Nightbird*Songbird: Oh, my... Not a
single flame! Bless you, reviewers! I'm not creating static after all!
You really like my story! And that's an accomplishment, considering it was
written at two in the morning!
Well, in response to reviews:
evil spapple pie: I think Ghost's name is cute as well. And yes, they do indeed need to talk to each other. :[ Legolas is being a difficult character. He refuses to make it easy. Darned elf... but I love him anyways! :)
pan: short, but sweet! Thanks, hun!
Gwilith: No, he doesn't get healed EXACTLY... or, at least, Aragorn- no, wait, I can't give away the plot! But rest assured, I do love Legolas and he will have a happy future.
val: I will keep writing. Rest assured.
Legolas: Glad you like it. :)
Nightshade: Yay! a fan! Thank you!
Alexis: Awesome! Kudos to you for being so sweet!
purplesmackers: No, they won't enter the story. But I will definitely continue, so no worries there!
Silvawen the Elf Crumpet: ... cool name! :) And yes, the ones where Legolas is portrayed as 'mr. popular' drive me insane as well. I'm on your favorites? Excuse me while I die of hapiness!
Jaqwen: Okay, I'll write more! :)
Lasgalen: I'm flattered!
q: I understand. Glad you like it so far!!!
MorotheWolfGod: You, too, have a rather intriguing name... And I will write more, I swear. After all, I have no social life! What else would I do?
moonlightgoddess: okay! :) I was just kidding when I said that thing about being burned at the stake. But, it would be kinda weird if a troop of flamers ambushed my house and did that, you have to admit. Even more weird, I'm a witch. Now that would be something very interesting to watch...
Disclaimer: I would have bragged to you about it already if I owned anything. But I don't. I don't even have the action figures.
And now, on to the fic!
Chapter Three: Shadowed Rose
Legolas sat quietly in the branches of the silver birch. The rustling of the thousands of leaves were absent today, for no wind graced the forest in its embrace. Even the black butterflies that normally danced in chaotic rhythm above the treetops were still.
Legolas sighed, wrinkling his nose. No wind made Mirkwood a very hot, stuffy place, and Legolas allowed himself a wry grin. As bad as it was up here on the outskirts, it would be even worse down in the valley, where the city was.
//Exile has some advantages to it, after all,// he thought with a small chuckle. //Elves will be falling out of their flets in this heat. Let's just hope they don't injure themselves...//
(A/n: I laugh at that particular mental image...)
Aragorn's ankle had swelled in the heat, so he was at home in the cave. Legolas squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of Aragorn. Sure enough, he had tried to apologize, however awkwardly. Legolas sighed.
"He's quite nobly suffering his ankle in this heat, you know," he remarked to the trunk of the birch. "It must drive him insane to be unable to move. My prescence would not only make him feel obliged to make up for his rudeness, which he doesn't have to do, it would irritate him. Besides," he said, a sad smile on his face, "It'll hurt for him to talk to me. Hurt me, that is. My heart refuses to listen to my mind. It still aches when I see him." He sighed wistfully.
"It still hurts, knowing I love him," he said in a low voice, sadness glimmering in his eyes. Then he frowned, a thought coming to him. "Why am I talking to a tree?" he speculated. "The heat must be getting to me. All the trees have fallen asleep in this heat... I may have spent just a little too long in the sun."
He jumped down lightly to the ground, feet tracing the familiar paths with ease. //I ought to be getting some sleep, myself. I'll have to hunt at night, so my sleeping patterns have to change// he mused to himself, walking back to the cave to check on Aragorn.
He had left Aragorn in the cave for another reason (other than the ones he had explained to the birch tree). It was cooler in the cave than anywhere else in the nearby vicinity, due to the fact that it was partially underground and next to a stream. He wanted to take care of Aragorn, even if the best he could manage was only a cave. He didn't want to hurt the Man at all.
//No matter how much he hurt me, I can't hurt him back. I'm pathetic.// half of him whispered. //No, I'm not,// his other half argued. //I'm in love. It makes me want to make him happy. That's all.// Thus occupied, Legolas made his way to his cave. He stepped inside, blinking to become adjusted to the dark.
"Ghost?"
Legolas froze, his hand inches away from Aragorn's water jug. He had been meaning to refill it, but it seemed he would have to wait. "Yes, Aragorn?" he asked quietly, meeting the Man's gaze unflinchingly.
