Forbidden Love

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and associated characters are not mine, nor are they being used for profit in the telling of this story.

******


Aragorn looked ahead unhappily. It was a hot, humid summer day – one of those ones where a faint haze of heat wafted up from the ground like a distant mirage on the horizon and all you wanted to do was find some cool shade to lie down in and sleep away the afternoon. It was hot. Too hot actually. It was late August and the heat was unbearable. What ever had possessed him to ride out from the cool sanctuary of the Hall of King’s cold stone hallways back in Minas Tirith on a foreign relations trip to the distant land of Ithland was beyond his understanding.

The kind of said foreign nation had expressed great interest in opening trade agreements with the rich and powerful country of Gondor. There was rumored to be vast amounts of iron ore hidden in the lands laying far to the south of Gondor. If those rumors were true than a trade agreement with Ithland was more than Aragorn could hope for. The iron ore bought from the distant nation would prove very useful in forging strong metal that was always in high demand to make the armor and swords that outfitted the soldiers of Gondor who defended their lands.

And so under the title of King Elessar of Gondor, Aragorn had left for the distant country in the far south with hopes of forming an alliance of peace with the foreign kind and sealing an agreement that would bring prosperity to both lands.

He had taken with him a small entourage of soldiers with him. When he had first taken his position as king of Gondor, the one time ranger had been more than a little unnerved by the constant presence of at least one guard, shadowing his every step and following him wherever he went. He had come to accept his men’s presence with the reluctant understanding that it was all for his own safety and protection. After all, who else would lead the country should anything befall him? Well, Faramir would, as he was the Steward of Gondor, but that was beside the point...

So here he was, several hundred miles from home in the blazing summer heat atop a sweating horse that only seemed to intensify the heat that already wrapped around him like a blanket. The sun beat mercilessly sun down on him from overhead. Sweat rolled down his neck and soaked his shirt. Wiping the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead, Aragorn again cast his eyes ahead to scan the open grasslands spread out before them. They were within less than a day’s ride of Methenlod, capital city of Ithland. Aragorn could only hope that in the city he might finally be able to find some relief from the unending summer sun beating down on his neck and back.

As he was thinking of the shady protection of the palace he was sure to find and of the refreshing feast he and his men were to enjoy when they met the foreign king, Aragorn was brought out of his reverie as a bright glint of gold caught and momentarily blinded his eyes. Shifting his gaze to look ahead, he saw that it had come from the reflection off the golden tresses of the only blond member of his company. Aragorn could only feel a stir of longing grow in his heart as he beheld the fair owner of said radiant locks colored the frost covered shade of straw.

It was Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil and elven ruler of Ithilien.

The elf rode straight and tall atop his dusty grey mount, glowing hair practically shining in the golden sunlight of high noon. His fair and flawless skin only heightened his aura of beauty as his slender body moved in perfect rhythm to the moving horse beneath him.

Aragorn could only suppress a sigh as he stared at the beautiful form of the elf riding several paces in front of him with his face only half visible from the angle the mortal king was at.

In some part of his heart, he was beginning to doubt the reasons in judgement when he had asked his long time friend to accompany him on his journey. At first, Aragorn had told himself that he had only asked Legolas to come along so that he might put the elf’s keen sight and hearing to use in the unknown and dangerous new lands they were to journey through. Legolas had readily agreed, saying he would be honored to accompany him and see the distant land of Ithland.

But there was more to Aragorn’s request of his friend’s company than he wished to admit. Much more. It was only that he did not wish to realize or recognize it.

~You want him~ a distant voice in the back of his mind whispered tauntingly ~You wanted to take him far away from Minas Tirith where there would be no hindrances to keep you from fulfilling your deepest desires...~

‘No,’ Aragorn’s conscious immediately retorted in defense, ‘I only wanted Legolas along as a friendly companion and guide. No more. No less.’

