Mae govannen everyone

I had the sudden urge to write one evening, and this came from it all. It is a one shot, so please don't expect more ;)

So, without more blabbing;

WARNING: Contains slash. If you are against slash, then do not read.

Disclaimer: i own none of Tolkien's characters

Please leave a review if you would be so kind,

Until next time!

Namarïe

Aragorn stood before the rising sun, the crown heavy upon his brow. He could feel the solid presence of Gandalf behind him, the istar radiating light and warmth. Almost like a kindly grandfather, ready to impart a lifetime of wisdom.

Arrayed before the man were the people of Gondor. His people. A moving river of brilliant life and color. Their cheers rang in the morning air, echoing off the curves and pillars of the white city, a call of triumph. Of joy and the end of the hardships of darkness. He was now responsible for all of them. The thought gave him a twist in his heart that was half fear, half pleasure. He would do his best; that was all he could ask of himself, and he hoped it would be enough. The weight of the winged crown atop his brow was a reminder of all that he now held within his hands. A promise to protect and serve hie people.

Through it all, Aragorn sought his friends; his grey eyes searching for a familiar face. The warmth of the sun brushed his shoulders, heating his dark cloak. The night-blue fabric rippled like a lake as he turned to face the blooming white tree.

There they were. All together under its branches. Frodo and Sam- finally looking as rosy cheeked and healthy as they had when he'd met them in Bree; Pippin and Merry- both grinning and cheering with the rest of the populace of Gondor; Gimli- looking as though he would rather be at the feast being prepared within the halls than out here in the throng and noise. Aragorn had to smile at that. The dwarf was a true friend, but it was a hopeless battle when he was set against doing something. The best remedy was to leave him be.

And...the new king's gaze fell on the last member of the company.

Legolas.

The elf was clad in flowing robes of silver, his hair loose of its familiar braids. A elegant circlet rested on his brow, ageless face creased in a smile as he listened to what Merry was saying. The hobbit gesticulated wildly, and the elf was quick to place a hand on one flailing limb to rescue Gimli's eye from its near demise. The dwarf blustered, shocked at the close call, growling at the hobbit who dropped his hands, sheepish.

Gandalf had come up beside Aragorn, keen eyes nowhere near fooled. The wizard studied the folk of Gondor- now milling about and chatting to each other- before he finally said, "Nothing waits forever, Aragorn."

The man darted one last glance at Legolas, then turned away. "I know not what you mean."

"Do not attempt to fool me." Gandalf placed a hand on his arm. "Legolas has expressed affection for you for years. It is obvious to us all who you wish to spend your life with."

"I cannot simply take a man for my bride, let alone an elf!" Aragorn tried to keep the frustration from his voice. "What would the people of Gondor say?"

"Faramir says they are willing to give the elf a chance."

Aragorn snapped his gaze to the wizard, disbelief shaping his mouth into a little O of surprise. "You...Ai, MÍthrandir, must you consistently meddle in others' affairs?"

"If I can bring relief, then meddle I shall, King Elessar Telcontar," said the wizard sternly. "I would rather you follow your heart than simply do that which you insist is merely duty."

Aragorn swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous. It was strange how this filled him with more fear than charging the Black Gate itself had. His tongue was dry at the mere thought. "I..."

"You will," said Gandalf, in a tone that brooked no arguments, "or I will go ask him in your place."

Aragorn sighed, trying to pull himself together. A nod from Gandalf sent him down the stairs, his feet carrying him, unwillingly, towards his doom. They were all laughing over something, he heard as he came closer. Gimli's rousing account of the battle at Helm's Deep no doubt, considering the awe and excitement in the eyes of the hobbits.

"I remember you almost drowning, mellon nîn," said Legolas, as the dwarf broke off for breath. "You had to be carried out of the water, and then dragged away during the call to retreat- you refused to cease fighting."

"Hrmph," grunted the dwarf. "So it was...So it was. As long as you remember who won that night."

"I recall a draw," said the elf seriously.

Gimli swelled, ready to unleash a blistering tirade, but Legolas laughed softly. "Peace, my friend. I would not steal your victory from you, rest assured."

"You need perhaps up your game, Legolas," chuckled Aragorn with a smile. The elf waved an elegant hand, and the man tried to ignore the ache in his chest at the sparkle in those blue eyes. "Soon, Gimli will rival your kindred in the art of war."

