Disclaimer: I neither own these characters nor believe they'd stick around long if I did.
The Space Between
Arien had not yet risen and Lothlorien lay quiet in the blue hues of predawn. Weary and grief-stricken, the Fellowship of the Ring lay slumbering in the safety of the great trees' vigil. All save two.
Aragorn strolled amongst the trunks of the trees, too tired to seek the bath he'd risen to find. His eyes shone red and raw in the eerie half-light that suffused the area; he'd spent the night up pondering his fate and that of his companions. In his stupor he failed to catch sigh of Legolas the elf, dark-garbed as he was, until he nearly ran into him.
"Legolas, it's a long journey ahead. Why aren't you resting?"
"I could ask the same of you," Legolas replied, then smiled a little and shrugged. "I just wanted to see the glory of Lothlorien while I could. Our stay is so brief. Though," and he chuckled, "if I'm tired enough for you to sneak up on me I ought to be getting some sleep, it's true."
Exhaustion had eaten away Aragorn's patience and a good deal of his common sense. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Legolas' brows furrowed. "Nothing, Aragorn. I only know that Pippin told me Arwen got a blade under your nose unawares—"
"And you'll be holding that against me until I die, I suppose?"
"Honestly, I meant no offense, and Pippin could've been telling yarns for all I know—"
"So you're saying I don't make a good elf?" Aragorn demanded. "I'm too short, then, or what?"
"Um—" Color climbed in the elf's pale face.
"And I suppose I'm too—too old, right, and hasty?"
Legolas threw up his hands. "Well, yes! Every time we make a decision, it's 'No, we go this way', and 'That's not how it will work!'" Emboldened by this outburst, Legolas went further. "Hasty? Yes you're hasty, all the time, and showing your gray!"
Aragorn grew quiet. "And that's because of my ancestor, right? Isildur bred it into me?"
"Yes! It's all because of—" Legolas faltered and saw that he'd gone too far. "I mean—"
"Take it back!" Aragorn swung a fist at him howling, "Take it back, Legolas, take it back!"
"That's not what I meant! I'm sorry! I didn't mean—" Legolas ducked behind a tree, and then another one, as Aragorn advanced ruthlessly upon him.
"Take it back!" Aragorn roared. "Curse you, Legolas, take it back!"
"I take it back, I take back, I take it—ah!" The ground beneath the elf's feet crumbled and he risked a glance behind him. A dry creek bed carpeted in fall leaves gaped wide and steep at his back. "Please Aragorn, please," he whined, and would have continued in that fashion. But Aragorn paused for no breath at Legolas' dismay and threw yet another punch. This time it connected, doubling Legolas over even as it toppled him backward over the lip of the hollow. And because Aragorn followed through with such fury the motion overbalanced him and he tipped forward also, his eyes as round as Legolas' in the instant before the ground rushed up to catch them.
Over and over they tumbled, collecting scrapes and bruises along the way. Legolas felt what breath remained leave him as Aragorn landed on top of him. The punch and the fall, and a particularly painful twinge in his wrist, brought tears to Legolas' eyes, along with shame at having lost a fight so completely, and to a human, too. Aragorn's eyes reopened more slowly and they were twin lamps of sorrow and remorse in the forest gloom.
And then he kissed Legolas, full on the lips.
Both men froze.
"I…er…" Aragorn recovered first, pushing himself off Legolas as if burned. Legolas stayed sprawled, fighting the blush that was rising in his cheeks. Aragorn glanced in the direction of Legolas' lower half and turned away, his own cheeks crimson in the muddled light of predawn.
"You…" Legolas stood upright in a hurry, brushing the golden leaves of Lothlorien from his garb and hair. "You, ah, have—well, you know." He thought of Arwen and cringed. "Still," he thought, "Aniron." Aragorn whirled and regarded Legolas incredulously. The elf paled as he realized he'd spoken aloud. "I mean—"
"I know what you mean," Aragorn said slowly, taking a step forward. "But…" He shook his head and looked up in time to catch a smile on Legolas' lips. "What?"
"Your hair," Legolas laughed. "When was the last time you washed it?"
"Why I—" Aragorn began, then burst out laughing. The sound was full and rich, and came from deep in his chest, made all the fuller from months, years of toil and worry. Legolas' alarmed expression only made him laugh all the harder. "What now?" he cried, when he finally got his voice under control, "Am I to discover that Green Elves don't laugh, either?"
"It's not that," Legolas blurted. "It's that I'm standing here watching you and—" He turned away. "It's going to be very hard."
"Oh? What is?"
"Going on with this quest
and…keeping myself from you." Legolas'
last words were a whisper.
"What now? Speak up, Legolas, son of Thranduil, for my ears are filled to bursting with all that hobbit chatter."
Legolas glanced sharply at him. "The hobbits are full of good, Aragorn."
