Author's note: Saying this ONCE in this fic and once only. Will not repeat this: Don't own 'em. Wish I did. Suing would only earn you a hefty debt earned by the computer used to type this story up. ;-) Slashy! A/L, of course. (well.. not of course unless you know me. )
Oh so very slightly AU. Not massively out of character, but I'm sure there are a few instances where they are. Same location. Same time frame (at least for now)... just with a little twist from my twisted little mind. And this time Legolas will NOT DIE! gahh, I'm getting sick of unlabeled death fics. Death fics confuse and depress me. Call me an elf at heart, but I don't like death fics! .
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"Aragorn!" The cry, at first sounding very much like one of the Hobbits, proved to alight from the one member of the Fellowship the soon-to-be King of Gondor least suspected.
The elf.
Pain laced the word, and without a second thought the ranger sped toward the creator of the sound, swatting aside brambles and slicing through thicker vine-like plant life. To lose yet another member of the Fellowship would be too distressing after so recently losing Gandalf and Boromir. And to lose Legolas was a further blow.
And then he erupted onto the scene where Legolas had cried out, the human's face blanching at the sight. All around the clearing, dead orc lay in heaps, arrows piercing them in their throats, their eyes ... any vulnerable areas. And in the center lay the elf, his golden hair stained pink with his own blood, breathing hard.
Injured. Legolas Greenleaf had been struck, and from what Aragorn could see, he'd been the recipient of multiple blows to nearly everywhere on his body. Gimli, who had trailed the heir of Gondor into the clearing, hung back despite his friendship to the elf. Now wasn't the time, he knew. Carefully, Aragorn knelt beside his fallen comrade, arms slipping as gently as possible to pick the immortal up -- always surprised as to how light Legolas was -- and carry him to a safe place they could make camp. And they needed to hurry. The prince of Mirkwood was loosing blood fast.
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Legolas felt lost as he came to, muddling through a mind of hazy, black clouds and muffled words. He could vaguely hear someone talking to him, or at least trying to talk to him. A masculine voice. Not the Dwarf.... it had to be...
Aragorn.
He struggled to open his eyes, though the lids felt heavy, blinking repeatedly till his vision finally focused a bit. There. A pair of eyes, hazel-blue, gazed down on him in concern, though a smile did form on the lips just below those oculars as Aragorn realized that Legolas was waking up.
"Stay still, Legolas... You were hurt badly." The warning came softly, and with the slightest nod, the elf complied. Fingers probed his temples, then down his neck... along his arms.. then to his sides before a yelp escaped his mouth. That had *hurt*! Aragorn leaned back slightly then, worry flickering over his features.
"At least one of your ribs is broken. I fear more. And the wound to the back of your head worries me. Legolas... I heard no warning till your cry. Why didn't you call for help?"
The elf actually grinned then, though the gesture was weak at best. "I did not realize how many there were till it was too late..." The reply was soft, choked and raw and so unlike the usual sounds that would flow like deep crystal bells from the son of Thranduil. It upset Aragorn even further.
"Stubborn elf," came a comment from Gimli, who was watching from a little ways away, stoking the small fire Aragorn had allowed for the evening. Legolas only offered an apologetic smile before closing his eyes once more.
"Will I heal quickly enough to help?" the question came, his breathing slowing slightly as weariness crept up along the elf's form. Healing, as most with injuries near as bad as the ones Legolas had, was tiring work.
"You should be able to run again in two days, if you don't jar anything till then. We will continue on our way to find the halflings then. I cannot risk you as well, Legolas. We've lost too many already."
Legolas only sighed then, but relinquished the decision to his friend and comrade in fighting. He was disappointed, but it seemed there was little occurring here that could be helped. He wasn't required, however, to LIKE being helpless. A kiss was felt upon his brow -- feather light -- and his eyes opened to focus upon the Ranger drawing back before sleep took him. Real sleep for him ... not some closed-eye, unconsciousness. Happily, he drifted into elven dreams, musing over the caress of lips upon his brow.
It should have worried him, really. Considering Aragorn rarely kissed anyone unless they were deathly ill, dead already, or had done some great service to him. Perhaps he'd been lumped into the latter category without reason? But whatever the cause was, it only brought a smile to his lips as the night wore on. The pain had already faded to a dull ache made easier to bear by the salves concocted by his human leader, and there was little they would care to bother him with till morning.
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"Legolas... Legolas, wake up... we're moving slowly today, if you can manage. Carefully, though. Injuring yourself further would only be a hindrance."
