"Surely it's my watch now, Legolas?" Aragorn walked over towards the tall wind worn rock that the Fellowship had designated as watch post. The elf was still, worryingly still for a moment, then turned and slid into a sitting position.
"You know perfectly well I can watch all night" he countered, with an amiably knowing smile growing around the seams of his mouth. "Tell me why you require my counsel, so late at night when you should be dreaming."
Aragorn knew that in this battle he was beaten. How does one hide ones intentions when talking to an elf? Certainly he was troubled, there was no hiding that, but as yet he knew not what was robbing him of sleep. For he had not slept at all that night, but had run over and over what had been said as the hobbits squabbled amongst themselves around the fire and Gimli was describing the immense wealth and splendour of the dwarves to an enraptured Boromir. Legolas had been singing an air that was unfamiliar to Aragorn. He was singing quiet and low, almost silently in the whispering, melodious mode of speech that was bound up with so many emotions for the man and his memories of less troubled days.
"What song is that? I know the tune but the words are not known to me." Aragorn threw a stone into the fire, noting the rush of sparks that occurred as the impact stirred the embers. Legolas took his gaze away from the stars that burned glorious and blue and looked Aragorn in the eye.
"The words are my own. I set them to this music long ages before you were born. Elves mould their love into words to distance themselves from what they feel." The grave set of his features was unfamiliar to Aragorn. And the reference to the love…
"You had a love? How have I heard nothing of this? The deeds of the elves of Mirkwood in love and in arms are well known. Tell me your secret, my friend." There was a strange tension in the situation that Aragorn felt he needed to remove. He felt he was walking onto unsteady ground that would not hold the full weight of the conversation. A shadow fell across Legolas' face, and he rose and started to walk briskly away from the fire onto the field of sharp dark grey boulders. Aragorn saw no other option than to follow. Legolas was about to speak.
"Aragorn, once, many generations of men ago I thought I loved a mortal human." He spoke in the relaxed manner of a storyteller, but there was a sadness, a regret and an urgency in his words that told of pain. "I fear I betrayed them and now I fear that it is happening again."
Legolas extended a hand and swung the man up onto the watch-rock beside him.
"Something has passed between us tonight. I know not what it means. Help me read the signs," Aragorn said, looking
towards the fire that they had built at dusk that night, which was now reduced to ash and the red-glowing remains of arm-thick tree limbs. He took out a short knife from his boot and began to scratch and dig idly at the mossy hollows in the rock. The need to occupy his hands with some small task had never seemed quite so urgent. "I am unsure. I kissed you, Legolas, and it pleased me." Still the man who had looked the greatest warriors, wizards and rulers in the eye dare not meet the gaze of a friend. The elf pushed back a stray braid and intoned softly,
"I told you of my love; my love in the long forgotten past and the love that gnaws at my stomach as we speak."
Legolas turned away. Aragorn placed a solid hand on the shoulder of the elf, the shoulder of his bow-arm; that was taut and strong yet graceful as the wing of a bird. Legolas continued,
"Fear and betrayal comes to all of those who love, my friend. We who have loved across the lines of race, species and mortality know of the unfairness of it all." He turned and Aragorn saw an expression of long hidden hurts. " Still, we must say,' I have loved' and live only with the memory of what we had. It can be too much to bear, and sometimes it kills elves, to weep and pine forever; to know that our love will never return." Though Aragorn knew the love of an elf, and knew of the choice his lady would have to make; indeed had already made, he had never heard an elf lament on the perils of loving a mortal in such a bitter manner.
"Tell me about your love, Legolas. And tell me how you kept it secret for so long. It seems your depths were more hidden than any could have anticipated." Legolas hesitated. Words had always flowed freely for him, and yet he knew not how to start this tale.
"I met my love in a forest. I had been hunting goblins and was riding back to my father's halls. As I came beneath the eaves of the wood, there I saw him, asleep. He seemed fair to me, fair and uncommonly peaceful for one of the mortal races. I instantly became fascinated, maybe obsessed by this man. I had not even heard him speak, but I desired to know his voice, to laugh with him and for us to sing together. I watched him sleeping, and when he woke I kept my distance from him, and followed and watched him for three days. By dawn on the third day, I had become over-bold, and I must have made some unwanted noise for he realised that someone was intruding upon his solitude. I stepped out of the shadows of the trees and made my presence known to him. He was a mortal man, but he was a poet, a bard and an artist before he was a warrior. We spoke together for hours, until the Sun passed over our heads and He was disappearing into the trees. We walked together in the glades of the forest for many days. I lost all sense of time when I was with him. I thought that I loved him. That is, we spoke of love, and set our amorous words to music, and we made love. But I was young then and was quick to passion and quicker still to judge my passion to be love."
