Coming Home, Part 2: Aragorn/Legolas,

Coming Home, Chapter 6
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“No use hiding, I know you’re awake...,”

The voice pulled him to full awareness, against his will. Legolas groaned softly and pushed weakly against whatever cold, and wet, had decided to take up residence on his forehead.

Eventually his eyes focused enough for him to identify the person sitting on the edge of his bed.

“You just don’t give up do you Strider?” Legolas asked, but without the venom his voice had earlier.

“Not often. I was raised by elves. I learned about stubbornness from the masters of the trait.”

Legolas grunted noncommittally, and rolled onto his side, and folded one arm under his head, closing his eyes against the morning light. The dark was so peaceful, and soothing, and the light hurt his suddenly sensitive eyes.

“Do you want me to close the shutters?”

“No.” The light was painful, but he wanted to feel the air. “I’ll be fine, just give me a few minutes, please.”

For the moment any real pain had receded but he was left so drained that it seemed it had gained a temporary respite from his out of control emotions. He knew, however, he was still lacking any real control of them, and acceptance of the inevitable still eluded him. He was just too tired to sustain intense feeling about anything.

He would have to find a way to avoid Aragorn more. He seemed safe enough with Arwen, but
Aragorn knew every button to push and could always find his way past his walls and defenses.

“How are you feeling?” Aragorn asked resting his wrist against Legolas’s forehead, checking his temperature.

“Fine.” was the automatic reply. He sighed heavily at Aragorn’s disgruntled snort, and amended, “Weak and nauseated but better.”

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, I just wasn’t thinking,”

The very real remorse in Aragorn’s voice prompted Legolas to sit up, though his body felt as though it were composed entirely of lead. “It’s ok Estel. You were only trying to stop me from storming about like a toddler denied a sweet. I should apologize to you for my abominable behavior.” His tactics had left a lot to be desired, Legolas knew. He still needed to find a way to keep Aragorn from realizing just how troubled he was, but clearly attacking the man he loved was not the answer. He wanted to spare Estel hurt, not cause him more.

“Yes they were, but I understand them, you, better than you may think.” Aragorn paused looking at him meaningfully from the chair he’d pulled close to the bed, “I thought I’d lost you, killed you even. I’ve never seen you go down like that and it scared me badly mellon-nin.”

Legolas bit back the sharp retort that came to his tongue, in spite of his best intentions. It scared him badly? How did Estel think he felt about it? Furthermore it was something Aragorn had better get used to... the idea of him dying that was. What possible use did the blasted man thing denying it and refusing to accept it was going to be? As though denying reality would make it go away.

Realizing that as he woke more fully the irrational anger and desire to flee were also returning to life, Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He had to get a grip on this.

“Aragorn, could you please go arrange for something to eat. I am sure you haven’t eaten, and I know that I have not.”

“Yes, of course.”

If Aragorn had any idea that he was being sent arbitrarily away, he showed no sign of it, as he walked out of the room, intent on finding food for his friend. His friend. Legolas snorted softly to himself. Why the hell had he come back here? Sure Aragorn had made use of him, and even

Arwen’s tacit approval and reassurance that Aragorn loved him felt hollow just then. He just wanted to be left alone, in that moment, to die in peace.

Aragorn had been gone for less than a minute when there was a hesitant knock on his door.

He stood up, unsteadily and using a hand on the wall to support himself, he made it to the door and opened it.

If Arwen was surprised by his condition, she hid it well. She swept into the room, full of confidence and grace and lay the baby on his bed. Legolas lifted an eyebrow at her, and she smiled brightly, “I just need to go talk to one of the grooms, and thought you might watch
Eldarion for a few moments. I won’t be gone long, and I hate to bother the nurse for just a few minutes.”

Legolas opened his mouth to refuse. He wanted to be alone. He was the only one surprised when what emerged was “Of course.”

She was gone again in a flurry of skirts, and he was alone with the baby. Aragorn’s son. Something that he never would have had, had he not married Arwen. An Heir.