~You lie. You want to claim that elf and make him yours. Look at him. Look at the way he moves, and then tell me you still do not want to feel him beneath you, crying out your name in ecstacy and pleasure...~

Aragorn’s gaze again shifted to the lithe form riding in front of him, as if his eyes were being directed by some unseen and unstoppable power. In the heat, Legolas had removed his outer tunic of darker green that he was most often to be seen wearing, leaving only the thin material of his silver under-shirt to cover his upper body. Aragorn could see the elf’s back and muscles moving beneath the fabric, swaying to the rhythm set by his horse. He could see every delicate move of of Legolas’ sinewy body as he gracefully glided back and forth across the back of his mount. The elf trotted along bareback, not needing any use of a saddle or bridle to direct the dapple-grey stallion he rode. His golden hair swished back and forth across his back like a curtain of unimaginably soft silk. He was truly a vision of untouched beauty and wonder, and to Aragorn’s dazzled eyes, the most beautiful creature to ever grace the face of the world.

Something between the man’s legs immediately contracted as if in longing to feel the silky skin of the elf for itself.

~You want him. You’ve wanted him from the very moment you first saw him at Lord Elrond’s council all those years ago. Not even the fair maiden Arwen could completely take your mind away from the Mirkwood prince...~

His conscience gave no reply. Aragorn merely rode on in an awe-struck silence as he watched the graceful dip and sway of the blond haired elf’s body. He could not deny that the voice the back of his mind had spoken some truth in what it had said. He had admired and longed for Legolas Greenleaf since he first saw the elf glide past him in a billowing grey robe of velvet all those years ago at the council of his foster-father Elrond. And his prolonged contact with the fair creature during their journey together as members of the Fellowship only proved to increase his desire for the elf until it felt like there was a hot coal being fanned in the pit of his heart.

Aragorn could only marvel at the simple yet fascinating way the elf’s hips rocked back and forth to the gait of his horse, and subconsciously began to wonder what other rhythms Legolas’ slender and agile hips could be set to.

Suddenly, as if sensing the man’s eyes upon his back, Legolas turned in his seat and stared over his shoulder to where Aragorn rode flanked on either side by an armored knight of Gondor. Aragorn immediately felt frozen in place by the elf’s piercing blue eyes as he met the man’s gaze. Some part of him immediately shrank back, fearing Legolas somehow knew what dirty thoughts he had just been thinking. Legolas’ liquid blue eyes silently bored into his soul, but gave no hint as to his own emotions. His eyes were filled with some unreadable expression Aragorn could not fully place.

Just as Aragorn thought he could no longer endure the elf’s unblinking stare on him without looking away in embarrassment and shame for his improper thoughts, Legolas swiftly broke eye contact and turned back around just as quickly as he had done to confront the man.

Left to stare at Legolas’ back and the swishing bounce of his long goldair,air, Aragorn could only feel an empty hole forming in his heart. How badly he longed for that elf; how bad he yearned to hold him, to caress his silky soft skin, and murmur sweet words of adoration and worship into his delicately pointed elven ears. But it could not be so...

Though every particle of his being was bound in unrequented love to the graceful warrior prince of Mirkwood, Aragorn was already pledged and married to the daughter of Elrond, Arwen the Evenstar. It was not that he no longer cared for or loved Arwen – far from it! But a person can love many people at one time and in varying degrees and forms. It was just that while he loved Arwen, it was not the same fiery, soul-giving love he felt burning in his heart for Legolas. His love for Legolas was not one of shallow lust or carnal desire, but one of true, bottomless love where his soul felt ripped apart and completely whole all at the same time every time he was in the presence of the elf and even when he was not.

But the detail of his existing marriage aside, there was also the minor fact to contend with that Legolas did not seem to reciprocate or hold even the tiniest inkling of romantic love for him like Aragorn had for the elf.

‘Why would he want me anyway?’ Aragorn thought despondently. ‘Legolas is immortal, and fair beyond comparison with even the most beautiful of humans. Why would such a beautiful and untouched creature such as he want to love a man as lowly and corse as I? I have no right to even dream of ever holding his affection or love...’

Filled with these thoughts of self-deprecation, the man suddenly began to regret his request of Legolas to join them. Though he wished nothing more to be within the mere presence of the blond haired elf, Aragorn knew his joy would only be bitter and filled with the pain of unfulfilled desires and longing. He would never have Legolas, this he suddenly knew. But why had it taken him so long to realize? Legolas would never want him for the foul and mortal being he was.

