Telling Only Lies

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
- The Who, Behind Blue Eyes

Aragorn leaned against the tree, his eyes looking out over the garden without seeing the beauty of it. One hand was clenched at his side, the other gripped a handful of crushed greenery, and his eyes were as cold as the biting winds that often whipped through the citadel at Minas Tirith. Behind him, he could hear the quiet strains of music floating from the main hall, mingled with the hum of coversation, and it only served to fuel his temper.

As if it isn't enough that his kin have left, they would make sure he is unwelcome where his friends are. The scowl on his face deepened, and he felt the dull pain of his fingernails pressing half-moon welts into his palms.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and he looked over, his anger abating some when he saw the worried faces of Legolas and Arwen, the two elves giving him inquiring glances. He simply shrugged, nodding back towards the hall, with its lights and music, guests and entertainment. "Something that was said," he murmured, letting Legolas pry open his fist.

"Just something that was said?" The blond elf raised an eyebrow, his fingers running over the welts in Aragorn's palm.

Aragorn felt his anger running away as he rested his head against Legolas's shoulder, basking in the aura of calm and comfort the elf exuded. "Nothing important, Legolas."

The blond elf murmured something indistinct, meeting Arwen's eyes over Aragorn's bowed head. She vanished from the doorway, leaving the two alone in the garden.

Aragorn rested against the pillows of his bed, ignoring the faint twittering of the physicians who had tried to prevent this steady deterioration of his body. He shook his head, knowing that there was nothing they could do, and wished they would leave him alone with those close to him so he could die in peace.

The door to his chambers opened, Legolas slipping in, Arwen following, but remaining at the door. She gave the physicians a look, and they finally went silent, slipping out of the room without the elven woman having to say a word. She smied at him sadly as she closed the door behind her, coming to sit on one side of the bed. Legolas sat on the other, and the blond elf reached out to stroke back a stray strand of grey hair from Aragorn's face.

"At least now I don't have to listen to that incessent chattering," he said softly, closing his eyes for a moment. "They sounded like a flock of magpies." He opened his eyes again at the silence around him, almost a physical weight.

Lifting a hand, he pointed across the room to where Anduril rested with his armor. Where it had been gathering dust for the last year, with him too weak to lift it, and his son unwilling to go near it. "Legolas, take Anduril."

"Aragorn?" Legolas looked startled, his blue eyes staring into Aragorn's.

Arwen stood, bringing the sword over before Aragorn said anything, laying it on the coverlet where he could reach it. Aragorn pressed Legolas's hand to the hilt, feeling the darkness of death encroaching on his mind. He pulled together his remaining strength, and with his dying breath, Aragorn whispered to Legolas, "Keep Anduril at your side. For you will meet one born of the line of kings who will wield it and save the future."

FIN