Before his thoughts could wander far down that particular dark path, the baby woke with a soft mewling squeak. Apparently the entire family had conspired to keep him from achieving peace. With a sigh he crossed to the bed and patted Eldarion’s back absently. When the baby began to scream in earnest he picked the writhing bundle up and held him along one long forearm, supporting the tiny head in his hand.

Honestly not sure if he could keep himself upright, much less avoid dropping the baby, he sat down in the chair Aragorn had been occupying when he woke. As soon as he seated himself

Eldarion stopped crying, and looked at him with wide, deep blue eyes.

Legolas had the oddest sense that those eyes, set in such a young child, were ancient, and wiser than any he had looked into before. Sitting there, transfixed in the gaze of a newborn baby, he felt something wild and fierce calm and ease. He was still angry, confused, and scared, but he no longer felt the frantic need to lash out, to hurt those he cared for. He no longer felt the insane desire to run from himself. He was far from accepting his lot in life, or rather his lack of one, but ... , at least for the moment, the storm had ceased to rage.

He knew nothing was really resolved, and that he would have to confront his feelings, but for the moment it was enough.

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Coming Home, Chapter 7
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“Legolas?”

“Yes?” Calm, cool, and utterly without sign of distress. Legolas was absurdly proud of himself. It was a skill he had perfected in the last week. He’d begun to throw up almost constantly, and stopped eating altogether. Even Arwen had stopped nagging, and just looked... sad.

“Are you going to let me in.”

“Give me a moment,” Legolas called, forcing himself back to his feet. Valar he was tired. It would be so easy just to lie down and never get up again. It had been so easy to accept help from Aragorn and even Arwen those first couple of nights. He’d been so ecstatic to see them, to have made it. Up to that point that had been his goal, and he had not thought beyond his arrival in Gondor except on the most basic of levels. Once he’d reached Aragorn reality had begun to set in and he had responded--poorly.

When Legolas pulled the heavy door open he over balanced and would have fallen had strong arms not caught and held him. He would have been embarrassed had he the energy. Aragorn steadied him carefully, and released him slowly, making sure he was on his feet.

“Cat like grace hm?” Aragorn teased gently.

Without questioning the impulse Legolas rested his forehead against Aragorn’s shoulder and just rested there, leaning against the human, silently. Aragorn stroked his hair and held him with an arm wrapped loosely around his waist.

Legolas nuzzled into Aragorn’s neck, and shifted slightly. Aragorn understood what he was trying to do and picked him up and carried him to the bed where he lay down with Legolas, pulling him as close as possible, and held him, rather tentatively.

Legolas didn’t look up when he muttered, “I’m not actually going to break you know.”

“Mmhm,” Aragorn said, speaking softly and into his hair, “I know.” He responded to implied, but unspoken request and tightened his arms down, holding Legolas in a nearly suffocating embrace. If felt good. Inside the gentle restraint he was able to let go of his own rigid control, at least a bit.

When he began to shake, a hand pushed up into his hair, a thumb drawing lazy circles on the side of his throat and he began, finally, to cry. Quietly and with out drama, tears simply dropping to be soaked into Aragorn’s shirt. He did not want to leave... He did not want to leave Aragorn’s arms, certainly so permanently.

“I will always love you, Legolas. Never doubt that,” Aragorn said quietly, his voice wavering in a totally a typical fashion. Legolas was surprised to realize Aragorn was crying as well, when he felt tears falling softly onto his hair.

Legolas sighed, and pushed himself closer to the warmth radiating from the human. This was so ridiculously ironic, that had he the energy he would have found it almost funny.

He was still crying silently, when he slipped from wakefulness into reverie.

-------------------------------------------------

Aragorn looked up when he heard the door open, but didn’t loosen his grip on the elf in his arms. Any slight relaxation in the arms around him and, even asleep, Legolas would shake with enough force to rattle both their teeth. He was the only thing keeping Legolas from shaking himself apart.

Arwen looked at him, and circled the bed silently, to sit behind Legolas. “How is he?” She asked quietly, not really needing the answer.

Aragorn demonstrated by unlocking the muscles in his arms . Legolas whimpered, shifted, and almost immediately began to tremble uncontrollably. Aragorn pulled Legolas toward him again and held him as hard as he could without suffocating him, and he settled again with a soft sigh.