The elf nodded slightly at Estel's words. Estel. Hope. The idea sounded less strange to him now that he'd experienced Hope firsthand. Aragorn was known by many names in these lands. Strider. Ellesar. Estel. Aragorn. Elf friend. Of them all, Estel was the one Legolas felt suited him best. He could see now why humans looked to him for hope. He could see, as well, why Elves regarded him so warmly when warmth to outsiders was no longer so frequent a gift.
He.... Oh for goodness sake! If he continued down that line of thinking any longer, one might think he had *feelings* for the man! Chuckling at the thought to chase it away, he shook his head, strapping the quiver, bow and daggers -- taken from him to treat his wounds the night before -- upon his back once more with the help of that very human. He still ached, but he seemed to be able to walk, maybe even jog if needed, without causing further injury to himself. Running, though, seemed out of the question at least for the morning. He could still feel how precariously knitted his bones were starting to become.
Tirelessly - or so it would seem to any onlooker -- they moved through forest, over rock and root till they escaped the trees for rolling hills. There would be no fire tonight, it would seem. It was too risky to call such attention to themselves out in the open with no trees to shield the light from ill-willing onlookers. Still, they had to camp soon. The sun was setting and the trail, at least to Dwarf and Human, would become too hard to read. Much to his own dismay, Legolas knew he would not make it running through the night. The strain was already beginning to show.
They settled down - Aragorn offering to take the first watch, Gimli claiming the second by default -- using the Lothlorien cloaks for shelter against the elements. Seeing how difficult it was for the elf to get comfortable with his multitude of hurts, Aragorn cursed himself mentally for not carrying at least a small pack. Something he could use as a pillow, at the very least. It wasn't that he wished to coddle the prince ... he was simply concerned. Yes. Concerned for the well being of what little remained of the Fellowship. Or at least, that's what he told himself repeatedly. It was a lie, though.
Oh, it wasn't that he didn't feel concern for the elf. He did. It was the reason behind that concern that he was fooling himself about. He'd ignored the stirrings within his heart every time Legolas looked his way since they left Rivendell. There was no denying that the Prince of Mirkwood was attractive. Almost all of the female elves in Rivendell were fussing over him, as were nearly half the male! But it was the noble qualities Legolas possessed that truly attracted.
It was when that quiet prince rose to his feet in defiance of Boromir's rude comments that Aragorn first noticed the elf. He remembered the carefully guarded fury that burned within the royal's eyes as he reprimanded the hotheaded Man of Gondor. Legolas looked *alive* then. More alive than he'd seen anyone look. The battle between Legolas Greenleaf and Arwen Evenstar had begun in the Ranger's heart at that very moment.
And now it appeared that Legolas was winning by a landslide, and there was nothing ... absolutely NOTHING that Aragorn could do.
Except continue to pretend that nothing was wrong. That nothing was bothering him except that he was concerned over his comrade.
But everyone knows how rotten Fate is about being ignored.
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Legolas, for all the lore that elves didn't feel the elements as much as the other creatures of Middle Earth, was cold. Heavens, he was shivering! It had been two hours since Gimli began his noisy snoring. Two hours since Aragorn began his patrol. And Legolas could barely stop his teeth from chattering!
The comfort of the Lorien cloak was helpful, but not enough. His body had used what little energy it had to knit his bones together and heal his wounds. It had nothing left to keep his form warm during this chilly night. Even the bites of Lembas had done nothing to ease the bite of cold that began to worm it's way though his form.
Another cloak surprised him, seemingly laying itself over him. He forgot to question it's origin for a few blissful moments, curling himself beneath the two layers of fabric contentedly before the laws of cause and effect dawned on him. Bright eyes focused in query upon the Ranger now kneeling by his side, checking to be sure both cloaks covered the elf completely.
"I am not a child, Aragorn. And you need your cloak more than I." The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them, and almost as soon as they were uttered, Legolas knew they would be contested.
"You are hurt, Master Elf. And I have twice as many layers of clothing as you to keep me warm, cloak or no cloak. You, on the other hand, are shivering even now, despite both sheets of fabric wrapped around you."
Legolas scowled more because the man was right than anything, earning him a chuckle from the human.
"Legolas, son of Thranduil, you are the most stubborn elf I've ever met sometimes.. and yet I am still in awe as to how you could still BE stubborn right now, when you are so clearly suffering. Come here if you wish warmth." The offer was made as the man settled back, his body bracing itself against a rock in case the elf actually had some breath of insanity for whatever reason and accepted.
For all of ten seconds, Legolas of Mirkwood simply stared at Strider, and during that time, the human felt that the prince would retain his sanity and ignore the help offered. Obviously, either Legolas was injured more grievously than he'd like to admit, or he was touched slightly in the head, but he crawled over to the open arms and folded himself childishly into them, sighing in self-disgust as they closed around him. Immediately - and much to his relief - he felt the heat radiating from the Ranger warm him.
