The Night Before

Series: Part III of the “Image” arc
Pairing(s): Legolas/Aragorn, Legolas/Haldir
Feedback: Always welcome at c_rhodora@hotmail.com
Archive: I would be honored, but please ask first.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tolkien and his estate. No profit is being made from this.
Author’s Notes: This piece follows the same timeline and story arc as the central fic, “In Your Image” but takes place 25 years before that story. Special thanks goes to Panthera for her efficient and lightning speed beta. Finally, this is a belated birthday present for Schizo. A hundred million thanks for your never-ending support and encouragement.

The Night Before
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“I thought I would find you here.”

“I was hoping you would find me here.”

The figure smiled as he sensed his companion move to stand beside him and felt him place a warm hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“What do you think of the White City?”

“It is an architectural marvel of immense beauty,” his companion answered. “And you, old friend,” he said after a while, “how do you find this city of Men?”

“With immense beauty sometimes comes immense sadness,” was the melancholic reply. “This city is a dark star shining beneath the night sky,” he continued, keen eyes sweeping over the twinkling lights of the many tiered levels that lay before the two friends. “For all its beauty, I see nothing but sorrow and farewell.”

“It is unlike the Prince of Mirkwood to be so despondent the night before the wedding of his dearest friend.”

“I will not be despondent tomorrow.”

“No,” his companion agreed. “You shall smile and be as radiant as the dawn. You will stand beside him as you have always done, and you will watch as he takes his vows. Your heart will swell with pride at the knowledge that you have played a crucial role in his accomplishments, yet it will also break with the realization that this day has finally come.”

Legolas stared straight ahead, oblivious to his surroundings except for the pressure of the hand on his shoulder, its heat burning into his skin like a brand of fire. “I would not have wished for your presence,” he said evenly, “if I had known that these were the words you would say to me.”

Haldir smiled at the Prince’s cool tone. He too admired the view before him as he canvassed the myriad city lights. “There is no one else who would say these words to you,” he replied. “You should have told him.”

The Elven Prince looked to his left and studied the Guardian’s profile, the elegant aquiline nose, the head held high and proud, the long lashes that sensuously curled outwards, the full lips that curved into their customary knowing smile. Indeed, Haldir knew.

Legolas looked away, focusing on a single yellow light in the distance just in time to see it go out.

“No good would have come from such a confession,” the Prince said in that same monotonous tone.

“Perhaps,” the Guardian conceded. “But he would have known.”

“It is not enough to know. There is that human saying,” Legolas added lightly. “’Ignorance is bliss.’ It is appropriate in this instance.”

It was the March Warden’s turn to glance at his friend. “You are too noble an Elf, Legolas,” he said, “to bear this burden alone.”

Legolas met Haldir’s eyes and smiled, his tone softening. “I have not borne it alone.”

The Guardian returned the smile and lifted his hand from the younger Elf’s shoulder, moving to stand behind him. Legolas instinctively leaned against his friend, wrapping Haldir’s strong arms around him and holding the March Warden in place. He would have been content to stay in that comforting embrace in silence, but now that the subject had been opened, the Prince of Mirkwood felt compelled to speak. He had never concealed anything from Haldir before.

“I almost told him,” he said with a sigh. “There were two instances during the Quest when I desperately wanted to tell him.”

Haldir remained silent, waiting for his friend to continue.

“The first was in Moria,” the Prince said, pronouncing the name with a shadow of dread. “Have you ever been to Moria, Haldir?” he asked.

“Once,” the Guardian answered, “but that was long ago. Before it was overrun by evil.”

“Now it is a fearful place,” Legolas said. “Undoubtedly, the hadhodrim have left a great legacy there, but the legacy of the Dark Lord’s servants and creatures of a more ancient evil is greater still. I would not willingly go back.”

“There is no reason for you to return.”

“Let us hope it remains that way,” Legolas replied. “Moria is a place of living darkness that surrounds and suffocates you. No one could traverse its depths and remain untouched by its tendrils. I thought I would go mad. The walls and the rocks whispered such terrible things and then there would be nothing but the deafening sound of silence. I stayed near him during that time, and I feared that while we slept side by side I would murmur the words I longed to say, for my dreams were as dark as the caverns where we rested. Yet the possibility did not worry me overmuch, for I believed that if such a confession should fall from my lips, then my friend would think nothing of it, save perhaps the half-mad ramblings of an imprisoned Elf.”

Haldir did not agree but he did not voice his opinion.

“The other time,” Legolas continued, “was before the battle at Helm’s Deep. Saruman’s army was bearing down swiftly upon us and we were grossly outnumbered. In a moment of despair, when I was certain that we would not see the dawn, I almost told him. I did not fear death. To die fighting by his side together with the noble people of Rohan would have been a great honor. But to die in battle without telling him…” the Prince’s voice faltered.

“Is it not the same,” Haldir questioned, “to live without telling him?”