“He’s not going to last much longer,” Aragorn said finally.

“I know.” Arwen replied softly, settling herself to lay on her side behind Legolas. Propped up on one elbow she looked at her husband, and then came up behind Legolas, Wrapping her arm over him and holding on by fisting her hand into the soft fabric of her husband’s tunic.

After a moment of confusion, Aragorn understood what she was doing and rested his hand on her back, and draped one leg over Legolas and slightly across her ankles. Aragorn was finally able to release some of the strain in his arms from holding Legolas so tightly for so long.

In response to the warmth and closeness of two bodies surrounded him, Legolas sighed softly and relaxed, going utterly limp between then. Arwen smiled sadly over his head at Aragorn. “He’s exhausted.”

“I know. He hasn’t slept at all at all for days, but he’s so damn stubborn...”

“He is stubborn, but he’s also terrible afraid Estel. He’s in pain and his body is betraying him. He’s holding onto control the only way he can; by trying to maintain his independence as long as he can.”

“I know. I just wish he’d let us, let me, help.”

“I’m afraid he no longer has a choice,” Arwen said, moving her hand to pull the fine golden hair out of Legolas’s face, “He loves you so much Estel. He’s afraid that you’re only memory of him is going to be of this past month. That you’ll forget the person he was, the person he still is. That all you will remember is illness, and pain and death. He doesn’t want to loose himself, and it’s making it extremely hard for him to let go, to accept.”

Aragorn stared at her for several moments, the words sinking in.

“I have to go back to Eldarion,” Arwen said, and waited for Aragorn to take charge of Legolas, shifting gradually and letting Aragorn’s arms come to entirely enfold the slight frame.

When she was at the door, she turned back. “He needs to know you love him, and he needs to believe in you. He needs your guidance now. He has followed you into war, and he has fought for you. Now he needs to be able to let go for you.”

“I don’t want to let him go,” Aragorn said, unconsciously tightening down on the elf until Legolas squeaked in sleepy protest.

“I know..., I don’t particularly wish to loose him either, Estel. Unfortunately we have no choice.”
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 Eldarion with one hand, eating with the other.

Eldarion 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 of his 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 he dared 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 shrugged elegantly, “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 Aragorn’s shoulder, 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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Coming Home, Chapter 9.
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Aragorn stayed awake as Legolas drifted, not wanting to let even a moment go
past without witness. He tried to memorize the almost delicate, features, the
texture of his skin and hair beneath his hands, the exact shade of the blue of
his eyes.

He watched as Legolas's sleep became increasingly restless, and troubled. He
was there when his efforts at soothing Legolas back to sleep finally failed and
those beautiful eyes regained awareness and became filled with pain. The
hand the elf raised to rub awkwardly over his face was shaking violently, and
Aragorn caught it automatically between both of his.

Legolas brought up his other hand, and for a moment did nothing more than
hold onto him--hard. After a bit, he released Aragorn's hands, and pushed
awkwardly away. Aragorn helped him sit up and Legolas leaned against him,
body shuddering as pain raced through his body, every nerve alight with it.

Aragorn ran his hands lightly up and down Legolas's arms, wrist to shoulder,
not entirely sure what he was hoping to accomplish, but needing to feel like he
was doing something. Legolas closed his eyes, desperately fighting for
something like control. He was scared, Aragorn realized with a jolt. He'd
heard
Legolas admit to his fear, but to see it, made it real, and he wasn't prepared
for
it... not in the least. He froze. Legolas was leaning against him, shaking in
what was clearly nearly unendurable pain, and fear, and he just... froze.

He never knew how long he knelt there, unseeing and immobile before he
wrenched himself back to total awareness..., "Shhhh, I've got you Legolas.
I've got you," he said softly, directly into the pointed ear, kissing his
temple and
gently pulling the loose strands away from Legolas's face.

Legolas responded to him, turning his face into the side of his neck, as his
breathing evened and deepened and the trembling shaking his body lessened
slightly, but noticeably. When Legolas tried to pull away from him, Aragorn
just
held on tighter, refusing to allow it. Legolas struggled against him with
surprising strength, before saying hoarsely, "Let me go Aragorn, I need to," He
swallowed audibly, and Aragorn didn't need to hear the rest of the statement.

