A/N: If Legolas comes off as weak, it's only because the proverbial rug's been pulled out from under his feet. Trust me, I've got a plan.

Minas Tirith was alive as almost all of the people within its white stone walls celebrated the victories of the recent past, excitedly prepared for the present, and held a renewed hope for the future. Why should they not? After enduring the threat of the shadow of Sauron for many generations the city had finally been freed. The race of Men had triumphed before the Black Gates; Minas Tirith might have been a little worse for wear after the Battle of Pelennor Fields but it had fared better than Mordor, which had been completely leveled. Plans were already in motion for the damaged parts of the city to be repaired; the gates would be made stronger and the homes restored so that families could live in them again. At that moment in time no one doubted that the Minas Tirith of the near future would rival the glory days of the past.

Much of that belief stemmed from the hope restored by the Man whom the citizens of Gondor and honored guests were presently gathering in the courtyard to honor. Most had long despaired that the king of Men would return but thanks to Aragorn, son of Arathorn (formerly known as Estel Elrondion and about to go down in history as King Elessar) the line of Isildur was going to reclaim the throne. The race of Men would no longer be divided and flounder without a leader. As the hour of the coronation drew closer, there seemed to be no reason to do anything but rejoice at the occasion.

One of the few people who actually had cause to be miserable stood in a small dressing room in the private royal quarters of the citadel; as was fitting, considering that most people knew that he was a close friend of their future king. It was a shame that no one realized just how close Aragorn and Prince Legolas truly were – perhaps they might have been able to offer him some comfort. As it was he was all alone, trying to will his hands to stop shaking.

'This is ridiculous,' Legolas told himself sternly as he tightened his grip on the circlet of mithril in his hands. He'd never been found of that crown but right now he was happy that his father thought to include it in the package of formal clothing that he'd just received that morning; if nothing else, it was helping him control the tremors. 'You knew this day was coming! What would you accomplish if you let yourself fall apart now? Aragorn would still marry Arwen; the only changes that would occur would be that Aragorn's reputation would be marred, Arwen would feel hurt and betrayed by you both, and you'd be remembered as a blithering fool. Or a promiscuous whore. Or possibly both.'

This was not the day for him to play the devastated lover. Legolas was determined to bury all of those horrible emotions and get through the ceremony. He would plaster a passable smile on his face and march in the procession with the rest of the elves and try not to think about the fact that he was in effect escorting the Evenstar to his true love and her intended. Afterwards he would track down Eomer, the new king of Rohan, to see when the funeral procession for King Theoden would be ready. Hopefully, Eomer would want some time to prepare before bringing his uncle's body back to his homeland; it would give Legolas the opportunity to get out of the city and gain some control over the emotions that the war had unhinged before he was forced to spend an extended amount of time with the newlywed couple.

It was strangely ironic in a way that the elven prince was too unhappy to appreciate even in a maudlin sense: for most people, this day would mark the beginning of joyful times after years of living in hopelessness and fear and weeks of bloodshed and destruction. For Legolas, it was almost the exact opposite; while he too felt the effects of the Shadow in his home of Mirkwood, the months of war found him as happy as he'd been in years and the coronation would mark the beginning of the darkest period of his life, one that he couldn't see the end of.

'Don't give in to this,' Legolas silently scolded himself as tears threatened to fall from his eyes. 'You are Prince Legolas Thranduilion of the realm of Mirkwood. You survived watching the woods around your home fall under the influence of the Shadow and now you're going to let this grief get the better of you? You lost Aragorn before and survived; this is no different!'

But in his heart he knew that it was. When he and Aragorn said goodbye all those summers ago, Legolas felt that he was doing the right thing to ensure his young love's happiness. The defense of Mirkwood also gave him a more than sufficient distraction from that pain and deep down he'd never let go of the hope that they'd see each other again. Now Mirkwood wouldn't need his unfailing vigilance, he knew that Aragorn was not happy, and there would be no hope that they would ever reunite. The two of them had come so close to getting everything that they wanted and now that happiness was forever beyond their reach.

Staring down at the circlet, Legolas was overwhelmed with the memory of the last time he'd been truly happy: at the encampment at Dunharrow the night that he, Aragorn, and Gimli set out on the on the Paths of the Dead.

Flashback

"Aragorn," Legolas half-whispered, half-breathed as the Man pressed gentle kisses on the tips of his pointed ears. He glanced at the flap that served as the door of the Man's tent as Aragorn guided them both toward the cot. "I can't stay for much longer. Let's not start something that we won't have the time to finish."

"I don't understand why you're in such a hurry to leave," countered Aragorn seductively, using more breath than necessary to tickle the elf's ear.

