The Night Before

When Legolas was done he sat up and scanned the ground for the discarded bottle of wine. Finding it, he poured half a goblet and moved up the bench.

“Drink this,” the Elf instructed.

Aragorn managed to focus on the goblet and then at the Prince, slowly shaking his head. “I hardly think I need to inebriate myself further after that experience.”

“You must drink the wine,” Legolas insisted. “It will quell any remaining effect of the drug.”

Even in his dazed state the Man could sense the urgency in the situation and he allowed Legolas to lift his head and help him drink the wine. He was still too spent to move on his own.

“It is a more dangerous drug than I imagined,” the Man said when his head rested on his makeshift cushion once more.

The Prince nodded. “Could you feel the change?”

“Towards the end,” Aragorn replied. “The faintest stabs of pain seemed to follow the waves of pleasure, but they mingled so innately that my senses could hardly tell the difference. There is pleasure to be found in pain,” he added.

“To a certain extent,” Legolas agreed. “But the witchroot is a potent drug. It has also been effective in cases of torture, prolonging the pain until necessary, and in larger quantities, it can be lethal.” The Elf stopped speaking and remained silent, lost in some previous memory.

Aragorn thought about his friend’s words for a moment, suddenly wondering why the Prince had mysteriously produced a pouch of crushed witchroot at the opportune moment.

“Do you always carry this potent drug in a secret pocket sewn into your tunics?” the Man asked after a while.

“No,” Legolas confessed. “But I felt that I would have need of it on this night, in one way or another.”

Something in Aragorn’s heart stirred and he knew that there were matters to be discussed that he did not wish to address. He lifted an arm invitingly and said, “Come here.”

Legolas looked at Aragorn for a moment before lying down beside him, draping his body over the Man as much as possible in an effort to warm him. They managed to lie down in relatively comfortable positions even though there was hardly enough room for the both of them. Legolas wished they had a blanket that they could snuggle underneath but he put that thought aside as he fell into the easy rhythm of Aragorn’s breathing.

They lay that way for quite a while without speaking until the Man finally said, “What do we do now?”

“You will get dressed,” the Prince replied slowly moving off him.

Aragorn instantly missed the Elf’s presence and regretted that he had spoken but Legolas’ response had not answered what lay behind the true meaning of his query. He watched the Elf sit elegantly at the edge of the bench. “I was speaking in a broader sense,” he said seriously.

Legolas cast him a sideways look, indicating that he had understood the question well enough and then proceeded to gather the Man’s discarded clothes around the foot of the bench. He handed them to his friend and helped Aragorn sit up in order to dress himself.

“Tomorrow you will be wed,” the Elf began in an impassive voice, “You will face many challenges ahead as your people try to rebuild their shattered lives, and you will destroy the remaining forces of Mordor that have been scattered throughout Middle-Earth. You will be a good and just ruler, Aragorn. In your personal life, you will be equally rich, for your wife will bear you beautiful sons and daughters so that your line may continue and your family…” Legolas paused, his heart heavy. “Your family will be the greatest joy you will ever know.”

While he was speaking the Prince had stood up and walked away several paces, his back to the Man. He listened as Aragorn dressed, recognizing the movement of breeches being pulled up, the click of a belt as it was buckled, the scrape of laces against their holes as boots were tied. When Aragorn was done, he heard soft footfalls as the Man approached and stood behind him.

“Is that what you want?”

“It does not matter what I want.”

“It matters to me.”

Legolas thought quickly. Aragorn had been the most stubborn friend he had ever had, that is, until he had encountered that stouthearted dwarf, Gimli son of Glóin. But the Prince was convinced of his own powers of persuasion and much as it pained him to do so, he would make Aragorn see reason.

“What I want,” the Prince said as he slowly turned around to face the Man, “at this very moment, is to sit in the branches of that soothing willow tree.” He nodded to the tree on his left and arched a challenging eyebrow ae Kie King. “How fare your tree-climbing skills?”

Aragorn looked at the medium-sized tree. Climbing was the last thing he wished to do but he knew that the suggestion had simply been another evasive tactic of his cunning friend. He was not going to let the Prince get away tonight. He would climb the blasted tree. “Very well,” he said with a slight nod and before he knew it, the Elf was off.

Legolas sprinted towards the tree and with a nimble leap, he swung onto the first branch and began the climb. “We shall not go very high,” he called back down. “The branches are sturdy but they progressively narrow towards the top. They would not be able to support your weight.”

Aragorn followed suit wondering how high was ‘not very high’ when dealing with a fifty-five foot tree. He soon found out as he came upon the Elf propped up, legs leisurely stretched before him on a particularly broad branch, his back resting against the tree trunk. Legolas held out a hand and the Man grasped it, thankfully sliding himself into the Elf’s lap. They had not done this in many seasons, not since Aragorn had been a youth known as Estel, but the familiar feeling of warmth and comfort quickly came over him. It was easy to return to old habits, the Man reflected and Legolas always had the ability to make things all right.