Aragorn let him go and stood up behind him. Legolas was half staggering, half
walking, toward the bathroom. When he got there he fell to his knees, and
Aragorn followed him down, holding him tightly while his stomach emptied
itself. Aragorn didn't need to be able to see in the dark room to know that
what
Legolas was throwing up was pure, unadulterated, blood. The cloyingly
sweet, metallic odor told him more surely than sight would have.

When he settled, cool and limp in his arms, Aragorn picked him up and moved
him back to the bedroom. Legolas was barely responsive at that point, eyes
open but glassy as Aragorn settled him onto the bed and sat beside him.
Legolas was, mercifully, still only semiconscious when his eyes rolled back and
his muscles snapped taunt as he arched off the bed.

Aragorn closed his eyes when Legolas began to convulse, but he grabbed for
and found Legolas's hand. He was surprised when the elf returned the grip. It
was unusual, but not entirely unheard of for someone in the throws of a fit to
retain awareness. Legolas was holding on to him with so much force that
Aragorn thought he heard a bone crack, clinging to him desperately and
Aragorn could feel his terror. Legolas hated being out of control, and in the
grip of the seizure he was utterly helpless.

Calling upon resources he didn't know he possessed, he managed to keep his
voice low and even when he said, "Don't fight it, Legolas. What's going to
happen, will happen. Let your body do what it needs to do... It'll be over
soon."

He could feel Legolas's grip relax infinitesimally and continued the quiet
monologue as the seizure activity lessened. He could only hope that it would
do some good. "That's it, you've got it, just a bit longer ...," He continued
talking Legolas down until the awful tremors had eased to sporadic shivering and his
eyes focused on the man kneeling by him.

Legolas spent a few minutes looking at Aragorn, simply watching him wearily.
He looked... gruesome, Aragorn thought, bloody and disshelved, yet somehow,
even now beautiful-- though macabre.

Arching an eyebrow in silent inquiry, not trusting his voice, Aragorn returned
the gaze.

"I-" Legolas stopped and cleared his throat when his voice emerged more
squeak than not, "Get me outside Aragorn."

Aragorn opened his mouth to refuse. Legolas really was in no condition to be
moved anywhere, much less into the damp night.

"Elessar, please. Get me out of here!"

He sounded frantic, and Aragorn vacillated, until Legolas continued, softer,
pleading, "What difference is it going to make? Aragorn... I need to get out
from behind these walls."

Less than two dozen words and he was exhausted, falling back against the bed
weakly. It tipped the scales in his favor, Aragorn coming rapidly to his
decision, and scooping Legolas, blankets and all, into his arms and heading for the door.

"Thank you." Legolas said simply, quietly, resting his head against a strong
shoulder.

The gratitude in his voice nearly broke Aragorn's heart. He carried Legolas
through the halls and down flights of stairs rather quickly, unaware of the
assorted servants standing about staring at the site of their King, carrying a
bloodied elf out of the castle into the dark night.

Aragorn took him to the gardens. He didn't want to actually go far with
Legolas, and the gardens, though still behind the castle's walls were large
enough to give the illusion of being truly away from the city. Aragorn
realized, with a pang of regret, that he had never brought Legolas here before.

The moon was full, and bathed the garden in shimmering light. Though there
was more than enough light to see, Aragorn thought there had never been a
darker night. Sitting himself on the ground at the foot of an evergreen,
Aragorn leaned against the trunk, but didn't release Legolas from his arms.

Legolas lay against him,one hand clasped loosely about Aragorn's wrist,
tracing idle figure eights on the inside of his arm. His eyes were closed and
he was so cold that just being in contact with him made Aragorn shiver. Aragorn
looked down at him and , with what was obviously a great deal of effort,
Legolas got his eyes open.

Neither spoke, just sat silently together. Legolas was clearly too weak and
too exhausted for speech, and Aragorn was simply incapable of forcing words past
the lump in his throat. When Legolas tensed in his arms again with a low,
pain filled, groan, Aragorn rocked gently, attempting to soothe or reassure him,
knowing that there wasn't anything he could really do at this point, and to be
truthful there never had been. So much pain.... Aragorn hoped, and prayed to
deities he was no longer sure he believed in, that it would at least end
quickly.

