"Here, my friends, is the hobbit, Frodo son of Drogo. Few have ever
come hither through greater peril or on an errand more urgent." Lord Elrond
of Rivendell spoke to the company gathered there: A hobbit, a wizard, a
man, dwarves, elves, and a Ranger. This Ranger, Legolas knew, was the
renowned Ranger, Strider, also known to a few as Aragorn, son of Arathorn.
Legolas only half listened as the council told their tales and rumors.
Being both an Elf prince and friend to Gandalf the Gray, he had heard most
of the tidings before. Instead, his clear eyes were fixed upon Aragorn.
How he had changed! His thick, dark hair had lost most of its curl. How Legolas had doted on those springs! His face was long and drawn... the face of a man who had seen much but revealed little. Although clean-shaven, he somehow had an untamed look about him. His clothes, once garments of bright greens, earthy browns, and merry yellows, had been exchanged for the Ranger's garb of gray cloak, tunic, and leggings. Instead of soft, light leather shoes, his boots were thick and heavy. While it had lost its childlike slenderness and softness, the sturdy, hard, yet flexible body that Aragorn now possessed was, Legolas found, still wonderfully attractive.
He felt his throat go dry and his pants tighten at the thoughts of his old lover, once a child, now a man, back in his arms. How would his lips taste now? Still sweet and soft and moist, or bittered with alcohol and tobacco? Would his voice be musical or had it turned into a gruff baritone?
Suddenly, the Elf's thoughts were interrupted by an outburst by the loud stranger from Gondor, Boromir. Sighing, Legolas let his focus come back to the council and to the meeting at hand. He listened intently and watched the solitary Ranger for any reactions. None showed through.
When Aragorn spoke at last, his voice was quiet and smooth, but powerful. His words were those of wisdom, and Legolas began to wonder what his Little One's life had been like.
What has he been through? Legolas wondered. What have I missed? Do I know him anymore? Of course! Legolas cast out his last thought immediately.
Finally, the meeting concluded. The small hobbit, Frodo, had been named the Ring-Bearer, and the rest of the Fellowship would be chosen the next day. Though stout of heart, surely, Legolas had doubts about the halfling's fighting skills. He is but a child, the Elf thought, who understands not the peril. Nor do any of us, in truth.
Legolas barely glimpsed the Ranger slipping away from the meeting. He watched him go with a mix of apprehension and longing, then turned and he, too, left.
Silently, Legolas stood upon a balcony of Elrond's house. Far below him, the sanctuary of Rivendell lay nestled in the gully, the waters of its river slipping silently down its path. The trees welcomed this strange Elf to their land, sensing that Green-Leaf of Mirkwood loved the forest and all that grew within. The sounds of night were strangely muffled in Rivendell, as if the creatures dared not disturb the sacred peace. He let the breeze tease his neck as his hair fluttered behind him. How soon this would all change, he knew. If chosen for the Fellowship, he expected that he would not be so at peace for quite some time. He lifted his face to the stars and closed his eyes, letting the presence of Rivendell comfort him.
A soft step beside him interrupted his thoughts and caused Legolas to turn, then, and his heart to skip a beat.
"Aragorn...!" he breathed. The Ranger raised an eyebrow. "You just surprised me, that's all," the Elf recovered. "Your skills are impressive. Few may approach an Elf without his knowing." He leaned lightly upon the railing and returned his eyes to the stars, although every other sense was focused on the man behind him. "What calls you to the starshine this night, o Strider?" Legolas tilted his head to one side, glancing back at Aragorn.
Aragorn was silent for a moment. Then, quietly, "Prince Legolas. I wanted a word with you. Your face, it... it is familiar to me. And yet, we have met only briefly, once, years ago..."
Legolas nodded. "Yes, I remember."
The Ranger crossed his arms. "Your name, too, is familiar. My tongue protests your title, insisting that I call you Legolas." He shook his head and grasped the railing, letting his shoulders relax. "I am sorry. I do not know why I speak of such things."
Legolas' heart thudded against his chest so loudly that he feared Aragorn would hear it. "I am not surprised that you would find my face familiar; many elves of Mirkwood look similar." The two stood in silence for a time. Finally, Legolas spoke. "You may call me Legolas if you so wish. Formality is a burden between two who would journey together. You do plan to be one of the Nine, Aragorn, do you not? I feel it in my heart that you will not be left behind. You seem protective of the halflings."
