Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Rating: PG
Warning: AU
Summary: The King returns to Minas Tirith…
Author's Notes: Any major problems with the story, please forward it to my e-mail at nessa_tulcakelume @yahoo.co.uk. Thanks!
The White City
It did not take long before the sun started to blaze overhead, marking the end of the morning and the start of a scorching afternoon. The Men had been well rested and it was fortunate that when they awoke, the Elf was still under the influence of the laudanum and was lying fast asleep under the shady tree where they had left him.
They began to get to work, hurriedly packing their possessions – Boromir getting their horses ready, Faramir stuffing their camping gear into their back packs and the King overseeing the two brothers, lending a helping hand where ever it was needed. Aragorn paused for a moment before the sleeping Elf; head cocked as he contemplated upon how the Elf was to be concealed from common view before he undid his black cloak and wrapped it securely around the Elf's shoulders, using the hood to carefully cover their captive's face and hair.
And then he swung up his horse, his back straight as a steel rod and his hair fluttering in the breeze, gesturing for the brothers to help the Elf up his horse. Without a word, they lifted the Elf upon Aragorn's mount, making sure that their captive rested comfortably in the crook of his arms while King's chin rested lightly on top of that blond head.
And then it was time to go home – to return to the White City of Minas Tirith. With a rousing call, the King dug his heels into the flanks of his mount and they were off at full speed with the wind whistling in their ears and the thundering of hooves echoing in the silence of the forest.
On and on they went, crossing rivers and plains, never stopping, never pausing, the need for haste driving them forward relentlessly. Once, the Elf stirred and murmured softly, but it was only in sleep and he quickly settled back to sleep with his cheek pressing against the warmth of Aragorn's chest. The Men gave each other looks of utmost relief but still they did not stop.
Over the fields they went, through the lush meadows until finally… finally they were within sight of the walls of their home, the setting sun basking the white walls of their city in the glorious colour of gold.
They had reached Minas Tirith at last.
In the distance there were excited calls as eager heads peeked out of their windows; the women waving their scarves in welcome and the men, their hats. The air was filled with cries of delight and the laughter of children as they enthusiastically hailed the return of their King.
"The Lord has returned!" cried the people and like wildfire spreading uncontrollably in the heat of a dry summer, the cry swept through the village, reaching the ears of those that lived in the castle.
"The Lord has returned!" cried Grisworth, guard of the citadel, and the servants clapped their hands with joy while they hurried about trying to make the hall as welcoming and pleasing to their King as possible. And like a sudden onset of a wind, the excited calls once more rushed through the great stony halls of the palace, up the stairs and through the barrier of doors… and the Queen looked up from her sewing, her eyes shining with eagerness.
Swiftly she rose from her chair and rushed to the window, her eyes scanning over the horizon in an attempt to see the return of her love. And there in the distance with the sun shining upon his face, he rode furiously towards the gates of the city, his hair glinting gold in the fading sunlight putting even the sun to shame with its glorious colour.
A tremulous smile of gladness stole over her lips as she dashed out of her room, her dress billowing behind her as she raced down the steps to the great hall, threw open the door, ran through the courtyard of stone and stood before the entrance, her chest heaving agitatedly as she regarded the three tall figures on their horses that were allowed into the city.
And it was thus she waited, her heart beating a quick, congenial rhythm in her breast as her eyes eagerly focused upon the one man as he rode confidently towards the entrance of the city walls…
**********
The King had returned. The cries of joy rang in their ears as the King waved merrily at the sea of faces that welcomed him. Many eyes scuttled towards the limp figure in the King's arms, but they did not think much on it for the thought crossed their minds that it was merely a traveller that was found wounded along the way and that the King had carried him back to get medicine as he usually did.
Love coursed through their hearts as they looked upon their Lord and King. Aragorn had led them fearlessly through the dark times when the Orcs and Goblins had roamed freely in their lands. Many of their livestock and even their children had been slain by the foul creatures and it was only because of their King that they were able to find peace in their sleep at night. It was only because of their King that the kingdom had prospered and the people lived in comfort. Only because of their King.
