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The Gathering Storm

Legolas lay in the circle of Aragorn's arms. He was still flushed from their love-making, and warm drowsiness washed over him. Aragorn was asleep, his breath slow and warm on Legolas' throat. The elf kept very still, not wanting to disturb the man.

Happiness and sorrow swelled in Legolas' heart until he thought he would burst with it.

'I love you,' he said, very softly to the sleeping Man. 'I have never said that to another, you know. I have never wanted to say it. But I love you.'

Legolas waited. There was no response, only a deepening of the silence. Legolas chuckled wryly as he realised that he was professing these words to Aragorn when the Man clearly couldn't hear him.

An impish thought crossed his mind.

'You do not look so tough when you are asleep, Human,' murmured Legolas. 'Not very much like a Wolf, at all.' He stifled a quiet laugh. 'Your mouth is slightly open. You are clinging to me like a child to his mother. You should – '

'– not allow myself to be talked of like that, by an Elf,' said Aragorn in a low voice. In one smooth movement, he had rolled out of their embrace, and lay atop Legolas. He was heavy, but the weight felt good. Grey eyes stared into Legolas' own.

'You were listening!' said Legolas indignantly.

'I was,' Aragorn said, with a faint smirk.

'That is – That is not –'

'Hmm?' Aragorn raised an eyebrow, and his mouth quirked.

'That is not nice,' finished Legolas darkly.

Aragorn laughed, and Legolas knew he would do anything for that laugh.

They lay there silently for some time, watching each other and the stars in the night sky outside.

'There is but an hour before dawn,' said Legolas regretfully.

'I don't want to leave,' said Aragorn, sounding suddenly very young again.

Legolas traced the length of the Man's jaw, down his throat, along his collarbone.

'Did you mean that?' Aragorn asked.

Legolas tilted his head questioningly.

'When you said…when you said you loved me. And no other.' Aragorn looked so vulnerable that Legolas wanted to kiss his fears away. Well, the kisses would be a start, anyway. Legolas blushed faintly.

'I did. I still do. I always will.'

Aragorn closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the emotion that washed over him.

'And I, you.'

Their lips met, not driven by hard desire this time, but in a gentle expression of their love.

'Father will be furious,' Legolas confessed shakily, a little while later.

'Elrond will not be happy, either,' Aragorn admitted. 'But I do not think he will stand against this.'

Legolas wished he could say the same about Thranduil.

'Promise me,' he whispered, 'that you will always be mine. No matter what strives to come between us.'

Aragorn gave his promise with another lingering kiss.

They knew what lay unsaid between them. Legolas could not – would not – ask it of Aragorn, and the Man, although knowing he would agree in a heartbeat if pressed, was still reluctant to do so unnecessarily.

You could give up the name of Rivendell. Be not Estel, be not the Son of Elrond, nor Brother to Elladan and Elrohir. Be Aragorn, and be free to love as you wish.

I am free to love as I wish, thought Aragorn defiantly. He loved Legolas with a determination and a gentleness that he had never experienced before, but he could not so lightly dismiss his brothers and father. I love them, too, he thought sorrowfully.

Unspeaking, Aragorn rose from the bed they shared, and dressed. Legolas watched him silently, eyes huge. He feared than any words uttered would shatter the fragile spell of their happiness.

And because neither could bear to say farewell, they left it unspoken as Aragorn slipped back into the mournful grey of early morning.

I will never love the daylight again, thought Legolas.

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Elrohir arched a brow at Aragorn when he returned, but offered no other comment. Elrond gave his foster-son a shrewd glace, but to Aragorn's relief, did not question him. Elladan was still absent.

Aragorn was restless, although neither he nor Legolas had slept in earnest the night before. He paced the halls of Rivendell, getting in the way of the servants. He sat with a book in his chamber, then moved to the library, where he read the first page over and over, promptly forgetting the first line as soon as he'd read the second.

Even Elrohir's good-humoured patience was beginning to wear thin when Aragorn wandered over to his desk, and began testing his quills.

'Estel!' exclaimed Elrohir, half laughing, half exasperated. 'What has gotten into you?'

Aragorn mumbled something, and sheepishly recorked the bottle of ink he held in his hand. His fingers were smudged with black.

'That's not going to come off easily, you know,' said Elrohir in amusement. 'Mithrandir gave me that ink, and the parchment it's written on will disintegrate before the writing fades.' He thought for a moment. 'But Mithrandir is in Rivendell now. Why don't you go bother him, and leave me some peace?' He grinned innocently at Aragorn.

