a/n: Six months! I started this more than six months ago! So, here. A treat to you all. :)
Title: Crystal Glass
Author: Keithan
Disclaimers: Lord of the Rings and its characters belongs to their respective owners.
Rating: G-PG / K-K+
Series: One-shot
Warnings: probably some angst or drama
Summary: "Years from now, we will forget this moment, and all the moments we had before this did not exist." A/L
Thanks to: docmon for the beta and Isildwen for the initial read-through. Thank you so much guys! Even though it took so long, here it is.
Dedicated to: Milady Hawke. The inspiration to write this came from you and the A/L ficathon you held months ago. You certainly are a big part of the A/L fandom and I thank you for the work you've done to keep the A/L flame alive. hugs
Crystal Glass
-o-o-o-
He looks at their smiling faces, and acknowledges the light of love shining in their eyes. He claps with the rest, but turns his head away, meeting the knowing eyes of a friend. He is comforted as he sees neither pity nor condemnation in those eyes. But he cannot bear to look at those understanding eyes any longer than he can look at the royal couple standing on the dais in the middle of the hall. He looks away. He will talk to the Lorien Elf, but not yet.
"Legolas," a voice to his right.
"Leave me be, Gimli," he says, already knowing what is coming. He knows his friend only wishes to offer comfort, but comfort he cannot take.
"You have to at least…"
"What?" he snaps, turning to regard his friend who remains silent in the face of his burning stare. "Leave it to rest, my friend," he states a while later in a much softer tone – a silent apology and assurance to his companion. "All is well," he whispers, just as the crowd begins to cheer their King and Queen. Once again, he joins in the clapping.
He spares a glance at the king who catches his gaze among the guests in the great hall. His hands falter. His clap softens. He raises his chin a little and without breaking contact, he repeats softly to himself, "All is well."
-o-o-o-
Legolas stood behind the row of tall marble pillars at one side of the great hall. Festive melody filled the air, as each person in the orchestra caressed each of their own instruments, bringing to life joyous music that weaved its magic in the hall. Everywhere, he could see the overhead draping hanging from pillar to pillar, its magnificent length enough to cover the hall from the high ceiling to the floor. Great banners also adorned the walls – one with a white horse running on green, another, a silver swan ship on blue. The first was for Rohan and the next for Dol Amroth. Other banners beside them hung proudly side by side – the banners and standards of the lands of the West, free from the terror in the East. He could even see the green banner of his Elvenking.
He glanced at the far front of the hall and saw there a single banner, a great standard of the deepest black. Upon it the White Tree of Gondor flowered and glittering about it, even in the brightness of the hall, were Seven Stars. A single high crown shone above them – the banner of the King which no lord had borne for countless of years now hung majestic and proud where all could see.
He looked away almost as quickly as he had turned.
Legolas turned his attention to his drink instead. The scarlet wine vibrated with soft ripples with every beat of the music and every boisterous cheer from the men. The feast was long done. What were left of the celebration were the dancing and the drinking that would no doubt last all night long. They had every right to, he thought. They had finally achieved true victory after long and painful years of darkness under the constant threat of Mordor.
He wanted to celebrate too.
With the slightest flick of his wrist, he let the wine twirl inside the crystal glass. He watched its graceful swirl as it caressed the sides of the glass until it calmed once more, with only the constant ripples disturbing its otherwise steady surface. He repeatedly twirled the glass in his hand and watched the swirl of the liquid inside it, careless that he did no more while others enjoyed the festivities or at least until his wineglass became empty.
"It is not poisoned," a voice said from beside him.
There was a slight waver in his hand and he tightened his fingers around the glass to steady it. He lifted it to his lips in a slow and deliberate movement. "I should hope not," he replied before taking a small sip of wine.
He spared the new arrival a glance and he wasn't surprised to see that it was Aragorn standing beside him. The king had already dressed down, having removed the more formal and ceremonial first layers of his clothing for the remainder of the evening. Not even giving the other more than a moment's worth of glance, Legolas turned his eyes to the rest of the hall.