//Doesn't he realize that I don't want to be consoled? Especially when he will never love me... it would rip me into shreds when he left for his kingdom. I think I'll die anyway, when he leaves me. I love him//
Aragorn looked sad. "I really want to apologize for hurting you. Why have you been avoiding me?" Legolas's heart ached. That gaze... that voice...
"Why does it matter to you?" he said bitterly. "I'm not worth anything." Aragorn grasped his hand, and Legolas stiffened. He tried to pull his hand out of the Man's grasp, but Aragorn would not let go of him.
"Yes, you are. You're smart, you're nice, and you most certainly matter to me." He paused, trying to read the look in Legolas's eyes. "And I care about you. I don't want you to keep running from me, Ghost." Legolas dropped his eyes to the ground. He slipped free from Aragorn's grasp, and gave him a bleak half-smile.
"That is a wish I cannot grant, King. It tortures me to be near you." With a single, tormented look back, Legolas stood up and walked out of the dwelling, holding the water jug in white, shaking hands. He filled it, and brought it back to Aragorn's bedside, never once looking him in the eyes.
Legolas could feel Aragorn's gaze on him as he left once more, and nearly sobbed out his pain right then and there. //Why? Why is he doing this to me?!// he screamed mentally. //Can't he see how much it's hurting me?//
//Doesn't he care how I feel?//
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn, not for the first time, cursed his clumsiness in breaking his ankle. It was almost healed, and in two days it would be back to normal, but two days was just too long to wait to be able to run after Ghost! //Why doesn't he believe me when I tell him I care? Does he think I'm just being diplomatic?! Doing it because I have to?!//
Aragorn took three deep breaths. //It's too hot for you to throw a fit, dummy,// he scolded himself. //Until your ankle heals, you'll just have to try to convince him by your words.// He calmed enough to cool down, and began to think hard. Finally, he gave up. There was no way, other than waiting, to talk to Ghost on a regular baisis.
He sighed. //Knowing it's the only way doesn't make it any less frustrating// he thought darkly. //I really think I'm in love with him. Why won't he at least hear me out?//
Aragorn recalled that Ghost had called him 'King', and blanched. //I will have to return, if only because I am best suited for the position. It is my duty. If only I was incapable of doing the job...// He frowned. //Wishing for incompetence is not the wisest thing I've ever done//.
Aragorn lay back on the bed and bemoaned his fate. Almost without thinking about it, he drifted into sleep.
//Aragorn// a soft and gentle voice said. Aragorn looked around. He was in a field of roses. He cleared his throat.
"Who are you?" he asked, in a suspicious voice. The voice chuckled softly.
//I am the rose in front of you// Aragorn started. He looked forwards, and his sight was almost blinded by the light of a rose as golden and shining as the sun. He tried to reach out his hand, but stopped in suprise when he realized he was holding a rose of his own.
It was silver, with deep blue around its edges. It sparkled like a starry sky. Somehow, Aragorn knew that the rose he held was... him. He looked up at the golden rose.
"Ghost?" he whispered wonderingly. Suddenly, the dream began to fade. "No! Wait!" he cried, reaching after the fading field of roses desperately. "What did you want to say to me?!"
The rose that was Ghost whispered a reply, but it was too late. The wind of his passage drowned the voice out, howling and roaring like a fiend.
Aragorn was jolted awake by the crack of thunder. He sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. //The wind wasn't just in my dream, then// he thought distractedly. He looked around.
Ghost was sitting at the mouth of the stone cave, in his whole elven self, and not sprouting any leafy appendages. But Ghost was curled up in a ball, his knees drawn up against his chest. He was sitting underneath a drip that was slowly making his elegant mane into a wet mess. Ghost didn't seem to notice the water falling on his head, however. He was staring at a point on the gound in front of him.
"Ghost, what's wrong?" Aragorn asked gently. Ghost waited a long time before answering.
"It happened during a storm," he said softly. Aragorn was puzzled for a moment, then he understood.
"Your scars," he stated. Ghost nodded, rainwater streaking down his mask. In the current downpour, it was impossible to tell whether the water was from tears or the storm. Aragorn suspected it was some of both.
"Want to talk about it?" Aragorn asked. Ghost paused, then sighed.