Legolas let out a quiet laugh. “Haldir,” he said, the mirth returning to his voice, “you always find a way to twist my words.”

“And you always find a way to avoid my questions,” the Guardian swiftly replied.

Legolas turned around to face Haldir, wrapping his arms around the other Elf’s waist. “No,” he said seriously, “it is not the same. This is the way it should be.”

Haldir did not speak as he cupped the Prince’s face in both his hands and leaned forward, their faces almost touching. He stared deeply into Legolas’ eyes that had turned into pools of midnight blue, searching for something, although the Prince himself did not know what. After a while, Haldir seemed satisfied and he smiled.

“You have always known what is best,” the Guardian said.

As the tension eased between them Legolas could feel his cheeks growing hot beneath Haldir’s hands. He was blushing. There were still times when his old friend could make him feel so young, and to hear his long-time mentor praise his decision-making skills was certainly such an occasion. He smiled at his own embarrassment and impetuously leaned up to kiss the older Elf. Haldir, who knew his former pupil well enough to predict such a reaction, pulled away slightly to postpone the kiss, just long enough to see the look of shock cross the Prince’s face. Then, chuckling inwardly to himself, he bent down to return the kiss. Whatever chagrin Legolas felt at the Guardian’s actions instantly disappeared when their lips met and he melted into the older Elf’s kiss as he had done so often in the past. Haldir had become comfort, security, a shield he could depend upon to keep all darkness at bay. Haldir was also passion, lust, and an insatiable desire that could heat his loins with the slightest touch. Yet as the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against Haldir’s, his senses remembering the Guardian’s unique taste, reacquainting himself with the curves and grooves of Haldir’s mouth, the Prince’s heart ached with the knowledge of a love unreturned.

The kiss ended and Legolas quickly masked the sadness that had overcome him, but not swiftly enough, for the Guardian had caught a glimpse of his sorrow in the depths of his eyes. Just a glimmer and then it was gone, replaced by a wicked smile and a mischievous glint.

Haldir smiled and said, “He is looking for you.”

Legolas’ brow furrowed, the thread of their conversation temporarily forgotten.

“He wonders why you left his party,” Haldir continued. “He thought you would step outside for a breath of fresh air, but he is puzzled that you have not returned. He has gone searching for you.”

“Let us see if he will find me,” Legolas answered facetiously, believing Haldir’s words to be some sort of game.

Haldir bent down again and placed a trail of kisses along the Prince’s jawbone, pausing to nip the delicate tip of an ear before he whispered, “He is already here.”

Legolas drew back slightly, unable to hide the surprise on his face. Haldir’s jesting manner had faded and he was looking at Legolas with the same intensity that he had displayed only a moment ago. Realizing that his companion was completely serious, Legolas pulled away and automatically turned to his left where the entrance to the pathway where he and Haldir stood overlooking the city, could be found. He was just in time to see a dark figure slipping away. Before he could stop himself, the name fell from his lips.

“Aragorn!”

The figure froze. He hesitated for a moment before turning around and walking down the path with measured steps. He passed under a short canopy of trees and then emerged under the moonlight to stand before his two friends. Haldir inclined his head slightly in deferential greeting, a nod that Aragorn acknowledged, noting how the two Elves had discreetly disentangled themselves from their embrace. Yet their body language left no doubt about the intimacy they shared.

“I did not mean to intrude,” the Man began.

“Nonsense,” Haldir replied with a shake of his head. “You are always welcome among friends.”

The Guardian cast a sidelong glance at the Prince who studiously avoided his gaze, suddenly finding the paved pathway terribly interesting. Aragorn had also become fixated on a cobbled stone by his left foot as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

An awkward silence followed.

Haldir stood in between the two friends, his exasperation level rising. “Well,” he said at last, looking from Elf to Man and back again. “Did you not wish to say something to Aragorn?” the Guardian inquired, directing his question at the Prince.

Dumbfounded and silently fuming but not betraying a hint of agitation, the Prince of Mirkwood arched a golden eyebrow in his own inquiring manner.

This was the opportunity that Aragorn had been hoping for and before Legolas could reply he spoke. “As a matter of fact I also wish to speak with you,” he said looking directly at his old friend.

“How fortunate,” Haldir replied in Legolas’ stead, politely excusing himself in the process. “A good night to you, Legolas,” he said, silently laughing at the flash of annoyance in the Prince’s sapphire eyes. The Guardian knew that there would be retribution after this night and that it would fall swiftly upon him. He looked forward to whatever ‘punishment’ the Prince would have in store. “And a good night to you as well, your Highness,” Haldir said, turning to face the King. “I wish you all the best tomorrow.”

“There is no need for such formality, Haldir,” Aragorn replied. “I thank you for your blessing.”