"The soldiers who survived the Battle of Five Armies would argue that they already have," said Legolas. "I care not. If Gimli's people truly are better skilled, then so be it."

The dwarf awkwardly patted the elf's waist, gruff voice slightly thick. "You're a good friend, laddie."

"How does it feel to be king, then, Strider?" asked Sam, peering up at him.

Aragorn gave a wry smile. "I have not a clue, Master Samwise. Ask me again come the end of the week and I might have a better answer for you."

Frodo chuckled. "Strider the ranger..." he mused. "It certainly has been a long time since that night in Bree."

"Indeed, ring bearer." Aragorn gently placed a hand on the hobbit's shoulder, crouching to look into those blue eyes. "Are you well, Frodo?" he asked quietly.

A nod of the curly head. Frodo's smile was perhaps a little weary, his eyes under-ringed by the slimmest of shadows, but he seemed cheery enough. "I am. Truly."

"And you?" Legolas was scrutinising the man as he straightened. The elf reached out a hand as though to brush Aragorn's brow, but let it fall before it could. The man ached to feel those slender fingers dancing on his skin. "Are you well...mellon nîn?"

Aragorn fought to hide the wince that came with those words. It was not that he regretted their friendship...only that he ached to address the elf by a different moniker. Through it all, he felt the piercing eyes of Gandalf on his back; no doubt peering out from under those bushy eyebrows. Would the istar truly make good on his threat?

A rustle of robes sent Aragorn's heart leaping into his throat, but it was only Legolas moving to lay his hand on Aragorn's arm. "Walk with me."

Stunned, Aragorn allowed himself to be lead away. He could see Merry whispering to the others behind a hand, his eyes full of excitement. What was this? Some joke he had not been privy to?

"Something troubles you." Legolas made no move to pull away as Aragorn moved his arm so that the elf's lay atop his; he was king here, so it was his duty to escort, not the other way around.

"You are too perceptive, Legolas," said the man with a small smile. "Though I fear that your far-seeing eyes are wrong today. It is merely the enormity of the task before me that I contemplate. Nothing more."

The elven prince looked far from convinced, but nodded. "As you will, aran Elessar."

"Please do not name me so," said Aragorn, drawing them both up short. "Ahead of me lie years of titles and royal kennings. If I am merely your friend, then treat me as such."

Legolas nodded. "Very well, Aragorn." The elf bit his lip, his gaze sliding away as the man tried to catch it.

Did all their past mean nothing anymore? All the nights spent together...the kisses they had shared...the love they had given voice to one evening out under the silver veil of the moon...the stolen moments as the rest of the Fellowship slept...nothing?

Aragorn had known from their first meeting all those years ago, that the elf held his heart. And would be the one to keep it.

Had something changed?

"This is goodbye then?" said Legolas, his voice still as a calm lake on a summer's day. Aragorn could read nothing in his eyes. "We reached the end of the road...Isildor's Heir sits upon the throne of Gondor once again; Sauron is vanquished, and peace is restored to Middle Earth."

Aragorn swallowed. Truly, it was now or never. "Legolas. Did you mean the things we spoke of in Lothlórien?"

The elf said nothing for a long time. Aragorn knew that the same words were turning in his head. The promise to never leave the other; of love undying. His heart was pounding in his ears. The moment seed to drag on for eternity.

"Yes. I meant them," said Legolas softly, raising his eyes to meet those of the king. There was so much in those blue gemstones. So much that Aragorn dared to take the elf's slender hands in his. Dared to loose his tongue and ask the question that was driving him to madness.

"Legolas...will you marry me? Here...now."

A smile lit the ageless face, his eyes sparkling like twin stars. "Oh, Strider," murmured Legolas, voice a breath of heat and love. "I thought you would never ask."

Aragorn felt dizzy as he knelt on the stone by the stairs, his blood a heated rush in his veins. Opposite him was Legolas, his pale hands clasping that of the new king.

Valar. It was really happening. Aragorn drew a ragged breath, unable to look away from the elf's eyes. Legolas tightened his hold as if to say, I'm here.

"We gather here," said Gandalf, standing behind the two of them. "To join these two souls in a bond of love. Elessar Telcontar, do you take this elf as yours through all that may come?"