Aragorn chuckled, "Yes. It is true that I have grown fond of them. You are perceptive, Legolas. We shall get along." He sighed and frowned in slight annoyance. "Unlike myself and the loud, arrogant Southerner, Boromir. But I see that he will not stay away, so I must learn to deal with him." Suddenly, Aragorn stopped and glanced sharply at Legolas. "Why do I share my thoughts and analyses with you, Elf? Why do I forget my guises?" He narrowed his eyes. "Is this Elf Magic that you weave around me?"
Legolas laughed quietly and shook his head. "Nay, good Aragorn. I would not think to cast enchantment upon you. You have nothing to fear from me. I, too, intend to accompany the Ring-Bearer on his journey, and would not wish harm on a companion. Nay, naught but intentions of aid and support have entered my mind." He met Aragorn's gaze steadily. "Least of all to you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Ilsildur, who do intrigue me."
The Ranger seemed amused by this. "I, my friend? Of all the queer folk who are gathered here, I intrigue you?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I do have a roguish look about me, I suppose."
The other nodded. "Your life is much a secret to me, and I wonder what it is you have been through," he spoke quietly. "Your weathered face shows much experience and knowledge... much hardship and little time for music and laughter. And yet, by the shine in your eye," he searched the other's gaze, "I know that you love both." Legolas became silent, and seemed to be lost in the stars above. In truth, he was holding his breath, awaiting his beloved's reply. For he was still very much in love with Aragorn, though, he knew, in a new way. Now they were equally experienced, though the younger man - by more than one thousand years - most likely thought of the apparently youthful Elf as being inexperienced and one more to take under his protection. Yet Legolas had a feeling that his love would, in fact, know the land better and serve as a strong shoulder for the entire Fellowship to lean upon. "Estel..." he whispered.
The Elf became aware of Aragorn's hand on his shoulder. "Estel," Aragorn repeated softly, not recognizing his childhood nickname. "Hope. Yes, we need hope, Legolas. We need hope and heart and music and light." The man locked eyes with him. "Will you be this for the Fellowship and its members?"
Legolas was surprised. "I? Elves are naturally optimistic and full of music, but you surprise me. The heart and light, Aragorn? What tells you to ask this of me?"
In the dark, Legolas could not be sure if a blush had risen in the other's face or if it was merely the chill of night that had pinkened his cheeks ever so slightly. Inside, the Elf was amazed. Only he, as the lover of the child Aragorn once was, could cause him to blush. Had his old nickname, Estel, caused him any emotion? Had he yet remembered anything?
Aragorn was quiet a moment. "You are one, I can tell, who has the ability to comfort and to give hope to others. In this way, you shall be the heart of our group. And I cannot say why I called you the light, for I know it not myself. Only because it seemed right, with the starlight on your hair. Like a beacon, I feel you will guide our hearts, if not our feet." He turned away, then spun around and grabbed Legolas' arms. He spoke quietly, but rapidly. "I know you. I don't know from where, I don't know how, but I know you from somewhere, damnit! I need to know! Tell me, Legolas," his eyes burned, "tell me how it is that I know you."
Man's and Elf's eyes locked, one's burning with the need for knowledge, the other's wide and full of... something. Sorrow? Pain? Finally, Aragorn tore his eyes away, dropping his hands to his sides. He turned away. "You will not tell me." His hands were clenched tightly.
Legolas spoke, barely above a whisper. "I cannot. I would that my tongue were working, so that I could relieve your pain... and my own." Aragorn's shoulders shook, but no sound came from him. Legolas had to stop himself from running to his side, from enfolding the man in his arms, from kissing away the silent tears that he knew were coursing down Aragorn's face, hidden in the darkness.
Instead, he turned from the man and said sadly, "Aragorn, son of Arathorn, you still have much yet to do. Perhaps, one day, I will tell you of things that have been. But for now, go to your chambers and sleep, Little One. The need for strength is great." And with that, Legolas disappeared into the darkness.
