TORMENTED FOOL 5: THE FIRST STORM
Already many moons had risen and fallen, and it began to worry others that the lovers Aragorn and Arwen had not spoken to each other. If in need, they would ask others for aid; when one began conversation, the other would not involve themselves… and because of this, the tantalizing taste of shared scandal was no longer relished. And since the night of the wedding, no one had seen Legolas; that is, except for Faramir, who had secretly been protecting the Mirkwood Elf under his wing. But none had seen the two Princes standing oft in front of the gates of the White Tower, or sitting at a window with the fair Lady Éowyn, watching a peculiar small dot against grey stone inching ever closer to Minas Tirith.
Even though the Elf-Prince was grieved, and frightened of the thought of Undómiel's vengeance, he still missed Aragorn terribly. Desperately, he wanted to see the King and speak about what had occurred, perhaps even come to an understanding about it… for he knew that they had been so close a pair of friends that if Aragorn could not embrace what had happened, they still must not be sundered because of it. But above all things, he also missed the Man's comfort… the warm arms, the soft, reassuring voice, and the intimate scent in his coarse skin that he could never forget; all swirling in his mind like wisps of curling mist that could not be blown away by even the harshest winds, lingering to cruelly torment him. Faramir kept a vigil over Legolas without understanding the cause of his sorrow, but mourned to see the Elf's anguish, which flared painfully enough to let the Human Prince know that it was real.
At last, Legolas could stand the suspense no more. Informing Faramir that he was returning to the Fellowship house, he left the room that he had shared with the Man and his golden-haired wife for several days, where he had remained hidden from the rest of his companions while they waited fretfully for his return. As he walked slowly along the wide halls, it did not escape his mind to expect no less than the worst; he planned speeches and promises in his mind, lest Estel were to tell him that the liaison could not continue… or, dreaded more yet, if the Evenstar were to unleash her fury upon him any time in the bleary future.
He walked slowly, his mind haunted by guilt and longing and hope, and stopped unexpectedly in front of the fire-room in which the Fellowship had spent their night on the day that the King and his enchanting lover were wedded. A gentle hand slowly drew upward and passed his burning heart, riddled with woe. Silk fingertips brushed against cold mithril, and the icy gem that was inlaid in the mighty bosom of the unknown creature seemed to frost against the fair skin; the golden hair, which that fateful night had many times been graced with impassioned kisses from the drunken King, streamed like a sheet of liquid glass over the soft hand, trembling in reminiscence.
That mithril ring, so cold, so beautiful… shimmering pale within the streamlets of sunrays, glistening ever more illustriously against the white mantle that the young Prince donned upon tender shoulders. His flawless face turned to the ashen roof in the warmest memory. Soft voices hummed on the other side of the door, but there was no laughter; the lilting whisper of the Elves, the boisterous utterances of a certain Wizard and Dwarf, and the usually excited and fervent murmurs of the Hobbits all calmed into tranquil conversation that did not exceed more than one individual speaking at one time. Whether or not the voices of Men were muted within that room at that moment, especially the Man who had been accidentally branded as though with a love-bite by the Elf-Prince's ring, he knew somehow that the one he searched for was inside.
Nay, I cannot be parted from it; not now… not yet. Legolas clearly remembered saying those words that night, after seeing the King, dearest Estel, with a circular mark burned into the firm chest. Poor Aragorn, he would not have understood. But he must surely be sober now; it would perhaps be easier to explain what had occurred, to confess what he felt, and to understand what the Man himself felt.
I will try to make him understand.
'I do not understand,' Aragorn's mutter was finally heard from inside the room, which startled the Elf. 'I had searched almost the entire tower for him. I am sorry, Gandalf, I cannot do any more. He may have fled… he did say to me once that this place was like Hell of Morgoth to him.'
Legolas remembered that.
'When was that?' the Wizard's voice was heard.
'After I declared him Chief Advisor to me, after I was plagued with drunkenness. My memory of that night is cloudy, but I remember his cry that the intensity of Minas Tirith was little different to him than that of Udûn. Ah, I do not know. I have not yet asked Faramir if he knows of Legolas' whereabouts… but I did not wish to disturb him – after all, he is settling with his new wife, and I would not like to worry him with our troubles whilst he is in need of privacy with his lover.'
'He and Éowyn will be moving away to Ithilien soon,' Arwen's blank whisper sounded unexpectedly from inside.