He knew the elf held him dear to his heart as a close friend and companion. But nothing more. Nothing less. And it tore his heart to think it would always only be just so.

Suddenly up from ahead, a shout startled the king from his quiet reverie. Trying to push back the bitterness seeping up from his sudden revelation of lost, but never gained love, Aragorn focused his attention on the path ahead, trying to ignore the golden haired form bobbing in and out of his peripheral sight. The call had been issued from one of his men sent to scout the path ahead. The man was quickly trotting towards them.

Reigning in their mounts, the company of soldiers and their king stopped as the scout neared and came to a halt before them. “My Lord,” the scout bowed in his saddle, “The gates of Methenlod are within half an hour’s ride. It seems one of the city’s scouts has seen us and reported our approach. A royal escort is being issued from the city gated to meet us as we speak.”

“That is good news,” Aragorn said with forced steadiness of his voice, expertly hiding the emotional distress that had been consuming his mind only moments before. “Let us go and meet our hosts and bid them greetings. I am sure King Glinthul of Ithland will want to welcome us and settle us in. Come, let us not tarry. It is hot and I wish to rest before he begins to try and make trade agreements over dinner...”

Many of his men took Aragorn’s last few sentences as merely an unexcited note of all the long and boring meetings he expected to endure with the king of Ithland in the coming days. But as the company kicked their horses into a trot, only one seemed to pick up on the empty tone tainting the man’s voice. In his haste to hurry to reach the city and drown his sorrows of unreachable love in endless politics and trade agreements, Aragorn failed to notice the twin pools of liquid blue staring after him from the only golden haired member of his company...

******


“My Lord Elessar!” King Glinthul exclaimed merrily as he stood from the elaborate throne on the far side of the hall and strode forward to meet the men entering his throne room. “I am glad to see you have made you way to Ithland safely. I hope the sun was not too much for our northern brethren to stand... How was your journey?”

Aragorn could not help but immediately like the ruler of the far southern country. Though older than himself, Aragorn could see an ageless humor sparkling in the man’s dark brown eyes as he came to stand in front of him and his travel-dusted company of soldiers.

“Our journey was long, but without trouble,” Aragorn replied with a nod of his crowned head to show respect to the older , “I, “I will admit though beautiful and vast, the country of Ithland offers more sun than I am used to enduring.” he added with a smile that was immediately returned by his southern counter-part. He was beginning to think that maybe long talks of trade agreements and negotiations were not going to be so bad with Glinthul as they had been with other rulers he had had the un-pleasure of doing business with.

“Ah, yes. Yes. I am sure that to you the sun shines much hotter down here in the south than in the north...” Glinthul waved off dismissingly with a joking smile. “I am sure you and your men would like to rest before tonight’s welcoming feast. Am I correct?”

“Yes. We would greatly accept such generous hospitality,” Aragorn bowed gratefully to the other king.

As the older man shifted his eyes from Aragorn and for the first time scanned the group of men that accompanied Aragorn standing at attention behind their liege, Glinthul’s eyes were immediately drawn to the radiant spot of gold standing quietly behind the helms and armor of the small escort of White Guards. Even for the farther removed, rustic people of Ithland, it did not take much knowledge or intellect to deduce who the mysterious figure in the back of Aragorn’s entourage of men was.

“I do say, Elessar!” Glinthul exclaimed in astonishment, “I did not think that even a man as powerful as you would be in the company of one of the Firstborn!”

Momentarily confused by the man’s outburst, Aragorn followed the other king’s gaze to where Legolas was standing in the back of his men. Ever since he had been a small babe, Aragorn had been in the presence of elves and thought little of their presence as being such a surprise any more, even one such as captivating and beautiful as the one that accompanied him.

“My apologies, Lord Glinthul,” Aragorn said as he waved a hand to signal his friend to step forward, “This is Legolas Greenleaf, youngest son of King Thranduil of the northern elven realm of Mirkwood. He is a close friend and companion of mine.”