"I swear that blow to the head is affecting my judgment," came the quiet words from Legolas's lips as he resigned to laying against the propped-up man.
"Perhaps, young elf. And perhaps some sense was knocked past your pride in the process?" the retort came, earning a slight chuckle from both before the elf winced and quieted once more.
"Young? I'm more than thirty-five times your elder, Human. You and the dwarf make me feel ancient."
Aragorn only grinned at this, shifting himself slightly to position himself more comfortably as he cradled the elf.
"True enough. Yet you are young for an elf."
This brought a slight smile to the lips of Legolas, who despite realizing he was quite mad to be laying here in the lap of a human, seemed more than happy to remain for the time being.
"We will find the Hobbits, Aragorn ... and they will be alive."
Ellesar only nodded softly, pressing a light kiss to the top of the blonde's head. "Yes, dear friend. We will. Now rest and let your body recover itself. Tomorrow, we run."
And so it was that Legolas slept in the embrace of Hope that night, and more peacefully since he'd left the safety of Rivendell.
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Contrary to what most might think, the horses the Riders of Rohan provided actually helped Legolas heal. There was less bouncing than most men would face in his position, and though it took a bit of effort to remain atop his steed, it was less energy than walking. It seemed a miracle, but Legolas was more than on the mend. In a few short days, he'd be close to 100% once more. Fighting without fatigue.
Aragorn hoped it would come even sooner, as he fretted more and more about the elf with each passing day, despite the obvious fact Legolas was getting better even with the worry that the halflings were no longer alive.
The halflings. Aragorn's train of thought shifted rails, pondering what to do about the Hobbits. Should they be alive, all would be well. He dreaded to even think of the alternative, but circumstances being what they were, Aragorn feared more for the grief that would wash over them all should Merry and Pippin not survive. Gimli he knew would be sad, but would pull himself together and be ready to fight once more within a reasonably short period of time. Himself? He would sorely miss them. Fight? Yes, he'd continue to do so, but he wondered if his motions would be affected. He knew how attached the elf was to the pint sized men, how much joy their bantering and casually faux-innocent comments could bring. The elf might not survive another loss.
Legolas....
He glanced back at the immortal as they rode, smiling at the figure resting easy upon the bare back of his mount along with the tiny, stout body holding on behind. Gimli was uncertain about the horses at first, but his friendship with that ever so stubborn elf had won over and he'd reluctantly accepted to ride behind the golden-haired one. A grin was cast to him then by the elf and was cordially returned before Aragorn faced forward once more, searching for signs they were close to the smallest members of their Fellowship.
They were a day's ride from Fangorn Forest when a soft shout from Gimli was heard behind him. Curious and a bit concerned, he turned his steed around to find a rather limp elf nearly falling atop the dwarf!
Had the situation not been so grave, Aragorn would have laughed outright. As it was, he struggled to hold back a mild chuckle. They'd exhausted the elf - the immortal had passed out and not gone to sleep - as his eyes were closed and his body limp. Aragorn dismounted and moved over to Arod, the horse Legolas was upon, gently wrapping large, calloused hands around the delicate being's waist, drawing him from the horse. He motioned for Gimli to remain where he was for a moment, and Arod kept still so as not to unseat his slightly trembling rider.
With more care than he'd treat porcelain, he lay his elf down upon a small patch of soft grass, then returned to aid the dwarf from his mount. Gimli slid gratefully from the back of Arod, then busied himself with getting ready for the night. They'd ridden for three days straight, though at a pace that would not trouble the horses, stopping only for a few hours to rest the tired mounts. They did not eat nor sleep now, and it had obviously pushed the elf too far, too soon.
Aragorn removed his water skin, allowing a few drops to trickle into his hands before carefully brushing the moisture over the pale forehead of Legolas. Though his friend was hardly feverish, the motion would easily rouse him from any forced unconsiousness ... and so it did. He saw pale azure eyes flutter open beneath him, gazing up in groggy disbelief to meet his own gaze. In that split second, all other things in Middle Earth disappeared. The ranger saw only the dazed, beautiful being beneath him.
"Are you all right? We're resting here tonight... you've no need to move, and I'd advise not to," he murmured leaning slightly further back to get a better look at the prone prince.
"I didn't fall, did I?" came the quiet, worried reply which won a hearty laugh from both man and dwarf.
"No, Legolas. I don't think dragons could unseat you, even when you've lost your senses." This brought a grateful smile to Legolas's lips and he settled back against the grass. He was, indeed, tired and knew there would be no fire that night. They were out in the open once more.