"Maybe it'll feel better if I do," he said with reluctance. "Well, to begin with, I was on a mission with some of my fellow elves. We were going to be scouting out the ruins of Moria, to see if there was anything salvagable." Ghost shuddered.
"The mission was ill-fated from the beginning. As we journeyed through the pass that led to the lake, we were ambushed twice by Wargs. We lost six elves merely arriving. Then, when we reached the gates, a landslide blocked the pass behind us..."
He gulped. "And woke the Watcher." Aragorn noticed that Ghost had begun to grip his wrists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"The Watcher of Moria? You fought it?" Aragorn said, respect for the elf growing. Ghost nodded. He seemed to be debating something inwardly, and Aragorn wondered what it could be. After what seemed like ages, though it was probably only minutes, Ghost appeared to have reached a decision. He began to continue, in a broken voice, telling Aragorn what the Watcher had done to him. Aragorn sat in shock throughout the entire telling of the story.
//Ghost has suffered so much// he thought bleakly. //How can there be such injustice in the world? Ghost was clearly someone beautiful before he was... mutilated, that's the only word that fits such abstract cruelty. And he is a beautiful person still, under the surface. If only I could make him see it...//
In that moment, right after Ghost's tale had been told, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, silently renounced his claim to the throne. His great friend, Faramir, would take his place, and he would stay here to comfort the only person he'd ever loved. After he had thought out his new resloution, Aragorn realized that Ghost was staring at him sadly.
"You did not have to comfort me, Aragorn. I am a stranger to you, and I should not have unburdened my troubles on you. I apologize for... burdening you." Ghost stood up, and peered outside. The rain had stopped pouring down, and the air was cool. He was about to leave, when he suddenly had a thought. He turned back to Aragorn. "Would you like to be helped outside, Aragorn? You must be bored to death after three days of lying there."
Aragorn was about to protest that he did not find Ghost a burden at all, but then he realized what Ghost had offered. He nodded eagerly. Ghost moved to the bedside, and Aragorn wrapped an arm about his shoulder. Ghost waited patiently as Aragorn swung his feet over the side, and then helped him get up. They walked together, Aragorn limping, out into the sunlight.
As they walked, Aragorn began to admire how Ghost's hair glimmered in the sunlight. It looked like it was spun of true gold, and it floated like it weighed nothing in the light breeze that had sprung up... except where it was damp and wet. There, it stuck together in clumps. Aragorn frowned.
"Ghost?" he asked, once Ghost had led him over to the sandy bank of the stream and found a place, under a willow, where the sand was almost dry.
"Mmm? What?" he asked, wrinkling his nose adorably. Aragorn was reminded of how much he loved him...
"Do you have a comb?"
Ghost nodded, and opened the pouch that never seemed to leave his side. Taking out a wooden comb, he handed over to Aragorn. He was suprised when Aragorn grabbed his head and began to comb out his long, gold hair.
"Hey!" he protested, trying to stop Aragorn from brushing, "that's not what I thought you meant!" Aragorn paused for a moment, then shrugged. He continued his task, keeping Ghost's head firmly in place with one hand, and brushing with the other, ignoring the mingled threats and entreaties from Ghost. He did not stop until he was satisfied, and only then did he let go.
Ghost scowled at him irritably, arms folded over his chest. His side- braids were the only hairs that had escaped. Then he grinned evilly. "Since you are my responsibility, and since I now owe you the favor, I have decided to brush and style your hair for you." Aragorn paled.
"Um... no, that's all right!" he said uneasily, not liking the gleam that had come into Ghost's eyes at the mention of 'styling'. Ghost grabbed the comb and forced Aragorn's head around.
"Oh, but I insist!"
__________________________________________________________
Aragorn stared at his reflection in the pool of water. The pool was a handy mirror that Ghost had carved into and outcropping of the cave wall. Now, Aragorn stood before it, gripping the edges to hold himself steady.
"What... did you... DO?!" he squeaked, raising his hands to his head. Now mixed in with the majority of his hair were dozens of thin braids bound with black leather cords. And the rest of his hair was... as straight as a blade. Not its normal, wavy self. It simply hung flat on his head. //I didn't know my hair was that long, actually.// Ghost smiled sweetly.
"But you look good!" he chirped, comb stuck under his arm. Aragorn smiled at him.
"Do you really think so?" Ghost flushed and looked at the ground.
"It doesn't matter what I think," he mumbled. Aragorn glared at him.