"Aye, I know it. Full of food, too, the way they eat. Now what was it you were saying?"
"Nothing." Legolas topped the steep bank in a few graceful bounds and, framed by the morning light, gazed back down on Aragorn with blurred vision. The Man slumped suddenly and Legolas was about to spring suddenly when Aragorn spoke in a voice worn raw with time.
"I know what you want, Legolas. I, too…" He bent to pick up his fallen cloak and avoided Legolas' eyes. "Aniron," he whispered, and Legolas being the elf he was heard it clear as a clarion call. "But it was not to be." Stung, the elf hurried back into the milky shadows of Lothlorien, dreading the journey before them.
* * * *
The vast canopy of stars over Rohan had long since unfurled itself when Gimli, Aragorn and Legolas came to a panting halt. "The elf may be able to run with the horses," Gimli wheezed, "but we need sleep."
"But we can't—"
"He's right, Legolas," Aragorn spoke under cover of darkness and so didn't feel the need to hide his admiring glance from the shadowy form of the elf. "We'll be of no use to Merry or Pippin half-dead from running."
"They'll be half-dead at this rate," Legolas muttered, then grew suddenly agreeable. "You know, I'm actually quite tired. Let's just call it quits here, shall we?"
"Sounds good." Gimli and Aragorn followed suit and sprawled in the tall, waving grasses of Rohan, well distant from each other. When Gimli's snoring reached its full, normal pitch, Legolas rose and saw Aragorn, as he'd hoped he would, stealthily creeping off in the direction of the trail they had been following. Legolas recalled Aragorn's look earlier that evening and wondered if the Man remembered about Elves seeing in the dark.
"You can stop skulking around, Legolas," Aragorn whispered. Legolas grinned in the starlight but made no move toward Aragorn.
"How did you know I was here? Improving on your tracking?" Legolas joked, then, thinking of their previous argument, hastily switched gears. "Where are you going?"
"Still following the orcs, of course."
"We oughtn't to be leaving Gimli—"
"Oh, damn the dwarf!" Aragorn spun, catching Legolas by his shoulders. "Legolas, don't you understand, we're out here to…I wanted to…"
"I don't think you know what you want," Legolas said softly, and Aragorn's hands on his shoulders were sharp in his mind. A shock of hair hid Aragorn's eyes and with the gentlest of gestures Legolas flicked it aside. "Boromir," he whispered, and to his sorrow (but not complete surprise) Aragorn's hands withdrew.
"Yes. You know he…" The Man's voice caught. "He pledged allegiance to me. Right before he…died. Him, to me."
"I know. I was there."
"Oh." Aragorn laughed weakly. "You Elves have such good ears. He was so angry with me! Such a bitter man. I know he struggled so hard and just as…just as…" His voice could go no further and so his body carried him there, collapsing into Legolas' arms. He sobbed silently into Legolas' garb, too grief-stricken to feel the tension in the arms that held him, too teary to catch the fierce feeling in the elf's eyes. "You know what he said to me?" Aragorn asked at last. "Before the—before Amon Hen, we spoke of our country, Gondor. He wanted to go to Minas Tirith, then to Mordor. Do you know what he said?"
"What," Legolas mumbled, quaking with the effort of reigning himself in. Even if he could just rest his lips in that tumbled head of hair in his arms…
"He said I put the affairs of Elves before Men. He said—he said I forsook my own people."
At this Legolas allowed himself the pleasure of cupping Aragorn's tear-streaked beard in his hands. "Never have I met or sung of a man so true as you," Legolas whispered. "And I have had thousands of years' opportunity. Aragorn son of Arathorn, I can think of no Man I would rather march with against the Dark Lord and see crowned as King. And," he added, even more softly, "Boromir was wrong for many reasons. For one…the affairs of Men and Elves are entwined."
Aragorn looked up then, through his guilt and sorrow to the starlit Elf above him, and saw the shining eyes, felt the palms damp against his face. "You…" He still leaned against Legolas the way he'd fallen, up against his chest, and turning his face to the fabric he snuck his tongue between the shirt buttons. Legolas let out a cry and stroked Aragorn's beard tenderly with both hands, the tears making his pale skin gleam. He brought his caresses down the grizzled chin, down the neck, down. A glint of silver caught at his tear-streaked hand, and he drew the pendant out where Aragorn could see it.
"Is this what you want?" Legolas shook as Aragorn withdrew his tongue and leaned slack against him. "Only if you desire it…" The elf trailed off. Aragorn would know what he meant.
After a time Aragorn pulled slowly away and stood on his own two feet.
"Forgive me," he whispered, and Legolas saw that he meant it. "There are things…there are some things that could be done, and some that must." He winced as he turned away. "I couldn't even see your face in this cursed dark."