"I returned to my home with my love beside me. Those few short days we spent together remain as sweet as none other to me, for my love was to leave me as soon as he came to me. We rode out hunting with my father and his court. My love took a stray arrow through his heart and whether it was through some unlucky chance or spiteful incident I still do not know for certain. For a long while I remained alone, and eventually I recovered from my loss, saying my love was no more than a mere infatuation with men and their ways which were so full of mystery to me. My father thought it better that none knew this tale, so it is not widely known. You have heard the tale of my love, Aragorn. Does it satisfy you?
Aragorn's eyes were marked with the beginnings of tears. He saw in his companion a new light and his sad tale confirmed Aragorn's idle thoughts of the elf prince. He had long suspected that Legolas was holding some great secret or story, and though Aragorn had heard exotic rumours of elven disregard for gender in their love affairs, he had never heard it confirmed in such stark a manner.
"Why have you kept this from me?" Aragorn felt aggrieved that he had lacked this knowledge, although he could not pin this feeling upon mere friendly concern.
"For I do not wish to fall in love again, not when the weight of all our futures is upon us." Legolas looked Aragorn directly in the eye,"Do you understand me?"
"You love a man, Legolas," said Aragorn in a way that made it neither question nor statement. He took Legolas' hand and put it to his heart.
"It beats was though we had been sparring." There was a welcome touch of levity in the elf's words. Legolas took a step closer to Aragorn, his right hand still measuring the man's mortality. There he stood, perfect and still. Aragorn felt a sudden displeasure at Legolas' words, and with more than a little anger he said,
"Dare you not love? Did you stop living so many years ago? Love, while such things are not yet in vain," Aragorn let their hands fall and gently took his friends shoulders, then, knowing that in reviving one elf he was betraying another, kissed Legolas on the pale skin of his brow. Legolas lowered his face into the curve of Aragorn's neck and wept from the joy and the sadness and the release of emotional tension he had held for so many years. He found his arms naturally wound themselves around Aragorn's torso, and saw no need to move them. In the arms of the man he had loved from their first meeting in the perpetual autumn of Rivendell, he was as comfortable as he could ever have imagined. Even in the paths of his most secret dreams his mind could not approach the sensations of leather and steel and sweat that assaulted him. The blood rushed in Aragorn's ears, making such a noise that he thought he would surely be deafened. He was aware of this fair creature that was so close to him; how he was so like a man and so unlike a man, and how he was like Arwen, and yet as different as he could possibly be.
Legolas took the blade out of Aragorn's hand and put it aside. He concentrated his gaze on Aragorn who was resolutely looking towards the clouds around the horizon. He wondered if his confession and near-declaration of love had passed over Aragorn like breeze passing over a mountain. Had the man not been listening? How could he not understand? He slid his arm around Aragorn's shoulders, seeking to leave only a little pressure. Aragorn gave a start, as though he had not expected the sudden affectionate gesture, but let the arm be. Aragorn had long felt the eyes of the elf upon him, and found the strength within himself to face the inevitable.
Aragorn's cloak was wet from the weeping of the elf. He could feel the tears; feel the trembling, feel the sorrow. Should he release his grip on Legolas' shoulders?
"Weep no more, Legolas." With a step backwards Aragorn took Legolas' arms, and ran his hands along the lean, strong lines until he was holding the hands of the elf between his own. They were colder than human hands, and the skin was flawless, translucent, shining from within. To hold the hand of an elf was to hold Illuvatar's most exquisite lantern.
Then the mood was broken. A hobbit's call invited the errant pair back to the camp for supper. They returned to the circle of red light, and there was space between them.
"I cannot lie to you, Legolas. I am filled with fear and curiosity. The idea of your kisses thrills me beyond all knowledge, but…" He could no longer drape his thoughts in words. Aragorn knew what was about to happen, but the prediction made him all the more unsure. It was in this moment, before the hunt was over, before the kill that there was the greatest risk.
They were vaguely aware of arms, hands, and breath. Aragorn had put his hands, his hard and dirty hands upon the skin of an elf. Now he looked into the eyes of his friend, his new love, and feared censure for the desecration. He felt gentle fingers in his hair, on his face, down the back of his neck. The kiss came and lasted, and neither knew who had initiated it. All they knew was the feel of skin on skin, the taste of difference, and that there was no longer any space between them.