To be honest, Legolas had enjoyed the other nights before aquiring horses that they'd slept with no fire. He, at least, was not cold. Each night, Aragorn had slipped behind him, holding him with both cloaks wrapped around his elven form till morning came. It was a pleasent feeling, to say the least. He doubted, however, now that he had the energy to maintain his own body heat, that Aragorn would do the same tonight, despite the comfort it clearly brought the ranger as well.
A regretful look passed over the pale, elven features at the thought. He was growing accustomed to the Dunadan -- the soft jokes, pleasent attitude and concerned gestures to the elf's own well being. He missed the soft breathing by the top of his head, the gentle rise and fall of a warm form beneath his own... Ah, Elbereth! He was falling for Aragorn! The realization brought a blush to his cheeks he fought desperately down, gaping both at the ranger preparing camp and at the fact he'd just finally understood what was happening to him.
He was falling head over heels in love with the betrothed future king of Gondor.
His heart sank ever so slightly as images of Arwen flooded his own mind, a betrayed and heartbroken look upon her sweet features. No. He couldn't even THINK of telling his friend. The pain it would cause the two of them, especially if his feelings were returned (and he suspected they weren't, luckily), would be more than Legolas could bear to cause.
It didn't stop him, however, from accepting the mildly surprising return of the Ranger to resting behind him, the two cloaks covering both their bodies. When Legolas turned to cast a questioning look to the man behind him, Aragorn had only smiled and murmured about not wanting to risk a near-frozen, half-consious elf the next morning. It had earned him a good laugh, not only from Legoals but Gimli as well, who had overheard from his place a few feet away.
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Aragorn sighed inwardly as he cradled the fatigued elf, lazily twirling fingers through the long strands of pale gold hair that skirted themselves over his chest. He would be able to give no more excuses soon. Legolas was almost well. His wounds had healed, only a slight pink line hidden beneath the glistening golden strands of his hair remained on his scalp to remind either that he'd even been injured. His ribs were still cracked, but those fractures were knitting quickly, as all elven bones did. Soon, the elf's strength would return completely and Aragorn would either have to swallow his pride and actually TELL Legolas of his feelings, or live the rest of his days wondering what could have been.
Arwen Evenstar, as sweet as he knew she was, could not hold a candle's flickering flame to the fires the Prince of Mirkwood stirred within him unknowningly.
Legolas slept soundly, dreaming the dreams only elfkind do, stirring slightly here and there but never fully waking. As he did, the hours Arathorn's son remained awake mounted higher and higher. He could not sleep like this! And then Legolas did what would be Aragorn's undoing. He twisted, stirring almost to the point of waking, and quite affectionately nuzzled the ranger's neck. Sparks shot from the sensitive skin where shoulder met chin and radiated through Aragorn's form like wildfire. It was the groan that very action drew from the man that woke Legolas. Imagine the surprise on his face when he'd learned he had shifted in his sleep somehow or another, to be curled like an infant or lover against the human, his face half-hidden against the warm curve of Elessar's throat.
He'd been too groggy at the time to react, though those eyes went wide as he drew away slightly, staring at the drowsy royal he was laying atop.
"Aragorn...?"
"Legolas.. I .. you weren't sleeping well..."
The startling sound of Gimli broke the mild trance they'd placed on each other then, both having forgotten that it was the dwarf who had taken the first watch.
"I've never seen two people act so flustered around each other. It's obvious what you two want. Just give in and let me sit here in peace, for there is no reason all three of us ought to be up!"
Both fair heads turned toward the outburst, shocked. Then almost tentively, a chuckle rose from Aragorn's throat. The dwarf, as calloused as his comments were, was right! He had put this off for far too long, and from what Gimli had so untactfully said, it was obvious to the dwarf he'd not be turned away.
"Legolas ... forgive me if what I'm about to do offends..."
And with those whispered words, he slid fingers cautiously behind the head of his graceful companion and drew his face that much closer to the king's own... and kissed him.
It was hesitant at first, feather light. Like rain on parched earth, and Legolas couldn't resist. Not even if he'd wanted to could he resist. A pleasent cry of suprise had been the only sound he uttered before it was muffled by the warm mouth of Hope itself, and he found himself drowning slowly, melting against this human that had slowly but certainly stolen his heart.
The kiss, sweet and chaste, lasted for a few precious moments before both pulled back an inch or so, gazing in wonder upon the other. Then smiles formed upon the lips that moved to exchange one more gift upon each other. Content with the new situation between them both, however, they simply settled back, Aragorn cradling Legolas beneath the cloaks, both falling quickly into slumber.
Two feet to the left of both, Gimli only grinned. Finally.