To speak would spoil the perfect stillness of the moment and so Aragorn held his tongue. Legolas began to sing, as the Man knew he would, and this time it was Aragorn who laid his head to rest on the Elf’s breast as he listened to the melancholic voice. Legolas sung of friendship and farewell, of endings that lead to a new beginning. The song was meant for them and as it filled the night air, the outermost drooping branches of the willow tree began to blow and moonbeams danced on their shimmering leaves, accompanying the Elf’s haunting song. When Legolas was done, he fell silent, and ttilltillness that had enveloped the pair before settled upon them again.

Aragorn shifted restlessly. Legolas seemed perfectly content to wait for the coming dawn and let destiny take its course but Aragorn had to speak and the Man considered his words with care.

“It could always be this way.”

“Sitting in trees and singing?” the Elf inquired in an amused tone.

“Sitting in a tree wrapped in your embrace while listening to you sing seems like an ideal way to spend the rest of my days.”

Legolas remained silent. The image Aragorn had planted in his mind moved him deeply, but he recognized it for the futile dream it was.

“We could leave this place,” the Man continued, “and go anywhere you wish. My task here is complete. Sauron is defeated. There are no more battles to be fought or wars to be won. We could return to your beloved forest and spend the rest of our days there.”

The Elf laughed unexpectedly, taking the Man by surprise. “Return to Mirkwood as an exiled King?” he chuckled. “I can already imagine the look on my father’s face,” Legolas said and began laughing again.

Instead of enjoying the jest as the Prince had expected, Aragorn sat up suddenly with a slight stiffening of his shoulders. “Why can’t you take this seriously?” he asked in a low voice.

Legolas stopped laughing and sighed. “Because you are not being serious,” he answered. “Your task here is far from complete. Sauron may be defeated but there is much work to be done. I do not only speak of rebuilding cities and farms, I speak of healing and unification. You are a healer, Aragorn, before you are a King. There is no one else who can bring the people together.”

“Gondor has survived for centuries without a King.”

“Survived,” the Elf repeated. “Gondor deserves better than that.”

It was Aragorn’s turn to remain silent. Legolas reached out and placed his hands on the Man’s tense shoulders, kneading them gently. “Do not forget,” he said softly, “why you embarked on the Quest in the first place. Yes, you swore to protect Frodo and to destroy the Ring, but the driving force behind your actions was a person, not a thing. She has waited many moons and given up everything, including forsaking her family, to be with you. You cannot abandon her now.”

The Man brushed away the Elf’s hands and sat sideways so that his legs dangled off the branch. Legolas drew up his legs to give Aragorn more room and put his arms around his knees. Tlf slf studied the Man’s profile, his furrowed brow and the lips pursed together in a thin tight line.

“I loved you before I met her,” he said as though rationalizing to himself. “Together we have fought side by side and have faced insurmountable odds. You have comforted me, guided me and given me hope in my darkest hour. Have we not done enough to earn a measure of personal happiness?”

“Do you truly speak of personal happiness, Aragorn?” the Elf questioned. “Or are you avoiding the responsibilities of being a King?”

“Do not try and change the subject,” the Man snapped.

“They are one and the same,” Legolas replied with equal force. “There is more than personal happiness at stake here. For all of us,” he added. “You must fulfill your destiny.”

“What if I do not want to?”

“Then you are being selfish.”

Aragorn shook his head. “Destiny is not a given, Legolas. You have always told me that.”

“No,” the Prince agreed and he released his knees, sliding forward. “We have our own free will. But I have always believed that our destiny is laid out before us, for some much clearer than for others. Your destiny was laid out before you were born. With each step you have taken towards it, the burden of your choices has only become more difficult to bear. This is the last step, Aragorn,” Legolas said, reaching out and taking the Man’s hand where he gripped the bark of the branch hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “You will not falter now.”

ouldould give it all up,” Aragorn said looking at his friend, “for you.”

Legolas smiled and brought the Man’s hand to his lips, kissing the rough palm. “I know you would,” he said. “And that is enough.” He opened his arms and the Man moved into them again, resuming their former positions. “There is so much happiness in store for you. When you see Arwen tomorrow in all her shining glory, you will remember what seems distant now, why you did this for her and how much you love her. I know,” Legolas said hurriedly before Aragorn could interrupt, “that you love me no less. But there is no place we could hide that your destiny would not touch us,” he said softly. “And not a day would pass where we would not regret our choice.”

“If I have been selfish tonight,” Aragorn answered, “then you have been selfless. What of your own happiness, Legolas? Does it matter so little to you?”