Legolas coughed harshly and then gagged, bringing up a truly staggering
amount of bright red, frothy, blood. As he held Legolas, bracing him against
his body while blood gushed out of him, pouring over his hands, Aragorn
wondered if there was any blood left in the elf's veins.

When the coughing spasm passed, Legolas struggled for a moment, trying,
ineffectually, to clear the blood from his airway, "Inhale as hard as you can
love..."

Taking blood back down into his lungs wasn't something Aragorn would
normally have recommended, but Legolas wasn't going to last long enough for
it to matter, and it was clear he was still hemorrhaging and his lungs would
continue to fill until he bled out or suffocated, Aragorn thought.

The clinical detachment evaporated when Legolas's eyes snapped open with a
soft gasp of pain. "Shhhh, easy Legolas..."

He was still so panicked, Aragorn thought sadly, his heart aching. Legolas was
a warrior to his very core. He did not know how to surrender to anyone or
anything, even death. He was fighting an unwinable battle and it broke the
human's heart.

"Shhhh, just relax for me Legolas. It's ok to let go."

Legolas's eyebrows drew down in a slight frown, as he finally said very
softly, "I'm--trying."

"Just focus on me love," Aragorn said rocking gently,remembering Arwen's
advice to him. Legolas needed to be able to have faith in him, and to let go
for him. " I will never forget you, and I will never stop loving you. You are part
of who I am and nothing will ever change that."

As he spoke he could feel Legolas relaxing in stages into him, becoming
utterly limp. Acceptance or simply his body wearing out, Aragorn didn't know.
He hoped it was the earlier, feared it was the latter. Legolas smiled up at
him, and sighed quietly, "I love you too Elessar, and I will always be with you..."


His voice was slurred and faded away toward the end of his short speech. His
eyes stayed open, looking up at Aragorn, focusing on him intently. His
breathing gradually grew slower, and more shallow, taking on a distressing
liquid quality, but there was never any hint or fear or pain, finally. As
death grew nearer his eyes darkened and lost their focus, though he smiled slightly
when Aragorn's fingers settled against his throat, stroking lightly, monitoring
the weak and erratic pulse beneath them.

When it stuttered, and then stopped, Aragorn sat as though frozen, his tears
dropping onto Legolas's face, leaving a shimmering trail across blood stained
cheeks.

When Aragorn finally stood, he felt absolutely numb. He walked stiffly back to
the castle, carrying Legolas's body with him. What he was doing or where he
was going he did not know. When someone he dimly recognized as the man
who had initially allowed Legolas to stay in the stable approached him, and
attempted to take Legolas from him he snarled. It was the sound of an animal
in pain, and the man backed off though he continued to follow. Aragorn wasn't
aware of his presence as he continued mechanically up the stairs into the
entrance hall of his home.

--------------------
Coming Home, Chapter 10.
There's a long author's note at the end.
___________________________________


Arwen met him just inside the door. She had known, as had Aragorn that this
was the very end. She had been prepared, she thought, for the inevitable.
What she wasn't prepared for was the sight of her husband. He was clutching
Legolas's limp body, and they were both covered in blood. Yet it wasn't the
blood that horrified her, it was the look in Aragorn's eyes, the expression on
his face.

The raw pain, the guilt, the absolute, soul deep grief, that he could not
express. Once he saw her he stopped and stood motionless. She approached
him slowly and cautiously. He seemed so brittle, and so fragile, that she was
afraid that the slightest provocation he would simply shatter, and fly into a
million different directions.

When she reached him, she gently placed her hand on his forearm and
squeezed carefully, looking into his eyes steadily, showing none of her own
emotional turmoil. Legolas was gone. Aragorn needed her now, and her focus
was on the living.

She motioned the man standing behind his King forward and said steadily,
"Estel, I want you to let Randalt take Legolas..."