Legolas cringed at that moment as he fully realized Aragorn's words, almost keeled over in harsh anxiety which had struck his spine like a stone brick crashing down. Aragorn remembered. He had remembered, even though no one had told him, that he had been drunken that night; and most important of all, he had remembered an insult towards his kingdom that had only been uttered once, even though he had already been hit hard with intoxication. Sudden queasiness swept over the Elf; if the Man was able to remember one phrase that had lasted little more than a few seconds to cry out, then it was highly unlikely that he would have forgotten what seemed like immeasurable hours of indulgent pleasure in the night.
But in one quick, decisive movement, Legolas impetuously swung the small door open. 'I was with them,' he laughed insincerely, unsuccessfully trying to present an earnest grin. 'No need to worry, my friends. I was not feeling well, and Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn had cared for me for the past few days.'
'Legolas!' Frodo and Gimli sprang up from their seated position on the ground, stampeding towards the Prince in wild relief. The Elf laughed again as he bent down to hold them both, pressing his smooth cheek against the untamed hair of each. He held them tight; he could hardly let them go. Such caring friends. Almost like devoted brothers…
'You could have told us,' Gimli playfully punched Legolas' arm. 'We were worried sick. Never leave us that concerned again, lest you wish for me to hit you seriously.'
Galadriel sighed, warm hues of life returning to her pale face, and leaned back wearily in her seat. 'Well, at least you have returned now, and we know you are safe.'
'I am sorry,' the Elf-Prince uttered, almost inaudibly. And as he turned his head and looked, it seemed to him that a smile was forming on everyone's bright faces, all so calm and caring; in the far corner, Aragorn sat upon a grey chair, staring intently into his eyes… it was as though a great contentment and ease had flooded into the Human at his return. The handsome King grinned.
'I am glad we have not lost you,' he sighed. 'I thought that you fled, that you left us.'
Legolas felt something warm flow into him at the words, a soft tranquility he had remembered feeling when he lay in Aragorn's arms, weary and falling asleep after a night of bliss and fulfillment, a night of joined heartbeats. He could not physically feel that heartbeat now; but he thought he sensed some sort of flutter emanating from the Man's body, as honey-wine, when taken in small draughts, issues fervid heat throughout cold flesh. Perhaps it was indeed Aragorn's heartbeat, he did not know; but the King was seated almost at the other side of the room, and the Elf thought the concept of sensing such a faraway heartbeat ridiculous. He pushed the thought aside and softly smiled.
'Why? I would not have. Do you doubt your Chief Advisor's loyalty to you?'
Arwen ultimately stiffened, at the same time that her husband beamed in relief.
'You are staying. You remembered.'
Undómiel, the King thought guiltily; but he knew he could do nothing about it.
'Of course I remember,' Legolas replied pointedly, trying to show contentment, but unable to do so. 'It was you who was drunken, Estel, not I. And you declared my service to you, to work by your side in Minas Tirith. Why would I have any intention of… of leaving you?'
'He has worried himself to the point that he turned almost feeble, mellon nîn,' Elrohir grinned, interrupting all threads of thought. 'These past few days, all he could say was: where is Legolas? I must see him, where can I find him? Dearest Estel, the brother of my heart, has been unwell with anxiety just to be parted from you. You can understand our ease just to see him smile, and to see you safe; never asunder must anyone be from a close friend.'
Close friend. The wise and beautiful son of Elrond had said it with much care, knowing that everyone in the room – even Aragorn – perceived the emphasis that was placed upon these words. Arwen shuddered, and Galadriel and Gandalf flinched. Aragorn raised his head slightly, as though with pride; Legolas bowed his head and angled it aslant, his face overshadowed with cautiousness and uncertainty.
'Aye… I know.'
The Elf-Queen of Gondor skimmed her soft hand slowly across the long arm of her brother who sat beside her, and unexpectedly fluttered her nails across his slender limb in gentle and yet distinct warning. Elrohir winced at the abrupt gesture, but did not say anything, afraid that it would provoke chaos.
'Come, then,' said Aragorn as he stood, making a gesture of offering for the Elf to take the seat that he had been sitting on. 'Tell us what has happened with you, dearest friend, and how you came to stay with Faramir. For being away from you has made us more eager for conversation, and even in the space of a few days we have worried about you; we have missed you greatly. We need you, son of Thranduil.'
Her lover did not say it, but Arwen heard it ringing like the dark bells of a funerary procession in her mind: I need you.
