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WARNING: This chapter is rated R, for a slash scene. It is not explicit, but I am going to say 18+ or read at your own discretion anyway. If you don't want to read the slash scene (it's the third and last scene), please stop after the second scene. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and can take the time to review!
~~*~~
What's In A Name
The night had blossomed, and now began to wane. Berethin ran his eye over the crowd in satisfaction. It had been a good night, overall. Even Legolas had looked content when he had last seen him. Perhaps Heleyna was not as cold as he believed.
Something tugged at Berethin's memory as he surveyed the crowd. Something about an Eagle. Berethin frowned as he watched the dark-haired Eagle lead the steps in a complex dance pattern. There was something familiar about the way the elf moved, the fluidity of his movements, the slight arrogance in his bearing.
Then Berethin hissed in outrage. Rivendell elves! In Mirkwood! Berethin had the sudden urge to spit, or to scrub himself clean.
Filthy Rivendell elves! Aye, that must be Elladan son of Elrond. Or his cursed twin. Pah! That they should dance amongst us, laugh amongst us as if they were truly more than river-scum! I should send my knife flying through his hateful throat!
Berethin's hand reached of its own accord to the hilt at his back. But being in costume and not in his usual garb, he found nothing. He growled deep in his throat, hands trembling with rage.
How dare they? At Legolas' betrothal! The last thought incensed him further. Legolas, I swear it to you that I shall make them atone for this!
Berethin shook himself free from the arms of an elf-maid, and stalked to where the Rivendell elf danced. He will not be so smug when his lifeblood colours my blade, thought Berethin with grim satisfaction.
A voice, jovial, but no less commanding for its lightness, stopped him short.
'Berethin!' called his uncle, the King. 'Why the ill humour?'
'Rivendell elves,' Berethin spat, the mere name seeming to soil the air. He jerked his head to where the Eagle danced. 'Lend me but a blade, Uncle, and I will see that the abomination is removed from our fair halls.'
Thranduil's hands clenched and unclenched. 'No, Berethin,' he said at last. 'Let them be.'
'My Lord!' Berethin could barely contain his fury and surprise. 'Surely you –'
'Let them be,' repeated Thranduil, but a dark anger smouldered in his eyes. 'I will not have the peace broken at my son's betrothal, Berethin.'
Berethin glared at the oblivious Eagle, not daring to turn to his uncle lest the same anger be directed there. 'Very well, my Lord,' he said curtly, trying in vain to quell his seething temper.
A curse upon you, Rivendell! May sorrow fall upon your house and all that you love!
~~*~~
Legolas was in his chambers, but he had lit none of the candles. Perhaps, this way, they will not think to look for me here. Legolas was not sure exactly who 'they' consisted of – nobles, his father, Heleyna certainly – but he was sure that it did not include the Wolf.
He ran a hesitant hand over his mouth, marvelling that, only an hour before, the Wolf had kissed him there. In the darkness, Legolas smiled, a delighted smile which was filled with the secret joy that bubbled inside him.
'I thought I taught you how to light a candle,' a dry voice said, and a small circle of light glowed in the room.
Legolas did not reply. He was too happy to think of even a mild retort.
Elian peered into her foster-son's face. 'Legolas?' she said, a bit anxiously. She had never seen him this way. She almost did not recognize him for the unaccustomed joy which lit up his face. The higher your spirits, the further you have to fall. Elian forcefully pushed the thought aside. 'Legolas!'
He turned his eyes to her. 'Who was he, Elian?' he asked wistfully.
'Who was who?'
Legolas looked at her reproachfully. 'Him. The Wolf. The one who can make me feel so…joyful. So safe.'
Safe? Him? Hah! But Elian did not voice her misgivings.
'I do not think he is the right one for you, Legolas,' she said gently.
'I know that I am betrothed to Heleyna,' Legolas began, but Elian shook her head.
'It is not that, Legolas. Or, not only that.'
'What, then?' he exclaimed. 'I know that he is a Man, and I care not. There is nothing you can tell me about him which will extinguish this feeling within me.'
Elian was silent for a long time. 'He is named Aragorn,' she said at last, her voice breaking a little. 'Aragorn son of Arathorn, of Rivendell.'
Legolas let out a cry of dismay, and the joy fled from his face.
'Elbereth, no!' he whispered. 'How can it be?' He tore his gaze from hers, to hide the despair that stole over his features.
Oh, my Legolas. My son.
Elian closed her eyes. Each time Legolas sorrowed, she felt another little piece of her spirit die. I cannot bear to see him hurt any longer! She laid a hand on his shoulder, resolved. I will not see him hurt any longer! All that I can do, I will do for my son, and this Man that he loves.
'Legolas,' she said again, gently. 'Tell me in truth – is there truly nothing that can extinguish this love between you?' For she had no doubt that the Man loved her son just as deeply, whatever she had said to him.
He looked up at her, eyes huge with loss. 'Nothing, my lady,' he said softly. 'But everything conspires against it.'
'I do not,' Elian said firmly. She pretended to bustle with covers on his bed, as his face lit up with hope. 'Now, to bed with you,' she said briskly, as if he were a small elfling still. She gave him a quick smile as she exited his room.