"Though I do not know what difference it would make," he said.
From the periphery of his vision, he saw Aragorn purse his lips into a tight line. "Did I surprise you?" the man asked instead.
Legolas raised a brow at him. "You give yourself too much credit, Man," he said lightly, but his words were tensed. "I heard you long before you stood beside me." He knew, even as he said it, that Aragorn saw through the lie. He met the other's gaze without flinching, challenging the king to contradict him.
Glasses clinked in the background, and the introduction piece of the strings in the orchestra started to play. Aragorn sighed before tipping his cup to indicate Legolas' own. "Would you rather I gave you a poisoned one instead?" he asked, not expecting an answer.
Legolas laughed and answered anyway. "Again, I do not know what difference it would make, Elessar," he said, before twirling his glass again, this time with more obvious movements as his hand steadily moved in a circular motion. The lights dimmed in the hall, and their place behind the pillars was left hidden in the shadows. The whole orchestra started to play another tune.
"Why do you call me so?" Aragorn asked. His voice was soft and was nearly drowned by the lively music.
Legolas tilted his head to the side, looking at his companion. Aragorn was frowning at him. He raised his eyebrows in innocent question. "Is it not your name, my lord?" He watched as Aragorn's forehead furrowed more, and the king silently searched his face. He didn't look away.
"You are drunk," the man said.
Legolas frowned, insulted. He looked down at his half-empty glass in mild disgust.
"You think so?" He felt his fingers tighten dangerously around the fragile crystal, and his free hand clenched into a fist. He raised his chin slightly in a sign of defiance. "Perhaps I am," he said, then after a while, he looked away. He focused his eyes on the dancing couples in the middle of the hall, happily waltzing to the music. "Perhaps I wish to be."
Both were silent.
"Legolas…" Aragorn started, but he was immediately cut off.
"I've had stronger," Legolas stated with barely a shrug, waving his hand with his glass slightly just as he waved away the building tension with his careless words. "This is but mere water." When Aragorn seemed to say something again, he interrupted, "What? You will ask me if the feast was delightful? Or if the festivities are to my liking? Spare me the pleasantries, Aragorn. You need it not for me." He turned a cordial smile to Aragorn before walking a few steps to get a better view of the middle of the hall, while remaining partially hidden by the long hangings from the pillars.
Aragorn's face fell back into a frown. "I was not going to," he said, walking closer.
Legolas shrugged. "I was making sure you were not," he answered back, and both fell silent for a while as they bowed and exchanged appropriate greetings with a passing courtier. He noticed Aragorn gesturing to the sentry at the end of the hall, and he knew then that they were not to be disturbed again any time soon. He was not sure if he was comfortable with the knowledge.
Aragorn stepped closer, but Legolas still did not look at him. "Will you not talk to me?"
Legolas ignored him. He looked down again at his half-empty glass before throwing his head back to swallow its contents. He could feel the other's gaze burning into him, just as he could feel the burning sensation of the wine in his throat. But just as he had ignored everything else in the festivities so far, he ignored that as well.
Somewhere nearby, the sounds of heartfelt laughter drifted to them. He swept his eyes toward the young lords, and perhaps soldiers, readily leaving their table to join in the dancing.
He wondered where Gimli was.
"Have you seen Gimli?" he asked. He had not seen the Dwarf since the feast.
"He was out in the foyer last I saw him." Aragorn nodded his head in the direction. "He told me where to find you."
Legolas frowned slightly. "Conniving Dwarf," he only said.
"I needed to talk to you," the man replied in defense of the absent Gimli.
"I'm sure you do," and at this, Legolas turned his eyes to meet Aragorn's. "About what exactly?"
Aragorn was caught off guard at the sudden turn to topic, when all Legolas had done since the man approached was to avoid it. For a moment, he merely looked in surprise and searched the sincerity in Legolas' face.
Legolas inwardly smiled, feeling triumphant from the lack of response, and before the man could find his words again, he said, "I thought so."
