Coming Home

Coming Home, Chapter 8.

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Aragon woke in the darkness, not sure for a moment what had roused him. He had taken to sleeping with Legolas most nights. It wasn’t an entirely selfless act, for while it allowed Legolas some much needed sleep, it also allowed him to hold the elf, and he cherished every moment he had with him, too aware of the time slipping through their grasp.



Aragorn had finally come to a sort of weary resignation. Legolas needed, at least begin, to let go. He was no longer simply weak and nauseated, he actively hurt, and constantly. Legolas shifted in his arms and whimpered again.



“Legolas...,” He whispered brokenly.



Tired blue eyes opened slowly and focused on him, before some of the tension bled from him. Legolas smiled tiredly, “You should go back to Arwen. You don’t seem to be getting much sleep.”



“Hush and try to go back to sleep, love. I’m fine.”



Legolas snorted indelicately, but didn’t choose to comment.



Aragorn pulled the thin form closer, and was surprised to find Legolas was no longer shivering.



Legolas was asleep with in seconds, leaving Aragorn awake in the night, and watching him.



The next morning Legolas was gone when he woke and he panicked. He rushed to his rooms to find Arwen and was surprised to find Legolas sitting there with her, holding Elendi with one hand, eating with the other.



Elendi had again fixated on the elf’s face, looking at him raptly while Legolas chewed. Sensing his presence Legolas turned to Aragorn with the first, legitimately, bright smile he had seen on his face since before he had left Gondor.



As relieved as he was to see Legolas up and about, it brought him too a sharp pang of grief. Aragorn was a healer of some experience, though not nearly as skilled as his foster father had been. He knew that before death many experienced a brief respite from their illness, a sort of final rally just before the end.



Aragorn returned the smile with one of his own and turned to Arwen. She looked at him with a sad, gentle, smile, before turning her attention back toward their guest. “So, what are you going to do today?”



Legolas rested his chin in his hand and swallowed a mouthful of fruit before replying intensely, and simply, “Live.”



Aragorn exchanged a startled glance with Arwen who chuckled softly and said, “In that case I best leave the two of you alone, lest I risk being blinded for life.”



Legolas blushed bright red to the roots os has hair, and Aragorn and Arwen laughed. Aragorn however fixed his gaze on Arwen’s face. She nodded slightly. He knew she wasn’t entirely comfortable with leaving him with a lover... How could she have been? It reminded him of why he loved her. She knew what Legolas needed, and what he needed. The steely glint in her gaze, and the sheer determination, told Aragorn if hred red to refuse Legolas, she would have his head.



“That wasn’t what I meant,” Legolas muttered.



Arwen turned her attention back to Legolas and said quite calmly and seriously, “Why ever not? What better affirmation of life and love is there?”



“I was going to suggest riding,” Legolas said looking uncomfortable.



“So ride...,” Arwen said with a wicked grin, “but whatever or whomever you choose to ride, I need not witness it. Out.”



Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but Aragorn grabbed a couple of pieces of fruit for his breakfast, and dragged Legolas out of the room.



“Aragorn! I don’t..” he started as they entered Legolas’s rooms.



“Hush love. She was teasing.”



Legolas blinked a couple of times and then laughed softly, “Your wife is positively wicked . How you survived your childhood in the house of Elrond is beyond my imagination.”



Aragorn snorted, “As if you weren’t present for most of it.... and contributing to the deterioration of my mental health?”



“Who- me?” Legolas asked with feigned innocence as he settled himself in one of the overstuffed armchairs, draping one leg across the arm.



“Yes you. Actually,” Aragorn amended, “I was lucky to survive my childhood at all between you, Elladan and Elrohir.”



Legolas rolled his eyes and snorted. “We never caused you any real harm, and you well know it.”



“You’re right, though at times I thought my humiliation would be terminal.”



“You gave every bit as good as you got ” Legolas said thinking of several incidents, one of which had resulted in nearly a year with his light hair dyed a horrendous purple, “And I know I was fortunate to have survived your first attempts at archery.”



“First? You can not be serious. You are still lucky that I only hit you the once. Archery was never my calling, my friend.”



Legolas chuckled softly, “That much is certain. Though you could eventually manage well enough to keep from living on lembas while you were away from Rivendell.”



