Author's Notes: Wow, six reviews. Thank you very much (Keji, fallen-into-shadow, Yuggster, EruntaleofRohan, Elvin BlueEyes, Alpha Draconis1). Also thank you to anyone who read, or favorited this story.
Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim to own the characters or realm herein used. They are all so property of Tolkien, his estate, etc.
Summary: Legolas has strange symptoms, and the Hobbits suspect something even stranger.
The Risks of Knitting
"How has your stomach been?" Aragorn asked concernedly, but low and beneath his breath. He would not have others hear. Legolas waited until they had walked some distance aways, pondering how Aragorn had come to realize his injury.
"Fine." The pair approached a stone bench, on a balcony overlooking the gardens. It was the middle of summer and all colors of blossoms adorned the ground, little patches of blues, yellows, and reds encircling the statues of antiquity. The treetops stretched their arms higher even than the railings of the balcony. The leaves quivered in the slight breeze. The sweet, clear smell of the same breeze calmed Legolas' stomach, and he was thankful.
As Legolas slowly took a seat, Aragorn expressed his doubts, eying the stiff manner in which his friend moved. "Somehow I find that difficult to believe."
"Well you had best try." Legolas replied, turning the other cheek. He knew what Aragorn was prying at. Despite his gratitude towards Aragorn for realizing his erstwhile plight, he was reluctant to speak of it.
"Legolas, my friend, you cannot honestly think that! Your face is yet green." Aragorn exclaimed, standing akimbo and slightly baffled. He took a calmer tone as Legolas narrowed his eyes. "Confide in me. Feelingly, that you would hide your health from me saddens me." Aragorn sat down next to Legolas, their sides lightly touching. For a time, the man was unsure as to whether or not his words were heard. He placed a calloused hand on Legolas' leg. At length, the Elf's voice came in a whisper.
"It has been . . . troublesome." Hesitantly, Aragorn reached towards the Elf's midriff. As hand brushed hand, Legolas flinched. Aragorn met his friend's questioning blue eyes.
"May I?" Aragorn's hand withdrew, hovering nigh unto reaching Legolas until he received consent. Carefully, Aragorn began to undo the fastenings of Legolas' jerkin, next pushing up the thin undershirt beneath. Legolas laid back against the bench, the cold of the stone sending a chill up his spine.
By laying down, Legolas gave unto Aragorn free range to examine the area. Hiking the undershirt up past Legolas' stomach he revealed not only flesh but an angry gash. It ran a jagged course beginning at the sharp point of a hipbone and fading as it settled into the depression betwixt prominent ribs. Aragorn's fingers ran gently across the plane, pausing only to gauge the heat emanating from the lesion. Legolas was biting his lip.
"Did Gimli tell you?" Legolas' gaze was fixed on the dancing green foliage.
"He did." Aragorn continued in his examination. "He told me that he feared you would not come to me." Legolas clenched his teeth, cutting short a hiss as Aragorn began to employ pressure around the gash. Aragorn gave an apologetic look. "His fears were well placed, for they proved truthful."
"I could have managed on my own," Legolas said in no more than a breath. A twig snapped loudly in two from around a corner. Legolas and Aragorn, but of a trained ear, stiffened. Straining their senses for the source, they waited. A bird fluttered loudly from thereabouts, chirping happily as it claimed the sky. Both let out a breath.
"Mayhap, but already you have a fever. It was clear to see you were having difficulties keeping food down." Aragorn noted, placing his forehead against Legolas' own. "Im prestannen achen. I worry for you. An Elf you may be, but invincible you are not."
"I have not claimed to be so," was Legolas' pithily voiced response. Legolas realized at once the tone he had taken. "I am sorry," he apologized, biting at his lower lip, rueful of the sharpness of his reply. Aragorn shook his head.
"There is no need to be." Aragorn patted his chest, feeling for something in a pocket. Finding a lump in the form of what he sought, he reached in, pulling out a small phial and dressings. "I only wish you felt more compelled to seek help when it is needed." Aragorn took Legolas' slender hand into his own, in preparation for what he was to do.
"Estel, you . . . Aah!" Legolas began, and then cried out suddenly. He shut tight his eyes, his back arching as a horrible burning spread forth across his chest and middle. It was so bitingly painful, and so unforeseen, he clenched his hands fast both around Aragorn's hand and the stone of the bench as a brace. Aragorn had, without warning, poured the contents of the harmless looking phial unto the wound. Inside had been a salve, to promote healing and disinfect the afflicted area.