At that moment, the music took on a livelier beat. A loud cheer from the guests greeted it and soon after, the sound of clapping followed. He turned his back to Aragorn, not giving him a chance to react. The people in the middle of the hall started what he surmised to be a traditional Gondorian dance. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to lose himself in the swell of the music.
"Legolas."
He ignored it, and he opened his eyes to the sight of dancing once more. He watched the dance curiously, as the men shouted, "Hey!" and the women, their gowns swishing gracefully with every move, clicked their shoes in time with the beat.
He caressed his thumb over the smooth glass crystal idly, and marveled at the almost robust and vigorous, yet somehow light and graceful way of the dance. He remembered in the back of his mind the celebrations in the great halls of his father in Mirkwood as though it was a lifetime ago.
"Why are you doing this?"
Legolas' free hand clenched and caught the flowing fabric of his sleeves. Mild irritation began to show in his face. "Was there anything you wanted?" he asked, looking sideways at Aragorn.
The king sighed. "I wish you'd talk to me," he said.
"I wish you'd leave me alone," Legolas answered back, looking at the dance again.
"If you really mean that…" Aragorn trailed off.
Legolas let out a loud, frustrated sigh. He lifted his glass before remembering it was already empty. He set it on the window sill behind him. Turning fully to face his companion for the first time, he saw the other's wine goblet and he reached out to take it for himself. Aragorn watched him as he brought it up to his lips, but Legolas let it rest there as he met the other's eyes. When the man didn't protest, he emptied its contents as well, licking his lips when he was done. He tilted his head, regarding Aragorn silently. "I suppose it is too much for me to hope that this was poisoned?" He tipped the cup to the man.
Aragorn merely looked at him, and Legolas found it unnerving. He pursed his lips to a tight line and looked away.
"You speak of poison as if it is honey. Do you want to die?" the king asked, watching Legolas intently.
Legolas shrugged in response. "It doesn't matter," he replied, and when a pained look crossed Aragorn's face, his chest constricted. He suddenly felt he needed to explain. "Life is a precious gift that Il úvatar bestowed on us all. I do not mean to sound as though I'm throwing it away," he amended. "It's just that right now… It doesn't matter." He sighed when he realized he couldn't find words to explain himself.
"You speak on a different level," Aragorn observed. He looked away as the other stared at him.
Legolas shrugged. "Probably. Death can be a state of mind. I am immortal, Aragorn," and he slightly flinched at this. "Death to me may not mean the same way it does to you, or perhaps, I am not speaking of death at all."
"Why do you seem to speak lightly of this?" Aragorn said almost too soft to be heard.
Legoals frowned at him. "Of all the people who will speak lightly of death, do not count me among them," he said, each whispered word delivered hard. "I thought you know me better than that."
Aragorn reached out to cover the hand holding the golden cup. It was shaking. "I'm sorry," the man said. "You are angry."
Legolas tried to ignore the pain beneath Aragorn's soft voice.
He just snorted, but it lacked sharpness, and it came out as a soft exhalation of breath. "Oh, how observant of you to notice that. Leave me be then, and allow me to nurse my anger," he said. But he looked not at Aragorn. He looked instead at their joined hands.
Aragorn followed his gaze, and only then realized where his hand lingered. He pulled it back and tightened it into a fist at his side.
Legolas bit his lower lip as he felt the loss of the warmth of Aragorn's hand atop his own. He frowned, before lifting his chin up, momentarily meeting the other's gaze before turning away.
"I need to talk to you," Aragorn said.
"There is nothing to talk about," Legolas replied, and his voice nearly caught in his throat. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. He regretted emptying both of their cups.
The king sighed. He turned to look at the celebration happening at the middle of the hall. "Perhaps you're right."
Legolas looked back at him, surprised. He searched the man's face, but it betrayed nothing as Aragorn watched the Gondorian dance near its conclusion.
