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 8

The Return of the King: Borrowed Time

Rohan

Gondor calls for aid.

And Rohan will answer

But before these faterful words were uttered between two kingly, living legends, the agony of the past few days' waiting was softened only by the time it gave Aragorn and Legolas to be together.

The Golden Hall and the vast horse plains that surrounded it was giving them time, and comfort, and each other, carving a place in their hearts forever.

The Kingdom of Theoden picked up itself after the nightmares of the last few weeks, and there was always some sort of work to be done. But for the elf and he who laid claim to that immortal heart, the day was never so full that the late afternoons never afforded them a breath to watch the sunset.

They'd take their horses and ride out to the fields, where the view was the best. And then they'd dismount, let their horses run about as they willed. They always came back, and it was a wonder to watch them as they ran, free. Their hooves pounded against the ground. There was a curious bounce to a horse running, as if they hung afloat on the air for a moment longer than one expects, and then land back to the ground resoundingly. The pounding resonated, resembling a heart beat, and sounded so deep it must have reached to the center of the earth. It was glorious to see, how the beasts almost could defy time.

Here on this hill, nothing happened of the world save that the sun was setting and the moon was rising and the horses were running. They spoke not of whether or not Denethor will ask for help, or if Theoden should respond. They spoke not of Gondor, not of Kings and Queens and contested lands.

Here on this hill, the world was wide, too wide. And they were too small to halt the sun and the moon. All that lovers had was each other, and each other's eyes was the extent of the horizon, the extent of one's vision. One went no further, and one did not need to.

To feel small… to indulge in the very breaths of the moment… was an experiment in being somebody else. Here they weren't kings and princes. They were not soldiers. How free it felt to sit there, faces to the wind, hair moving with the breezes, palms cooled by the earth. In this place, they were not shapers of history with tremendous responsibilities. They were just the barest noticeable parts of the Earth, and it was comforting that they did not have anything to do but be together and wait out the world as it changed from day to night.

"If you were an animal," the question began, and they laughed because it was silly. To speak of silly things was a silly necessary comfort. It might have been desperate pretense- there is nothing before us but this moment, and whatever it is kind of nonsense your mind comes up with next- but it was no less necessary is keeping the illusion of time stretched.

"Eagle," the elf said at once, not giving it much thought, "They are beautiful, and they can fly."

"Typical," the adan teased him, pretending to be disappointed.

"I suppose you'd want to be a warg," said the elf, primly, "It most certainly fits you. Unconventional, thick-headed… Not very pretty."

Tha man laughed. "Ah, you think so?"

"I jest," smiled Legolas, "But you long knew that. You just like me saying otherwise."

From the view Edoras, two envious sets of eyes looked to the West, to where the sun was setting, highlighting the two figures seated on the hill. It was Eowyn of Rohan and Gimli the Dwarf.

"I wonder what sorts of things they talk about," the dwarf mused.

"A man would want another man before he could want me," Eowyn muttered to herself, inadvertently ignoring her companion, occupied as she was with her own thoughts. The slur was apparent enough in her statement, expressed much of her disapproval. But she understood only too well that the heart found love where it did, one was enslaved by it. It could push a man to love another man just as it could push her to love one who did not return her affections. It was love that was the real tyrant, not war.

The dwarf beside her said nothing. "I once was invited to that afternoon sunset walk. It did not take me long to discover that though I was welcomed by friends, the occasion gave them time that they cannot have elsewhere. Far it be for me to interfere."

"I suppose you do not like being stuck with me either," she said to him, her lips quaking a little in suppressed laughter.

"You are sour company," the dwarf said, "When you are acting like a jealous wife."

And then Gondor called for help. And then Rohan decided to answer, and they were moving again. And then time was moving again. And though elf and man knew for a certainty that it led to parting- either they both died or they both survived and returned to their women- they moved with it, starved as they were for options and as drowned as they were in responsibilities.

Man and elf rode a man apart, Theoden and Eomer of Rohan between them. The King of the Horse-lords headed the column of riders, flanked by his nephew, the heir of Isildur and the Prince of Mirkwood. The distance was an unsurprisingly welcome one. Both of them were enmeshed in their thoughts of the battles to rage ahead. And besides, affections such as theirs was never meant for the eyes of a prejudiced world, they might as well not stand close together that the others may see. It was meant only for each other, and for the ultimate judging of the gods, who must know far more clearly the intricacies of the soul- it was the gods after all, who had brought them together.

But then again, Legolas thought with a wince, It is also the gods who seek to part us in the end – in flesh, in ultimate destiny. What do they want of us, I wonder, that they should give to us this gift only for the briefest of touches, the most fleeting of moments, this undoubtedly borrowed- nay stolen, time?

He glanced at the adan in a sidelong manner. Aragorn wore this face so coolly, this fearless, impervious leader with naught but the fate of his land and his people lodged in his heart. It was true, most of the time. But love and loving was his one secret vice, for it sure seemed as if he could never find the right one to love- elves and fellow men… Aragorn surely reached for the stars and seemed bent too, on defying all the odds. In war victories, just as in those battles one made in love.

What's your problem? The elf thought toward him helplessly.

"A sigh escapes you," the dwarf murmured from where he rode behind the elf, thick arms wrapped about Legolas' waist.

"I tire of warring," replied the elven Prince, saying part of the truth, "And I worry for our friend's kingdom, what its fall could mean to all of us."