Aragorn shoved the empty phial into his pocket and placed his hand gently at the center of Legolas' breast, using only the slightest pressure. He could feel the Elf's chest quickly rise and fall, he could feel his rapidly beating heart, he could feel Legolas' hand tighten around his own.
Soothingly he moved his other hand astir Legolas' breastbone. Anon, Legolas' breathing calmed and his grip slackened somewhat. His eyes fluttered open once more, bright yet overcast, withal perceiving the hot throbbing of his wound in time with his pulse.
"I am sorry, my friend." Aragorn murmured softly, his face a look of understanding. Now it was Legolas' turn to shake his head.
"There is no need to be," he breathed in hitches, affording a brief smile as he returned Aragorn's own erstwhile words. Aragorn lowered his head in both a nod and appreciation. He had experienced the bite of the used salve on smaller hurts and knew its sting. He did not think he had humor left to spare on said occasion. Legolas moved to unlock his hand, but Aragorn held it tightly. Using his free hand, the King began warily spreading the salve more evenly across the wound.
"I would stitch this, if you would let me." Aragorn suggested. The gash was fresh, Legolas having only arrived late in the night. There was yet time to sew the already angry flesh together again. It was deep enough to warrant such attention. Legolas nodded. He had perceived the sensation of stitches before and admittedly did not enjoy them, nary a soul would, but he trusted in Aragorn's words as a healer. "Verily, I would use herbs to numb the area, but I am chary of the location. I will do what I can, yet you will feel much of it, my friend."Again Legolas nodded.
"I trust you."
"Very well."" Aragorn revealed a small pouch and from it removed a needle. Already he had cleaned it extensively. When Gimli informed him that Legolas was injured, he had prepared himself well for all possibilities, sterilizing thread and needle both. All colors of herbs he had ground with pestle and mortar into unguents for various uses. Now knowing the nature of Legolas' wound, he was glad he had done so. It would save unneeded hassle. His tongue peaked out from between his lips as he squinted, threading the needle. Unto the wound he applied a thin layer of what would partially numb the area. He was about to begin but, a thought coming to him, he paused. He placed Legolas' slender hands atop his shoulders, remembering how Legolas had clutched his hand and the stone bench minutes agone.
"You might know, Gimli told me not how you were done this injury." Aragorn felt it best to converse as he worked. It would provide some distraction, at least for the time, and it would help in his healing to know the source of the deep gash. Great and heroic stories were told of warriors wounded in battle, warriors who continued on. Aragorn knew Legolas to be one such warrior, but he knew also that these stories tended to neglect the simple fact that wounds hurt. Considerably. Legolas sighed, having known this question was to come.
"If you must know, it is mostly of mine doing." Legolas paused, inhaling sharply, Aragorn's needle steadily uniting the torn flesh, "I was in flight from Eryn Lasgalen."
"Wherefore were you in flight from your own home?" Aragorn queried in alarm. What reason was there for a Prince to flee his father's kingdom? Aragorn had heard of no conflicts in the realm of Legolas' father. Legolas' lips twinged upwards in a sort of smile, his face reflective and oddly sarcastic.
"Do not worry, Estel. It is silly, forsooth, to have acted so much upon so little. But that which is done is done." The Elf answered cryptically as always.
"What is done?" Aragorn met Legolas' eyes in time to catch the flash of anger that lay thereat. As soon as he had seen it, it was gone to be replaced by the warmth that was wont to be found. Aragorn could only assume that this anger hailed from what Legolas was about to say.