"We have to set out in the morning," argued Legolas, pulling Aragorn closer. "What good we be to the Rohirrim – or the people of Gondor, for that matter – if we're so worn out that we're falling asleep on top of our horses? We both need to get a good night's rest."

"I'm not tired," replied Aragorn with a fake pout in his voice. He slipped his hands under the elf's tunic, sliding them up to his chest. With one hand he caressed the smooth flesh in a deceptively casual manner; with the other he teased a nipple into a hard nub. "But I know what we could do to wear me out. Relent, meleth, and I will give you sufficiently adequate reasons to stay."

Legolas almost succeeded in biting back a moan. "Not if this is all that you plan on doing," he joked, though if his tone was any indication the ranger's ministrations were more than enough. "Maybe before; but now I know all that you are capable of doing. I don't think I could be persuaded with just plain touches, no matter how skillful and well-placed they may be."

"One night after the Battle of Helm's Deep," Aragorn pretended to complain as he removed the unresisting Legolas' tunic and bent down to kiss one of his nipples. "How was I supposed to know that nothing less would do after that?"

"It was incredible." Legolas closed his eyes to properly savor the memory. After the battle while everyone reveled in the joy of being alive, he and Aragorn had slipped away. They'd only meant to kiss and touch in that small room but after the tension between the two of them before, the overcoming the overwhelming odds that they'd perish, suffering the loss of dear friends and others who should have lived longer, and the victory when all seemed lost, things escalated from there. They'd held their own private victory celebration by confirming their reconciliation and joining their bodies, making love for the first time.

A part of Legolas felt guilty – his father had told him almost all of his life how important it was for him as a prince to wait until he was properly bound to someone before he gave himself to completely to him. There was no reason why he and Aragorn couldn't have waited; after all, Arwen was gone and they were in love with no more obstacles in their way. At the same time, there'd been so many moments when he'd feared that either or both of them wouldn't live to see a time when they could bond and it seemed silly to save themselves for something that very well might not happen.

Aragorn reached up and held his lover's face, stroking Legolas' lips with one thumb. "You are what's incredible," he whispered softly. A sad haze clouded his eyes. "I don't deserve you or your love after giving up so easily last time; yet you offer all of it so freely. Do you not wish at times that you kept quiet at the Council? You could be in Mirkwood right now and not here, ready to ride into a hopeless battle with a mortal fool like me."

"There's no place on this Middle-earth I'd rather be," declared Legolas with a frown. He worried, as he often did during these days of uncertainty, that the pressure and stress of his duty was weighing too heavily on the Man; the mood shift from playful to downright melancholy was never a good sign. "I love you, Aragorn; I'm in love with you. Why would I rather be in Mirkwood? I'm happy to follow you on this path, wherever it may lead."

"Wherever it may lead," repeated Aragorn faintly. "Even it I end up being the death of you?"

"Don't worry about me," Legolas reassured him with a brief but urgent kiss. "Not when you have so many more pressing things on your mind. Maybe we shouldn't do this tonight, my love; a good night's sleep might do you more good."

Aragorn simply shook his head as if to rattle out whatever had brought on his strange mood. "No, Legolas; I'm all right," he said in a shaky but comforting voice. "I don't know where that odd melancholy came from, but it's gone now." He gave him a naughty smile as he very deliberately let his hands slide down to the top of the elf's leggings. "These days I have a difficult time letting go of the sadness of the past, but I can think of a way that you can help me…"

Their lips and tongues met once more, only separating briefly to remove the rest of each other's clothing before falling back onto Aragorn's cot. As the Man carefully pinned him beneath his body and spread his legs, Legolas banished all thoughts about the restraint that was expected of a prince in that situation. When the sun rose the next morning they would be riding out to the great battle of the Third Age. Neither Aragorn nor Legolas know when – or if, for there was no guarantee that either would survive to see the aftermath – they could join in an official bond. The bond created by their love was more than enough that night, for they didn't want to waste any precious time on regrets.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was Aragorn's thrashing as he was trapped in the throes of a nightmare that woke Legolas up in the middle of the night. He wasn't given the opportunity to return the same courtesy to his love, however; before he could move a young Rohirrim stuck his head inside the tent and said, "My lord?"

Aragorn instinctively grabbed the curved knife he kept under his pillow and flew up with it at the ready. Legolas discreetly tried to make himself as unnoticeable as possible, not wanting anything, especially not idle gossip, to disrupt the ranger's command in any way. "The king wishes to see you in his tent," the young soldier informed Aragorn, undaunted by the less-than-welcoming response he'd received. Having been raised among Rohan's finest, he knew that no warrior worth anything appreciated being surprised like that. He bowed and calmly slipped out of the tent once more.