Whether it was romantic, or whether it was simply friendly, the very thought of it revolted the Queen to no end. She stood calmly, which surprised those who sat in the room. Four young Hobbits tensed at once, as did everyone else around them, who expected the dark-haired Elf to scream and lay curses upon her husband and his secret harlot; fingers inched forward and faces lunged forth, ready to restrain the Queen in case she were to act rashly. But she only bit her lip and walked past Aragorn, past Legolas, muttering underneath her breath in a low, muffled voice.
'As you desire.'
With that she vanished from the room, all troubled gazes upon the door in embarrassment and distress. Aragorn's eyebrows slanted in sorrow as he breathed, and Legolas turned his head away in humiliation, thrusting his stare out the nearby arched window; but did not know that at that very moment, Faramir looked upon the same heel of rock in bewilderment, watching as the blurred dark speckle he had seen for several days separated into two.
...
In the darkness of Legolas' bedchamber the candlelight from a single flame danced across the slender Elf-body, who sat at the edge of the bed humbly with his hands crossed upon his lap. His head was bowed slightly in respect and modesty, for before him in a great chair sat the son of Arathorn, leaning back casually as though he were exhausted; but the King was in fact deep in thought, knowing that the matter of the wedding night must be discussed – though neither Legolas nor Aragorn would begin speaking. Thus, almost half an hour already had been wasted in nervous silence or stuttered speech.
But after an hour of wordlessness had passed, Aragorn began to grow impatient with himself. He had argued against his wife on the white stair, pushed past her to regain the friendship and approval of the Elf who had brought him more pleasure than he could have ever imagined, openly heightened her wrath in full view of the entire Fellowship and their loved ones – only to turn mute, to stammer threads of nonsense. Valar! I no longer wish to be uncomfortable about this incident – so what is keeping me from discussing it with him?
The King sighed.
'You do know that I remember, don't you?'
Legolas raised his head and attempted a smile, but it did not last any longer than fleeting seconds. 'I had already guessed it from your words in the fire-room, Estel.'
'Then how will you respond? What will you—'
'I know you were upset, Aragorn,' the Elf interrupted darkly. 'In the fire-room, when Arwen left… I saw the expression on your face – I know what grief you have suffered to have your marriage shattered in such a way.'
Suddenly, something inside the Man ached.
'…W- what?'
'Whilst I am here, I am only in the way, Estel,' Legolas lowered his voice into a whisper, staring into the bleary and darkened face of the King. 'I am sorry. If you will dismiss me, then do so; it will not grieve me to rid you of such a burden. For I know how much you love your Evenstar.'
Aragorn laughed softly, a laugh that both consoled and intimidated the golden-haired Prince who sat before him, in the same way that rain may nourish and flood the earth. 'In one night, mellon nîn, you have filled me with more bliss and contentment than she has for more than half my years. I was disconcerted because I wanted to see you, not because being with you would destroy my marriage to the Evenstar; I would not dismiss you even if I were to be made King of all Middle-Earth if I did so. I have not yet told you, but she said to me that she would nevermore be able to love me as she once did; were you expecting that? I remembered well what I said to you that night – and what I said to you in the fire-room this afternoon… I need you, Legolas – and I will not risk losing you, not for anything in the wide realms of Arda.'
Slightly tormented, Legolas could not for a few momentary seconds devise anything to state in return. But unexpectedly, the words slipped from the tender mouth: 'Show me.'
At first, the Man was surprised; but then again, the Elf was equally surprised at the bold emergence of the words – for he knew what they meant, and he knew that Aragorn also understood what they were asking him to do. Dreading the thought of the one he loved storming out of the chamber in appalled fury, Legolas froze in his place; now he only waited in tensed concentration for the Dúnadan's temper to boil, for him to run out and return to his Queen in utter resentment.
But Aragorn merely stood from the chair and, with utmost grace and strength, walked forth slowly as a commoner would approach an admired nobleman; soft bare feet crunching against the grey floor, he stood before Legolas as Minas Tirith towers over Gondor, his gaze locked upon the Elf's in weariness and sorrow.
The King took Legolas' hand in his and laced their fingers together.
'Tell me how.'
...
Galadriel looked out the wide window into the night, where many crowns of stars lay glimmering against the dark sky of Ilúvatar. Her glance drifted across the broad plains, but her mind was not quite fixed upon them, as she mused in despair of the haste and folly of young ones; so far, it had not occurred to anyone that she guessed more than they ever would of the star-crossed events that have passed, that were still passing. Lord Celeborn her husband could not understand her; Arwen her granddaughter would not listen to her – and, most grievous of all, neither Aragorn nor Legolas could hear the voice that lay behind her silence.