"I have named Gimli Elf-friend." Aragorn raised his eyebrows, looking up from his work once more. He could remember a time when neither Elf nor Dwarf could offer the other a kind word. Now Legolas proclaimed this to Aragorn full of pride, not in the least ashamed despite the opinions of much of his race. "I announced it to my father's court to their unanimous disapproval, in Gimli's presence even. I was prompted to revoke the title, and so I refused. I next went to my father whilst he was alone and thus more free to express his own ruling. Can you believe, Estel, what he told me." Legolas, in his crossness began to sit up, forgetting momentarily his position. He winced, Aragorn guiding him downwards again. Sighing, he a began anew. "Too long have you been gone, too long under the influence of your wanderings. It is due time you settle down, marry and be merry. You have done much to prove your worth, do not do unto our name the insult you would ask of me. Let all of Arda honor and admire Gimli son of Gloin, but let the Greenwood remember. Let them remember the misdeeds of his forefathers against our Realm lest they be allowed again." I told him that the misdeeds of Gimli's forefathers are in like wise our own and that he would do well to recognize that, but he would not hear it. That very night I woke Gimli and declared that we were leaving. It was only after we had crossed the borders of my Realm that I conveyed to him my reasons." It had taken considerable effort to muster up the strength for such a long explanation, and Legolas was somewhat out of breath. To further hamper him, Aragorn's hands were e'er at work, so accustomed to his task that they stitched well-nigh on their own. Yet the very memory of what had happened stirred in his breast such emotion that he could for a time forget the poke and pull on his skin.
Aragorn had listened with awe to Legolas' story. He had wondered how it was that Legolas had time to be in Minas Tirith for the festivities, although he had complete faith that if there was a way, Legolas and Gimli together could find it. The pair's relationship was so unique, Aragorn doubted if either had fully realized its complications. Thranduil's reaction towards Legolas' heartfelt declaration must have come as a horrible shock. In time, Aragorn dreamt that Legolas, being so youthful, could sway the minds of the very old, those who would be the most opposed to change. Aragorn realized then that he had stopped in his stitching.
"It is a sad day when someone does not recognize what you and Gimli have, sadder yet when someone does not realize its worth. Your father will change with time, I am sure, and you have no lack of it to persuade him." Aragorn smiled, fondly remembering the way the Dwarf and Elf regarded each other, now and in the past. A strange expression came over the Elf at that, as if he was not so sure. Of where his insecurity lay, Aragorn did not know. The King decided to sway from the topic of time, for of late it was particularly sensitive to the Elf. "But you have yet to tell, how were you wounded?" Legolas nodded, resuming his tale.
"Soon thereafter, for in my haste to leave my father's words hindmost me I cared not what dangers lay ahead, Gimli and I were met by a small force of Orcs, perhaps six of them. Orcs that, had I an ounce of sense to my name I would have easily been able to avoid or do away with without injury. Nevertheless, with them they had an archer. If you notice, my gash runs its course through the arrow wound that informed me of our quandary. I fell from my horse, leaving poor Gimli to navigate alone. . .ah" Aragorn could feel Legolas' hands tighten on his shoulders, kneading now and again as a cat was wont to do. Far be it from Legolas' intention to imitate, indeed the Elf was hardly aware of his body's actions, and thus he unknowingly revealed to Aragorn whither the pain was the worst . Aragorn proceeded with the utmost of gentleness.
Legolas continued once more, knowing the power of distraction. "Ere he could control the horse, the Orcs were upon me. In my absentmindedness I had strapped both my bow and my knife to the horse, with Gimli, who was by then very much out of reach. Thither I received my wound. I owe Gimli my life for he drove the horse at the Orcs, wether by coincidence or purposely, himself falling onto them, axe in hand. Afterwards, I patched myself up as best I could and Gimli rode all the while hither, stopping only for the sake of the horse. In desperation he is not so bad a rider." Legolas' retelling was as crisp as though he had transported Aragorn to witness it himself. He left out no details he deemed important, while not saying so much as to make it weighted with unneeded information.
"I wonder at what your father would say to your rescue by a Dwarf?" Aragorn could only imagine, the King of Greenwood the Great, in all his ire. But mayhap Thranduil would find it possible, in the depths of his heart, to thank a Dwarf for giving him innumerable years with his son.
"Certainly it is embarrassing to admit to being saved, Gimli will never let me hear the end of it. But, I . . . I am glad to be alive, and to have been saved by a Dwarf is not so bad a thing. My father, however, I do not doubt that he would disinherit me, if he has not already."
"Legolas, Gimli was sincerely worried for you when he came to me. Indeed he said to find you with all speed, for he dreaded what your stubbornness would do to your well-being. He regretted, too, that he was not anon by your side once, as I have now learned, you were shot. And your father will not have disinherited you, he has more sense than to lose so valuable an offspring as yourself." A blush began to tint the Elf's cheeks, ever so lightly. They were silent for a time. Aragorn worked swiftly yet tediously, at all times gaging Legolas' discomfort by his grip and reacting accordingly. At last he was finished, for it had been no small task to patch and had taken no short while.