With a slight bow the Guardian departed and both Man and Elf watched as the March Warden disappeared round the corner of the pathway. Another silence fell between the two friends, but it was one of anticipation, laced with an edge of uncertainty. Legolas focused all his senses on the sounds of nature around him. He could hear the whisperings of the trees, the trill of a distant bird, the chirping of crickets nestled in the lush grass. A cool breeze blew against his heated skin. He was aware of gray eyes upon him and the unmistakable stately presence of his friend. Legolas looked at the Man and smiled.

“What is it you wish to speak of?” he asked.

Aragorn tilted his head to the right and returned the smile. “I have an idea that I want to share with you. But I need to show it to you first.”

The Man’s mysterious words piqued the Elf’s interest and he nodded his head. They set off down the path Aragorn had just come. It would not be an unpleasant night, Legolas told himself, as long as he kept Aragorn’s interest away from the topic he and Haldir had just discussed. Perhaps the Man would forget that there was something Legolas was also supposed to say.

~*~*~*~

The two friends strolled around the many pathways of the White Tower. Legolas got the distinct impression that Aragorn was stalling for time, although for what reason he could not fathom. In any case, the Elf did not mind. He knew that these peaceful walks with his longtime friend would become fewer and farther between once Aragorn had settled into his new life, and that familiar melancholy threatened to overwhelm him again.

At last the Man appeared to have made up his mind and he grasped the Elf’s arm, leading them to a secluded garden that Legolas had never visited before.

“What is this place?” the Prince asked, curiously looking about him.

“I would have thought that an Elf would be able to recognize a garden when he saw one,” Aragorn chided.

The Prince threw the Man a dirty look but he could not hold it for long, knowing that he had set himself up in the first place. With a musical laugh that warmed Aragorn’s heart, Legolas walked deeper into the garden to explore the trees and flowers that surrounded them.

“This garden,” Aragorn explained, stopping beside his friend who had become rapt by a particularly rare flower, “is traditionally known as the Queen’s garden.”

“Gardens,” Legolas corrected, tracing the outline of a delicate petal with his finger. “If Arwen has her way.”

“Indeed,” Aragorn agreed, forcing a short laugh. Hearing his betrothed’s name made him remember what it was he had to say to the Elf, and he doubted yet again his will to do it.

“Does this idea of yours have something to do with this garden?” the Prince queried, turning to face the Man.

“Yes,” Aragorn answered, entranced by the way the moonlight seemed to dance in the Elf’s fine hair, turning it silver under the caress of the moon’s beams.

Amused, Legolas waited for his friend to continue. It struck him that Aragorn was behaving rather out of character on this night, but he dismissed the notion, believing that even the King of Gondor could imbibe one glass too many of the city’s fine wine.

“What about the garden?” the Elf prodded after a moment.

“I was thinking,” the King said, snapping out of his reverie, “how much Arwen will miss the gardens of her father’s home, how much I will miss them,” he added. “Why not bring a part of Rivendell to Gondor?” he asked. “I would like to plant trees, shrubs and flowers that may only be found in Imladris here, to remind us of our heritage. What do you think? Is it even possible that plants indigenous to Elven lands would flourish in this environment?”

Legolas nodded thoughtfully, his attention drawn back to the blue star-shaped flower before replying.

“First of all,” he said, “it is a wonderful idea that Arwen will undoubtedly cherish. With regards to the second question,” and here the Elf paused, “I think that with the right care and cajoling, indigenous Elvish plants may flourish in this environment.”

“Care and cajoling?” the Man repeated with an air of disbelief that earned him another dirty look.

“Our plants do not grow merely because we water them,” the Elf remarked in a tone of mock disdain.

Naturally, Aragorn already knew this having seen the Elves care for their beloved forests and gardens first hand and he smiled, content to let his words irk the Prince.

“If need be,” the Elf continued his mind whirling with ways to make this garden worthy of a Rivendell substitute, “soil may be transported from Imladris. There are many ways of planting,” Legolas went on as though he were speaking to himself, “seedlings, saplings, cuttings, grafting. A little Elvish ‘magic’, as Pippin would put it, also wouldn’t hurt. Yes,” Legolas said, nodding his head. “I believe that with some effort your idea would work.”

The Prince was pleased as he looked at the Man once more, oblivious to the fact that his friend had been openly staring at him as he had listed off the possibilities for the garden.

“Well,” Legolas said with a sigh, “your guests are probably wondering where you are. We should return to your party,” he advised, moving past the Man but Aragorn’s hand on his arm stopped him. The Elf looked up quizzically.

“I would rather stay here,” Aragorn replied simply.

Legolas was aware of the pressure of Aragorn’s hand on his arm. The touch seemed to burn through his velvet tunic, similar to the effect of Haldir’s hand on his shoulder earlier that eve. He sensed a shift in the direction of their conversation and by accepting the King’s proposal, the Prince knew that he would have to be on his guard. Although his instincts told him to return to familiar company, the Elf acquiesced, allowing himself to be led deeper into the garden by the Man he loved.


tbc...