"I'm getting tired of how often you say that," he said in a weary voice. "How often do I have to tell you that it matters what you think? That it matters how you feel?" Ghost didn't look convinced. Aragorn grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his eyes
"Why, Ghost? Why are you so stubborn about this?"
Ghost stared sadly at him. "Partly beacause you're the first person in two thousand years who thinks so," he said softly. "And partly because I've done something stupid." Aragorn dropped his hand.
"What did you do?" he asked inquisitively. Ghost shook his head, and Aragorn sighed in frustration. "I won't press you, Ghost. But I still want to know." He began to hobble back to his cot, cursing himself inwardly for his inability to explain his feelings to Ghost.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas regarded Aragorn's back morosely, tears gathering in his eyes. //Yes, I did something incredibly stupid, and I do not trust my own traitor emotions as a result. But I can't bring myself to tell you what I did.//
//I'm not strong enough to tell you that I fell in love with you//
Quickly, Legolas rubbed away the tears on his cheeks. He refused to let Aragorn see him cry. Aragorn's ankle would be fit in at least three more days. It was almost time for him to go back. He refused to hinder him any further in his inevitable journey.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas was dreaming again.
He was holding his rose close to him, walking aimlessly among the rows of flowers.
Each step he took, the rose got that much dimmer.
Finally, Legolas noticed it, and fearfully looked for a place to plant his flower before it wilted and died. All the rows were crammed to the fullest with roses, and there was no room for his anywhere.
Suddenly, he noticed a small plot of empty ground.
Right next to a silver rose with blue edges.
********tbc******** A/n: Well, bye for now, my wonderful people who reviewed. Check out the other fic I'm writing, too! Pretty please with a sugar-dipped elf on top? ;) That was what one of my friends teased me about, describing my 'bizarre elf fantasies'. They were (according to her): 1. elf dipped in chocolate 2. elf coated in caramel 3. marshmallow elves! 4. legolas walking in and offering strawberry shortcake 5. legolas walking in naked and offering 'strawberry shortcake'.
Needless to say, I whopped her with a pillow after that last one until she shut up. And people say I have my mind in the gutter?
Well, I'll write more soon. After three days of steady writing, my muse is pretty much exhausted. But I'll be back soon, I promise! Bye!s
Well, in response to reviews:
evil spapple pie: I think Ghost's name is cute as well. And yes, they do indeed need to talk to each other. :[ Legolas is being a difficult character. He refuses to make it easy. Darned elf... but I love him anyways! :)
pan: short, but sweet! Thanks, hun!
Gwilith: No, he doesn't get healed EXACTLY... or, at least, Aragorn- no, wait, I can't give away the plot! But rest assured, I do love Legolas and he will have a happy future.
val: I will keep writing. Rest assured.
Legolas: Glad you like it. :)
Nightshade: Yay! a fan! Thank you!
Alexis: Awesome! Kudos to you for being so sweet!
purplesmackers: No, they won't enter the story. But I will definitely continue, so no worries there!
Silvawen the Elf Crumpet: ... cool name! :) And yes, the ones where Legolas is portrayed as 'mr. popular' drive me insane as well. I'm on your favorites? Excuse me while I die of hapiness!
Jaqwen: Okay, I'll write more! :)
Lasgalen: I'm flattered!
q: I understand. Glad you like it so far!!!
MorotheWolfGod: You, too, have a rather intriguing name... And I will write more, I swear. After all, I have no social life! What else would I do?
moonlightgoddess: okay! :) I was just kidding when I said that thing about being burned at the stake. But, it would be kinda weird if a troop of flamers ambushed my house and did that, you have to admit. Even more weird, I'm a witch. Now that would be something very interesting to watch...
Disclaimer: I would have bragged to you about it already if I owned anything. But I don't. I don't even have the action figures.
And now, on to the fic!
Chapter Three: Shadowed Rose
Legolas sat quietly in the branches of the silver birch. The rustling of the thousands of leaves were absent today, for no wind graced the forest in its embrace. Even the black butterflies that normally danced in chaotic rhythm above the treetops were still.
Legolas sighed, wrinkling his nose. No wind made Mirkwood a very hot, stuffy place, and Legolas allowed himself a wry grin. As bad as it was up here on the outskirts, it would be even worse down in the valley, where the city was.
