feeling the silkiness of his skin as it stretched over the delicate bones of his neck and chest.
Legolas emitted a soft sound, something between a whimper and a sigh, and Aragorn's gaze was pulled from the elf's throat to his eyes, which had opened to stare back at him with pupils so dilated, the sapphire irises were no more than thin rings of blue. Their intensity and beauty so affected the man that he decided he had better stop his curious hands, ere he do something that might upset the elf. Clearing his throat, he moved his fingers from the elf's skin to the elaborate necklace he wore. Aragorn didn't have to feign admiration for the craftsmanship that had formed the leaves out of gold and silver with such unsurpassable skill.
The prince smiled, then reached up to touch the necklace as well. "You like, yes?"
"Yes…it's very beautiful."
"From my mother…she wore all of day, since was child". Legolas murmured, then with his other hand motioned to his face. "Look like her, father says."
"Then she too must have been quite lovely…but you have never seen her?"
Legolas' smile melted a bit, and his hands rested silently in his lap. Aragorn immediately wanted to kick himself for prying, but then the elf spokes softly, "Nay…she go west…after I born. Too long she lived in cave, missed the sun…parents, friends…" Now his composure was faltering, "She…not want me! Left me…" Legolas' voice broke, and to Aragorn's shock, he saw tears spill from the elf's lucid eyes.
"Oh, Legolas…" He drew the prince close, letting him cry into his shoulder. "Aye, your mother may have not wanted to live in this place, fair though it is, but I can vow, she did love you. She knew she could not do you well, raising you while unhappiness lived in her heart. But of course she wanted you…I have a feeling all that look upon you cannot help but care for you…" He said the last with humor, but it rang with truth.
Aragorn was relieved when the elf quieted, but grew concerned yet again when he felt the coolness of his bare shoulder. When Legolas shivered slightly as a breeze sang past them, he said, "I'm sorry, Legolas, I should have realized how cold you must be! Here…" He unfastened his cloak to wrap it around Legolas' slim shoulders, then pulled the prince close to him, enfolding him in his arms.
Legolas' head fit perfectly in the hollow of the king's neck, and he whispered a grateful thank-you in elvish, his hands clutching at the front of the man's tunic. As Aragorn sat there, protectively holding the fair prince and resting his chin atop the golden head, he had never felt more at peace, and vowed to himself that such a beautiful being should never again be sad. And it was then that the King of Men realized that the strange feelings he harbored for Legolas went beyond friendship, protectiveness, or kindness…
…Aragorn, for the first time in his life, was in love.
A/N: Awww…Aragorn's in looove (well, so's Leggy, but I'll save that for the next chapter). Yeah, I know, I kinda left them stranded in the forest, but I wanted to end this chapter where it stands…so let's just assume they got back to the palace safe and sound, 'kay? ^_^