"Thankfully," said the dwarf, "That ceases to be our problem. If Gondor falls, I'm sure we will die with it. I see these faces about us, and I do not think we will stop until we've won or our breaths have stilled and been stolen from us."

It was strangely comforting. If they won then victory is always a welcome wonder. If they lost then at least everything had ended, and they'd likely not have very long to dwell on defeat, for the sleep of death will claim them quickly. Sauron will not have any mercy.

"Do you think those forces King Theoden called upon will meet us?" Gimli asked the elf.

"Everyone is occupied turning to the defense of their own lands," murmured Legolas, "But our hopes cannot fail us yet. They must all know what the defense of Gondor means to the fate of all the lands in the long run. Many will come."

As they waited for the forces from all across Rohan to respond to the summons of their King, the soldiers made camp on the last stop before Gondor. It was at this time that the Lord of Imladris came in behalf of one he loves.

And then it was too, that Aragorn was called to become who he was born to be

Because Arwen is dying.

The elf heard the exchange from his post outside the tent. There were few things elves did not hear, especially since he heard that the adan was roused from a much-needed rest by a very important visitor. He meant to barge in on the meeting; he and Aragorn kept no secrets as friends, much less now that they were more. But news of Arwen froze him where he stood.

You don't know what you ask of him, my lord! He wanted to scream and rage. The Evenstar is dying. But to ask Aragorn into the path that will save her life… you make him a King, and you kill the Ranger and all that the Ranger loved. Anonimity, independence, freedom, me.

But one loved Aragorn because he was quite plainly, a good man. The best kind. One loved Aragorn because he did the things that needed doing. And though what Aragorn was going to do would ultimately tear them apart, one expected no less, and one loved Aragorn because he was doing the right thing by Arwen.

How ironic, the elf thought bitterly, To love him more because he will break us apart. When will you learn to be a little bit more selfish, my friend…?

The soldiers of Rohan were staring at him, standing at the entrance of the tent and yet refraining from entering. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

Aragorn's choices are painful enough, he decided, chastising himself, without seeing you this way.

"Onen i estel Edain," he heard Lord Elrond say – I give hope hope to the dunedain.

"U chebin estel anim," breathed Aragorn, echoing words that had once belonged to someone else but could now very well be his own – I keep none for myself.

The elf blinked at tears unbidden, thinking, if you can give so much that you are emptied, Aragorn… then so could I.

Legolas strode away, to make ready his horse. Aragorn may be headed toward his kingship and ultimately toward Arwen, but Legolas wasn't going to let him ride alone.

"We need you here."

Aragorn paused from preparing his horse and the things he might need for his journey into the Paths of the Dead, to turn to the woman with the wounded eyes, asking him why he was leaving them why he was, particularly, leaving her. It was the first of a number of goodbyes he did not want to make, first of the questions he did not want to have to answer.

"Why have you come," he murmured.

"Do you not know?" she asked him, injured, disbelieving.

"I cannot give you what you seek," he said, quite plainly, as all truths went. He was robbed of his breath, and his heart, and his inclinations to say anything that was more comforting. He walked away from her, made to walk away from the camp and all the questioning stares of disbelieving, fearful soldiers who quite suddenly found themselves emptier without him, their army all but beheaded, deperived of his leadership and assuring presence. Their stares stabbed through him, but the final glare was meant to be from someone else, one who seemed absent thus far.

"Where do you think you're off to?" the impervious dwarf asked him, looking quite regal despite his questioning of a future King.

"Not this time," Aragorn told him stalwartly, "This time you must stay, Gimli."

The dwarf grumbled in disapproval, but it was mostly out of habbit for he knew for a certain that he'd be going with the adan anyway, whether or not he had permission. He knew this to be true, especially after the elven Prince appeared, tugging along Arod-the-infernal-beast along with him.

Aragorn looked toward the elf uneasily, searchingly. The man feared the elf's wounded eyes, his pained questions. He feared Legolas' hurt, he feared having to leave him behind, feared his tears, feared his own possible failings at the sight of these.

Arwen is dying, he thought he might have to say, Time's caught up to us, dear heart. I must save her. And to save her I must be the King who cannot have you

But instead of tears and questions, the elf looked to him with a lonely, but also carefully assuring smile. Fear not, he seemed to say, You do not owe me explanations

The adan's eyes watered. How funny it was, how ridiculous was this situation that one could really die of laughter and hurt. How strange, that one can love so fiercely that one was willing to let go. Let go with an assuring smile, to say, it's all right, go where you must, do what you must

How strange, Aragorn thought, that you can love me so much you can release me. And that I love you more by your letting go, and ultimately, though we love more, the more we are apart

"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" the elf asked him, mildly, finding his voice.

"You might as well accept it," said the dwarf stoutly, "We're going with you, laddie."

Minas Tirith

The first walk into Minas Tirith, up toward the WhiteTower after the victory at Pelannor Fields… The work was keeping Elessar busy, everyone was asking the King questions. There was really no time for a slow, burning victorious entrance into his kingdom, no time to gawk at the fate that brought him there after so long.

Legolas watched his old friend-- Elessar was he now, surely-- so occupied, so distant. They did not and could not even share in the marvel of the incredible WhiteCity. It seemed as if they shared in nothing.

It was not unexpected. What he did not know, especially as he slowed his pace and let himself be overtaken by the multitude of men who had urgent business with the King, was that it would be as poignantly painful as it was. The elf backed away, feeling like a nuisance, and a flood of men crowded the space he had occupied, as if he had never stood there.

To be continued…