“I can not tell you how many times I wished that I could kill game with a sword.”



As the day passed, they talked. Aragorn noticed Legolas ate very little at lunch, and not at all at dinner but didn’t question it. This reprieve was destined to be short, but he would enjoy it while he could, and he would not hinder Legolas’s obvious enjoyment in this time. This day that, he knew instinctively, would be the last entirely pleasant one they would share.



Aragorn was struck with the knowledge as though it was the first time. The first time he realized Legolas was going to die, and nothing he could do would stop it. Nothing that could stop it. He wanted to scream until his voice gave out. He wanted to fight for Legolas, as Legolas had fought for him, but this was no enemy he could grasp and force into submission.



Legolas stopped talking and looked at him for a moment. Not speaking, his head tilted slightly to one side, just watching him. When Aragorn shifted uncomfortable under the his scrutiny, the elf finally spoke, but only to say simply, “I know.”



“Why are you so calm now?”



Legolas shruggedgantgantly, “One can only fight the inevitable for so long, Estel. What will happen, will happen, with my permission or not. Quite frankly,” He admitted with a lopsided smile, “I no longer have enough energy to be angry at fate.”



“Are you not frightened?” Aragorn asked incredulously. He was relieved to, finally, be speaking freely. He had avoided the situation too long. Dealing with Legolas’s emotion turmoil, his own had been pushed into the back of his mind, and it was making it’s presence felt tonight.



“Of death? No,” Legolas said honestly, “but of the process.... Oh yes....” his voice trailed off at the end, eyes growing distant, before finishing, “very much so.”



Aragorn started a fire in silence, taking refuge in the familiar task. When the fire took hold, he sat back on his heels staring into the flickering flames, watching as they consumed the wood, as fear threatened to consume him.



When Legolas dropped to sit beside him in front of the now roaring blaze, he broke the silence by asking astutely, “What are you afraid of Estel?”



“What am I afraid of?” He echoed, stalling for time. Legolas waited patiently, and Aragorn knew he wasn’t fooling the companion who had been with him for a lifetime, and answered, “Being alone.”



“You will never be alone,” Legolas said as he settled one hand on Aragorshoushoulder, guiding him to turn and face him. In the fire light, his pale hair and skin took on shades of orange and red, softened the lines of fatigue and pain. He was, still, truly beautiful, Aragorn though helplessly.



“You have a beautiful family, love, and they love you. You will never be alone.”



“Dammit Legolas, I want you. You were meant for me.”



“I love the way you say my name...,” Legolas said as he stroked across a stubbled cheek, enjoying the feel of the rough bristle that half tickled, half brunt his sensitive palm, “and I was meant for you, but you were never mine Elessar. You were meant for Arwen. You belong with her.”



Aragorn gritted his teeth, not wanting to give into the pain that was flooding him. In many ways what Legolas was saying was true, but dammit, “I love you Legolas.”



“I know.” Legolas said simply, dropping his hand to Aragorn’s shoulder, the other guiding him closer, “and I love you...” before gently capturing Aragorn’s lips with his own.



The kiss tasted of salty tears, and Aragorn didn’t know if they were his, or Legolas’s, and it didn’t really matter. He could feel love pouring into him in that simple, almost chaste, kiss, and he emptied himself into it in return. Trying to express all the things he would never find the words to say. That Legolas was his friend, his brother, his lover, his heart, and his soul. That without Legolas, part of who he was would be irrevocably lost, and he would forever be changed.



He didn’t know if he succeeded, if he could possibly manage to express himself with nothing more but the gentle press of lips against lips, and the meeting of palms against palms, fingers intertwined. He didn’t know, but he tried... He used words every day as the King of Gondor, as weapons and as tools. Yet words failed him now, and all he could do was try to let Legolas know just how honestly, truly, and deeply, he was loved.



Aragorn never knew that Arwen came into the room, and saw them kneeling in front of the fire, hands entwined, dark and fair hair mingling, and tears running down both faces and blending as they fell to where their lips were joined. He certainly never knew that when she left, closing the door behind her,there were tears rolling down her face as well.





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A/N: Yeah well everyone needs a little cheese sometimes.