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A.N.: Of course this isn't the end. ^_^ There's nothing major in this! But I don't know WHEN I'll be able to get around to writing more. I write when the muses stir me, and at the moment they're not doing too much. This was the first ficlet I've written in months, and I hope it pleases you all.
Oh so very slightly AU. Not massively out of character, but I'm sure there are a few instances where they are. Same location. Same time frame (at least for now)... just with a little twist from my twisted little mind. And this time Legolas will NOT DIE! gahh, I'm getting sick of unlabeled death fics. Death fics confuse and depress me. Call me an elf at heart, but I don't like death fics! .
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"Aragorn!" The cry, at first sounding very much like one of the Hobbits, proved to alight from the one member of the Fellowship the soon-to-be King of Gondor least suspected.
The elf.
Pain laced the word, and without a second thought the ranger sped toward the creator of the sound, swatting aside brambles and slicing through thicker vine-like plant life. To lose yet another member of the Fellowship would be too distressing after so recently losing Gandalf and Boromir. And to lose Legolas was a further blow.
And then he erupted onto the scene where Legolas had cried out, the human's face blanching at the sight. All around the clearing, dead orc lay in heaps, arrows piercing them in their throats, their eyes ... any vulnerable areas. And in the center lay the elf, his golden hair stained pink with his own blood, breathing hard.
Injured. Legolas Greenleaf had been struck, and from what Aragorn could see, he'd been the recipient of multiple blows to nearly everywhere on his body. Gimli, who had trailed the heir of Gondor into the clearing, hung back despite his friendship to the elf. Now wasn't the time, he knew. Carefully, Aragorn knelt beside his fallen comrade, arms slipping as gently as possible to pick the immortal up -- always surprised as to how light Legolas was -- and carry him to a safe place they could make camp. And they needed to hurry. The prince of Mirkwood was loosing blood fast.
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Legolas felt lost as he came to, muddling through a mind of hazy, black clouds and muffled words. He could vaguely hear someone talking to him, or at least trying to talk to him. A masculine voice. Not the Dwarf.... it had to be...
Aragorn.
He struggled to open his eyes, though the lids felt heavy, blinking repeatedly till his vision finally focused a bit. There. A pair of eyes, hazel-blue, gazed down on him in concern, though a smile did form on the lips just below those oculars as Aragorn realized that Legolas was waking up.
"Stay still, Legolas... You were hurt badly." The warning came softly, and with the slightest nod, the elf complied. Fingers probed his temples, then down his neck... along his arms.. then to his sides before a yelp escaped his mouth. That had *hurt*! Aragorn leaned back slightly then, worry flickering over his features.
"At least one of your ribs is broken. I fear more. And the wound to the back of your head worries me. Legolas... I heard no warning till your cry. Why didn't you call for help?"
The elf actually grinned then, though the gesture was weak at best. "I did not realize how many there were till it was too late..." The reply was soft, choked and raw and so unlike the usual sounds that would flow like deep crystal bells from the son of Thranduil. It upset Aragorn even further.
"Stubborn elf," came a comment from Gimli, who was watching from a little ways away, stoking the small fire Aragorn had allowed for the evening. Legolas only offered an apologetic smile before closing his eyes once more.
"Will I heal quickly enough to help?" the question came, his breathing slowing slightly as weariness crept up along the elf's form. Healing, as most with injuries near as bad as the ones Legolas had, was tiring work.
"You should be able to run again in two days, if you don't jar anything till then. We will continue on our way to find the halflings then. I cannot risk you as well, Legolas. We've lost too many already."
Legolas only sighed then, but relinquished the decision to his friend and comrade in fighting. He was disappointed, but it seemed there was little occurring here that could be helped. He wasn't required, however, to LIKE being helpless. A kiss was felt upon his brow -- feather light -- and his eyes opened to focus upon the Ranger drawing back before sleep took him. Real sleep for him ... not some closed-eye, unconsciousness. Happily, he drifted into elven dreams, musing over the caress of lips upon his brow.
It should have worried him, really. Considering Aragorn rarely kissed anyone unless they were deathly ill, dead already, or had done some great service to him. Perhaps he'd been lumped into the latter category without reason? But whatever the cause was, it only brought a smile to his lips as the night wore on. The pain had already faded to a dull ache made easier to bear by the salves concocted by his human leader, and there was little they would care to bother him with till morning.
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"Legolas... Legolas, wake up... we're moving slowly today, if you can manage. Carefully, though. Injuring yourself further would only be a hindrance."
The elf nodded slightly at Estel's words. Estel. Hope. The idea sounded less strange to him now that he'd experienced Hope firsthand. Aragorn was known by many names in these lands. Strider. Ellesar. Estel. Aragorn. Elf friend. Of them all, Estel was the one Legolas felt suited him best. He could see now why humans looked to him for hope. He could see, as well, why Elves regarded him so warmly when warmth to outsiders was no longer so frequent a gift.
