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 9

The Return of the King: A Taste of Loss

Minas Tirith

Defeat had come too damn close for his liking, not to mention the brutal, unforgiving ache of a taste of loss.

The Black Gate held true to its menacing promises of danger. Here, illogical, insane, unnerving gambles were made, and surprisingly won. Hobbits stood on a field of outnumbered men and survived, somehow. So did two more of their kin, who destroyed a Ring and caused the fall of an empire that's long been undefeated in the world. There too, an elf stood alongside a dwarf and they fought as friends. And they lived as well.

But it hadn't been easy. Fatalities were great, and wounds amongst the survivors were innumerable. The grandest of the field's heroes did not escape unscarred, the most hideous reminder being a rather unfortunately accessible memory to Legolas.

A King faced up to a troll, and he was unsurprisingly downed by it. And none of his friends could reach him as he hit the ground.

"Aragorn!" the elf had yelled, as if yelling could get him there sooner. He pushed, and pried, and clawed his way toward the adan, to no avail. For all his immortality, for all the years he's lived and all the years he's yet to live, he was quite certain that he won't get there in time.

"Aragorn!" he yelled again, and oh, how that hollow sound echoed across the ages. At least, for him. His screams yielded the glorious memories of the past and all that he was losing with Aragorn's death, and it too called upon thoughts of the future they cannot have, if the other died. What was it he once had said to Eowyn of loving?

When you realize you've made him an integral part of your future. And then when you reach that future and look back, you've also given him your most memorable pasts. Lovers own your unforgettable past and your foreseeable future. You know you've loved when you effectively see that somehow, you've decided you were incomplete after all.

Aragorn is dying, his mind raced, as he fought to reach his friend.

That had been quite the number of days ago. The man always did have a lucky streak and an excellent sense of timing. The Ring was destroyed just as he was losing his battle with the troll. And then he emerged from the battle, wounded but very much alive.

Still, the sensation of the near-loss was not just impossible to forget… it was also quite easy to keep remembering. Because it is not only in that field of battle that Aragorn was dying.

Legolas reflected, alone in his guest room in the White City, that Aragorn's been dying since he was born. It wasn't supposed to be such a bloody surprise.

That pain is what it will feel like too, he thought achingly, When you sleep in death and I say goodbye. It matters not if we stand in the middle of a field of battle, or in the midst of your castle in peace. I will loose you to death.

I do not envy Arwen that you chose her, he thought experimentally. But then of course, that was a lie. He knew it the moment he conceived of the idea. The truth was that he envied Arwen, even right down to that she would hurt fiercely when Aragorn dies.

He and Aragorn… they've not spoken privately since that last Rohan sunset an eternity ago. They've not had the time, perhaps, that was the easy answer. But there's been little inclination to make time too. No one wanted to say goodbye, and there was little doubting that any conversation between them now, would have to have such a farewell.

I should seek you out, Legolas thought half-heartedly, once again catching himself at another lie.

He sat on the railing of the balcony of his room, legs dangling quite cavalierly over the considerable height of the living quarters from the grounds below. His fingers drummed against the surface of the balustrade.

He turned his head toward the door, at the sound of quiet footsteps coming to a stop just outisde his door. He knew they were Aragorn's steps, heavy boots unnaturally quiet under the gait of an elf-raised adan. The elf did not meet him halfway, nor opened the door wide in his excitement. He waited expectantly, half-wishing the man would just turn and walk away.

But it wasn't to be. As a matter of fact, the hard-headed adan did not even bother to knock. He just stepped into the room, treating it as the property that was his entailment, being the King of Gondor.

Legolas rolled his eyes and shook his head at the man's audacity. He stayed where he was, looking out over the horizon. It was late at night, the moon was high in the sky and after the fall of an evil such as Sauron's, the stars shone brighter than ever.

"How are Sam and Frodo faring?" the elf murmured to his healer friend. When he last visited the two hobbits, they were still unconscious and grievously hurt.

