Making It Right

Part 11

Posted: April 2003
Author: Kharessa Bloodrose

*****

In his Mirkwood home, Legolas could rise from reverie and step through an arched doorway to a wide balcony. There he could gaze out at the palace gardens, and beyond them to the deep, wild forest. He could listen to the song of the birds and feel either the warmth of sunlight or the slide of rain upon his skin. He woke to the scent of good earth and fresh air, and it was only rarely that the windows of his bedchamber had needed to be shuttered against the elements.

The king's chambers in the palace of Gondor were spacious and inviting, but they had not the openness to nature that Legolas was accustomed to. Men were not elves, and Minas Tirith was not Mirkwood. He would not feel the chill of winter or the damp of spring and fall, but Aragorn would. On his balcony he had never feared arrows aimed for his heart, nor had he fallen into rest thinking of thieves and assassins scaling the walls. In the city of men these were real concerns for a monarch, and Legolas suspected, for a monarch's lover as well.

The rooms were not displeasing, though as yet they bore no imprint of Aragorn upon them. The Stewards of Gondor had not slept in the King's Chambers, and so the rooms had lain empty for many long years. The white linens, deep green bedding and canopy were new, as were the rugs that adorned the stone floor. Other than that, the furnishings were heavy, dark, antique. It would be up to the king to change anything if he wished, and when asked about it he'd shrugged his shoulders and said he'd leave that to Arwen. Legolas had said nothing.

He had not meant to be here. It had been his intention to leave after Aragorn's coronation. There was no place for him here, and he knew that to continue would be to expose Aragorn, Arwen, and himself to malicious gossip and perhaps even worse troubles. He would sail west, he'd decided, but the bond that was growing between himself and Aragorn had denied that. It was a feeling that left him furiously weak and frighteningly disoriented. Instead of leaving, he had followed Aragorn back to the palace, albeit more discreetly than had been his wont during the march to and from Mordor. In a week's time Arwen, Lord Elrond, and the all the rest of the wedding party from Rivendell and Lothlorien would be arriving, and Legolas knew with a sinking heart that he'd still be there.

"What are you thinking of, lovely one?" The man rumbled, his gray eyes resting with concern on the elf's pensive features. Legolas smiled at him and nestled against him on the pile of dark green velvet, attempting to be disarming.

"Nothing much."

Aragorn cupped Legolas' chin in his hand, frowning. "I don't believe it's nothing that brings that look upon your face." His thumb stroked over the archer's cheek, and the elf sighed.

"I was thinking of next week."

Silence spun out between them. The man continued to hold Legolas' face, and he did not move away from Aragorn's touch. Azure eyes met gray eyes calmly, waiting, though he could not say what it was that he was waiting for.

"I never lied to you, Legolas." Aragorn whispered. "I've never made you a promise I couldn't keep. I do love you, my Greenleaf."

The elf's lips twisted in an ironic smile. No, Aragorn had never made him a promise he couldn't keep. He had made him no promises at all.

"And what position shall I hold here?" His voice was heavy with sarcasm. "In all my long years, Estel, I never imagined that I might become a king's courtesan."

Aragorn's eyes darkened. "You dishonor both of us by speaking so." He said, tightening his grip. Elven eyes narrowed, and Legolas wrenched his head from the man's grasp.

"Do I?" He hissed. "What do I do here besides lie in your bed?"

Legolas' head rocked back against the soft cushions, the open handed slap taking him completely by surprise. For a moment he could only gape incredulously at the human lying beside him. The expression on Aragorn's face was equally stunned. He could feel heat rising in his face, knew that the imprint of Aragorn's hand was blossoming on his cheek. Yet again he felt that sense of dislocation, heard the words leaving his lips as if it were some other person speaking.

"Do not ever raise your hand against me again, man. I swear to you, this is the first and last time that you will do so without facing retaliation."

"By all the gods, Legolas, I did not mean to do that." Aragorn's voice was hushed, his eyes wide with shock and fear. "Your words…" He closed his eyes, looking away. "Is that truly how you see me? That to me you are nothing but a whore? That I value you as nothing more than a bed mate?"

"No, I do not." His words still sounded distant to his ears. "It is perhaps that I do not know how I feel."

Hesitantly Aragorn brushed his fingertips against Legolas' face, gently stroking the hand print that marked the elf's fair cheek. "I am so sorry, Legolas. I…" He swallowed, forcing himself to look the elf in the eye. " It is that I have been troubled, also, about what is to come."

The archer shifted against the pillows, and Aragorn pulled him close. For a moment Legolas lay stiffly against him, neither moving away nor relaxing into the man's embrace. Then, with a soft exhalation of breath, he settled into his arms. Aragorn held him close, gently caressing the fall of corn silk hair.

"With Arwen and I there is a bond." He spoke slowly, obviously searching for words to explain things that he had never before felt any need to voice. "It is not as it is with mortal men and women… we have nothing but each other's words." The elf said nothing, and he licked his lips before continuing. "I know that Arwen loves me, and I do not need her to tell me so because of that bond. I feel something like unto that with you, also, though not as strongly. It is growing, and I do not know what it is that I feel."

Legolas nestled his head against Aragorn's chest, idly running his fingers through the dark curls of hair. "'Tis not your fault, Estel. It is ours." He whispered, and Aragorn's brow furrowed.

"I don't understand you."

"No, you do not." Legolas arched upward, cutting off any further words with a scalding kiss. "Love me, Estel." He whispered urgently. "Love me, love me until nothing else matters."

He writhed against the man, twisting against his body shamelessly. Part of Aragorn knew that the conversation they had been having was important, that this was something that should not be let go. Most of him was aware only of the lithe body sliding deliciously over his own. Rolling to the side, he pushed Legolas down into the soft blankets.

"Slowly, my dear one." He kissed the elf's cheek gently. "Let me make this good for you."

*****

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