Legolas reached out a hand—still sparkling with tears—to the departing Man but drew back, heavy with the sorrow he'd suspected would come. "I'll be there in the sun all morning," he sighed sadly, and with a rueful smile caught Aragorn's weak laugh from the swathe of shadows.
* * * *
Legolas watched the waves beating upon the shore in rhythmic bursts of blue and white. Before him floated the pristine white carving and lofty sails of a ship of Cirdan, framed by the wide sea and wider sky. "Almost," he thought, "as wide as the sky over Rohan."
From the windswept bow an elf beckoned impatiently to him and Legolas rose to board the great ship. Gimli was already aboard with special permission from the Elves, as were many others. But not the one he'd have chosen over all. With a sigh Legolas strapped his quiver to his back, more out of habit than need for protection, and strode forward, beautiful and reluctant, toward the ship and the pull of the sea.
From behind rushed a thunder of hooves, checking his gait. He turned and a mottle of silver and black caught the rising sun and blinded him for an instant. Mud flew up around hooves still gleaming as the labored breathing of a horse reached his ears. "Don't!" came the familiar voice even as the elf recognized the Man, and strong arms threw themselves around Legolas.
"Elessar…" Legolas buried his face in Aragorn's neck and wept freely. "My Elessar," he crooned again, and felt Aragorn's arms tighten around him. With a sinking heart he pulled away. "But…what are you doing here?"
"Keeping you from leaving," Aragorn said, and felt Legolas slump in his arms. "I know! I know the pull of the sea is so great in you! But, please Legolas, please now that everything is set—"
Legolas raised a fair hand to the fiery green jewel at Aragorn's neck. "You are King, remember? You have your duties." His voice was heavy.
"That doesn't matter now."
"How can you say that? After all that's been done, you would just abandon it to chance?" It knifed Legolas to say it but say it he had to. "You are King and…everyone…loves you. Needs you. You…wanted it." He paused. "How can I stay here and watch?"
"Everything is different. Arwen…" Aragorn looked away. "Arwen had a son." He caught Legolas' face, smooth and ageless, in his callused hand as the elf tried to turn away. The rising sun caught the tears in both their eyes. "He will grow up strong and well. I—I am free."
But Legolas remained bowed with remorse. "They would not let you go even if you tried. You have your duties and they would hunt you for forsaking all they held dear. And for what…"
Now Aragorn turned Legolas' face toward him, for his hand had never left that fair face. "For you," he said firmly, and brought his lips to the elf's.
Legolas let him keep them there for a shining moment. As the tongue he so remembered slipped in between his lips he spoke around it, and stayed Aragorn's advance with a pale hand. "They will hunt you," he insisted, fearing the worst.
"Then let us run." Grabbing Legolas' hand he bounded onto Shadowfax, the gleaming silver steed who had by now quite recovered his breath.
Legolas stared at the dark-clad man upon the brilliant horse, then glanced back to the ship that waited. By now a crowd had assembled on deck and was watching intently. "They have seen—" he began, but even as he said it his hand tightened in Aragorn's.
"Let them see. They will never catch us!" Aragorn swung Legolas up behind him on Shadowfax and turned the horse north. "We'll follow the shore, so you will never be parted from the song of the sea." He felt Legolas' excitement behind him.
"Or you," the elf purred, wrapping his arms around Aragorn and squeezing as Shadowfax leaped into a surf-churning gallop. Not once did he look back as the elven seacraft fell away behind them. His lips were too busy with the back of Aragorn's neck, his hands with the buttons on the Man's shirt.
As the sun which had risen on sorrow now kindled flames of pink and peach over the sea, it lent some of its light to the flesh of the two forms entangled in the sand, warming each to a burnished gold. Shadowfax nosed through the brush at a respectful distance as Legolas stroked Aragorn's hair.
"I always liked your hair," the elf murmured, kissing the knob of bone at the base of Aragorn's neck. "Don't ever change it."
"You see the gray, don't you." There was shame in the Man's words.
"I see beauty." In Aragorn's flattered silence Legolas brought his kisses down, down and no chains of duty stopped him this time. When he reached the Man's tailbone he paused, snaking a hand over to curl Aragorn's chest hair into lazy little circlets. "Does the King wish me to continue?" he intoned.
Aragorn caught Legolas' circling finger and brought it between his lips, sucking hungrily. Behind him, Legolas hummed.
"I'll take that as a yes," he whispered as he bridged the space between them. The scruffy head he loved so dearly arched back into the cradle of his arm in a perfect fit as they moved, and Aragorn took advantage of the closeness and seized the elf's lips in a wet kiss.
"Legolas," the Man smiled, and reaching behind pulled the elf ever closer. He felt the hard, beautiful nipples flanking his spine as the two of them rose, higher and higher until cries of joy tore from their throats as one.
The sun sank smiling into the sea, its last rays licking the pair on the beach.
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Aniron = "I desire."