Alone again, Legolas felt despair and hope swirl inside him. He leapt up, the exuberance suddenly too much to be contained. His balcony was cool and quiet, and although the buildings of Mirkwood did not stretch very high, he still had a good view of the nightscape.
A small smile played about his mouth as Legolas tried the name for the first time.
'Aragorn.'
He liked the way it felt on his tongue, and the way it sounded, both musical and strong.
'Aragorn, son of Arathorn.'
~~*~~
The music and laughter of the ball were muted to a distant hum where Aragorn stood. He rested his head against a cool wall, beginning to doubt that Legolas was real. He had spent the last hour searching for the elf, to no avail. His wandering had taken him into a small courtyard, and here he remained, not wanting to return to the revelry that waited within.
'If it was a dream,' mused Aragorn, 'at least it was a good dream.'
And it had laid his fascination with Arwen to rest. His head was filled with thoughts of Legolas, and his hands yearned to touch him again.
Aragorn sighed and decided to persuade his brothers to leave. He had had enough of Mirkwood.
Then the hairs on his arms prickled and stood up. He thought he had heard his name being called. Aragorn's heart beat faster. He glanced up at the balcony on the top floor, three storeys above. A lithe figure stood, looking out into the night.
And then joy surged in him, unlike anything he had ever known before. Legolas knew him! And, knowing him to be both Man and of Rivendell, still spoke his name with tenderness.
'Legolas?' Aragorn called softly, hardly daring to believe that he was speaking the name.
The silhouette jumped slightly against the light of the moon. Aragorn heard the faintest of indrawn breaths.
'It cannot be!' Legolas whispered, almost too afraid to hope.
It was too dark for Aragorn to be seen clearly, even by keen elven sight.
'If you but give the word, Legolas,' Aragorn murmured, 'I shall come to you.'
Legolas spoke one word, and filled it with all the love and hope that rose up inside him.
'Aragorn.'
The ranger was silently thankful that Mirkwood's buildings did not spiral upwards like Rivendell's. The sturdy plants that hugged the walls closely gave adequate hand and foot holds, but Aragorn's hands were bloody by the time he gained the balcony.
Legolas helped him over the wall, and looked concerned at the cuts, but they were the furtherest thing from Aragorn's mind.
'I cannot believe it is you,' he said in wonder. 'I was beginning to think you a dream.'
Legolas smiled, and hesitantly put his arms around Aragorn, drawing him close.
'Then I never want to wake.'
The two stood for some time like that, wrapped each other's arms. Aragorn's cheek rested on the top of Legolas' head, and he breathed in the smell of sunshine in the elf's hair.
Finally, it was Legolas who stepped free. He led Aragorn inside his room, where a lone candle burned.
'I want to see you,' he said, bringing them into the circle of firelight. 'I want to memorise you, so that when I close my eyes, I will still see you.'
Aragorn had removed his wolf-mask in the courtyard, despairing of secrecy. He stood, enchanted by Legolas as the elf's eyes greedily took him in. Legolas reached up and traced Aragorn's features with a gentle hand. Aragorn closed his eyes as Legolas touched his lips, caressed his cheek, and smoothed the lines on his brow. He felt the elf wrap a lock of his hair around a finger, then run a curious hand over the stubble on his jaw. The touch sank lower, stroked the smooth skin of his throat and measured the increasing rhythm of his heartbeat and breathing in his chest.
Despite himself, Aragorn made a small noise of desire, and then lips closed over his own, shutting off the sound. He waited as Legolas gently explored his mouth, but then could stand it no longer. He twined his hands in Legolas' hair, and pulled him close, kissing him hard. He paused to see if the elf objected, but Legolas pressed up against him as he moved away.
The elf's hands slid up his shirt, and began unfastening the buttons from the inside. He wanted do the same, but could not make out where the buttons were on Legolas' shirt. He ran his hands over Legolas' body, but, achieving nothing but making the elf smile in amusement, decided there was only one solution. The fine silk tore easily beneath his determined hands, even as Legolas gasped and tried to wriggle out of his grasp.
'What are you doing?' he exclaimed. 'That is Lorien silk!'
'Should I keep you all wrapped up, then?' murmured Aragorn. 'Wrapped up, and untouched, and untasted?'
Legolas sighed at the sound of ripping fabric, but did not protest further.
His silence became silvery laughter, then gasps, as Aragorn used his tongue to explore the length of his body. They had moved in mutual agreement to the bed, and now Aragorn straddled Legolas' body. The elf's eyes were closed again, and Aragorn saw that he was trembling slightly.
He kissed Legolas' forehead gently, and moved the butterfly kisses down his nose and onto his lips.
'Is this your first time?' he asked hesitantly, and was rewarded by a shaky laugh.
'Not even close,' whispered Legolas, smiling again. He had not had that many lovers – many less than he let Berethin and the others believe – but he was by no means inexperienced. 'But it is my first time with…a Man.'
Aragorn understood the double meaning of his words, and smiled, too.
'There might be pain,' he said softly, not willing to mislead Legolas.
The elf's eyes were huge in the semi-darkness, but he did not move.
'But there will also be pleasure.'
Legolas discovered that both were true, and he also discovered that joy beyond anything he had ever known, existed.