//Exile has some advantages to it, after all,// he thought with a small chuckle. //Elves will be falling out of their flets in this heat. Let's just hope they don't injure themselves...//
(A/n: I laugh at that particular mental image...)
Aragorn's ankle had swelled in the heat, so he was at home in the cave. Legolas squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of Aragorn. Sure enough, he had tried to apologize, however awkwardly. Legolas sighed.
"He's quite nobly suffering his ankle in this heat, you know," he remarked to the trunk of the birch. "It must drive him insane to be unable to move. My prescence would not only make him feel obliged to make up for his rudeness, which he doesn't have to do, it would irritate him. Besides," he said, a sad smile on his face, "It'll hurt for him to talk to me. Hurt me, that is. My heart refuses to listen to my mind. It still aches when I see him." He sighed wistfully.
"It still hurts, knowing I love him," he said in a low voice, sadness glimmering in his eyes. Then he frowned, a thought coming to him. "Why am I talking to a tree?" he speculated. "The heat must be getting to me. All the trees have fallen asleep in this heat... I may have spent just a little too long in the sun."
He jumped down lightly to the ground, feet tracing the familiar paths with ease. //I ought to be getting some sleep, myself. I'll have to hunt at night, so my sleeping patterns have to change// he mused to himself, walking back to the cave to check on Aragorn.
He had left Aragorn in the cave for another reason (other than the ones he had explained to the birch tree). It was cooler in the cave than anywhere else in the nearby vicinity, due to the fact that it was partially underground and next to a stream. He wanted to take care of Aragorn, even if the best he could manage was only a cave. He didn't want to hurt the Man at all.
//No matter how much he hurt me, I can't hurt him back. I'm pathetic.// half of him whispered. //No, I'm not,// his other half argued. //I'm in love. It makes me want to make him happy. That's all.// Thus occupied, Legolas made his way to his cave. He stepped inside, blinking to become adjusted to the dark.
"Ghost?"
Legolas froze, his hand inches away from Aragorn's water jug. He had been meaning to refill it, but it seemed he would have to wait. "Yes, Aragorn?" he asked quietly, meeting the Man's gaze unflinchingly.
//Doesn't he realize that I don't want to be consoled? Especially when he will never love me... it would rip me into shreds when he left for his kingdom. I think I'll die anyway, when he leaves me. I love him//
Aragorn looked sad. "I really want to apologize for hurting you. Why have you been avoiding me?" Legolas's heart ached. That gaze... that voice...
"Why does it matter to you?" he said bitterly. "I'm not worth anything." Aragorn grasped his hand, and Legolas stiffened. He tried to pull his hand out of the Man's grasp, but Aragorn would not let go of him.
"Yes, you are. You're smart, you're nice, and you most certainly matter to me." He paused, trying to read the look in Legolas's eyes. "And I care about you. I don't want you to keep running from me, Ghost." Legolas dropped his eyes to the ground. He slipped free from Aragorn's grasp, and gave him a bleak half-smile.
"That is a wish I cannot grant, King. It tortures me to be near you." With a single, tormented look back, Legolas stood up and walked out of the dwelling, holding the water jug in white, shaking hands. He filled it, and brought it back to Aragorn's bedside, never once looking him in the eyes.
Legolas could feel Aragorn's gaze on him as he left once more, and nearly sobbed out his pain right then and there. //Why? Why is he doing this to me?!// he screamed mentally. //Can't he see how much it's hurting me?//
//Doesn't he care how I feel?//
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aragorn, not for the first time, cursed his clumsiness in breaking his ankle. It was almost healed, and in two days it would be back to normal, but two days was just too long to wait to be able to run after Ghost! //Why doesn't he believe me when I tell him I care? Does he think I'm just being diplomatic?! Doing it because I have to?!//
Aragorn took three deep breaths. //It's too hot for you to throw a fit, dummy,// he scolded himself. //Until your ankle heals, you'll just have to try to convince him by your words.// He calmed enough to cool down, and began to think hard. Finally, he gave up. There was no way, other than waiting, to talk to Ghost on a regular baisis.
He sighed. //Knowing it's the only way doesn't make it any less frustrating// he thought darkly. //I really think I'm in love with him. Why won't he at least hear me out?//
Aragorn recalled that Ghost had called him 'King', and blanched. //I will have to return, if only because I am best suited for the position. It is my duty. If only I was incapable of doing the job...// He frowned. //Wishing for incompetence is not the wisest thing I've ever done//.