He.... Oh for goodness sake! If he continued down that line of thinking any longer, one might think he had *feelings* for the man! Chuckling at the thought to chase it away, he shook his head, strapping the quiver, bow and daggers -- taken from him to treat his wounds the night before -- upon his back once more with the help of that very human. He still ached, but he seemed to be able to walk, maybe even jog if needed, without causing further injury to himself. Running, though, seemed out of the question at least for the morning. He could still feel how precariously knitted his bones were starting to become.
Tirelessly - or so it would seem to any onlooker -- they moved through forest, over rock and root till they escaped the trees for rolling hills. There would be no fire tonight, it would seem. It was too risky to call such attention to themselves out in the open with no trees to shield the light from ill-willing onlookers. Still, they had to camp soon. The sun was setting and the trail, at least to Dwarf and Human, would become too hard to read. Much to his own dismay, Legolas knew he would not make it running through the night. The strain was already beginning to show.
They settled down - Aragorn offering to take the first watch, Gimli claiming the second by default -- using the Lothlorien cloaks for shelter against the elements. Seeing how difficult it was for the elf to get comfortable with his multitude of hurts, Aragorn cursed himself mentally for not carrying at least a small pack. Something he could use as a pillow, at the very least. It wasn't that he wished to coddle the prince ... he was simply concerned. Yes. Concerned for the well being of what little remained of the Fellowship. Or at least, that's what he told himself repeatedly. It was a lie, though.
Oh, it wasn't that he didn't feel concern for the elf. He did. It was the reason behind that concern that he was fooling himself about. He'd ignored the stirrings within his heart every time Legolas looked his way since they left Rivendell. There was no denying that the Prince of Mirkwood was attractive. Almost all of the female elves in Rivendell were fussing over him, as were nearly half the male! But it was the noble qualities Legolas possessed that truly attracted.
It was when that quiet prince rose to his feet in defiance of Boromir's rude comments that Aragorn first noticed the elf. He remembered the carefully guarded fury that burned within the royal's eyes as he reprimanded the hotheaded Man of Gondor. Legolas looked *alive* then. More alive than he'd seen anyone look. The battle between Legolas Greenleaf and Arwen Evenstar had begun in the Ranger's heart at that very moment.
And now it appeared that Legolas was winning by a landslide, and there was nothing ... absolutely NOTHING that Aragorn could do.
Except continue to pretend that nothing was wrong. That nothing was bothering him except that he was concerned over his comrade.
But everyone knows how rotten Fate is about being ignored.
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Legolas, for all the lore that elves didn't feel the elements as much as the other creatures of Middle Earth, was cold. Heavens, he was shivering! It had been two hours since Gimli began his noisy snoring. Two hours since Aragorn began his patrol. And Legolas could barely stop his teeth from chattering!
The comfort of the Lorien cloak was helpful, but not enough. His body had used what little energy it had to knit his bones together and heal his wounds. It had nothing left to keep his form warm during this chilly night. Even the bites of Lembas had done nothing to ease the bite of cold that began to worm it's way though his form.
Another cloak surprised him, seemingly laying itself over him. He forgot to question it's origin for a few blissful moments, curling himself beneath the two layers of fabric contentedly before the laws of cause and effect dawned on him. Bright eyes focused in query upon the Ranger now kneeling by his side, checking to be sure both cloaks covered the elf completely.
"I am not a child, Aragorn. And you need your cloak more than I." The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them, and almost as soon as they were uttered, Legolas knew they would be contested.
"You are hurt, Master Elf. And I have twice as many layers of clothing as you to keep me warm, cloak or no cloak. You, on the other hand, are shivering even now, despite both sheets of fabric wrapped around you."
Legolas scowled more because the man was right than anything, earning him a chuckle from the human.
"Legolas, son of Thranduil, you are the most stubborn elf I've ever met sometimes.. and yet I am still in awe as to how you could still BE stubborn right now, when you are so clearly suffering. Come here if you wish warmth." The offer was made as the man settled back, his body bracing itself against a rock in case the elf actually had some breath of insanity for whatever reason and accepted.
For all of ten seconds, Legolas of Mirkwood simply stared at Strider, and during that time, the human felt that the prince would retain his sanity and ignore the help offered. Obviously, either Legolas was injured more grievously than he'd like to admit, or he was touched slightly in the head, but he crawled over to the open arms and folded himself childishly into them, sighing in self-disgust as they closed around him. Immediately - and much to his relief - he felt the heat radiating from the Ranger warm him.
"I swear that blow to the head is affecting my judgment," came the quiet words from Legolas's lips as he resigned to laying against the propped-up man.
