A/N: That took forever, I apologize. Not much to say here, finally some UST and such...I'm still attempting to be fairly realistic. I don't know if it's working...If you want me to continue, leave a review. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! Keep it up!
And if anyone wants to chat, e-mail me!
Legolas couldn't remember ever having been so cold before. He walked over the snow almost precariously, with none of his usual confidence that he wouldn't exert enough pressure to break it. His dreams had him skittish. Aragorn had him more so.
And for the life of him, he didn't know why.
Part of him said that he should stop for the mortal, who was twice as cold as he, twice as hungry, twice as tired. Show him the compassion that he has showed you. And yet, he contradicted himself immediately. Aragorn knew it would be this way. Aragorn knew how determined you were. He knew it would be like this. Knew it. Accepted it. Maybe even wanted it.
But he was so cold. Shivers trilled down his spine.
"We'll stop here," Legolas said sharply. Aragorn nodded curtly. They took shelter under a towering tree, almost shielded from the snow drifting down around them.
"You're cold, Legolas."
It wasn't even a question. Legolas shook his head, brushing some snowflakes from his hair. "I'm not. I only stopped because you were shivering visibly, Aragorn."
"And yet you said you would not let me slow you down. You, too, were shivering. Walking behind you I could still see that."
"I am not cold."
Aragorn sighed, leaning against the base of the tree, "You are always, to me."
Inside, Legolas flinched. But he would not show it. Then, a voice. Once again, hovering by his ear, sensually breathing words that were not sounds more than breaths. A name. He realized that a new one was added to the list each night. Two weeks since the dreams and voices had begun to speak. He closed his eyes, trying to focus. He could not hear every sound if he listened hard. It was only by being distant, seeing the entire phrase, that he could discern some amount of meaning. And then, the voice was clear, and close, and unbelievably corporeal. "Legolas."
His eyes snapped open.
"It is alright to be cold. Denial cannot hide shame."
That voice was not in his head. He turned, "You do not need to whisper, Aragorn." The man was so close. He found himself hoping he was warming from his own body, rather than the blush that was suffusing his face. "It makes me quite paranoid."
"Do I make you nervous, Legolas?"
The elf was silent.
"I will take silence for consent."
"Don't," said Legolas, "It is merely my choosing not to answer."
"You're trembling again," Aragorn pointed out. Steadily, as if Legolas would jump at any sudden movement, he pulled Legolas closer and casually draped an arm over his shoulder. Legolas tensed but did not pull away as his body commanded him to.
It was so quiet. No ferment, no hostilities, no blood. It seemed like they constantly littered his mind lately. But this was cold, and relieving, and tangible. And it embraced him, if only for a moment. He could forget. Forget that just like everything in his life, it too would pass and disappear. And far along the road he'd forget it, simply because his new memories would crowd it out.
But, for now, he should savor it. So quiet...
And as he slept, he had no dreams.
"Wake up, Aragorn. Come, we must hurry. We've slept for hours...Don't know what I was thinking..."
Aragorn blinked, the snow crunching beneath him, coated in a layer of ice. Legolas was already awake, his clothing immaculate, his hair pulled back into a lissom braid, away from his face. Aragorn moaned softly. //We've been sleeping for hours. How dreadful,// he thought sardonically. He really wanted to plead for a few more minutes. But he'd known that Legolas did not often rest and he did not want to become a burden. Mortal or not, he would not succumb to its stereotypical frailty. "It's odd, how you sleep with your eyes open," he remarked, fastening his cloak around his shoulders.
Legolas shrugged, "Just because it's not what you do does not make it odd. It's merely different." Absently, he rubbed his eyes. "My eyes sting though. Funny..." His voice, Aragorn noted, held none of the buoyancy of his words. "We'll walk until we reach the edge of the forest and then break again. It shouldn't be more than a day or so."
"Only a day or so," Aragorn said archly. "Really, Legolas, don't trouble yourself on my account. Resting so frequently is just ludicrous."
Legolas glared, a smirk tugging at the corner's of his mouth.
Suddenly, Aragorn lowered his voice, his tone becoming more serious. "Have you noticed? We've seen hardly any orcs in all this time. Just that couple heading for Mordor as we are."
The elf nodded smugly, "They were easy to dispatch of, so off-guard."
"But don't you find it suspicious? We used to fight them in droves only weeks ago. And since, they've gradually been thinning. We were not on watch last night, and nothing happened! It was not luck."