"Perhaps you're right," Aragorn repeated, more softly this time. "I don't even know what I wanted to say, or where to start."
"Then say nothing," Legolas said, a note of finality in his voice as though he was declaring the end of a discussion that had never started.
Aragorn turned back to him, a pleading look in his eyes. "Will you not at least…"
"Do you insist on pushing it, Aragorn?" he asked, and he could no longer keep the aggravated tone from his voice.
The man reached out. He laid a hand on Legolas' arm in a gentle touch, but instead of being comforted, Legolas tensed, and his hand tightened almost painfully around the empty goblet. He was briefly thankful that it was not the crystal glass that he was holding, but he thought that it wouldn't matter. The pain of broken shards in his hands would be trivial.
"If it helps," Aragorn replied. "If I think it will bring us peace, then I will."
"Well clearly, it does not," Legolas said, slamming Aragorn's goblet down beside his own glass and dislodging the man's touch on him as he did. "At least not to me."
With a brief and final glance, he then walked past Aragorn intending to leave the hall altogether. He had not taken more than few steps though, when he had his wrist held back. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling a heavy weight in his chest. He tried to draw in a shaky breath, but he could not. He took a moment to regain his calm and tried once more. But the tightness in his chest remained and with it, he felt a prickling in his eyes.
"Are you determined to make this harder than it already is, Aragorn?" he asked, not turning around. The previous sharpness in his voice was all but gone. He focused his eyes on a black marble pillar, seeing it blur before him. He was grateful now that he did not have to see the other's face. He did not want to see his pain reflected in the other's eyes.
But he felt it instead, with the desperate tightening of the hand holding his wrist and with the tremble in his hand that he knew was not solely his.
"Will you let this rift tear us apart, Legolas?" Aragorn said from behind him. "Will you let this grow into a chasm until you are so far away from me that I can no longer even reach out?"
"I will if I have to," Legolas said, without even any hesitations.
"You do not mean that," Aragorn replied and as soon as the words were said, Legolas turned sharply to face him.
"Yes, I do not mean that!" he said through gritted teeth, their faces only inches apart. "Is that what you wanted to hear, my lord? That I'd rather die than be parted with you. Does that satisfy you? The fact that my heart breaks this very moment to have you here but yet… but yet… " Legolas words faltered. He knew not when the tears started to escape, but the warmth on his cheeks could be nothing else.
Aragorn was unable to speak in the face of the other's outburst, but Legolas immediately turned his back to him again. He could not bear to look at the man in the eyes, and he never wanted to see the tears in them if ever they would fall.
"Please, Aragorn," he said softly, and all the strength in his voice faded away, leaving behind a mere weak whisper. "Let me go."
"Legolas…" Aragorn's voice broke, and slowly, Legolas felt the king's hand loosening around his wrist, as though the strength that held it was gradually slipping away. He had not the heart to turn and look at the man's face.
"There never was anything to talk about between us," Legolas said gently, and he knew that his silent apology would be understood. He smiled weakly, unseen to Aragorn. "It was never needed."
"Yes, there never was," Aragorn replied, and Legolas felt the hand around his wrist tighten again for a moment. "I'd look at you and it would be enough as though the world need not hear the words our… our hearts speak, or the melody they sing. But now… please, Legolas, I cannot bear your anger."
"It is an anger that I have no right to have." He tugged his hand back slightly. "Forgive me, Aragorn. It is yet too early for me to speak of this," he said then he laughed, and the sound seemed so much out of place. "Or perhaps… it is already too late."
"I'm losing you all over again," Aragorn's voice cracked, and he almost choked at the words.
Legolas could feel the man's thumb move against his wrist in a gentle caress. His chest tightened almost painfully. Another wave of tears threatened to fall.
"While I lost you once," he started, but for a while, he could not continue and the silence between them was heavy. "I lost you once," he tried again. "But it is a loss that I will bear for all eternity."
It seemed to Legolas that the music and laughter and talking were not enough to fill the resounding silence that followed.