Aragorn lay back on the bed and bemoaned his fate. Almost without thinking about it, he drifted into sleep.
//Aragorn// a soft and gentle voice said. Aragorn looked around. He was in a field of roses. He cleared his throat.
"Who are you?" he asked, in a suspicious voice. The voice chuckled softly.
//I am the rose in front of you// Aragorn started. He looked forwards, and his sight was almost blinded by the light of a rose as golden and shining as the sun. He tried to reach out his hand, but stopped in suprise when he realized he was holding a rose of his own.
It was silver, with deep blue around its edges. It sparkled like a starry sky. Somehow, Aragorn knew that the rose he held was... him. He looked up at the golden rose.
"Ghost?" he whispered wonderingly. Suddenly, the dream began to fade. "No! Wait!" he cried, reaching after the fading field of roses desperately. "What did you want to say to me?!"
The rose that was Ghost whispered a reply, but it was too late. The wind of his passage drowned the voice out, howling and roaring like a fiend.
Aragorn was jolted awake by the crack of thunder. He sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. //The wind wasn't just in my dream, then// he thought distractedly. He looked around.
Ghost was sitting at the mouth of the stone cave, in his whole elven self, and not sprouting any leafy appendages. But Ghost was curled up in a ball, his knees drawn up against his chest. He was sitting underneath a drip that was slowly making his elegant mane into a wet mess. Ghost didn't seem to notice the water falling on his head, however. He was staring at a point on the gound in front of him.
"Ghost, what's wrong?" Aragorn asked gently. Ghost waited a long time before answering.
"It happened during a storm," he said softly. Aragorn was puzzled for a moment, then he understood.
"Your scars," he stated. Ghost nodded, rainwater streaking down his mask. In the current downpour, it was impossible to tell whether the water was from tears or the storm. Aragorn suspected it was some of both.
"Want to talk about it?" Aragorn asked. Ghost paused, then sighed.
"Maybe it'll feel better if I do," he said with reluctance. "Well, to begin with, I was on a mission with some of my fellow elves. We were going to be scouting out the ruins of Moria, to see if there was anything salvagable." Ghost shuddered.
"The mission was ill-fated from the beginning. As we journeyed through the pass that led to the lake, we were ambushed twice by Wargs. We lost six elves merely arriving. Then, when we reached the gates, a landslide blocked the pass behind us..."
He gulped. "And woke the Watcher." Aragorn noticed that Ghost had begun to grip his wrists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"The Watcher of Moria? You fought it?" Aragorn said, respect for the elf growing. Ghost nodded. He seemed to be debating something inwardly, and Aragorn wondered what it could be. After what seemed like ages, though it was probably only minutes, Ghost appeared to have reached a decision. He began to continue, in a broken voice, telling Aragorn what the Watcher had done to him. Aragorn sat in shock throughout the entire telling of the story.
//Ghost has suffered so much// he thought bleakly. //How can there be such injustice in the world? Ghost was clearly someone beautiful before he was... mutilated, that's the only word that fits such abstract cruelty. And he is a beautiful person still, under the surface. If only I could make him see it...//
In that moment, right after Ghost's tale had been told, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, silently renounced his claim to the throne. His great friend, Faramir, would take his place, and he would stay here to comfort the only person he'd ever loved. After he had thought out his new resloution, Aragorn realized that Ghost was staring at him sadly.
"You did not have to comfort me, Aragorn. I am a stranger to you, and I should not have unburdened my troubles on you. I apologize for... burdening you." Ghost stood up, and peered outside. The rain had stopped pouring down, and the air was cool. He was about to leave, when he suddenly had a thought. He turned back to Aragorn. "Would you like to be helped outside, Aragorn? You must be bored to death after three days of lying there."
Aragorn was about to protest that he did not find Ghost a burden at all, but then he realized what Ghost had offered. He nodded eagerly. Ghost moved to the bedside, and Aragorn wrapped an arm about his shoulder. Ghost waited patiently as Aragorn swung his feet over the side, and then helped him get up. They walked together, Aragorn limping, out into the sunlight.
As they walked, Aragorn began to admire how Ghost's hair glimmered in the sunlight. It looked like it was spun of true gold, and it floated like it weighed nothing in the light breeze that had sprung up... except where it was damp and wet. There, it stuck together in clumps. Aragorn frowned.