"Coincidence, then," said Legolas tritely.
"It was not that, either."
"I'm hardly in the mood to debate this, Aragorn. Let's go." Legolas gathered some twigs for kindling and slipped them into his quiver with his arrows.
"I think it would be quite useful to be immortal," said Aragorn cooly, "For then I might possibly have enough time to figure you out." He sighed heavily, and the pair began walking again.
Legolas clenched and unclenched his hand, aware of the pain that ebbing in and out of his fingertips. His joints felt stiff, and he constantly bounded ahead to keep his speed and grace apparent. Why was he was so self-conscious? He berated himself. It wasn't like Aragorn would think less of him for freezing in this sub-zero weather. Would he? The elf quickened his pace mechanically.
It had stopped snowing hours ago, but grey clouds still ribbed the sky in an almost intimidating fashion. Aragorn sighed wearily, mumbling under his breath. He was becoming quite bored, with Legolas being so silent and touchy. The man leaned against a pine tree nonchalantly, waiting for Legolas to realize that he's stopped.
"Aragorn, move," the elf called back, turning around and walking towards him.
Aragorn stretched, "I can't hear you, Legolas. What was that?"
He could almost hear Legolas cursing in elvish. Standing a foot away from Aragorn, Legolas' voice was irritated and crisp, "I said I don't have time fo-!"
Just then Aragorn sharply backed into the tree, causing snow to tumble from its branches, entombing Legolas but only dusting himself. The elf gave a dignified cough as he shook it out of his hair and turned his quiver upside down, shaking it. He had never felt so cold and wet before. He had never felt so thoroughly annoyed. And yet, he couldn't remember ever having felt so alive. "That was really mature, Aragorn."
The ranger smirked, "Quite."
"You realize that I have to come up with something just as clever to avenge myself, now?"
"I do."
"So long as you're prepared. How about I shoot you with an arrow?" The elf strung his bow, arching an eyebrow. Aragorn shrugged, "Rather uncreative."
Letting the string go lax, Legolas feigned an expression of dejectedness. "Is it? Alright, how about this?" Without any warning he leapt at Aragorn, sending them both sprawling the ground. With a laugh, Legolas straddled him, resting an elbow on the man's chest. His voice was almost coquettish as he taunted, "Got you."
The moment flickered in Legolas' mind. Suddenly, it was hardly a mindless game. Aragorn's voice was scarcely above a whisper as he said, "You certainly did."
Faintly, Legolas rebutted himself for breathing so heavily. It was not like an elf to feel his heart pounding so hard, his breath coming in pants, his face flushing with the slightest amount of exertion. He jerked his head up, craning past Aragorn. "Oh!" he exclaimed, getting off of the man in one swift movement, cat-like.
Aragorn rolled over and stood up. A trail of blood led deeper into the woods, blue, red and mottled like that of an orcs'. "What could it be?"
Legolas shook his head, his brow furrowing. "I don't know." He stepped forward very slowly, following the path of blood which gradually thickened, darkening the white snow. And there, at the end lay an orc, leaning against a tree.
"He is dead," said Legolas kneeling down. "Stabbed." He pulled a small dagger from the orc's chest and pocketed it. The wound was fresh, but old enough that the bleeding had stopped. "I wonder who did it." The elf pursed his lips, "I'm taking his arrows. We don't need his armor, and he has no nourishment with him." He paused.
"What's this?"
Around the orc's neck hung a vile, suspended on a thin coil of rope. It wasn't large, but it looked as if the glass had splintered. In the very bottom part there was a small puddle of water, lucid and almost metallic in its consistency.
Aragorn reached towards it but Legolas grabbed his wrist. "Don't touch it. Do you not recognize it?" Legolas bit his lip, snapping the cord around the orc's neck and pouring this bit of remaining liquid onto the snow. It emitted a few sparks, and then dissolved, sizzling. "This...this is of Galadriel's mirror. I have seen it with my own eyes."
"Why would a demon like this have anything so pure?" asked Aragorn. "How could he get some?"
Transfixed, Legolas whispered, "He cannot. This makes no sense." He got up and began to run, motioning hurriedly for Aragorn to follow.
"Legolas," Aragorn called, "That's the wrong way!"
"No," yelled the elf, "We are going to see Galadriel. Keep up. This time, we will not rest at all."