"Sam woke, briefly," replied Aragoron, "They will both recover, in due time."

"That is very good to hear," Legolas said with a wistful smile, "How steep is the price they paid to bring us all to victory. They gave up flesh, and blood, and sweat, and most prized of all, their innocence." The elven prince turned to face the adan, and planted his feet firmly on the ground to stand before him. "But you did not come here to speak to me of them, of course."

"Of course," Aragorn admitted.

"I know what you're about to say," the elf said, averting his eyes and pretending to be studying his fingers, "So you needn't say it. I've known for a long time. And you know I know-"

"Shush," Aragorn told him gently, "You're going to drive us both insane."

Legolas did fall silent, as he was bid. But he fell silent mostly because it was certainly easier than speaking.

"These things do need saying," Aragorn told him gently, earnestly, "Because… because-"

"This thing between us needs an ending," Legolas finished for him, stonily, in carefully restricted anger. Not at Aragorn, of course, but anger in general, particularly toward the fates.

Aragorn said nothing for the longest time, simply staring at the elf, who remained beautiful even in the half-dark, even when he was wounded.

"This thing between us needs an ending," Aragorn echoed, softly, agreeing.

"I knew this would happen," Legolas said to the adan, "When you heard she was dying. The only way to save her was to be the King, and to be it wholly, and completely. This means, one took up the sword, walked the path, and asked for the allegiance of the cursed. But it was a decision not meant only for the time it was most needed; the decision had to be pure, and true, and binding, else it would not have given you the power to summon the dead or stand up to them. When you took up the sword, I did not expect you to save her life and then return to me. When you took up the sword, you became the King. And the King serves to his death. There was no longer any room for me because a King cannot serve with me beside him. I knew it, and I understood it then."

"I know you did," said Aragorn softly, "I saw your eyes…"

"So," breathed the elf after a long, quiet moment, "She gets to keep you. And I've redeemed my word to her after all."

"Your word…?" asked Aragorn, confused.

"I promised her I'd get you back," the elf replied, "And I promised Lilian I'd return to her. We all get to keep our promises after all." He laughed, humorlessly, "Good thing we made no real and binding promises to each other."

"There had been a promise-" argued Aragorn.

"None was expressly said," Legolas told him cautiously, "The only things expressly said was the future was uncertain, but in the short while we had each other. We've abided quite well by these. And please, my friend. Do not change it now, now that we know for a certainty that this is not going anywhere. Don't go there. Do not say things you'd ultimately regret."

"Is that your philosophy?" asked the adan edgily, "Is that why you say so little of us, why you've said so little before--"

"Must we fight?" snapped Legolas, "This is over. It has been finishing since it began."

Aragorn took a deep breath, and shook his head in dismay with himself. "I'm sorry. I just… it disappoints me that the things that tear us apart are stronger than the things that draw us together."

Legolas stared at him for a long while. The King's posture was changed this night. The stance he'd been adopting these last few days – proud and sure- was quite miserably suspended in favor of shoulders stooped and face lowered, humbled was he so much by the fates. He had no power over his love, just as he had no power over his destiny. Ironic, or perhaps strangely fitting, that the most powerful man on the face of the Earth still had to bow before, well, himself: his heart, the demands of his life, and his ultimate death.

"We must say goodbye," Legolas said softly, "And it is with the entirety of my heart that I wish you and your queen all the success and happiness of the ages." He laughed uneasily, swiping away at a tear that escaped his restraint, "I do not at present look it. But I do wish for your joy together. I wish it with all of my heart, I wish it with all that I could wish."

"And it is, too," said Aragorn, "With the entirety of mine that I wish the same for you and…" he couldn't even say his rival's name, "I wish the same for you and your bride."

"I've said my piece," Legolas said to him, knowingly and deliberately echoing the older conversation from when they professed their love, "I want to do this. We must be apart by the fates. And those who own our promises deserve our returns, besides. 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 left you."