And so Aragorn rode on with a soft smile playing upon his lips before he slowed his horse down to a trot upon reaching the entrance of the courtyard. The two brothers rode by his side, drawing admiring glances from the people as they approached the lone figure that greeted them at the foyer.
"My Lord, welcome home," she was saying, her voice husky with emotion as she bowed before the King. Her eyes darted curiously to the bundle in Aragorn's arms but she remained silent, her fair hair shielding her face from the Men's view so that they could not read her expression.
At a command from the King, Grisworth hurried forth to render aid. Carefully, Aragorn slid the Elf into the clumsy arms of his guard, watching the confusion that played upon that broad, honest face before he slid to the ground to greet his wife properly.
"Hail to thee, Eowyn," he murmured as he clasped his wife in a light hold and pressed his lips against her fair brow. Eowyn returned her husband's embrace, her fair head resting upon those broad shoulders. Against her will, her eyes slid towards the man standing behind the King and gazed upon his face, her own regret and sorrow reflecting themselves so clearly in her green eyes that the man flinched but did not look away.
And then just like that, their connection broke as the King gently pulled her out of his embrace.
"Come now. We will return to the palace and we will eat. You will join us, will you not?" he said, looking pointedly at his two friends. The brothers nodded their heads, their eyes shadowed although they kept the smile upon their faces. The King returned their smile although unlike the brothers', it was a smile that was warm and open and was devoid of secrets.
"We will freshen up, my lord, and will return to your halls to be in time for dinner," Boromir murmured, bowing low in deep respect. The King nodded his assent.
"Until dinner then, my friends," he said. With a parting smile directed towards the brothers and a gentle command to have Grisworth follow him back into the palace, he took his wife's hands and led her back towards the halls, making small talk as he went along.
Eowyn followed her King, her heart heavy and yet gladdened at the same time. She turned her face back towards where the bothers stood and once more their eyes locked. A look of hope. Of a desire so intense that it hurt. And then she looked away again and disappeared behind the doors of the palace.
And late in the night when he chanced to lay down to sleep, Faramir would dwell upon that look and think of a love that he felt but could never have.
to be continued…
Rating: PG
Warning: AU
Summary: The King returns to Minas Tirith…
Author's Notes: Any major problems with the story, please forward it to my e-mail at nessa_tulcakelume @yahoo.co.uk. Thanks!
The White City
It did not take long before the sun started to blaze overhead, marking the end of the morning and the start of a scorching afternoon. The Men had been well rested and it was fortunate that when they awoke, the Elf was still under the influence of the laudanum and was lying fast asleep under the shady tree where they had left him.
They began to get to work, hurriedly packing their possessions – Boromir getting their horses ready, Faramir stuffing their camping gear into their back packs and the King overseeing the two brothers, lending a helping hand where ever it was needed. Aragorn paused for a moment before the sleeping Elf; head cocked as he contemplated upon how the Elf was to be concealed from common view before he undid his black cloak and wrapped it securely around the Elf's shoulders, using the hood to carefully cover their captive's face and hair.
And then he swung up his horse, his back straight as a steel rod and his hair fluttering in the breeze, gesturing for the brothers to help the Elf up his horse. Without a word, they lifted the Elf upon Aragorn's mount, making sure that their captive rested comfortably in the crook of his arms while King's chin rested lightly on top of that blond head.
And then it was time to go home – to return to the White City of Minas Tirith. With a rousing call, the King dug his heels into the flanks of his mount and they were off at full speed with the wind whistling in their ears and the thundering of hooves echoing in the silence of the forest.
On and on they went, crossing rivers and plains, never stopping, never pausing, the need for haste driving them forward relentlessly. Once, the Elf stirred and murmured softly, but it was only in sleep and he quickly settled back to sleep with his cheek pressing against the warmth of Aragorn's chest. The Men gave each other looks of utmost relief but still they did not stop.
Over the fields they went, through the lush meadows until finally… finally they were within sight of the walls of their home, the setting sun basking the white walls of their city in the glorious colour of gold.
They had reached Minas Tirith at last.
In the distance there were excited calls as eager heads peeked out of their windows; the women waving their scarves in welcome and the men, their hats. The air was filled with cries of delight and the laughter of children as they enthusiastically hailed the return of their King.
