Concerning Elves and Men

Title: Concerning Elves and Men (1/1)
Author: sagralisse (sagralisse [at] aol.com)
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas (book canon)
Disclaimer: This is based on characters who won't be in the public domain for a while yet.
Notes: Contains references to battles at Sarn Ford and the Fords of Isen.
Many thanks to the Beta of Doom (eyebrowofdoom), and to Jo for her encouragement.


Aragorn sought sleep, but could not find it. A breeze stirred the grass and Rohan murmured to itself, but the land had groaned beneath the iron-shod feet of Saruman's army only a few hours before. Beneath it's murmuring was a deep restless grief that resonated in his bones.

Aragorn's mind set itself on a path worn deep with long use. If he had been an Elf, he would have chosen one less weary.

It is impossible to grow up among Elves and not know just how different they are from Men. That knowledge was always with him, like the dirt under his nails. Elves have all the grace and patience that young boys lack. They do not stumble or forget things or sneak away from lessons to go riding. They do not weep in frustration when told that they're still too small to go scouting this year. If a boy puts a dead snake in an elf's bed, he's likely to sing it a lament. Aragorn was, perhaps, the only Man who knew that from experience.

And Men are different from Elves. Sometimes Men are slower, especially when seconds mean the difference between living and dying. Men can learn to hold their own against a crowd of orcs, but they can't blur into deadly invisibility like Elves. Men are brought down by arrows that an Elf would sidestep without thinking. But sometimes it is Men who blur into invisibility. Their lives are so fleeting. They crave food and women and wealth with an urgency that Elves can never understand. They live to leave a son or two, a few daughters. Or a sister-son fierce and loyal. Sometimes they leave nothing but bones and damp ashes and the tumbled remains of their hearths across the Westfold.

So many of the Rohirrim died. Too many, and the War had just begun.

Earlier, when they rode past the mound where Theodred lay guarding the Ford of Isen, Aragorn had remembered the battle at Sarn Ford, five hundred miles to the north. He had remembered his own kinsmen falling. He missed them.

He opened his eyes to find Legolas watching him. "Are you not weary, Aragorn?"

"Yes. But I seem fated to toss and turn until I've worn a trench in the earth."

"Will you come sit with me? We should leave those who can sleep to theest.est." Legolas offered him a hand up. They found a spot in the circle of the Watch and sat together. They settled back-to-back, an Elvish habit that suited Aragorn. It was easier to face into the darkness with Legolas like warm steel behind him.

"Legolas? What will you do if the quest fails?"

Of course Legolas heard, but he paused long before answering. "I do not know, Aragorn. All will change. I do not want to imagine it."

"Would you leave Middle-Earth? Galadriel predicted that you would hear the call of the sea. I think that you will not be bound by your father's choice to remain here."

"Perhaps."

Legolas seemed unwilling to toy with despair. Instead he began to sing softly. It was a song of Mirkwood and the dark paths that wound among the roots of the great trees.

Aragorn looked for stars, but few were out. Legolas' voice set his mind on another path and he found himself thinking of his first lover, an Elf of Elrond's household. Estel he'd been then, young and unscarred and burning with hope. Daeron had been cool and ageless with a voice like bells. He'd been well versed in the arts of love, and had explored Estel's body like a newly dverevered sea. Aragorn remembered the unpredictable storms of his own passion, remembereyingying and failing to sweep away Daeron's composure.

It wasn't that Daeron was uncaring. He had needed hope, but not the kind Estel could provide. As the Shadow grew in strength, he grew ever more distant and sad. Whether they should win or lose, change was inevitable. Too much of what he loved would be lost. They had already grown apart when Estel began his life as a Ranger. That life changed him. Hope became a hard reality: weathered, grim and soft-spoken. He collected calluses and scars. Daeron remained at Rivendell for a few seasons, then left for the Grey Havens.

If the quest failed, Arwen would leave too. Aragorn would not have her remain. He could not bear the thought of the Eye coming to bear on her. The Elves all said that she was the image of Luthien reborn, and Sauron would not have forgotten his humiliation at Luthien's hands. When he'd dealt with more pressing concerns, he would recall ancient grievances. If their hope should be lost, Arwen must not stay within his reach.

"Aragorn?" Legolas' voice broke his reverie.

"Yes?"

"I have made a decision. Whatever the future holds, I would not leave Middle-Earth while you live."

Like all Elvish promises, it was startling in its simplicity. Another memory came to Aragorn, its details unblurred by time. He remembered Legolas opening his hand to reveal a dozen bright berries found along the fringe of the forest. Legolas deemed them an offering of friendship from Fangorn. Gimli had laughed and offered an alliance instead. Legolas' eyes had sparkled as they shared them.