Gandalf, feeling sorry for the enigmatic Elf-Queen, came beside her at the window and lay a gentle hand upon her shoulder. 'I know what is on your mind, Galadriel; I can see it, burning behind your eyes. But we can do nothing.'
But Galadriel turned her head slowly to face the Wizard, and it pained him to see the sadness that she openly unleashed in her expression; her lips trembled, and the eyes quivered in despair and helplessness, pleading futilely from one who had just claimed that nothing could be done.
'If only we could, Mithrandir.'
The Maia sighed and sorrowfully tightened his grip on the Lórien Elf.
'I know, Lady. Whatever is occurring will change all future decisions made by Legolas, who is growing more unpredictable in the matters of the heart; and, though I desperately hope not, may prove a fatal guilt and anguish for everyone else. Is that not on your mind?'
But Galadriel said nothing in reply, and turned away from Gandalf, watching the sky above Gondor as ever it was flooded with the grey wash of pale moonlight.
...
At that moment, Legolas' many thoughts were muddled together as a tangle of billowing clouds of dark grey in a storm, and he himself did not understand anything – what he desired, or what he was doing – at that point in time. It was as though light and darkness blurred together so he could not perceive which waxed and waned; they had become so alike, despite their unavoidably clear difference.
But something unwanted lingered in his mind nonetheless, something that was holding him back – and it certainly did not escape Aragorn's notice. There was something in Legolas that warred like the seas in a frightful storm, that made him yearn with the desire of one that has never learnt to touch before, and at the same time caused him to retreat with the loath of one who has touched too many times. But when Aragorn asked what was wrong, Legolas would not answer.
After the third time with the same response, however, Aragorn's concern grew. 'What is it that you will not tell me? I am worried about you. I find it difficult to understand you, as you are keeping yourself hidden from me.'
The Elf breathed hard; he had not expected the Man to ask in such a manner. By some instinct, or perhaps as an involuntary movement that he has begun growing accustomed to using when he was intimidated, his hand came up to his throat and clutched at the silver ring.
'I myself do not quite know, Estel,' he said softly. 'I wonder why.'
Without warning, his other hand ran softly across the Man's chest, and unfastened the first two buttons of his shirt; and, because of the unreadable expression in Legolas' eyes, Aragorn was not sure what the Elf was doing – until it became clear all of a sudden that the flittering fingertips halted at the circular mark that had come from that ring. Legolas touched the mark gently, the mark that strangely had not disappeared in several days, and knew that it was no different from branding; if Aragorn were ever to make love to Arwen, that burn would tell her that her husband was already taken, was no longer hers alone.
Then it will leave a mark… you will bear my mark.
The Man smiled and indicated the clenched fist. 'May I see the ring?'
Legolas tensed. 'Perhaps not at this moment—'
'Then shall we go on?' the Human laughed, a friendly laugh that undeniably warmed his heart.
'Aragorn… I do not know—'
Overcome by great sadness and by passion, Aragorn slowly placed one finger on his lips, and once more lowered his head into the feather pillow and kissed the tender nape and pointed ears of the Elf; knowing that he was being touched in all places where his weakness lay, he could do nothing less than respond fervently, with ardor, with remorse. And at once, as he released the Mithril trinket and allowed another needful cry escaped his muffled throat, the thoughts came to his mind again; and he did not know which voices to listen to, for they all stirred together, for the sheer purpose of his torment.
I cannot believe I am forcing him to do this. This is low.
But I need him. I need this…
He stopped suddenly.
'It is alright, Aragorn,' he whispered. 'You need not prove anything to me anymore. I do not wish to force you into this.'
'You do not need to,' answered the Dúnadan, and Legolas could tell from the warmth in his voice that he was thoroughly aroused. That there was no going back.
Legolas closed his eyes. But I just destroyed Estel's bond with the love of his life! What am I doing! He does not love me, he loves the Evenstar; he has only ever said he needed me—
'Aragorn,' he breathed. 'Aragorn…'
For a time, you will bear my mark…
There is no going back.
The Human heard this, an enchanting voice that seemed bubbled from underwater, and slowly calmed; for he thought that it was the Elf's pleasure, not his alarm. But even as he returned to gentleness, to rousing Legolas' longing and responses, he pushed at the Prince's senses with the genuine intention of allowing him to enjoy the night; and furthermore he did not know what stirred behind the pale blue eyes, that seemed filled with doom.
…But I desire this so badly…
And in that moment, Legolas wrapped his long arms around Aragorn, and ultimately surrendered.
(To be continued)