"Ghost?" he asked, once Ghost had led him over to the sandy bank of the stream and found a place, under a willow, where the sand was almost dry.
"Mmm? What?" he asked, wrinkling his nose adorably. Aragorn was reminded of how much he loved him...
"Do you have a comb?"
Ghost nodded, and opened the pouch that never seemed to leave his side. Taking out a wooden comb, he handed over to Aragorn. He was suprised when Aragorn grabbed his head and began to comb out his long, gold hair.
"Hey!" he protested, trying to stop Aragorn from brushing, "that's not what I thought you meant!" Aragorn paused for a moment, then shrugged. He continued his task, keeping Ghost's head firmly in place with one hand, and brushing with the other, ignoring the mingled threats and entreaties from Ghost. He did not stop until he was satisfied, and only then did he let go.
Ghost scowled at him irritably, arms folded over his chest. His side- braids were the only hairs that had escaped. Then he grinned evilly. "Since you are my responsibility, and since I now owe you the favor, I have decided to brush and style your hair for you." Aragorn paled.
"Um... no, that's all right!" he said uneasily, not liking the gleam that had come into Ghost's eyes at the mention of 'styling'. Ghost grabbed the comb and forced Aragorn's head around.
"Oh, but I insist!"
__________________________________________________________
Aragorn stared at his reflection in the pool of water. The pool was a handy mirror that Ghost had carved into and outcropping of the cave wall. Now, Aragorn stood before it, gripping the edges to hold himself steady.
"What... did you... DO?!" he squeaked, raising his hands to his head. Now mixed in with the majority of his hair were dozens of thin braids bound with black leather cords. And the rest of his hair was... as straight as a blade. Not its normal, wavy self. It simply hung flat on his head. //I didn't know my hair was that long, actually.// Ghost smiled sweetly.
"But you look good!" he chirped, comb stuck under his arm. Aragorn smiled at him.
"Do you really think so?" Ghost flushed and looked at the ground.
"It doesn't matter what I think," he mumbled. Aragorn glared at him.
"I'm getting tired of how often you say that," he said in a weary voice. "How often do I have to tell you that it matters what you think? That it matters how you feel?" Ghost didn't look convinced. Aragorn grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his eyes
"Why, Ghost? Why are you so stubborn about this?"
Ghost stared sadly at him. "Partly beacause you're the first person in two thousand years who thinks so," he said softly. "And partly because I've done something stupid." Aragorn dropped his hand.
"What did you do?" he asked inquisitively. Ghost shook his head, and Aragorn sighed in frustration. "I won't press you, Ghost. But I still want to know." He began to hobble back to his cot, cursing himself inwardly for his inability to explain his feelings to Ghost.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas regarded Aragorn's back morosely, tears gathering in his eyes. //Yes, I did something incredibly stupid, and I do not trust my own traitor emotions as a result. But I can't bring myself to tell you what I did.//
//I'm not strong enough to tell you that I fell in love with you//
Quickly, Legolas rubbed away the tears on his cheeks. He refused to let Aragorn see him cry. Aragorn's ankle would be fit in at least three more days. It was almost time for him to go back. He refused to hinder him any further in his inevitable journey.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas was dreaming again.
He was holding his rose close to him, walking aimlessly among the rows of flowers.
Each step he took, the rose got that much dimmer.
Finally, Legolas noticed it, and fearfully looked for a place to plant his flower before it wilted and died. All the rows were crammed to the fullest with roses, and there was no room for his anywhere.
Suddenly, he noticed a small plot of empty ground.
Right next to a silver rose with blue edges.
********tbc******** A/n: Well, bye for now, my wonderful people who reviewed. Check out the other fic I'm writing, too! Pretty please with a sugar-dipped elf on top? ;) That was what one of my friends teased me about, describing my 'bizarre elf fantasies'. They were (according to her): 1. elf dipped in chocolate 2. elf coated in caramel 3. marshmallow elves! 4. legolas walking in and offering strawberry shortcake 5. legolas walking in naked and offering 'strawberry shortcake'.
Needless to say, I whopped her with a pillow after that last one until she shut up. And people say I have my mind in the gutter?
Well, I'll write more soon. After three days of steady writing, my muse is pretty much exhausted. But I'll be back soon, I promise! Bye!s