People shouldn't be so easy to hurt. Love is a dangerous game, and you cannot escape it without scars.
This Lord Elrond knew, and yet he also knew he would have to watch as those he cared about destroyed one another.
[ ~ ~ ]
Aragorn sat on the edge of the footbridge, one leg dangling over the edge and one leg pulled to his chest. The water rippled gently with the current, painted a pale pink-grey from the reflections of sky and Rivendell. He could hear the soft murmur and laughter from the Elves as they walked about the halls. He closed his eyes, tipping his head back to face the clouds. They had been turning purples and gathering for close to half of an hour now, the rain could not be far off. But for now, it was dry and pleasant, and Aragorn felt at peace.
The swish of robes from beside him made the Man lower his head and open his eyes. Brown outer robes, the inner ones a tan green, were in his peripheral vision. Aragorn rose, facing the old Elf.
"Lord Elrond." The Elf gave a deep nod in greeting, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Estel," Lord Elrond intoned. Aragorn copied his adopted father's pose. "What brings you out here with this weather upon us?" Lord Elrond gestured briefly to the sky. Aragorn turned back to the water.
"I do not know. Perhaps I long for quiet." A single raindrop splattered down onto the stone between them.
"My halls have known quiet of late," Lord Elrond mused. "I fear we can all sense a great darkness is returning." Aragorn looked sideways at the Elf as another drop of rain came down. Within minutes, the wind had picked up and leaves and rain alike were swirling in it. Drop after drop fell on Elf and Man as they made their way back into the halls of Rivendell.
Aragorn closed the door to his room behind him, soaked to the skin. Rain battered at the window of stained glass. On the wall to the left of the door was a trunk of clothes and other valuables. A mirror hung above it, a small table with a cloth, candle and bowl of water beside it. On the same wall as the door but to Aragorn's right was a desk, a bookshelf between him and it. In the far right corner of his room was a bed. A doorway leading to a small room for washing was centered on the right wall. The window was off centered slightly, to the left, of the opposite wall of the main door.
Wet hair clung uncomfortably to his neck as Aragorn made his way over to the trunk. He pulled out a clean red shirt and brown trousers, checking that his sword remained at the bottom out of habit. Aragorn undressed swiftly, removing his boots first before untying his clothing. He toweled off briefly before pulling on his dry clothes. Opting to go barefoot, he wrung out his damp hair and hung the cloth and wet clothes on the foot of the bed.
Aragorn sat down at his desk, hands clasped behind his head. The patterning of the rain was oddly soothing, he decided, eyes slipping closed. Songs and drawings could wait.
Aragorn awoke to a firm knock on his door and a crick in his neck. A glance to the window showed the rain had mostly stopped and night was starting to fall.
"Estel?" A soft, lilting female voice. Aragorn got up, rubbed his neck, and strode over to the door. Upon opening it, he found the Lady Arwen waiting on the other side. Suddenly conscious of being half-asleep with his hair a mess, Aragorn felt a light blush creep over his cheeks.
"My Lady." A smile graced Arwen's features.
"Surely you have not forgotten of the welcoming feast tonight. The Elves of Mirkwood shall be here soon, and Father wishes for you to guide the Prince around." Aragorn nodded slowly.
"When do they arrive?"
"Soon." Arwen smiled again, before abruptly switching the topic of discussion. "I hear tales of their wickedness and charming." She grasped Aragorn's shoulders. "But my heart shall remain yours, my love." Aragorn smiled in return, wrapping his arms around the Elf-maiden's waist.
"And mine shall stay loyal to you." Their lips pressed against each other's, a familiar embrace. At last Arwen pulled away, one hand resting on Aragorn's chest.
"Father will be expecting you," she murmured. Then with a swish of fabric and the press of her lips to the Man's cheek, she was gone.
Aragorn, now dressed in a leather jerkin over a brown shirt and black trousers, stepped down the stairs to where Lord Elrond and several unfamiliar Elves were gathered. His boots made little sound against the stone. When he reached the assembly of Elves, Lord Elrond put his hands on his shoulders.
"This is my adopted son Estel. Estel, these are the Elves of the Mirkwood Court. This is Lord Thranduil, and his son Prince Legolas." Thranduil was cold and menacing, scornful of the Man's presence. Due to this it was only natural that Prince Legolas was who caught Aragorn's eye. Remembering what Lady Arwen had told him, Aragorn approached the Elf.
"I am to guide you." He spoke softly, mindful of Lord Elrond and Lord Thranduil's conversation. Legolas's blue eyes fixed on the Man, but to his relief he nodded.
"You may lead," he said, voice high and musical.
Later that night at the feast, Aragorn was seated next to Legolas. The blond-haired Elf said little, but his laughter with his kin was like the purest of music. Aragorn found himself watching the Elf, delighting in his every move. At last, when the stars were out and the revelry was beginning to die down Legolas turned to him.
"You are very quiet, Estel. Does something trouble you?" Aragorn gave a small shake of his head.
"Nay, my prince. I am merely trying to find the words to describe your beauty." The candlelight did little to hide the pink dusting on Legolas's cheeks.
"You are very kind." The Elf took a sip of the wine. Then, "you are versed with the written tongues?" Aragorn nodded.
"I have always enjoyed them." Legolas met his gaze, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He moved as if to speak, but the louder plucking of a harp string prevented this. Legolas rose gracefully, offering Aragorn a hand. The Man took it and began to lead the Elf towards where a dance was beginning. He was interrupted by a gentle hand on his shoulder and the smell of lavender.
"This is a couples' dance," Arwen said kindly. "Perhaps it would be wider as to not give our guests the wrong impression." Legolas let go of Aragorn's hand and spun him gently towards the She-elf.
"Of course, my Lady," he said smoothly. "Forgive me. My people's customs differ from yours. I did not mean to intrude." Arwen smiled.
"I take no offense, my Prince." With that she grasped Aragorn's hands and pulled him off, leaving Legolas to stare after them with a gaze full of longing.
It took many hours for the feast to truly wind down, and it was the early hours of the morning when at last the final guest departed for their rooms. Aragorn led Legolas along through the halls, the sounds of tipsy laughter echoing behind them. The two came upon a way to the outside as they made for Legolas's rooms.
"Estel, wait." Legolas touched Aragorn's arm, halting him. The Elf stared out at the moonlit garden, green leaves floating along the trickling water. "Let us go to the gardens instead. I am not yet tired." Aragorn frowned at him curiously, but did not offer up a complaint.
They walked at each other's sides through the garden, leaves brushing at their clothes. Legolas paused beside the flowing water, Aragorn stopping beside him.
"Nin mellon?" My friend? Legolas looked at him, his features softened by the moonlight.
"Cin ped- edhelen beautifullui." You speak Elvish beautifully. The Elf said quietly. "But then, you have been raised by Elves, have you not?"
"Aye," Aragorn whispered, feeling it unwise to break the spell of quiet placed over the garden. "There are days I can forget I am not one." Legolas smiled. He knelt, trailing his fingertips across the water's surface. Aragorn crouched beside him, and sighed. Legolas looked at him, confusion knitting in his brow. Aragorn gave him a hasty though tight smile.
"But I must not forget I am a Man," he said after a few minutes had passed. "Legolas."
"Hm." Aragorn took another breath.
"My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the Man murmured quietly. Legolas met his gaze in surprise. "And there will come a day when I must reclaim the throne of Men."