Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

TIMELINE: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

PART THREE: Roads

Interlude 7

The Return of the King: Fleeting Moments

March 6, 3019

The Road to Edoras

It was another journey for the three hunters toward Edoras, to celebrate the victory at Helm's Deep. There was no surprise such celebrations were not held in the fortress itself- the stench of the dead there was still quite heavy, aside from the fact that the victory had to be celebrated in the King's seat of power.

The elf was still somewhat under the weather, but upon waking fully and discovering that all the work in the Keep regarding the burial of his kin was more or less done, he desperately desired for escape. And his friends were only all to willing to indulge him.

And so they rode, to meet the party that had gone to Isengard in Edoras for that celebration. Eowyn rode with them, as did most of the people of Rohan who had gone to the Keep. The dwarf shared a horse with the fair lady, for he did not want to jar the elf's side wound by riding behind him and clutching at his waist for dear life, as was the dwarf's usual custom.

Besides, the dwarf thought ruefully, the lady is infinitely better company than some elf.

As always, the elf rode at the head of the column, and this time he was joined by the watchful adan. This was, of course, a journey much different from any journey they've made together; things have already been said in the fiery spirit of the fleeting moments that cannot be taken back. But now some time's passed since that night, they've not had a chance alone to truly decipher what it all meant, and they therefore remained unsure of each other. So they rode mostly in silence of the things that most needed saying.

Again, Legolas thought darkly. After last night, we are somehow once again back in this place

"I hope it's not about me," the adan said suddenly with a straight face, looking at the elf with a sidelong gaze as he kept his eyes on the road. His lips were quirking, and his eyes were shining.

Legolas shot him a look. "Excuse me?"

"You look like murder in the making," said Aragorn, "I hope it's not about me, whatever you're thinking about."

'Well fat chance,' Legolas retorted in Elvish.

The man glanced at him, actually had the gall to smirk. 'Is this something you truly want to get into now?'

Legolas glanced behind him at the other riders and walkers. They couldn't possibly understand the language, save for snatches the dwarf picked up, but he was too far down along the line to hear them. Still. It would feel strange.

'I didn't think so,' said Aragorn triumphantly.

'Is that why…?' Legolas inquired, drifting off.

'Why I've kept my mouth shut?' Aragorn finished, 'You can say that, mellon-nin. Have you ever known me to keep such passions secret otherwise? I've never done things halfway, Legolas. But that is me. Why have you kept silent?'

'I've always kept silent I suppose,' the elf begrudgingly admitted, 'Besides. I was ill. I wasn't sure if it happened really or it was just… just some dream…'

'It was real,' Aragorn assured him, 'I believe I've told you how I felt and you've returned the sentiment. And you can bet your fancy bow that I'd never let you forget it.'

'Forget what?' Legolas asked, pretending to be obtuse.

The man smirked, but called the bluff. 'That we've found each other at last.'

Late Night,

Edoras

It was a good night.

The stars were veiled, and the war was far from over, but still. Meriadoc and Peregrin managed not only to survive but to fell the considerable tower of Isengard by some blind luck or heretofore unrecognized genius. The reunion was heartening, and made an impossible victory feel just the slightest bit more near. The celebration was enjoyable, the elf won his very first drinking game victory…

It's still a good night, Legolas mused, looking over the land from the vantage point of the empty landing outside the Golden Hall. The revelers had by now fallen asleep or fallen drunk, and all was quiet. He closed his eyes as the breezes played with his hair and touched his face. He shivered slightly- an anomaly for elves, but he was still recuperating and besides, the breeze came from the dark east. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head.

He heard the signature, inhumanly light footsteps of the Ranger come up behind him. He smiled to himself, and turned to face the new arrival.

"I thought you've fallen asleep," Legolas said.

"No," replied the adan, "I was just checking on things. Everyone seems well settled by now."

"Gimli?" asked the elf.

"We dragged him to the sleeping quarters," Aragorn answered with a quiet laugh, "He is even more difficult when he is drunk."

"Did he say any naughty, lewd things?" inquired Legolas, "I heard it happens."

"I believe you've already heard the burnt of it," replied Aragorn, chuckling, "Little hairy women. Dear gods."
Legolas smiled, settled down to sit on the cool rock of the floor. The man sat down beside him.

"And the Lady Eowyn?" the elf asked, pretending to be busy with settling his cloak around him, "I noticed you have… you have a bit of a partiality for her."

"She is very lonely," Aragorn murmured, "And I enjoy her company. I mean to show her kindness in a world that's treated her quite roughly. But I do not share her affections. And you know why."

The elf fell silent. He stared at the distant horizon. How terrible it is, to sound like a horrid, jealous lover. But then things had been said last night, there was no denying it. These things had to be asked, if they were to move forward.