"What do you think he needs to speak with you about?" wondered Legolas, propping himself up onto his elbows. King Theoden was a seasoned commander; he understood how important it was for his army to be well-rested before they set out for battle. Disturbing any one of them, especially a captain like Aragorn, was unheard of. The only reasons that Legolas could think of that would lead him to do just that ranged from disheartening to utterly devastating.

The Man tiredly rubbed his eyes with one hand. "I don't know," he mumbled hazily, trying to make his mind wake up. "Maybe…we were surveying the number of troops he seemed ready to wait until more arrived before heading out to Minas Tirith. I thought I'd dissuaded him of that, but perhaps he'd changed his mind again. I'll just have to go there and do it all over again."

"Is there anything that I can do to help you?" asked Legolas as Aragorn climbed groggily to his feet and fumbled for his boots.

"Yes – I need you to get some rest while you can," replied Aragorn with a small smile. He leaned down and kissed Legolas on the mouth, lightly and chastely as he had no time to do it in the way that he wanted to. "There's no reason for both of us to lose sleep. Don't worry, my love, about this or anything else; King Theoden is a reasonable Man. I made him understand what needs to be done before; he just needs a little affirmation now."

Legolas tried to do what Aragorn requested of him after he left but found that precious sleep elusive. What was nagging at the edge between his conscious and unconscious mind – a feeling that all was not as it should be? A premonition of terrible things to come? He was usually a stoic, unflappable warrior but at that moment he felt himself drowning in a sea of apprehension.

'I need to be outside,' decided Legolas anxiously. Peace could not be restored to him in a place where he couldn't see the light of the moon and the stars. While the tent wasn't nearly as confining as the caverns that his father Thranduil had made into his palace he suddenly felt more suffocated in the former place than he'd ever felt in the latter. 'Once I feel the fresh air on my face things won't appear to be nearly so agonizing.'

It took all of the elf prince's restraint and decorum not to run out of the tent and keel over with relief when the cool night air hit his face. Instead, in an effort to savor the feel of starlight on his face, absorb the comfort of nature, and maintain his dignity, he simply closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky. The position was almost meditative, allowing him to center his thoughts and control his concern. However, it made it impossible for him to see what was going on around him – such as the way that a clearly spooked Theoden rushed out of his tent without Aragorn.

The elf didn't move from his position for several minutes and would have been content to spend the night like that had he not heard the familiar voice of his lover call his name. "Legolas," said Aragorn in a tone that frightened him more than even the balrog of Moria had. The Man's voice was soft but sounded so upset – almost destroyed, even.

"Aragorn, what's wrong?" inquired Legolas. "Please tell me; let me help you."

"There is –" Aragorn began, but he was choked by a sob. "You should – get some rest – I – I – how could this – "

"Breathe, mela!" instructed Legolas urgently. He rushed over to embrace the Man but Aragorn's arms remained limply at his side. Backing off to give him some space, the prince stroked his cheek; his mouth fell open when Aragorn actually flinched away from his touch. "You're really starting to scare me now! What happened in there? What did King Theoden do to put you in such a state?"

"He left – left almost immediately," responded Aragorn haltingly. "He didn't want to see me – Ada did."

"Lord Elrond?"

Aragorn nodded. "Ada was waiting for me. He's – he's still in there."

"Why did he come all of this way?" asked Legolas, bewildered. It seemed like a strange move for the elven lord; even if something had happened to one of the twins, there was nothing that Aragorn could do about it at this point and Elrond would know better than to burden him with any tragedies from Rivendell now.

"He needed to give me the sword of the kings," replied Aragorn.

That was a believable, albeit weak, explanation for Elrond's journey – why didn't he just send a messenger to bear Aragorn the reforged sword? – but not for the Man's jagged breathing and ashen face. Legolas widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows, silently begging for more information. Soon, however, he would wish that he'd stayed in blissful ignorance for as long as he could.

"He had to come here to tell me that Arwen is dying," said Aragorn, sounding defeated. He was, in a way; for what his foster father had just told him had essentially stripped him of his happiness. There would be no future for him and Legolas now.

"I thought she'd taken the ship to Valinor!" exclaimed Legolas, trying to wrap his head around this new development.

"She was supposed to," replied Aragorn. "I told her that our relationship was nothing more substantial than a dream; I gave her my blessing to live out her years in the Undying Lands. Why didn't she listen? Now she has – she has – forfeited her immortality and her light is waning. She stayed because she loves me and believed that I felt the same way about her, Legolas. I cannot let her die; I owe it to her and to Ada to do everything in my power to save her."