Aragorn didn't respond, or acknowledge the remark. When the manservant
tried to take Legolas, this time, he didn't actively protest, but Arwen had to
gently pry his fingers free from the corpse in his arms. When Randalt finally
took possession of Legolas's body, Arwen nodded to him and he left as quickly
and quietly as possible. He would see to the elf's burial. Clearly the King
was in no condition to do it himself.

Aragorn allowed Arwen to steer him to their private chambers where he sat
automatically in a chair. He sat there through the entire day, and it wasn't
until the following dawn that he moved at all. As light flooded the room, awareness
seemed to return to him and he shifted his position slightly and looked down at
his hands.

They were still covered in blood, as were his clothes. Arwen hadn't been able
to get him to let her wash him, or to change clothes. He was absolutely
covered in blood-- Legolas's blood. Suddenly a wave of intense nausea
washed over him and his head began to pound in time with his pounding heart,
blood roaring in his ears.

"Estel?" Arwen asked, concerned by his pallor.

He turned to face her, eyes wide with shock and horror. He staggered as the
room spun and dizziness swept him away. He saw the floor rushing up at him
as he fell. By the time he hit, his mind had already retreated from the
painful and harsh reality of the previous night, seeking the relative safety of
oblivion.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Aragorn woke slowly, reluctant for some reason he could not yet grasp to
return to wakefulness. He wanted to stay asleep, but his body wasn't
cooperating. He desperately needed to empty his bladder, and his stomach
was rumbling ominously, reminding him that it had been too long since he had
eaten. He shifted a bit, trying to ignore his body's nagging and get a bit
more sleep. Since Legolas has reappeared sleep had been in rather short supply...
Legolas... Reality came rushing back, shattering the comfortably foggy state
of his mind in an instant.

He kept his eyes closed, even when he felt a cool, soft, very familiar hand on
his face, brushing away the tears that were streaking across his temples before
disappearing into his hair.

"Estel, please open your eyes."

He didn't want to, by the Valar, He did not want to open his eyes, afraid that
if he did he would have to face the world and he honestly did not think he was
strong enough to deal with reality just yet. Yet for all that he wanted to
ignore her, retreat into his mind again, the grief and concern in her voice prompted
him to obey, and he opened his eyes. He couldn't leave her alone to face this.

Legolas had been her friend as well, and she had cared about him as well,
though not in the same way.

When his eyes opened they found Arwen sitting on one side of him, and Eldarion
sleeping on the other. Her eyes were compassionate and looked as though
she'd been crying. The baby's face was a furious bright red and he frowned
with concern and looked at her.

"He screamed until he finally wore himself out and fell asleep. I'm surprised
you were able to sleep through the commotion. He was inconsolable."

" He knows." Aragorn said without any doubt.

Arwen nodded and agreed, "Yes, he does," without looking away from her
husband. Finally he sighed and sat up, swinging his legs around to sit beside
her on the bed's edge, and rested his forearms on his knees. He noticed with
someone had taken the time to clean him up, removing all the blood and
changing his clothes. It was a relief, yet it felt-- wrong, as though the last
traces of Legolas had been washed from him. It felt as though the evidence of
his life had been removed, as well as the evidence of his death.

Aragorn raked a hand roughly through his hair, pulling roughly through the
snarls. When Arwen winced, Aragorn froze -- remembering her reaction when
Legolas had done the same thing and evoked the same reaction. Dammit, why
had Legolas come back? Why the hell hadn't he just stayed away? he thought
bitterly as tears began to fall again. Everything he did, everywhere he looked
brought back some fragment of memory. The feel of hair sliding through his
fingers, the sound of his voice, the way his eyes lit up when he was with
Eldarion. Would he ever be able to look at Eldarion without remembering Legolas.

"Probably not," Arwen said gently, making him realize he'd spoken the last out
loud, "but do you really want to forget him?"

Aragorn finally looked at her, and said, "Of course not, but I can't remember
him without it transforming into this vision of him covered in blood and
clinging to me, scared out of his mind."

Arwen wiped her own tears away with the side of her hand, "That is exactly
what Legolas feared would happen. That the memory of his death would
overshadow your memories of his life."