"I do." Aragorn's voice broke, his throat burning from holding back tears. Valar...after all this time... "With all my heart."

"And do you, Legolas Greenleaf, take this man as yours through all to come?"

"I do," said the elf softly, eyes on Aragorn and nothing else.

"Then be joined in the sight of the Valar." Gandalf's blue eyes were sparkling, his kind face creased in a smile.

Aragorn drew Legolas to his feet, never letting go those slender hands. His heart was a blazing sun in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. The sun turned the elf's pale hair to gold, his eyes shining like stars reflected in a lake. Gently, the man pulled Legolas close, and captured his mouth with his own.

Aragorn felt his knees go weak, the taste of the elf's breath, the soft caress of his silky lips. Finally, Aragorn forced himself to pull away, and took the folded cloak from Faramir. The steward gave his king a small smile of approval, his dark eyes so unlike those of his father.

Aragorn shook out the mass of night-blue sable- embroidered with the white tree, it's trunk a sword with a shattered blade; the sigil of his house, Telcontar. The fabric was soft on his hands as he draped it about Legolas's shoulders- clasping it at that slender throat with a golden brooch.

Aragorn slid one arm about the elf's waist, and Legolas laid his head to rest against the king's shoulder.

"You look very regal, meleth nîn," murmured the elf, his breath a tickle on Aragorn's collar. It drew a radiant smile from the man. So long...he had waited so long to be called by that kenning.

Gandalf's hand came down on the man's other shoulder, his voice carrying far in the clear air. "Here, united, stands the House of Telcontar. If you would oppose this union, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

The cheers were deafening.

And Aragorn turned to his beautiful husband, his soul on fire from joy, and stole him into a kiss once again.

"Valar, meleth nîn," gasped Legolas, neck arching as Aragorn kissed his slow way down the column of the elf's throat. "You make me think that you have had practise with this manner of thing!"

Aragorn nuzzled into his husband's neck. "There has been no other, Legolas. Only you." The elf laughed softly. "Do you wish to marry the elven way?" asked the man. "Here...tonight?"

"Yes." Legolas groaned as the man set to his skin again, his hands knotting in Aragorn's dark hair. "Yes, I do."

The chambers of the king, though large, were far from lacking in warmth. The inlays of wood all about and the merry fire in the great hearth saw to that. None of this mattered to Aragorn however, not even the softness of the bed they lay on. Legolas was all that held his attention, the smouldering kisses sealing a pact of a lifetime together. And as their fingers traced over one another's skin, outside the moon shone a faint silver; it's rays creeping in through the balcony- a smooth breeze of cool night air touching the bare skin of Aragorn's back. Almost like a kiss of blessing.

A sign from the Valar, perchance?

It did not matter to him.

This was all he would ever need.

Gondor prospered under the reign of House Telcontar, the kingdom a place of laughter and bravery. And as the years came and went, Middle Earth flourished in the calm of peace. The Fourth Age of the world marked a new era of men, with many of the firstborn Eldar taking ship into the uttermost west; weary at long last of the trials of Arda.

But Legolas stayed. Even as grey began to streak Aragorn's hair, as crow's feet deepened at the corners of his grey eyes, he stayed.

And then their daughter entered into their lives, one cloudy winter's afternoon. The sun was hidden behind looming walls of cloud, the wind blowing softly; a chill bite in its whisper.

Only the Valar knew where she had come from. They found her outside the gates of Minas Tirith- a little elfling with teary eyes. Beside her lay a great, grey hound; its body curled about her as though it had sought to keep her warm.

It was dead; her little hands knotted in the thick fur.

Legolas was the first to kneel, drawing her little shivering body into his arms. Aragorn felt his heart break as she whispered in a small broken voice,

"I...I lost naneth...they...they killed her..."

"Shh," soothed Legolas, the setting sun breaking free from the clouds to bathe him in golden light. The elfling's wide blue eyes brimmed with teardrops again, her little rosebud mouth trembling. "Shh, tithen mîn. You have nothing to fear. We will look after you now."

Aragorn moved to join his husband, face creased in a kind smile. The valar must have sent this. Of all the people in Middle Earth, she had come to them.

"Truly?" she said in a small voice.

"Truly," said the man. "We will be your family now, my daughter."