The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Nestadren nín – my healer

Chapter 28

I awoke, as I always did when in the wild, with Arien’s rays. Aragorn had shifted closer in the night, so close that the mist from our breaths mingled in the chill morning air. How I wanted to lean in and kiss him awake! But it was still too soon, especially since he did not know he had slept in my arms. I nudged him gently, watching his eyelids flutter open and awareness return to the depths of his eyes.

“Legolas?” he murmured, voice still husky with sleep. His voice had an immediate effect. I knew I should pull away, let him rise, but the sensation of his firm body against mine was too good to relinquish so easily.

“You were shivering during the night. I had already given my other blanket to Elladan for the watch. It was the only way I could warm you up.”

He seemed to accept that explanation. “It is quite chilly,” he observed, snuggling more tightly against me. I agreed wholeheartedly and accepted him into my arms. Whatever reaction I had been expecting, I had not expected this one. I was beginning to realize that the confusion at the stream yesterday was not going to be the norm for our relationship. Aragorn was young and innocent still in many ways, but he was not a pushover. Now that he knew what I felt and what I wanted, he would make his own feelings and desires known as well. Right now, that appeared to be sleeping in my arms, for, as I had pondered his reaction, he had fallen back asleep. I decided that sounded pretty good to me as well, since we were not going to travel until my hand healed anyway. We could spend the day relaxing.

When we finally left our bedrolls, Arien had risen well above the horizon and it had warmed up enough to be tolerable. I watched Aragorn carefully to see if he gave any sign of being uncomfortable with our having shared bedrolls, but he seemed as unperturbed then as he had when he first awoke, which was encouraging. I cast around for a way to spend the day with him and, preferably, without the twins. What did the twins not like to do? Climbing. The twins hated heights and we were camped at the base of a cliff. If I could persuade Aragorn to climb it with me, we could spend the day exploring the woods, and this attraction, without them. I flexed my hand. It felt much better than it had the night before. It would not keep me from climbing.

I stepped out from under the overhand and peered up at the cliff. It was steep, but not completely vertical. Climbing it should not be too difficult. Unless, of course, one was cursed with a fear of heights.

“I wonder what is up there,” I said to no one in particular.

Elladan and Elrohir took one look at the ascent and promptly denied any interest. Aragorn, however, looked curious.

“Do you think we can climb it, Estel?” I asked.

“Maybe. What about your hand?”

“My hand feels much better this morning, nestadren nín. I can climb. If you are up to it,” I challenged playfully.

Aragorn’s eyes flashed as he accepted my challenge. I pulled on my boots, slung my bow and quiver over my shoulder just in case, and gestured for him to precede me. He climbed with the same agility he had displayed while fighting. I admired his agility even as I was admiring his backside, displayed enticingly by the shifting cloth as he moved. When I could follow him without having to worry about being kicked in the face, I began my own ascent.

The first section was the steepest. Once we were about halfway up, we were no longer climbing so much as we were scrabbling up the slope. That was fine with me, for I have the light steps of the Elves. Aragorn found the going much harder, his boots slipping on the loose dirt and leaves. Several times, I ended up with a handful of that tight body as I caught him sliding backwards towards me. The first time, my hand just touched his back, steadying him. The second time, I caught him a little sooner, with my hand just a little lower, not quite cupping his backside, but low enough to feel firm muscle. The third time, I let him slide all the way into me, steadying his body with my own. Perhaps I imagined it, but he did not seem in such a hurry to pull away that last time. I hoped that meant he was getting used to my touch. We reached the top of the ridge without further incident, much to my disappointment. We followed the ridge for twenty minutes, hoping to reach a point where we could see out over the valley.

We had just about given up, were in fact talking about turning back, when Aragorn saw a break in the tree line ahead of us. We made our way there, to find exactly what we had been looking for. The ridge ended in a small outcropping of rock, jutting out from the ridge far enough to give us a clear view of the entire valley. Entranced, I sank to the rock and motioned for Aragorn to join me. I closed my eyes for a moment, appreciating the sun on my face, the gentle breeze that dried the sweat from the climb, even in the cool air, the sound of the stream where we had bathed the night before, the smell of the woods and the faintest salty tang that I realized was Aragorn’s sweat. It was not offensive at all, just unfamiliar. I heard him settle beside me as I sat there with my eyes closed. I opened them again, gazing first at the beauty of the valley, just beginning to flower with spring. Then I turned my gaze to the beauty at my side and all else paled in comparison.

I do not know how long I stared before Aragorn squirmed uncomfortably under my gaze.

“Why do you stare at me like that? Am I so strange to you?”

I almost laughed. Until I realized he was serious. “I appreciate beauty in all its forms, Estel. And I have been known to stare at something I find beautiful for hours on end. It is true that we are different in some ways,” and I reached out to brush the tips of my fingers over his beard, “but those differences do not keep me from appreciating your beauty.”

“I am not beautiful,” he mumbled, even as he shivered under my gentle caress. “I am thick and graceless. You did not stumble once as we climbed, and I could hardly keep my feet.”

I began to see the problem. Aragorn had grown up surrounded by Elves, and I knew better than most the beauty of the Elves of Imladris. No matter how he tried, he could never compare to them, but for me, it was not a matter of comparison. His beauty was his own.

“Would you compare a rose to an oak tree, and find the oak lacking because it has not the delicacy of rose petals?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he answered.

“Then why compare yourself to the Elves when you are not one of them? You have a different kind of beauty, Estel. I am not so blind that I cannot appreciate it.” Once more, my hand lifted to his face, cupping his jaw in my palm, feeling the tickle of his beard as I ran my thumb along his lower lip. “Will you let me?”

“Let you do what?” Aragorn asked apprehensively.

“Appreciate you.”