Aragorn felt a wave of longing. He turned and slipped his arm around Legolas' waist. He prd hid his face against the Elf's back, breathed in the scent of new leaves. Legolas started to turn toward him, but Aragorn held tight. "Just stay. Just like this."

Aragorn drifted for a time, until Legolas turned in his embrace and took his face between his long hands. He gave Aragorn the faintest of kisses. Aragorn pressed back, opening Legolas' mouth, seeking the music that can be heard deep within an Elvish kiss. Legolas smoothed his hair. His hands drifted over the fastenings of Aragorn's shirt.

When their kiss ended Legolas spoke softly. "An Elf would kiss like that only if he felt a great desire for a lover, but I have heard that Men are different from Elves. Aragorn, is it passion you feel, or grief?"

"For Men..." Aragorn's voice was unsteady. "Sometimes for Men they are the same."

By then Legolas' hands had wandered to the lacings of Aragorn's trousers. Aragorn had spoken truly. Legolas loosened the ties and worked his hand inside to find Aragorn hard and hectic. Aragorn's breath went ragged at his touch. He felt the same, ragged and coarse, so easily transformed into some beast in heat. Legolas pressed his lips against the prickles of his beard and did not seem to mind the difference between them.

"Aragorn," he whispered, "I would give you any comfort you desire."

"But you do not feel the same need, do you?"

"I feel need. It is not the same, but it is no less urgent. I would cure all your hurts if I could, though I am no healer." Aragorn could see a glint of starlight in his eyes as he looked around them. "We are among many Men, awake and on guard."

"They watch for enemies. The Rohirrim choose not to notice that which passes between friends."

Legolas kissed him again, deeper than before. He held Aragorn to him until Aragorn felt his heartbeat slowing, until Aragorn thought he heard a faint thrum, like many voices. And still Legolas would not release him. He kissed Aragorn's eyes, sucked at his lips. Aragorn wound his hands in his hair and tasted the sweetness of his skin along his jaw line. Legolas pressed against him, pushed him back until he sat propped on his elbows. Legolas finally broke away and began undoing Aragorn's trousers. Aragorn startled as if waking from a dream, and all he could hear was his blood rushing.

He felt cool air and the warmth of Legolas' fingers wrapped round his shaft. Then Legolas' mouth was on him with a suddenness that made him gasp. He wanted to cry out, but he remembered the watch and gave a voiceless huff instead. He felt the tip of Legolas' tongue circling his head, lapping at him. Legolas started gently, then unerringly found the combination of stroke and tongue that made Aragorn feel weak. He watched the top of Legolas' head and the bit of his gentle brow that wasn't in deep shadow. Even his need for Legolas felt like grief tonight.

Before long Legolas' persistence had him on the edge of orgasm. The rushing of his blood grew louder and he felt more like a beast than ever. But if he would be a beast he would be one that roared and fought to live, one that was immune to despair. When he felt the sharp pleasure of release it took all his effort not to bawl aloud. Instead, he came in pulses of heat and sibilance.

Aragorn could feel his heart thumping then, and Legolas rested his head on his chest, listening as its tempo slowed. Aragorn's fingers found the sweet curve of Legolas' ear and the softness of skin beneath the fall of his hair. Legolas redid his lacings, shutting out the chill. Aragorn reached for him then, and Legolas let himself be rolled over and pinned under Aragorn's heavy frame. He smiled into Aragorn's kisses, but when Aragorn began caressing his hip Legolas stopped him.

"My need is not the same as yours, Aragorn; not this night."

Aragorn frowned and rolled off of him. A moment ago he thought that Legolas' hunger had matched his own; now he felt like a chagaiagain, hopelessly dull and clumsy. But then Legolas sat up and touched his brow, as if he would erase all of Aragorn's sorrows. "Through that long night," he whispered, "with orcs round the wall like a river flooding, I feared losing you; you and Gimli. This night I would have you sleep while I keep watch."

Aragorn was silent for the space of several breaths. "This night I will sleep well, Legolas," he said at last.

Aragorn curled up near him and caught one of Legolas' hands to hold between his own. Before long Legolas began singing again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Legolas," Legolas paused his singing and looked down at Aragorn. "Tonight you made me want to shout until the hills rang with my voice." Legolas smiled. Aragorn paused, searching for words. "Perhaps I will when this night is over. Beyond all hope or reason, I am here. I am Isildur's heir and I live. It is time that I stopped hiding. Perhaps I will shout my name at the Enemy until his tower shakes."

"You could make it tremble without speaking a word, Elessar."

"So it may be." Aragorn lay quiet then, following Legolas' song along the dark paths, catching glimpses of him between the great trees of Mirkwood. Just before he slept it occurred to him that Elves are quite different from each other. Some were as remote as the stars they loved, cool and unreachable. And some twined themselves around and through your life until you could not imagine being parted.