"I can't help it!" the King snapped, "it wasn't right, nor was it fair! Legolas
should not have died. He died because he loved me, and in the end all I could do was
tell him to stop fighting and just die! The hands of the king are the hands of
a healer..." he muttered with disgust. "The hands of the king are covered in the
blood of innocents."

"Innocents?" Arwen asked incredulously, "Legolas was many things Aragorn,
but he was far from an innocent. You would do well to hold true to the elf he
was, and not remake him into some vision of perfection. He was real and he
was alive, and like all living beings he was flawed."

Aragorn looked at her, anger and grief and bitterness threatening to consume
him, and was brought up short by the slight smile tugging the corners of her
mouth in spite of the tears in her eyes. Without waiting for his inquiry,
Arwen elaborated.

"Pride... oh Valar was Legolas cocky-- and impulsive! Long before you arrived
in Rivendell he was more arrogant than anyone should be, and he certainly
found his way into trouble. I can not tell you how many times he was dragged
in to Rivendell, usually by my brothers, injured from some stupid adventure
gone wrong. The one that stands out in my mind was the result of Legolas
mouthing off to a dwarf, calling her Master, The result was beaten soundly
about the head and shoulders with the flat of an ax."

Aragorn's lips twitched slightly "That would explain a good deal...,"

"Such as the barbed remarks we directed at him, saying a blow to his head
was responsible for his handicap?" Arwen smiled sadly and then curled
against Aragorn's side, resting her hand on his chest. When he wrapped both
arms around her, she continued, "Don't turn him into a saintly being, love. To
deny his flaws, to remember only the good, will diminish him. It's all part of
the complicated, convoluted, and brilliant being of Legolas Greenleaf."

Aragorn sat quietly, contemplating her words, but not really absorbing them--
not yet. He felt as though he were only half present, that the biggest part of
him had been ripped away from him, leaving a raw bleeding wound in it's place.
He knew he was crying, but only because he could see them falling in front of
his face, fast and hard. He was almost entirely unaware of his body as he held
Arwen and shook with the force of sobs ripping themselves from his chest. He
had never cried like this. Then, he had never hurt like this either.


Finally the baby stirred, and mewled softly as he began to wake. It shook
Aragorn from his reverie, and he asked her, his voice obviously unsteady,
"What now?"

"Now, I would suggest you visit the lavatory, and then arrange to have
something to eat" She said pragmatically, "After that... We will remember, and
we will grieve, but we will go on."



____________________________

Epilogue: Three years later:
____________________________

It was near dark when he made his way, finally, back to his family. It had
been a long, hard day. There had been a string of murders the previous week, and
the culprits had finally been caught. He had witnessed their execution and
then spent hours in council with his advisors discussing security and safety.
That it was the anniversary of Legolas's death hadn't occurred to him until he
was at his door and the realization troubled him. He did not want to forget
Legolas.

Yet day by day, memory failed him and the image of his friend grew less
distinct as time passed. In his dreams, occasionally, he could still hear the
sound of his voice, feel the silk of his skin and hair, remember the exact
shade of blue that his eyes had been. Yet dreams, like memory were destined to
fade, and he was left with nothing but the impression of Legolas, and it hurt
that he was forgetting him. That he had forgotten that today was the day he
had died, no matter how busy he had been, did not sit well with him.

When he walked into their apartments, he found Arwen putting Eldarion to bed.
He would have a sibling soon, and had been particularly clingy and needy, in
spite of repeated reassurances that he would never be replaced. She was
sitting with him, and he walked in to hear Eldarion asking curiously, "Did he
have ears like yours?"

"Mmhm," Arwen said smiling slightly. Aragorn walked in and leaned against
the wall, watching. Eldarion seemed unusually serious as he asked the question.

He glanced at his father, as did Arwen, then immediately drew his attention
back to his mother.

"Did he have yellow hair?" he said with intensity that should have been
impossible in such a young child, "and blue eyes."

"Yes," she said simply and continued Eldarion's bedtime story. Aragorn sat on
the floor with his knees to his chest and listened as she told him all about
the elven prince and his adventures. His memory would, by necessity, fade and
blur, but Legolas and his life who he was, would never, could never, be
forgotten.