"The Lord has returned!" cried the people and like wildfire spreading uncontrollably in the heat of a dry summer, the cry swept through the village, reaching the ears of those that lived in the castle.
"The Lord has returned!" cried Grisworth, guard of the citadel, and the servants clapped their hands with joy while they hurried about trying to make the hall as welcoming and pleasing to their King as possible. And like a sudden onset of a wind, the excited calls once more rushed through the great stony halls of the palace, up the stairs and through the barrier of doors… and the Queen looked up from her sewing, her eyes shining with eagerness.
Swiftly she rose from her chair and rushed to the window, her eyes scanning over the horizon in an attempt to see the return of her love. And there in the distance with the sun shining upon his face, he rode furiously towards the gates of the city, his hair glinting gold in the fading sunlight putting even the sun to shame with its glorious colour.
A tremulous smile of gladness stole over her lips as she dashed out of her room, her dress billowing behind her as she raced down the steps to the great hall, threw open the door, ran through the courtyard of stone and stood before the entrance, her chest heaving agitatedly as she regarded the three tall figures on their horses that were allowed into the city.
And it was thus she waited, her heart beating a quick, congenial rhythm in her breast as her eyes eagerly focused upon the one man as he rode confidently towards the entrance of the city walls…
**********
The King had returned. The cries of joy rang in their ears as the King waved merrily at the sea of faces that welcomed him. Many eyes scuttled towards the limp figure in the King's arms, but they did not think much on it for the thought crossed their minds that it was merely a traveller that was found wounded along the way and that the King had carried him back to get medicine as he usually did.
Love coursed through their hearts as they looked upon their Lord and King. Aragorn had led them fearlessly through the dark times when the Orcs and Goblins had roamed freely in their lands. Many of their livestock and even their children had been slain by the foul creatures and it was only because of their King that they were able to find peace in their sleep at night. It was only because of their King that the kingdom had prospered and the people lived in comfort. Only because of their King.
And so Aragorn rode on with a soft smile playing upon his lips before he slowed his horse down to a trot upon reaching the entrance of the courtyard. The two brothers rode by his side, drawing admiring glances from the people as they approached the lone figure that greeted them at the foyer.
"My Lord, welcome home," she was saying, her voice husky with emotion as she bowed before the King. Her eyes darted curiously to the bundle in Aragorn's arms but she remained silent, her fair hair shielding her face from the Men's view so that they could not read her expression.
At a command from the King, Grisworth hurried forth to render aid. Carefully, Aragorn slid the Elf into the clumsy arms of his guard, watching the confusion that played upon that broad, honest face before he slid to the ground to greet his wife properly.
"Hail to thee, Eowyn," he murmured as he clasped his wife in a light hold and pressed his lips against her fair brow. Eowyn returned her husband's embrace, her fair head resting upon those broad shoulders. Against her will, her eyes slid towards the man standing behind the King and gazed upon his face, her own regret and sorrow reflecting themselves so clearly in her green eyes that the man flinched but did not look away.
And then just like that, their connection broke as the King gently pulled her out of his embrace.
"Come now. We will return to the palace and we will eat. You will join us, will you not?" he said, looking pointedly at his two friends. The brothers nodded their heads, their eyes shadowed although they kept the smile upon their faces. The King returned their smile although unlike the brothers', it was a smile that was warm and open and was devoid of secrets.
"We will freshen up, my lord, and will return to your halls to be in time for dinner," Boromir murmured, bowing low in deep respect. The King nodded his assent.
"Until dinner then, my friends," he said. With a parting smile directed towards the brothers and a gentle command to have Grisworth follow him back into the palace, he took his wife's hands and led her back towards the halls, making small talk as he went along.
Eowyn followed her King, her heart heavy and yet gladdened at the same time. She turned her face back towards where the bothers stood and once more their eyes locked. A look of hope. Of a desire so intense that it hurt. And then she looked away again and disappeared behind the doors of the palace.
And late in the night when he chanced to lay down to sleep, Faramir would dwell upon that look and think of a love that he felt but could never have.
to be continued…