"I will dress the wound now. It is well that you informed me of your encounter with an arrow, it ran deeper than the rest. Can you sit up?" Neatly Aragorn bit off the thread, wrapping it around the needle and placing it in its pouch.
"Wether I will or I nil I take it I must." Aragorn nodded sadly.
"Verray, Legolas, you cannot lay here forever, but sit up slowly, I will help you." Again Legolas grasped the edge of the bench, pushing off slowly. Pain seared through him, as painful now as it was when the blade first marred his flesh. He began to double over, bending and wrapping his arms protectively around his stomach. With the comforting knowledge of Aragorn's hand on his back, insuring that he would not fall, Legolas sat up fully. For a moment, he could do no more than slump against Aragorn, his strength having left him. But Aragorn needed a free range of movement to apply the dressings and bind them taut, so the pair rearranged, both straddling the bench. The King sat backmost the Elf so as to provide support; Legolas could lean back against Aragorn's chest without hindering his access to the wound as he bandaged it. Legolas gave a gasp the first times Aragorn pulled tight the dressings, but soon grew accustomed to the feel and was able to anticipate it. The process seemed to Legolas reminiscent of a time, long agone, when he happed upon a woman, her corset being laced by a maidservant.
"So your father now is urging you to marry?" Aragorn could not resist asking. Legolas huffed. The question had tempted his tongue since first he heard it. Indeed that Thranduil had suggested it surprised Aragorn far more than his reaction to Gimli. Aragorn himself did not known precisely Legolas' reasons for neglecting to find a partner, but the more he thought on it, the less he could imagine it. Legolas simply did not seem one to partake in it. His first love was Arda, and though his heart had since been stolen by the Sea, Aragorn did not see it being stolen by an Elf-maiden. Legolas would not experience much in his lifetime and Aragorn felt some sense of guilt for that. He should not have let Legolas so near the Sea. And although it was Legolas' choice to follow, as a leader Aragorn could not stop believing that it had been his duty to know when too much was being sacrificed.
"Aye, and much good that will do," Legolas scoffed sarcastically. "But I know not if he spoke seriously, or merely as a means to draw me from Gimli. Regardless, I am no good for marriage."
"Any maiden would be lucky to have you." This Aragorn knew to be an understatement. Rumor of Legolas' fair face spread quickly. In agreement with the Elf's return to the White City, such rumors were reborn, spreading akin to the ripples of a once quiet water, soundless and all-reaching. His arrival was announced on wavelets of gossip for many of the women Folk and indeed some of the Men folk greatly admired him for more than just his personality.
"Nay, Aragorn, I think not. I do not think that I could permit myself to marry."
"Why is that?" Legolas turned slowly to Aragorn, his heart heavy. Aragorn quailed at the weight of Legolas' gaze, the profound anguish he unveiled piercing him as no blade ever could.
"I would sooner die than do onto someone I love what I have done to myself. You know of what I speak. You know also, it was my decision. From following you, neither words nor admonitions could have swayed me. Nor could I, I who did least amongst the Fellowship, have lived with myself for forsaking a friendship in so dark an hour." Legolas spoke solemnly, his stare regarding Aragorn in all severity as if daring the King to blame himself for what he could not have forestalled. And what a sight to behold, the severity of an Elf. Even Isildur's heir, he who had challenged the Dark Lord himself, had the desire to shrink from it. Legolas looked away fleetingly and when his gaze returned it was resigned, its usual glow dim as a candle caught in a draft. "No matter, Estel. I do not desire it, marriage." Legolas gave a wan smile.
"Oh, Legolas." Aragorn held the Elf at arm's length, staring into the depths of his eyes, eyes which Legolas could no longer bring to stare back, "You needn't do this to yourself." Aragorn took Legolas gently into his arms, knowing the importance of what Legolas had said. "Uir ce vellon nîn, ce gwador vuin nîn I Im sí gen annad dulu."
"Gen hannon o guren, Estel." Legolas spoke softly into Aragorn's shoulder. He had not been expecting an embrace, but was thankful for it nonetheless. Amidst comrades it always seemed to impart strength, and he was in need of it. He had not given much thought to his father's hinting at marriage, not until now had he realized that he must stay firm in his decision to avoid. Verily, Aragorn was the first to whom he had bestowed this secret. The Sea Longing was first among his reasons for stave it off, for he knew someday he would leave Arda and sail to the West. He would not force someone into such a permanent decision nor would he expose someone to the Sea. And in truth he did not see himself giving up his wanderings. Too attached he had become. Besides, his friends' happiness could likewise be his own.