"I…" The man started, but stopped. "I'm sorry," he said instead. His voice caught on the words. "I… I cannot change that which is done…"
"Nor do I wish you to." He looked down, tempted to count the number of lines he could make out in the pattern on the floor.
"But if only…"
"Is a useless statement that we should not dwell on." At that moment, the dance ended and it was soon followed by a much slower melody of the flutes and lyre.
"Will you not let me speak?" Aragorn's voice seemed much louder then without the clapping hands and the cheering voices, and it seemed to echo in his ears like the distant sounding of Rohan's horns.
Legolas sighed. A lie was already on his lips, ready to be uttered. But instead he whispered, "I fear your words." His heart spoke and his head bowed. He watched as his hair fell from his shoulders to hide his face. "And the world need not hear the melody thy heart sings."
"But do you? Do you hear its song?" Aragorn asked.
Legolas bit his lip, before answering, "What I hear is but a faint melody of a greater piece."
The hold on his wrist tightened almost painfully. "Why? Why are we led to this?"
And he knew then, that Aragorn was crying.
"Know my prince, know that…"
"I know," Legolas just said, not allowing the man to speak anymore. His tone was final, and he saw his own tears fall from his eyes. He wiped them away, but more followed. "I know what you want to say and it is enough, Aragorn. It is enough." His hand dropped limply to his side. Aragorn had released him.
They fell silent.
"Legolas." The man's broken whisper tore at Legolas' heart.
"Do not weep for me, and I shall not weep for you," Legolas said. He tried to be calm to show that he was strong – to show that he believed in what he was saying – but his voice was shaking. "Years from now, we will forget this moment, and all the moments we had before this did not exist. You will be happy, and I will be content – watching as your children play in the gardens that I, myself, have grown and created."
"Stop it. Stop it, Legolas, please."
But Legolas continued despite the tightness in his chest, and the continuous fall of his tears. "And you will be the greatest king that ever ruled, the one true King of the West, and Arwen will be the greatest and fairest of queens that this land has ever seen. While I… I will fade into memory, and long years from now, as my ship passes to the West, I will remember. I will carry the memories – for both you and me." He raised his eyes, looking ahead, ready to welcome the dark corridors that he would retreat into. But he could not see past the veil of tears that shrouded his eyes. He wiped them away. His back remained on Aragorn, and he never turned back – never saw the tears to match his own.
He received no response but the soulful melody of the flutes whispered to him, reminiscent of the soft murmur of the wind. He waited for a moment, and after a while of unbroken silence between them, he finally walked away.
The sound of breaking glass followed him, and in the silence of the corridor, he closed his eyes tightly and paused, before he continued walking, not once turning back.
-o-o-o-
Both of his hands are trembling. But he knocks when he finally manages to lift one of them. The door opens. The familiar face of a life-long friend greets him, yet he doesn't pretend to smile. He no longer has the heart to.
"Haldir," he greets, and the Lorien Elf takes one look at him and just steps aside in a silent invitation to enter. He walks in. The door closes behind him.
"Do you want to talk about it?" is the polite question.
"No," is his immediate response. He clenches his hands on his sides. He takes deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "All is well, my friend," he says when he finds his voice again, though it is not without a tremor. "There is nothing to talk about. All is well," he says again.
Haldir lays a hand on his shoulder from behind and grips it tightly in a silent gesture of support. He stiffens at the touch. "Let it go, Legolas," is the whispered command.
He thinks of poisoned wine and crystal glass.
"Let it go."
"I… I can't," he says. But in the end, he does.
End
02.12.05
Author's Notes:
I wrote and finished this almost five to six months ago and it took me that long to decide that this can finally be published after adding, deleting, and editing many times. I was supposed to have this finished last October, so even if I didn't join in the A/L ficathon held around last September (I think) in LAS, then at least I contributed something. Thanks again to Milady Hawke, the inspiration to start this came from her, even if she doesn't know it. :) Thanks again to Isildwen and docmon and thank you all for reading. :p