~But you wish he were more...~ the small voice in the back of his head piped up as if on cue.

Aragorn tried to pretend he had not heard the little voice of carnal desire or felt the sharp pang of longing return to his heart as the fair elven creature stepped forward and came up beside them.

“My Lord,” Legolas bowed politely in greetings, “It is an honor to be able to see and visit your fair country.”

“As well as it is an honor for me to finally meet an elf,” Glinthul laughed as he bowed back with a nod of his head to the trained elven prince of Mirkwood.

Aragorn could not help but feel a hot surge of jealously flash through him as he saw the look of complete wonder and awe shining in the southern king’s dark brown eyes as he gazed upon Legolas’ flawless pale face. He could not help but feel that Glinthul had no right to look at Legolas in such a way, that only he had the right to do admire the beauty of the elf...

But then Aragorn suddenly remembered that Legolas was not his to hoard away like a precious gem, that the elf was not his to hold...

As if sensing the sudden crest fall of his foreign guest, Glinthul reluctantly looked away from the radiant beauty of the elf before him. “Pardon the delay,” he coughed, slightly embarrassed by the sudden realization that he had been staring a little longer than what proper manners would have dictated, “It is just that elves are rarely seen this far in the south... Anyway, I do I believe I was about to offer you and your men rest and some refreshments before tonight’s feast.”

Aragorn merely nodded his head in agreement.

“Good then. I will have one of my servants show your men to their rooms. I will have some food and fresh water ght ght up to you so that you might bathe to refresh yourselves from your travels.”

“Many thanks,” Aragorn again bowed humbly. While the offer of a bath and food sounded wonderful to him right then, the man could not have wanted more than to actually escape the presence of the blond haired elf. The fairy-tale like sight of Legolas’ golden hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight that spilt into the room through the surrounding windows only drove a stake of pure and utter pain through the man’s heart. The lust and desire for the fair elf was too much for the man to bear while in Legolas’ presence any more.

Turning to leave the throne room, eager to be alone with his despair and loneliness, Aragorn was startled when the other king suddenly called after him and his men. “Lord Elessar, before you rest in your room, would you like a tour of the palace?”

It was an innocent question and one born out of the general concern that the visiting dignitary should know the layout of the place he was about to live in for the next several weeks of negotiations.

With Aragorn’s back turned to him, Glinthul missed the fleeting expression of utter dismay on Aragorn’s face. He wanted more than anything to retreat to the private of his room, but Aragorn knew it would look bad and leave a bad impression on the king if he was to refuse his offer.

Forcing an unfelt smile onto his face, Aragorn pivoted on his heels and said as blithely as he could, “An excellent idea! I was just about to ask for a tour of your palace. I am most interested in the architecture of the building.” These were all a lies, but ones Aragorn felt were justified in giving to convince his host that he truly held interest in the country he was trying to make an alliance with. Good politics led to swift and fruitful alliances, Aragorn always said.

“Very well,” Glinthul smiled broadly, totally ignorant to the truth behind Aragorn’s words, “I will not keep you long, Elessar, I promise. Your men may leave and retire to their rooms. Later after everything is ready, I will have a servant come around to announce the start of the feast.”

Aragorn again forced a wan smile onto his lips. Casting his men a jealous look as they slowly followed one of Glinthul’s men out of the room, Aragorn was again captivated by the sleek elven grace of Legolas as he turned to follow the others, obviously not invited to attend the tour as Aragorn had been. He could not help but let his eyes wander one final time over the thin body of the elf before Legolas finally slipped too far into the darkened hallway for him to follow with his eyes.

“Well, Elessar,” Glinthul proclaimed in his merry voice, “Shall we start in the gardens and work our way inward?”

“Yes. Yes, that sounds like a fine idea,” Aragorn muttered half-heartedly as he tore his eyes away from the sight of the elf fading like a shadow into the hallway.

But as the man turned to follow the king in his tour of Ithland’s palace, Aragorn again failed to catch the fleeting glance of piercing blue that followed after him with their ancient depths.