"Perhaps, young elf. And perhaps some sense was knocked past your pride in the process?" the retort came, earning a slight chuckle from both before the elf winced and quieted once more.
"Young? I'm more than thirty-five times your elder, Human. You and the dwarf make me feel ancient."
Aragorn only grinned at this, shifting himself slightly to position himself more comfortably as he cradled the elf.
"True enough. Yet you are young for an elf."
This brought a slight smile to the lips of Legolas, who despite realizing he was quite mad to be laying here in the lap of a human, seemed more than happy to remain for the time being.
"We will find the Hobbits, Aragorn ... and they will be alive."
Ellesar only nodded softly, pressing a light kiss to the top of the blonde's head. "Yes, dear friend. We will. Now rest and let your body recover itself. Tomorrow, we run."
And so it was that Legolas slept in the embrace of Hope that night, and more peacefully since he'd left the safety of Rivendell.
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Contrary to what most might think, the horses the Riders of Rohan provided actually helped Legolas heal. There was less bouncing than most men would face in his position, and though it took a bit of effort to remain atop his steed, it was less energy than walking. It seemed a miracle, but Legolas was more than on the mend. In a few short days, he'd be close to 100% once more. Fighting without fatigue.
Aragorn hoped it would come even sooner, as he fretted more and more about the elf with each passing day, despite the obvious fact Legolas was getting better even with the worry that the halflings were no longer alive.
The halflings. Aragorn's train of thought shifted rails, pondering what to do about the Hobbits. Should they be alive, all would be well. He dreaded to even think of the alternative, but circumstances being what they were, Aragorn feared more for the grief that would wash over them all should Merry and Pippin not survive. Gimli he knew would be sad, but would pull himself together and be ready to fight once more within a reasonably short period of time. Himself? He would sorely miss them. Fight? Yes, he'd continue to do so, but he wondered if his motions would be affected. He knew how attached the elf was to the pint sized men, how much joy their bantering and casually faux-innocent comments could bring. The elf might not survive another loss.
Legolas....
He glanced back at the immortal as they rode, smiling at the figure resting easy upon the bare back of his mount along with the tiny, stout body holding on behind. Gimli was uncertain about the horses at first, but his friendship with that ever so stubborn elf had won over and he'd reluctantly accepted to ride behind the golden-haired one. A grin was cast to him then by the elf and was cordially returned before Aragorn faced forward once more, searching for signs they were close to the smallest members of their Fellowship.
They were a day's ride from Fangorn Forest when a soft shout from Gimli was heard behind him. Curious and a bit concerned, he turned his steed around to find a rather limp elf nearly falling atop the dwarf!
Had the situation not been so grave, Aragorn would have laughed outright. As it was, he struggled to hold back a mild chuckle. They'd exhausted the elf - the immortal had passed out and not gone to sleep - as his eyes were closed and his body limp. Aragorn dismounted and moved over to Arod, the horse Legolas was upon, gently wrapping large, calloused hands around the delicate being's waist, drawing him from the horse. He motioned for Gimli to remain where he was for a moment, and Arod kept still so as not to unseat his slightly trembling rider.
With more care than he'd treat porcelain, he lay his elf down upon a small patch of soft grass, then returned to aid the dwarf from his mount. Gimli slid gratefully from the back of Arod, then busied himself with getting ready for the night. They'd ridden for three days straight, though at a pace that would not trouble the horses, stopping only for a few hours to rest the tired mounts. They did not eat nor sleep now, and it had obviously pushed the elf too far, too soon.
Aragorn removed his water skin, allowing a few drops to trickle into his hands before carefully brushing the moisture over the pale forehead of Legolas. Though his friend was hardly feverish, the motion would easily rouse him from any forced unconsiousness ... and so it did. He saw pale azure eyes flutter open beneath him, gazing up in groggy disbelief to meet his own gaze. In that split second, all other things in Middle Earth disappeared. The ranger saw only the dazed, beautiful being beneath him.
"Are you all right? We're resting here tonight... you've no need to move, and I'd advise not to," he murmured leaning slightly further back to get a better look at the prone prince.
"I didn't fall, did I?" came the quiet, worried reply which won a hearty laugh from both man and dwarf.
"No, Legolas. I don't think dragons could unseat you, even when you've lost your senses." This brought a grateful smile to Legolas's lips and he settled back against the grass. He was, indeed, tired and knew there would be no fire that night. They were out in the open once more.
To be honest, Legolas had enjoyed the other nights before aquiring horses that they'd slept with no fire. He, at least, was not cold. Each night, Aragorn had slipped behind him, holding him with both cloaks wrapped around his elven form till morning came. It was a pleasent feeling, to say the least. He doubted, however, now that he had the energy to maintain his own body heat, that Aragorn would do the same tonight, despite the comfort it clearly brought the ranger as well.