It was poignant, and painful, to think that words that once brought them together was now to break them apart. Elessar's eyes clouded with the familiarity of those words. Dear gods… the past was a hurtful ghost…

"You shouldn't have the luxury of hating me," Aragorn finished for the elf, "I know how it goes."

"I'd hate it," said Legolas, his voice quaking, "If I ever woke to a day when you hated me."

The adan's eyes watered, and he shook his head solemnly, though he could not quite find the words to say that such a thing will never ever happen.

Aragorn nodded. "What would you have me do, Legolas?"

"We must never speak of this again," Legolas said with a nervous laugh, "It pains," he finished simply. 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 man, to shake on their agreement.

The past is a hurtful ghost…

Aragorn took a deep breath and stepped forward. His step closed the distance between them, just as his fingers filled in the gaps between the elf's fingers, just as they bridged the certainties of tonight and the doubts of tomorrow by ending their possibilities. Love such as theirs held no hopes of ending, after all. It was the most that could be done.

Aragorn squeezed the elf's hand as tightly as he could, and the elf returned his desperate grasp. And then, as if it was so simple, they just… let go.

Some days later, after the crowning of the King, of noted was the absence of Legolas Greenleaf. Elessar, though his heart was greatly pained, let himself be enriched by the love and trust of the people who'd long awaited his heroic return. It had to do, because this was the path that he decided to take for the rest of his life.

But as he trod the cleared paths to formally greet his people as their King, he was blocked by a welcome interruption. His lips curved to a smile at the sight of the elven prince, come to him at last in all his royal glory, resplendent in his indulgent tunic, head rightfully graced by his own crown. Legolas had long seemed the prince in stance and nobility. But Aragorn's never seen him in this form, as if he belonged amongst the gods, deliberately royal.

'Thank you, Legolas,' was all the King could think to say. Thank you that you stood with me when I needed you. Thank you that you are here. Thank you for standing apart when I needed that too

The elven prince smiled at him, and in these eyes there was less of the wounds of parting. In these eyes rested, truly, the generosity of his loving.

It is with the entirety of my heart that I wish you and your queen all the success and happiness of the ages.

I wish for your joy together. I wish it with all of my heart, I wish it with all that I could wish.

Legolas tilted his head just so, for Aragorn to look past him, and look to his future. Behind the Mirkwood prince, as if she was his gift to give, was Arwen Undomiel.

In some sense, Arwen was indeed his to give to Aragorn. It was not the other way around at all, the elf came to realize. Aragorn was not his to yield to Arwen, as if he had lost the man to her, as if he was robbed of something precious.

This was because to love was to give, and in giving up, he gave Aragorn his queen. He did not loose Aragorn, he will always have Aragorn's love, somehow. But he gave Aragorn something precious in giving way for Arwen- he gave Aragorn freedom to pursue joy without the burdens of the past. He gave Aragorn a future.

I wish for your joy together. I wish it with all of my heart, I wish it with all that I could wish.

And then he left them.

He left Minas Tirith with bittersweet joy; to love was to give, and he gave as much as he possibly could. He loved so much, that he could even give up his love. There were no regrets to be had here.

Besides, Lilian was hardly an ill place to return to; she gave him a different but also welcome brand of joy. The story of his heart did not end in leaving Minas Tirith; he still had a future with Lilian.

Eryn Lasgalen

The Prince returned to a home still recuperating from the ravages of a war that's been fought for ages. Thranduil's hall was no less grand than it had been in his latest recollections, but his people were scurrying about to put things in their proper order, such that there was still a general air of post-war chaos.

He entered the hall, escorted by Mikael, one of his father's oldest and most trusted soldiers. The elf was still in tainted warrior's garb and armor. Mikael's been with the family even before Legolas was born. He was usually endearingly brusque and straightforward, but his silence in this encounter of theirs was strange. He seemed a bit wary of Legolas. Worried, as well. The elven prince attributed it to weariness over the war.

'You need not take me further Mikael,' Legolas said to the older elf, 'I know my way, and I need no announcing to my own father. I know there are things you'd much rather do.'