“Do you think me so frail that I will simply fade with my grief?”

“No,” the Man quickly said, “You are one of the strongest people I have ever met.” Then he sighed. “And I know Haldir would not let that happen.”

Legolas did not miss the touch of jealousy that colored Haldir’s name and he held the Man tighter. “How long were you watching us tonight?”

“Long enough,” was the reply. “Do not misunderstand,” Aragorn said suddenly. “I am thankful Haldir is there for you. I am just…” he trailed off, searching for the right word. Finally he let out a quiet laugh and said, “I am just being selfish again.”

“I have known Haldir nearly my whole life,” the Prince explained, “and I love him dearly, though not in the way I know he wishes I could.”

Aragorn immediately understood and was ashamed by the jealousy that had risen in him so quickly. “Haldir is a noble Elf,” he said respectfully.

“The noblest of Elves,” Legolas corrected, hearing the pride in his own voice.

Another silence fell between them as had occurred so often during the course of the night. Each silence became progressively more peaceful and Legolas was relieved, believing that the most difficult decision had already been made. But the Elf was mistaken.

“There is one more thing we need to discuss,” Aragorn said after a time.

“Yes?”

“The sea.”

Legolas’ heart clenched. He had not heeded the warning of the Lady Galadriel and had paid the price. But it was a price he would pay again if given the choice. He would forever be in debt to the sons of Elrond. If it had not been for the arrival of the twins, the Prince would have doubted his ability to still the call of the sea when Aragorn needed his skills as a warrior most. Legolas had heard tales of the incessant call that drove some Elves to madness and despair. The call could never truly be silenced, not until he heeded it and departed these shores. Once he settled all his affairs, wisdom told the Prince that there would be no reason to stay. Perhaps he would find his peace in the Undying Lands.

“What about the sea?”

“I know you hear its call,” the Man said. “You never answered my question earlier this eve when I asked what challenge you would embark on next. I believe that the call of the sea may be your greatest challenge yet. You would be wise to listen to it and leave these lands.”

“I have considered the possibility,” Legolas answered truthfully. “It is appealing to me.”

“Is that what you will do?” Aragorn persisted.

“Is that what you want me to do?”

Aragorn stared at the lightening sky still studded with twinkling stars, marveling at how easily Legolas could turn his words against him. He was thankful that his back was to the Elf as Legolas held him. It would be too unbearable to look at the Prince’s handsome face and into his expressive eyes, and still have the strength to say what he was about to say.

“A true friend,” Aragorn began, “would tell you that leaving these shores would be the best course of action. A true friend would thatthat your people are also leaving these lands and that you belong among them, that there is nothing left for you here.” He stopped and took a deep breath, disentangling himself from the Elf’s embrace in order to sit up properly. “But it is the height of my selfishness that I wish for to to stay.” He closed his eyes. “There is nothing I can offer you,” he confessed, “that would be worth such a sacrifice. I cannot believe my own audacity after all that has passed between us on this night. I just wish to be near you,” Aragorn exned,ned, “to know that we breathe the same air, to believe in the possibility of seeing you again.”

“You ask much,” Legolas said quietly.

“I ask too much,” Aragorn sighed.

Despite himself, the Elf leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the Man, resting his head on Aragorn’s shoulder. Time waited with baited breath for the Elf’s response and the Prince wondered how so much could have passed in a single night. Could he do this for Aragorn? Could he dwell in Middle-earth with the knowledge that he could never be with the Man he loved? Would it by diy different from how he had lived these many seasons since this troublesome Man had entered his life?

Legolas could not deceive himself. It would be vastly different, for now he knew that Aragorn returned his love and yet their love would remain dormant and unfulfilled. It was one thing to urge his friend to complete his destiny, it was quite another to watch him live it and know that he had no part to play. At the back of his mind, the Prince was constantly aware of a call that would only increase in intensity as the years would slowly pass. Fate seemed cruel to him then and Legolas knew the first taste of bitterness had crept into his heart.

“I promise you,” he whispered into the Man’s ear, his melodious voice trembling, “th sha shall not sail until you leave these shores.”

Aragorn wiped away the moisture that had gathered in his eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

“Dawn is approaching,” Legolas said. The Elf’s voice had returned to normal as though the Prince had not just sealed his own fate. “You should get some rest.”

“Let us greet her here,” Aragorn suggested, hearing the sadness in his own voice, “with your beautiful song.”

“And what shall I sing?”

“Sing of us.”

Legolas nodded and began to sing, a song that began with promise, of friendship, of love, of battles fought and victories hard-won. But as the sky lightened and the stars faded, the song grew darker and unbearably sad, for a new day was dawning but the future in the eyes of Elven Prince remained bleak.

~The End~