A regretful look passed over the pale, elven features at the thought. He was growing accustomed to the Dunadan -- the soft jokes, pleasent attitude and concerned gestures to the elf's own well being. He missed the soft breathing by the top of his head, the gentle rise and fall of a warm form beneath his own... Ah, Elbereth! He was falling for Aragorn! The realization brought a blush to his cheeks he fought desperately down, gaping both at the ranger preparing camp and at the fact he'd just finally understood what was happening to him.
He was falling head over heels in love with the betrothed future king of Gondor.
His heart sank ever so slightly as images of Arwen flooded his own mind, a betrayed and heartbroken look upon her sweet features. No. He couldn't even THINK of telling his friend. The pain it would cause the two of them, especially if his feelings were returned (and he suspected they weren't, luckily), would be more than Legolas could bear to cause.
It didn't stop him, however, from accepting the mildly surprising return of the Ranger to resting behind him, the two cloaks covering both their bodies. When Legolas turned to cast a questioning look to the man behind him, Aragorn had only smiled and murmured about not wanting to risk a near-frozen, half-consious elf the next morning. It had earned him a good laugh, not only from Legoals but Gimli as well, who had overheard from his place a few feet away.
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Aragorn sighed inwardly as he cradled the fatigued elf, lazily twirling fingers through the long strands of pale gold hair that skirted themselves over his chest. He would be able to give no more excuses soon. Legolas was almost well. His wounds had healed, only a slight pink line hidden beneath the glistening golden strands of his hair remained on his scalp to remind either that he'd even been injured. His ribs were still cracked, but those fractures were knitting quickly, as all elven bones did. Soon, the elf's strength would return completely and Aragorn would either have to swallow his pride and actually TELL Legolas of his feelings, or live the rest of his days wondering what could have been.
Arwen Evenstar, as sweet as he knew she was, could not hold a candle's flickering flame to the fires the Prince of Mirkwood stirred within him unknowningly.
Legolas slept soundly, dreaming the dreams only elfkind do, stirring slightly here and there but never fully waking. As he did, the hours Arathorn's son remained awake mounted higher and higher. He could not sleep like this! And then Legolas did what would be Aragorn's undoing. He twisted, stirring almost to the point of waking, and quite affectionately nuzzled the ranger's neck. Sparks shot from the sensitive skin where shoulder met chin and radiated through Aragorn's form like wildfire. It was the groan that very action drew from the man that woke Legolas. Imagine the surprise on his face when he'd learned he had shifted in his sleep somehow or another, to be curled like an infant or lover against the human, his face half-hidden against the warm curve of Elessar's throat.
He'd been too groggy at the time to react, though those eyes went wide as he drew away slightly, staring at the drowsy royal he was laying atop.
"Aragorn...?"
"Legolas.. I .. you weren't sleeping well..."
The startling sound of Gimli broke the mild trance they'd placed on each other then, both having forgotten that it was the dwarf who had taken the first watch.
"I've never seen two people act so flustered around each other. It's obvious what you two want. Just give in and let me sit here in peace, for there is no reason all three of us ought to be up!"
Both fair heads turned toward the outburst, shocked. Then almost tentively, a chuckle rose from Aragorn's throat. The dwarf, as calloused as his comments were, was right! He had put this off for far too long, and from what Gimli had so untactfully said, it was obvious to the dwarf he'd not be turned away.
"Legolas ... forgive me if what I'm about to do offends..."
And with those whispered words, he slid fingers cautiously behind the head of his graceful companion and drew his face that much closer to the king's own... and kissed him.
It was hesitant at first, feather light. Like rain on parched earth, and Legolas couldn't resist. Not even if he'd wanted to could he resist. A pleasent cry of suprise had been the only sound he uttered before it was muffled by the warm mouth of Hope itself, and he found himself drowning slowly, melting against this human that had slowly but certainly stolen his heart.
The kiss, sweet and chaste, lasted for a few precious moments before both pulled back an inch or so, gazing in wonder upon the other. Then smiles formed upon the lips that moved to exchange one more gift upon each other. Content with the new situation between them both, however, they simply settled back, Aragorn cradling Legolas beneath the cloaks, both falling quickly into slumber.
Two feet to the left of both, Gimli only grinned. Finally.
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A.N.: Of course this isn't the end. ^_^ There's nothing major in this! But I don't know WHEN I'll be able to get around to writing more. I write when the muses stir me, and at the moment they're not doing too much. This was the first ficlet I've written in months, and I hope it pleases you all.