"No achirich I lalaith gîn, Legolas." Aragorn glanced down at the Elf who seemed to brighten in his arms. Legolas was deceptively strong, sinewy. Aragorn had once compared him to a deer in that he was young and spry but would make for the worst venison; too tough. Holding him, by physique alone it was difficult to believe he possessed the strength demanded to draw the bow he shot with ease.
"Un, aníron gladhad, mellon nin." Legolas peered up at Aragorn with a more promising smile, not feeble as before, but bright, one that rivaled the sun in its warmth. Neither was it forged for it was pure.
"That is a much more encouraging sight, my fair friend. Should despair befall you afresh, do not hesitate to seek me out. Or Gimli. You should know, he understands you better even than I, I would wage. " Aragorn tussled Legolas' hair, standing slowly and lifting the Elf carefully with him. Legolas frowned.
"Now that is a despairing thought indeed, a Dwarf so knowing of the Elves." Legolas feigned concern, accepting Aragorn's aid in standing upright. "Imagine should my father know." Aragorn chuckled, finding comfort in the side of Legolas he was more familiar with. He ventured a glance into the Elf's eyes and was realized to find naught but fondness and life. His despair had, for the time being, had withdrawn, gone back whence it had come. The King was determined to keep an e'er vigilant eye out for signs of its return so as to quash it in its infancy. With luck, he would have a Dwarf as an ally in combating the Sea Longing and all its forces.
"We had best make our way to the Dining Hall. Far be it from me to keep Merry and Pippin waiting for their meal."
"We are late as is," Legolas noted with a glance at the sky. Betimes in the day it had been decided to serve dinner at a later hour, seeing as Merry and Pippin had insisted on elevensies and so forth. Nary a soul had the stomach to compete with the Hobbits and for this reason, nary a soul felt they would be hungry enough at the usual time. "I fear for your kitchen staff, my Lord," Legolas grinned, we speedy fingers finishing in re-fastening his jerkin.
"The Valar save us, then let us hasten, my Prince, for Gondor paid no miserly sum for their service," and with that Aragorn swept Legolas from his feet and hied his way towards the Dining Hall.
"Nan gaer ar in elin, Estel, put me down," Legolas exclaimed in surprise, his face flushing fast. In his plight for the use of his own two feet he did not relent but Aragorn, being both larger and, for the moment, of better health remained victorious.
"Nay, I think not. It is quickest this way." And it was in this likeness that they arrived late for dinner, Aragorn bursting through the doors and managing to alarm most of those seated within.
Translations:
Uir ce vellon nîn, ce gwador vuin nîn I Im sí gen annad dulu Forever you are my friend, my beloved sworn brother, I am here to support you.
Gen hannon o guren I thank you from my heart
Im prestannen achen I am worried for you
No achirich I lalaith gîn may you find again your laugh. (More or less a way of saying 'I hope you feel better.')
Aníron gladhad I want to laugh
Nan gaer ar in elin! by the sea and the stars!
I might mention, though, that this isn't an Mpreg (not that I mind them, I suppose), just a misunderstanding among the Hobbits. But hey, anyone might wonder about an Elf. They are androgynous, after all. Lol. Anyways, any affection between two male characters in this story is basically friendship, which was considerably more intense long ago (i.e. greek, etc.) and, after WWI and WWII, both of which came and went in Tolkien's lifetime. There was a revival of comradery and love for your fellow man. I know in the current day and age this is often interpreted as 'homosexual' which saddens me. I feel like we have lost a great thing, trust and love for each other, that sort of thing. Not that I mind slash, mind you. There are some very good slash stories out there (I wouldn't mind writing one, even), but this one isn't. I just wanted to show that intense male friendship, ne? I've always envied and admired, well, I guess you'd say soldiers for the way they take care of their own, so much that they'd die for each other. Being a girl I always kinda feel left out of that. Lol.
I hope you like the story/chapter, and I'd love to hear what you think. I'm not quite sure where I'll go with this (though there will be a next chapter, wherein Gimli at long last shows up. After all, we have to know how the Hobbits realize their err, and everyone's reaction to the King's tardiness), but I'm sure I'll think something up plot-wise.
- Papercut