"Yes, of course you do," agreed Legolas with a mixture of shock and horror. He'd known Arwen for centuries; though she'd become a rival for Aragorn's affections he'd never viewed her with any resentment or hatred. After all, very few people knew about his and the Man's brief romance and he was sure that Aragorn had never named him as his lost first love. The idea of the beautiful elf maid hovering near death gave Legolas no joy; the whole situation felt wretchedly unfathomable. "And I'll be right there at your side, helping you do it."

Aragorn looked pained. "You cannot do that," he whispered, not quite able to meet the startled look that came from the one he loved. "I have to take the Paths of the Dead if there's to be hope for any of us and I have to go alone. It's – it's – it has to be this way, Legolas; if we are victorious, she won't have anywhere else to go – because she rejected Valinor to be with me…"

That was the exact second when Legolas' heart broke with understanding: the end of this war would bring him no happiness. If they lost then the Shadow would devour all of the lands and if they won Aragorn would marry Arwen. "Oh," the elf said.

"I'm so sorry, Legolas; if there was any other way –"

"I know," Legolas cut him off. It took all of his will to keep his voice from cracking but he succeeded. "Do not concern yourself with me, Aragorn; especially not right now."

"We were so happy," moaned Aragorn.

"That's not important right now," said Legolas firmly. "What could have been and what we've lost will mean nothing if Sauron triumphs. Focus on what you have to do right now; if it's imperative to take the Paths of the Dead then that's what you need to get ready to do, not lamenting – just do what you have to do, Aragorn."

"Thank you," said Aragorn, sounding relieved and somewhat at peace now that Legolas had accepted the situation – two emotions that the elf wouldn't be able to enjoy again for a long time. He leaned in instinctively to kiss the prince's lips.

All of the fresh air in the world wouldn't have kept Legolas' soul from suffocating as he gently leaned away. "You have a fiancée and her life is in your hands right now," he reminded the Man. So that kiss in the tent before Aragorn departed was to be the last one – how he wished he'd known! He wouldn't have let him go had he known that it would never happen again.

Instead he chose to grip Aragorn's shoulder in a friendly but platonic gesture – everything that their relationship would have to be from that moment forth. "Go."

Aragorn nodded. After indulging in one last lingering glance he turned and strode quickly away to ready Brego. Legolas managed to smile bravely and wait until he was sure that the Man couldn't see him anymore before his face crumpled and his shoulders shook with unvoiced sobs. 'I can't do this here,' he thought despairingly. 'Not in the open where everyone can see.'

Turning blindly, he found himself facing King Theoden's tent just as Elrond emerged. Their eyes locked and Legolas felt an extra surge of misery to go along with his sudden flash of guilt. Elrond knew – with his gift of foresight he had to know the true nature of his relationship with Aragorn. What must the distinguished elven lord think of him now? Was he disappointed that they'd decided to make love before bonding? Outraged that how easily Aragorn found it to forsake his beloved daughter for another? Or was he just disgusted that the elfling who used to cause so much mayhem with the twins during his frequent visits to Rivendell had grown up into the person who might threaten Arwen's future happiness?

Legolas was already experiencing a million negative and unpleasant emotions – he didn't need to add the shame that he felt as his sex life was laid bare before Elrond into the mix. Without saying goodbye or even acknowledging the lord with a nod he fled back into Aragorn's tent. There was no comfort for him in there, though; it felt cold and empty. 'We made love in here,' he thought dully, 'not two hours ago.'

The realization of how short a time had passed between almost complete bliss and utter devastation broke down the last of Legolas' strength. He dissolved in tears, collapsing to the floor since the idea of being on that cot again was unbearable. Yet in his despair he was able to find a new resolve. 'Two minutes,' he decided through his pain. 'I will allow myself two minutes to indulge in this self-pity, but that's it. Too many people are depending on me to be strong. I can do this.'

True to his word, Legolas forced himself to stop crying when his two minutes had passed. Taking a deep breath he composed himself as best he could – which was very well, considering the circumstances – and marched determinedly out into the night. He needed to wake Gimli if they were going to be ready in time to intercept Aragorn before he started down the Paths. Legolas would be damned if he was going to let the person he loved take such a ghastly road on his own, even if said person could no longer return his love.

End flashback

Legolas tightened his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. Two minutes – he'd allotted himself two minutes to be selfish and had used them up right away. That was unfortunate in a way, for he was having a hard time keeping his composure, but it was really for the best. It wouldn't do for him to go to the coronation with red rimmed eyes and choking on tears. He needed to be a prince now, and that meant that he couldn't allow himself to fall apart.

With steely determination the elf prince placed the circlet on his head and adjusted it carefully before heading to the door. The ceremonies were about to begin; he had to be there and he certainly wasn't going to cause a scene by coming in late. He would be strong; that would be his wedding present – to Aragorn, at any rate. Legolas didn't need to give Arwen anything – she'd already gotten what he held most precious.

To be continued…