And now that they were in the subject of loves and of women, there was no mistaking the perfect changeover into the rather considerable complications presented by the Evenstar and Lilian of Lorien. People whom up to now, he's been avoiding any thought of.

"There are," said Aragorn haltingly, apparently thinking along the same lines, "There are problems that we both unfortunately share."

"We are both men," the elf said, before he could stop himself. Maybe it was the liquor. He laughed nervously.

"What of it?" the adan asked him.

"I do not know… I do not know what I should hate more," the elf said, "This body that keeps me from you, or this heart that pulls me toward you. I'm tearing myself apart. I do not know what to hate more."

"You can just love me," the adan said simply.

"It's not an option," the elf said miserably, "It's a bloody event, and it's already happened."

Aragorn smiled tightly at this, before narrowing his eyes in thought. "How much of love belongs to the body, Legolas, really, especially when the spirit won't always be encased by it? For a man like myself, upon birth we're already promised separation from the flesh in death. The years in which we are encased in these bodies is but a fragment of time. Souls are always encouraged to reach out beyond the material, out toward infinity, out toward the things we cannot always readily touch, because death will ultimately bring us there anyway. Death is our forced freedom from the flesh. Love is the kind that we choose."

The elf stared at him for a long moment. "I can just love you," he said tentatively.

"The body is incidental, almost," Aragorn continued quietly, but fervently and insistently, "A man can love a man just as an elven woman can love an adan. In love, the body is almost like a prison. Have you heard about these old Earthen legends about why people make love?"

"I cannot readily recall," the elf replied.

"Long ago, the spirits of two people meant to be together were one," said Aragorn, "And they traversed this life without boundaries, without death. Unified and eternal. And then the gods were wronged, and they separated this spirit into two, confined them in flesh that keeps what should be this singular spirit from being re-joined. It is this flesh that stands between them even as they move closer, even as they kiss, even in embrace. And when one makes love, it seems that one can never get close enough. The bounds of the flesh is like a prison, how we long to be free. The clothes are torn off, but how we wish, in the greatest of our longing, that it was skin instead. You draw each other close, but it is never close enough. You want more, you need more. And all too soon it is done.

"The body," said the adan conclusively, "It can be a prison. You need not worry about loving an adan, or a fellow male, my friend. We unfortunately have greater problems."

"I am heir to a Kingdom," said Legolas, "As are you. We are duty bound to sire children. And I believe that many of our constituents won't be sharing your sentiments about love. And then…" he paused, "And then there are those who own our promises. Have you any answers for these?"

"No," the adan winced, though he tried to smirk and kid, "I reckon I answered the first riddle and these next ones are rightfully yours."

"Fair to say," Legolas murmured, looking out over the horizon, "Oh Aragorn. If you were somebody else, and I somebody else…" he sighed. "Do you still love her?" he asked, after a long moment of thought.

"I…" the man hesitated, "I do. I suspect I always will. Yourself?"

"Yes," Legolas replied thoughtfully, "I love her too. How strange this is." He breathed, "So. What is the true question here? Can one person love two people equally at the same time? Is it even love at all if it is conflicted thus? Is one love perhaps greater than the other? Is it even the same kind of love…?"

"The real question," said the adan wistfully, "Is perhaps… Who can you choose without regret?" he paused, "Or… or perhaps, perhaps things are simpler."

"How so?" inquired Legolas.

"We look too far away," replied Aragorn, "We look so much ahead that we stumble over the things that are right in front of us. We stand upon a cliff. Life can end tomorrow. I love you, and I am with you. I will not waste the remainder of our minutes worrying over things I cannot at present help or change. Victory is a hope, not a certainty. In a week maybe all these kingdoms we fear to run will be burned to the ground, maybe all our people will be dead and buried. Maybe, maybe, maybe. The only certainty is that I love you. And we are together."

The elf smiled, teasing. "Short-sighted. But effective. What to do now? Seal the bargain by spitting on our hands and shaking on it, perhaps?"

"No," Aragorn said, rising up to his feet and backing away from the elf by a few wide steps, "But we begin this together. I've said my piece. I want to do this. But you have to know you wanted to do this too. You shouldn't have the luxury of one day standing in the future and looking over this as the past and thinking I've deceived you. You shouldn't have the luxury of hating me."

The elf found it strangely funny and rose up to his feet as well. "What would you have me do, Aragorn?"

The man smiled at him slowly, earnestly. And then ever so indulgently, as if he feared to take any moment for granted, he upturned his palm, and gallantly offered his hand to the elf.

Legolas grinned and stepped forward. His step closed the distance between them, just as his fingers filled in the gaps between the man's fingers, just as they bridged the certainties of tonight and the doubts of tomorrow with the promise of their love.

To be continued…