'Fine,' muttered Aragorn in mock anger. 'I know when I'm not wanted! Just wait until the next time you want someone to practise archery on…'

Elrohir choked on his laughter.

'You know very well what I mean!' Aragorn said, flushing. He was glad to leave Elrohir and his wicked mirth behind.

He found Gandalf in a lonely glade, in deep study of a tree.

The Istari gave him a knowing smile as he approached. 'Well, Aragorn,' he said. 'Was the hospitality of Mirkwood to your liking, last night?'

From any other, the comment would have caused Aragorn to exclaim in shock, but Gandalf had a way of knowing things he wasn't really supposed to know. He had known Gandalf all his life, but the Istari had become a true friend when Aragorn ventured into the Wild.

'It was,' admitted Aragorn.

'And that young Prince…ah, yes. Legolas was his name, I believe. Was he to your liking?'

'He was,' said Aragorn softly, a sudden joy lighting his features.

'Mhm.' Gandalf's expression could have meant anything. He glanced over Aragorn's shoulder, to where another young man collected herbs some distance off.

'My assistant,' Gandalf explained. 'Grima.'

Aragorn turned to look, surprised. Grima was dark-haired and pale-skinned, and he had fixed a rather baleful glare onto the ranger.

'I do not like the look of him, Gandalf,' Aragorn said cautiously.

'Hmm? Oh, nor I, my lad,' replied Gandalf, still studying his assistant. 'But I foresaw that he has some part to play in upcoming events. And I fear the part may not be good, so by keeping him under my wing, so to speak, I hope to gain some little control over it.'

He shook himself slightly, and looked down at Aragorn's hands. 'Have you been playing with Elrohir's ink, now?' he asked.

Aragorn did not answer, but Gandalf chuckled at the young man's guilty look.

'Pennywort and rue,' he said. 'That'll get it off soon enough.'

Aragorn grinned at him. 'My thanks.'

'About Legolas, now,' said Gandalf, becoming suddenly serious.

Aragorn's expression was guarded.

'I know of the love between you,' Gandalf continued. 'Yes,' he said to Aragorn's expression of disbelief. 'I knew of it before you ever laid eyes on him. It is a great thing, Aragorn, a love like that.'

A forgotten memory came back to Aragorn. 'That is what Arwen said,' he whispered.

'Did she, now?' Gandalf said. 'She is wiser than her years, it seems. A love like yours, Aragorn,' he said, 'has the power to change the course of history. I do not know how. I do not know when. I cannot even say that it will be easy. All that I can say, is do not lose hope.' The Istari's voice was urgent at the end, and he stared deep into Aragorn's eyes.

Aragorn smiled. 'While Legolas is here,' he said quietly, 'Hope shall not be lost.'

Gandalf did not look entirely satisfied with that, but made no comment on it. 'I do not think Elrond will take this lightly, your love for a Mirkwood elf. I am here, Aragorn, as a friend for you and Legolas, should you need me.'

Gratitude at finding an ally in such an unexpected place flooded Aragorn. Before he could reply, Gandalf repeated his earlier words.

'Do not lose hope, Aragorn,' he warned. Then he smiled, and shuffled away like the old man he made out to be. 'Well, my work calls, I'm afraid. Grima! We are going now!'

Aragorn was left alone with his confused and swirling thoughts.

~~*~~

Legolas was more unsettled than he ever remembered being. His heart beat unsteadily, and waves of dizziness overtook him on occasion.

So this is what it feels like to be in love? he wondered, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

Heleyna might have something to do with his unease, too. They did not spend much time in each other's company, but she made a show of kissing him thoroughly each morning before the other elves. He could not help but compare her brash kisses with Aragorn's loving ones. And she still tasted bitter.

The sham of their betrothal lay heavily on Legolas' heart. He had never imagined that so much joy and so much sorrow could exist together.

He became quieter and sadder, and Berethin demanded to know what was troubling him. Legolas could not answer him. His cousin had ever been his confidant, but Legolas knew that this time, Berethin would offer no sympathy. He would not understand how Legolas could love a Man, and one from Rivendell at that.

Elian knew, but she could offer no comfort. Aragorn had not returned since the night of the ball, and there was no way to send a message. And above it all, Legolas' betrothal to Heleyna loomed over them like a storm-cloud.

'He will come,' Elian told him firmly. 'It has been but three days.'

'I know he will,' replied Legolas quietly, echoing the conviction in his heart.

But as the days passed, the shadows under his eyes grew darker, and he became more listless, until not even Berethin could coax him from his rooms.

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Please review? Reviews make me happy. Chapter 8 "A Welcome Bath", up soon.