Unseen, he sprinted lightly to a tall tree that grew outside Aragorn's window. Leaping quickly to the top, he lay on a limb and peered into the chamber, waiting for his lover's return. He could not bear to sleep without seeing his love once more that night. After what seemed like an eternity, the Elf's sharp eyes caught the movement of the doorhandle turning slowly. He smiled softly as Aragorn stepped into the room, but turned cold a moment later. The Lady Arwen was with him. Arwen was the supposed Evenstar of the Elves, the dark haired beauty, the daughter of Elrond. He felt his hands clench into fists. She was also, the Prince of Mirkwood knew, a great temptress, by foul means as well as fair. She chose a man or Elf that she found attractive and convinced him to love her. Once, though, he remembered clearly, she had attempted her tricks with her equal. He knew that his slap continued to sting her pride, though surely no mark remained on her flawless face. She hated him, now, with a passion greater even that that which he had refused. Despite his elfin hearing, he could catch none of the murmured words from within. His eyes, however, now cold, followed every movement inside the room.
Aragorn had seated himself on his bed, and Arwen stood beside him. Her lips moved softly, seductively, but Aragorn shook his head, eyes fixed upon the floor. He showed no traces of his tears, but he looked tired. She knows he's not on his guard against her charms, the hidden Elf thought to himself. He swore in Elvish as she sat beside the man and caressed his face. Too emotionally exhausted to resist, Aragorn leaned against her and, her face hidden from the weary man, she smiled triumphantly.
Suddenly Legolas focused intently upon her lips. There! He saw it; they were moving ever so slightly, but rapidly and with meaning. Knowing a spell when he saw one, his eyes flashed and he motioned with his hand. At a few sharply whispered words, he saw Arwen gasp and draw back from Aragorn. Her eyes flickered to where Legolas crouched outside, and he made an obscene gesture towards her, knowing full well that her Elfin eyes could see him perfectly. She hissed, and her face contorted into a barely contained mask of fury. Legolas smiled coldly at the temptress as he withdrew back into the shadows and down the tree. She would not try again. At least, he thought minutes later as he slid between his cool sheets, not tonight.
Author's Note: Alright, more to come, hopefully. The more reviews I get the more inclined I will be to add to the story, and sooner! Just a note, I am not going exactly by the book, and am almost completely ignoring the movie, as much as I love it. In this fic, Aragorn was not raised in the house of Elrond but in the house of Thranduil. Thus, Arwen is not his adopted sister, although he knows her from the times he has spent at Rivendell. He has trained both with the Elves of Rivendell and those of Mirkwood, but Legolas has avoided meeting with him at all. Any questions, comments, complaints, suggestions, praise, or flames can be sent to MarisSlytherin@hotmail.com. Thanks! P.S. Check out my other work(s), too!
How he had changed! His thick, dark hair had lost most of its curl. How Legolas had doted on those springs! His face was long and drawn... the face of a man who had seen much but revealed little. Although clean-shaven, he somehow had an untamed look about him. His clothes, once garments of bright greens, earthy browns, and merry yellows, had been exchanged for the Ranger's garb of gray cloak, tunic, and leggings. Instead of soft, light leather shoes, his boots were thick and heavy. While it had lost its childlike slenderness and softness, the sturdy, hard, yet flexible body that Aragorn now possessed was, Legolas found, still wonderfully attractive.
He felt his throat go dry and his pants tighten at the thoughts of his old lover, once a child, now a man, back in his arms. How would his lips taste now? Still sweet and soft and moist, or bittered with alcohol and tobacco? Would his voice be musical or had it turned into a gruff baritone?
Suddenly, the Elf's thoughts were interrupted by an outburst by the loud stranger from Gondor, Boromir. Sighing, Legolas let his focus come back to the council and to the meeting at hand. He listened intently and watched the solitary Ranger for any reactions. None showed through.
When Aragorn spoke at last, his voice was quiet and smooth, but powerful. His words were those of wisdom, and Legolas began to wonder what his Little One's life had been like.
What has he been through? Legolas wondered. What have I missed? Do I know him anymore? Of course! Legolas cast out his last thought immediately.
Finally, the meeting concluded. The small hobbit, Frodo, had been named the Ring-Bearer, and the rest of the Fellowship would be chosen the next day. Though stout of heart, surely, Legolas had doubts about the halfling's fighting skills. He is but a child, the Elf thought, who understands not the peril. Nor do any of us, in truth.
Legolas barely glimpsed the Ranger slipping away from the meeting. He watched him go with a mix of apprehension and longing, then turned and he, too, left.
