Beautiful Stranger

Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me

Author's note: thanks a million to all my dear reviewers! I really appreciate your encouragement.

Standard disclaimers apply.

Chapter 7

The next day, Aragorn could not keep still.

He paced aimlessly through the long corridors grown into the very woods of Lorien, stopping from time to time to admire a particularly vibrant blossom, or the cool majesty of a mallorn. But though he let his feet wander mostly where they would, he kept carefully away from the rooms and dwellings where a convalescent elf might be.

Just past noon, he retired to his own chamber to write a letter to King Thengel, explaining his prolonged absence. He wrote another to his mother, within it extolling the beauty of the Golden Woods, and asking after her health and happiness. Then he sent them to Rohan and Rivendell by way of the fortnightly couriers and stayed in the stables with the horses until the stable master clucked his tongue and chased him out.

Elladan and Elrohir sought him out in the early hours after noon, with an offer to hunt. But staring at the longbows and quivers slung across their backs, the last thing Aragorn wanted was the memory of arrows that flew unerringly true, and of the slender hand that shot them.

Finally, even the twins grew annoyed with his fretting, and confronted him in one of Lorien's numerous gardens.

Elrohir pinned him against the trunk of a large tree while Elladan paced back and forth before him, hands clasped behind his back.

"It seems," Elladan told his twin, pointedly ignoring the struggling man, "that our baby brother has a problem."

"Oh, so you noticed," Aragorn said sardonically, staring pointedly at his confined limbs.

"It seems," Elrohir said right over him, "that our baby brother is too much of a coward to deal with it."

"What!" Aragorn shouted, "I never…"

"But perhaps we have misjudged him," Elladan continued, "After all, Grandmother did lay down some rules."

Elrohir shrugged, and stared Aragorn in the eye, mischief dancing in his gaze. "If it mattered that much to me," he said, "I could care less about rules." He winked and released the man. Elladan walked with him away from their brother, leaving him alone with their words.

Aragorn watched them go, rubbing at his bruised shoulders. As unsubtle as they had been about it, his brothers had a point; he'd never run from anything before, and he wasn't about to start now.

~

He excused himself from supper early, ostensibly to wander among the orchards while it was still light.

Strawberries didn't usually mature beside apple blossoms, but Aragorn supposed that the Lady of Lorien could grow her gardens any way it pleased her. And it did please her.

The rustle of skirts made him turn.

"Pretty, aren't they?" the Lady Galadriel asked in greeting, and held out a hand to stop him in mid-bow.

He nodded, surprised and somewhat dismayed at her presence; as the host he had thought her ensconced in the dining hall for the better part of the night.

"Pretty," she said again, gesturing at the expanse of delicate pinks and sultry reds before them, "but which cannot exist outside this tiny haven."

"Do you have something to say to me?" he asked directly.

She smiled at him. "Walk with me," she beckoned, guiding them down a narrow path that led ever downwards.

"There are things that no one can explain," she said to the rhythm of their plodding steps, "Magic, Fate, Love…and yet, we are as much subject to them as we are to the air that fills our lungs, or the water that brings us life."

"Your point being?" he asked. He was growing restless, and wanted to find his stranger elf before darkness descended.

"Impatient child," she chided gently, "I will bring you to him when it is time."

Aragorn blushed. "I didn't mean…"

"But you did," she continued, "which is precisely the problem." They had stopped in front of what appeared to be a large basin, or a small fountain. It was filled to the brim, and the water it contained shimmered in the sunset. "Tell me what you see."

Drawn against his will, Aragorn bent over the silver basin. "War," he whispered reverently, as the scenes of carnage leapt out at him, but even then he could not draw his eyes away. "So much death. The Kingdoms of Men shattered….wait. The White City, restored? And Arwen, a queen. I do not understand."

Galadriel nodded and said, "The Mirror of Galadriel shows the future. Or rather, possible futures. It will be your choice, heir to Isildur, sometime years from now. For the moment, my dear…need I tell you what you did not see?"

Aragorn backed away from the glistening bowl and away from her. "What you're saying is…"

"That there is no future for the two of you together," she finished for him. The Eldar did not age as Men did, but in that instant, she looked very tired, and very old. "I wish it could be otherwise," she said sincerely, "It is a cruel hoax, for you see, you are also his great love, the truest and the best."

The man stared at her, disbelief written all over his face. An emotion he hadn't even known was there seemed to die at her words, and he recognized it as hope.

"I'm sorry," she said, "But you had to know."

The Lady gathered her skirts and started back up the stairs. When she turned around and saw that he was not following, she tossed her head in an uncharacteristic gesture of annoyance.

"Well come on," she said, "Do you want to see him or not?"

"But I thought…"

She smiled sadly, spreading her arms to encompass the glen in which she ruled. "They still grow together," she said, "in this tiny haven."

~

Legolas sat with his back against the wall, staring at the moon just risen amongst the stars. He didn't turn to look when the door opened; Galadriel had probably sent someone to bring him supper, and he wasn't very hungry.

"Leave it on the table," he said, content to dream in the darkness.

The shadow slipped fully into the room, but did not leave.

Legolas sighed and turned to greet the visitor, resigned to another session of meaningless pleasantries. His expression did not change as recognition seized him, but the sudden tension with which he held himself betrayed him more than words could ever have.

Aragorn walked towards the elf, holding the basket of strawberries strewn with apple blossoms before him like a peace offering, as though bridled passion could be so easily checked. He might have lighted a candle, but it wasn't really all that dark, and the shadows helped hide his heightened colour, his quickened breath.

"Thank you," Legolas said politely, taking the basket from him.

"I just wanted to see how you were feeling," he said by way of explanation.

"Very well," the elf replied, and after a pause, "Thank you."

Smooth fingers brushed against the man's, and suddenly, Aragorn could bear the small talk no longer. The night was too still, the air around them too full of unrealized yearnings. There were a thousand reasons for him to leave right then, and only one for him to stay, But that one was reason enough.

Ignoring the strawberries that fell to the ground, he pulled the elf off the bed and into a desperate embrace.

Legolas stood rigid against him, neither pliant nor protesting, held less by surprise than by the fear of what he would do if he did not. But there no one was there to disapprove, and guilt was eclipsed by the fire that burned where they touched…He relaxed inch by painstaking inch in the man's arms, nearly gasping in wonder at how right it felt.

He let Aragorn lead him back onto the satin sheets, where they lay side by side amongst the apple blossoms.

The heady scent of crushed flowers filled the room. "I…" Aragorn began.

The elf put a finger to his lips and shook his head. "Don't say it," he told him, "Don't say anything."

And because Aragorn hadn't had much to say in the first place, he let it be, and simply held him closer.


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