*******

Aragorn walked down the hall briskly, half angry and the other half of him bitter. His “short tour” of Glinthul’s palace had lasted nearly three hours! It seemed the older king liked to talk much more than listen. Glinthul also seemed to be something of a amateur historian, and had given what seemed like the entire life history of every single stone in his palace’s walls and every possible factual tidbit about his country to Aragorn.

It was only by sheer luck that halfway through the northern wing of the palace where most of the artifacts of Ithland’s ancient nobility were stored, did Aragorn finally get a chance to escape from the talkative king. It had been a messenger than had saved him. Somewhere in the midst of Glinthul’s historical narration of some ancient battle that had taken place sometime during the Second Age, a young man came running up to the king, saying there were matters his counselors needed to speak with him of immediately. Aragorn was only too happy to let the southern king attend to his country’s affairs.

But that beside, the feast was to begin in less than an hour, at best! And Aragorn had not even gotten the chance to change out of his traveling clothes, let alone properly bathe and wash away the less than pleasant odors of his long journey through the wilderness all the while enduring the heat of an unfriendly summer sun. He was going to have to hurry if he wanted to make it to the feast on time. But as he thought of this, the bitter half of his countenance flared up.

He was going to have to see Legolas at the feast that night.

After spending several hours with the king of Ithland and seeing how he had stared at Legolas before, Aragorn was sure Glithul had been quite taken with the charming northern wood elf. He had a sinking suspicion the king was going to want Legolas to sit somewhere near the head of the table with them so that he might better talk with the rare and beautiful creature visiting his country.

Aragorn was not sure he was prepared to be so close to Legolas just yet. His heart was still an aching mess of confused and jumbled emotions. He did not know if he was capable of enduring the presence of his unreachable love so close to his side just yet.

So close, yet so far away. Just out of his reach.

Sighing, Aragorn finally reached the door of the room the young servant boy Glithul had had escort Aragorn to his room had said was his. He had not wanted any more company than what he had already endured, and the moment he had been beyond Glinthul’s eyesight or hearing he had asked for directions to his guest chamber rather than being shown, and had then promptly dismissed the servant.

Twisting the knob and forcing it open, Aragorn was met with a large sun filled room. Huge picture windows lined the entire far and right sides of the room. A large four-poster bed stood against the left hand side of the room, complete with a billowing red canopy roof pulled across the tops of its posts. Stepping into the large cavernous room of crystal and gold, Aragorn suddenly had the pang of wishing for a simpler room, like one of the ones he had spent his nights in when he had been a mere ranger roaming the northern lands, sleeping under the stars or in humble tavern inns unless otherwise provided for. The gaudy glitter of royalty life was quickly beginning to lose its gleam. Somehow through all the riches and power, Aragorn could not truly admit he was happy with life. Something was missing.

~The glitter and gleam of gold you are missing is not one of metal, but rather one of living flesh and blood...~ piped the tiny, annoying voice in the back of his head.

Shaking his head to rid himself of his subconscious’ running commentary, Aragorn tried to distract his mind with necessary actions. He still needed to clean himself and make himself somewhat presentable before the start of the feast. Looking to the right side of the room, he saw that his baggage had been already brought up to his room. (Probably sometime during Glithul’s rambling speech about the construction of the far western garden wall of the palace several hours before, he thought with a bitter frown)

Striding over to his bags and small traveling trunks, Aragorn stooped to open the first chest. But before he could even fit the key of the trunk’s lock into its hole, a soft, purring voice startled him.

“It is about time you returned...”

Leaping to his feet and turning quickly on his heels with all the speed and agility still left over from his ranger days of old, Aragorn snapped around to the face the bed where the voice had been issued.

But who he saw was no intruder he had ever anticipated.

There, stretched out demurely on his back across the pale cream colored silk coverlet of the king size bed and looking straight at Aragorn with his sapphire blue eyes lay Legolas Greenleaf.

Aragorn stared, trying to recover from his initial shock at the elf’s sudden appearance in his own private room. “Legolas! What are you doing in here...” but the man’s voice faltered and died away in his throat as he came to the striking realization of what was so wrong with this picture.

Not only was Legolas laying on his bed, but the elf was clad in nothing but the soft luminous glow of his skin...