'No, dear child,' replied Mikael, 'This is precisely where I must be. I am pleased you returned to us in good condition.'

'I should hope so,' Legolas smirked at him, as they entered the King's hall. Thranduil rose from his throne at the barest sight of his returning son. His handsome face broke into a weary but heartfelt smile, and he dismissed his advisers urgently with a wave of his hand as he strode forward to meet his son. All but Mikael left the room.

Legolas smiled indulgently at his father, favoring the King with a solemn, formal bow, from which the mighty elven King pulled him up roughly and embraced him instead.

The elven prince let loose a surprised but delighted laugh. How long was this road! And now it ended with him in his father's arms, and soon, the arms of the woman whom he chose to return to.

Leaving you had been painful, Legolas thought up to Aragorn, But it was sorely necessarily. And almost as if in reminder that we had been right to do so, as if in a reward from the gods and the fates, I am here, in my father's arms. And soon in the arms of Lilian. There is sadness, yes. But there is considerable joy too. I find I cannot regret.

'My son,' Thranduil said, pulling away from Legolas and gripping the prince's face in his hands. Legolas noticed that in his father's face, there was also a mixture of sadness and joy.

"Ada…?" he inquired of the King's liquid eyes.

'My son,' said Thranduil, his voice shaking, 'Lilian…'

The elven prince's brows furrowed. But his heart knew his father's tone. His body shook rebelliously, and his father's hands drifted from his face to his shoulders, where his grip was tight and unyielding.

"No…" Legolas breathed, "No, Ada…"

You lie…

'I am sorry,' his father told him fervently, 'I am so sorry.'

The Prince broke viciously from his father's grip. He stepped away, as if he was burnt. He stared at his father accusingly.

"You lie."

He was on his knees before her grave.

Lilian smelled like the flowers she was named for, and he wondered if it was something she was born as and thereafter named for, or perhaps she held her own cunning and scented herself after her name, reminding him along all levels of memory of herself, that he may never forget, that he would always remember.

Some of them even grew on her grave…

He was a soldier, much in demand, and saw her seldom. But he walked the forests and her scent was there and then he'd smile for in a way, she was too. Lilian's scent breezed by over the blood, lined the impossible length of his road. Her memory strengthened him, visions of her warmed him. She laid claim to his past, comforted the impossibilities of his present, and promised him a future.

And then he returned home and she was dead.

I've already paid so much and lost so much to return to you. Why are you dead?

And then the guilt comes.

I should have been here to protect you.

But then I was also happy where I was…

And then a new brand of guilt.

I shouldn't have been happy being anywhere that you were not.

I shouldn't have wanted anyone else but you.

I shouldn't have thought that I could live without you.

And then the anger comes.

But I did not wish for your death.

I returned in the end. Is this a sick joke of the gods?

And then a new brand of anger comes too.

I lost Aragorn to be here with you. And now, they've taken you too. I have nothing in the end. Not him, and not you.

And then, unfortunately for those who caught his wrath, a certain kind of productivity was channeling all of his guilt and rage into concrete action.

But I cannot touch the gods.

He scoffed at himself. Being a heathen was out of the question. It wasn't nearly scathing enough. Besides, the gods simply made all the creatures of the world and then generally let them do as they wished. That's why people killed each other. That's why they all destroyed each other, no help from the gods necessary at all.

Maybe… maybe he ought to look to elsewhere for rightful blame.

Damn those Easterlings instead.

Cursed are they, who took his choice from him. Who took his freedom from him. Who made a mockery of his decisions when he left Aragorn to come to Lilian, only to find they took her.

Damn them to the very ends of the Earth.

To be continued…

all right, so we know from the previous chapter that legolas' help is sorely needed. and then in this interlude, we also have an idea of his anger and hate. will he find it in himself to ride out to the east and help them? of course, haha. so wait out for that one in the next few posts. i'm almost done with this story, i think, and i hope you won't be disappointed. 'TIL THE NEXT POST!