Silently, Legolas stood upon a balcony of Elrond's house. Far below him, the sanctuary of Rivendell lay nestled in the gully, the waters of its river slipping silently down its path. The trees welcomed this strange Elf to their land, sensing that Green-Leaf of Mirkwood loved the forest and all that grew within. The sounds of night were strangely muffled in Rivendell, as if the creatures dared not disturb the sacred peace. He let the breeze tease his neck as his hair fluttered behind him. How soon this would all change, he knew. If chosen for the Fellowship, he expected that he would not be so at peace for quite some time. He lifted his face to the stars and closed his eyes, letting the presence of Rivendell comfort him.
A soft step beside him interrupted his thoughts and caused Legolas to turn, then, and his heart to skip a beat.
"Aragorn...!" he breathed. The Ranger raised an eyebrow. "You just surprised me, that's all," the Elf recovered. "Your skills are impressive. Few may approach an Elf without his knowing." He leaned lightly upon the railing and returned his eyes to the stars, although every other sense was focused on the man behind him. "What calls you to the starshine this night, o Strider?" Legolas tilted his head to one side, glancing back at Aragorn.
Aragorn was silent for a moment. Then, quietly, "Prince Legolas. I wanted a word with you. Your face, it... it is familiar to me. And yet, we have met only briefly, once, years ago..."
Legolas nodded. "Yes, I remember."
The Ranger crossed his arms. "Your name, too, is familiar. My tongue protests your title, insisting that I call you Legolas." He shook his head and grasped the railing, letting his shoulders relax. "I am sorry. I do not know why I speak of such things."
Legolas' heart thudded against his chest so loudly that he feared Aragorn would hear it. "I am not surprised that you would find my face familiar; many elves of Mirkwood look similar." The two stood in silence for a time. Finally, Legolas spoke. "You may call me Legolas if you so wish. Formality is a burden between two who would journey together. You do plan to be one of the Nine, Aragorn, do you not? I feel it in my heart that you will not be left behind. You seem protective of the halflings."
Aragorn chuckled, "Yes. It is true that I have grown fond of them. You are perceptive, Legolas. We shall get along." He sighed and frowned in slight annoyance. "Unlike myself and the loud, arrogant Southerner, Boromir. But I see that he will not stay away, so I must learn to deal with him." Suddenly, Aragorn stopped and glanced sharply at Legolas. "Why do I share my thoughts and analyses with you, Elf? Why do I forget my guises?" He narrowed his eyes. "Is this Elf Magic that you weave around me?"
Legolas laughed quietly and shook his head. "Nay, good Aragorn. I would not think to cast enchantment upon you. You have nothing to fear from me. I, too, intend to accompany the Ring-Bearer on his journey, and would not wish harm on a companion. Nay, naught but intentions of aid and support have entered my mind." He met Aragorn's gaze steadily. "Least of all to you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Ilsildur, who do intrigue me."
The Ranger seemed amused by this. "I, my friend? Of all the queer folk who are gathered here, I intrigue you?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I do have a roguish look about me, I suppose."
The other nodded. "Your life is much a secret to me, and I wonder what it is you have been through," he spoke quietly. "Your weathered face shows much experience and knowledge... much hardship and little time for music and laughter. And yet, by the shine in your eye," he searched the other's gaze, "I know that you love both." Legolas became silent, and seemed to be lost in the stars above. In truth, he was holding his breath, awaiting his beloved's reply. For he was still very much in love with Aragorn, though, he knew, in a new way. Now they were equally experienced, though the younger man - by more than one thousand years - most likely thought of the apparently youthful Elf as being inexperienced and one more to take under his protection. Yet Legolas had a feeling that his love would, in fact, know the land better and serve as a strong shoulder for the entire Fellowship to lean upon. "Estel..." he whispered.
The Elf became aware of Aragorn's hand on his shoulder. "Estel," Aragorn repeated softly, not recognizing his childhood nickname. "Hope. Yes, we need hope, Legolas. We need hope and heart and music and light." The man locked eyes with him. "Will you be this for the Fellowship and its members?"
Legolas was surprised. "I? Elves are naturally optimistic and full of music, but you surprise me. The heart and light, Aragorn? What tells you to ask this of me?"
In the dark, Legolas could not be sure if a blush had risen in the other's face or if it was merely the chill of night that had pinkened his cheeks ever so slightly. Inside, the Elf was amazed. Only he, as the lover of the child Aragorn once was, could cause him to blush. Had his old nickname, Estel, caused him any emotion? Had he yet remembered anything?
Aragorn was quiet a moment. "You are one, I can tell, who has the ability to comfort and to give hope to others. In this way, you shall be the heart of our group. And I cannot say why I called you the light, for I know it not myself. Only because it seemed right, with the starlight on your hair. Like a beacon, I feel you will guide our hearts, if not our feet." He turned away, then spun around and grabbed Legolas' arms. He spoke quietly, but rapidly. "I know you. I don't know from where, I don't know how, but I know you from somewhere, damnit! I need to know! Tell me, Legolas," his eyes burned, "tell me how it is that I know you."
Man's and Elf's eyes locked, one's burning with the need for knowledge, the other's wide and full of... something. Sorrow? Pain? Finally, Aragorn tore his eyes away, dropping his hands to his sides. He turned away. "You will not tell me." His hands were clenched tightly.
Legolas spoke, barely above a whisper. "I cannot. I would that my tongue were working, so that I could relieve your pain... and my own." Aragorn's shoulders shook, but no sound came from him. Legolas had to stop himself from running to his side, from enfolding the man in his arms, from kissing away the silent tears that he knew were coursing down Aragorn's face, hidden in the darkness.
Instead, he turned from the man and said sadly, "Aragorn, son of Arathorn, you still have much yet to do. Perhaps, one day, I will tell you of things that have been. But for now, go to your chambers and sleep, Little One. The need for strength is great." And with that, Legolas disappeared into the darkness.
Unseen, he sprinted lightly to a tall tree that grew outside Aragorn's window. Leaping quickly to the top, he lay on a limb and peered into the chamber, waiting for his lover's return. He could not bear to sleep without seeing his love once more that night. After what seemed like an eternity, the Elf's sharp eyes caught the movement of the doorhandle turning slowly. He smiled softly as Aragorn stepped into the room, but turned cold a moment later. The Lady Arwen was with him. Arwen was the supposed Evenstar of the Elves, the dark haired beauty, the daughter of Elrond. He felt his hands clench into fists. She was also, the Prince of Mirkwood knew, a great temptress, by foul means as well as fair. She chose a man or Elf that she found attractive and convinced him to love her. Once, though, he remembered clearly, she had attempted her tricks with her equal. He knew that his slap continued to sting her pride, though surely no mark remained on her flawless face. She hated him, now, with a passion greater even that that which he had refused. Despite his elfin hearing, he could catch none of the murmured words from within. His eyes, however, now cold, followed every movement inside the room.
Aragorn had seated himself on his bed, and Arwen stood beside him. Her lips moved softly, seductively, but Aragorn shook his head, eyes fixed upon the floor. He showed no traces of his tears, but he looked tired. She knows he's not on his guard against her charms, the hidden Elf thought to himself. He swore in Elvish as she sat beside the man and caressed his face. Too emotionally exhausted to resist, Aragorn leaned against her and, her face hidden from the weary man, she smiled triumphantly.
Suddenly Legolas focused intently upon her lips. There! He saw it; they were moving ever so slightly, but rapidly and with meaning. Knowing a spell when he saw one, his eyes flashed and he motioned with his hand. At a few sharply whispered words, he saw Arwen gasp and draw back from Aragorn. Her eyes flickered to where Legolas crouched outside, and he made an obscene gesture towards her, knowing full well that her Elfin eyes could see him perfectly. She hissed, and her face contorted into a barely contained mask of fury. Legolas smiled coldly at the temptress as he withdrew back into the shadows and down the tree. She would not try again. At least, he thought minutes later as he slid between his cool sheets, not tonight.
Author's Note: Alright, more to come, hopefully. The more reviews I get the more inclined I will be to add to the story, and sooner! Just a note, I am not going exactly by the book, and am almost completely ignoring the movie, as much as I love it. In this fic, Aragorn was not raised in the house of Elrond but in the house of Thranduil. Thus, Arwen is not his adopted sister, although he knows her from the times he has spent at Rivendell. He has trained both with the Elves of Rivendell and those of Mirkwood, but Legolas has avoided meeting with him at all. Any questions, comments, complaints, suggestions, praise, or flames can be sent to MarisSlytherin@hotmail.com. Thanks! P.S. Check out my other work(s), too!