Rating: NC17

Category: First Time, no-het AU

Spoilers: None, pre-Fellowship

Summary: Aragorn looks into Galadriel's mirror and sees an unexpected future. This is the 'how they got together' prequel to the story To Run.

As I am not one to coax people into reading something they might not enjoy, I feel a canon warning beyond the AU label is necessary.

I don't remember book canon, and while I did enjoy them when I read them 26 years ago, they are not something I ever wish to re-read. I mean no insult by this, but the movies speak to me in a way the books never could.

Thus I have relied on my own imagination, the two movies to-date and the books released about the movie to fill in the blanks throughout this tale. Inevitably many things will contradict the books beyond the obvious AU absence of Aragorn's romance with Arwen. So please read no further if such canon violations upset or otherwise hinder your enjoyment of a story.

Aragorn rode beside his foster sister and didn't know whether to be excited or disappointed when the woods of Lothlorien came into view.

He would be ten in a few more weeks, and this was the first time within his memory Elrond had allowed him to leave Rivendell. Even then, his foster father had sent all three of his children to watch over him. Aragorn had found the outside world thrilling, yet oddly disappointing. Somehow he kept expecting something to happen, but it had not.

It was possible this was a very good thing. He knew Elves reached a physical age that suited them, then aged no more, but he also knew they could be killed and was very fond of each and every Elf in this entourage. Excitement might take one of them from him and he was not anxious to lose any of those he called friend, let alone the members of his family.

"Such a frown you wear, Estel," Arwen chided him with a smile on her lovely face. "What great thoughts trouble you?"

Estel. That was among several names given to him by the Elves, but he never thought of himself in that way. It had been several years before he'd been entrusted with the secret of his true name, but he'd always known he'd had one, so he had not referred to himself as anything and left the naming to others.

When Elrond had told him of his linage, he'd been less than pleased. Who could possibly be happy to hear he was descended from Isildur of Gondor and a line of kings who had failed to keep their people safe? Yet, he had taken to his name instantly. In his thoughts he was always Aragorn, son of Arathorn. It was the destiny that went with it he had no desire for. "Nothing, sister," he said, knowing she would laugh at him if he told her of his expectations.

Elrond and his children had been surprised by his reaction to his heritage. Although they had raised him as if he were an Elf himself, they had all thought he would be anxious to claim his throne, for Men were well-known to desire power. But not this Man. He had no need for a throne his nightmares whispered he would not serve well. He preferred to spend his days as an Elf, wondering the woods, learning all the land and its creatures could teach him.

Taken aback by this response, his family had begun to work on convincing him his destiny must be accepted, even embraced. He intended to do neither. Gondor had done well enough without a poor-excuse for a king this long, he saw no reason to change it, but it was difficult resisting the advice of those he'd always turned to for wisdom.

In truth when Arwen had suggested he was old enough to make the journey to her grandparents' realm, he had been certain he would find something along the way to prove he did not have to be a slave to destiny. As they entered the safety of Lothlorien, he accepted he had confused hope with expectation.

He sighed heavily and tried not to let disappointment sweep through him. He had been told Arwen's grandmother could read minds, and he did not want to be discourteous by giving her the impression he did not find her lands beautiful.

'Your thoughts do you credit, child,' a voice spoke in his head, 'but one who is true to his heart need not fear our displeasure.'

He was startled to taste the Lady Galadriel's power so soon. He could not think what to answer.

A gentle laughter caressed his mind. 'Welcome, Elessar. Your arrival gives me great joy.'

He couldn't imagine why he would inspire such a feeling, but he gave his thanks to her and resolved to do his best to be worthy of her opinion.

Aragorn woke for no reason he could detect. He'd taken to the woods and was already familiar enough with them to know none of the sounds he could hear were unusual.

He sighed and glanced out of the window. The position of the moon visible through the branches of the tree coiling around the room given to him said one day had passed into the next. He had been ten for almost an hour. He felt no different than he had yesterday, but knew he was quite different from who he had been a year ago. That child had not known his own name or of his unwanted destiny. In many ways he envied the ignorance, but he knew he could never go back.

Wide awake, he got out of bed and was not surprised to find himself alone. He did not need keepers within the boundaries of these woods and knew his siblings had each found companions to spend the nights with. He smiled and wondered what they would think if they discovered he knew how they spent their time away from him. He was too young to want such things, but not so young as to miss the signs of courtship around him.

Knowing sleep would not call to him again this night, he dressed, then decided to do some exploring. He opted to descend to the ground moving quietly and quickly along the spiral walkways to prevent someone from noticing him and deciding he should go back to bed until the sun rose.

Once earth, not wood, was beneath his feet, he began to walk. Carefully he noted his surroundings, but chose no particular destination. He did not care where he went, only that he would be able to find his way back unaided. The journey was often much more interesting that way.

He found the grotto after an hour of pleasant wandering and knew he would go no further this night. For a long moment he stared at the beautiful Elf who gave every impression she'd been waiting for him, then he asked, "Did you call to me? Is that why I woke up?"

Galadriel smiled, but did not answer. Accustomed to beings of power clinging to their mystery, he did not take offense. If nothing else, his friendship with Gandalf the Gray had taught him the value of patience.

"Will you look into the mirror?" she asked, pouring a vessel of water into what he would have assumed was a decorative piece to attract birds.

No looking glass then. This was the scrying pool Arwen had once told him about. She'd said she had looked within it, but could not remember the images. "What will I see?"

"None can say. Past, present and future are all one. Your own mind will direct the mirror."

He knew it would be a grave insult to refuse this gift, but was tempted all the same. The silence in his head told him the Lady was aware of his struggles and would not offer him a graceful out. For some reason she wanted him to look. Suspicion coiled through him, and he knew if he looked he would see whether or not he would be king – something he had no desire to see. Then he remembered more of his conversation with Arwen.

'You don't remember? That seems odd.'

She had smiled. 'I was very young and set my mind to a foolish question.'

'What?'

'That I remember. I asked it to show me the face of my true love.'

It was possible to guide the mirror then. He could block out all thoughts of his royal destiny and the failure he was certain to see and focus on one question. But what?

Galadriel's gaze weighed heavily upon him and he decided he should not wait any longer. Arwen's question would have to do. Though he had no real great need to know the answer, he focused all his thoughts on that one question. He even spoke it as he finally dared peer into the water. "Who is my true love?"

For a moment he saw nothing but water, then images of what had happened in the last day formed. He did not allow his mind to waver from his question for an instant and gradually the images gave way to a face. Blond hair, blue eyes and very definitely, "A boy."

He blushed slightly at the word. The Elf was certainly beyond the age of a boy, although his appearance suggested he had stopped aging shortly after reaching the earliest years of adulthood. Which meant nothing. This 'boy' could be older than Elrond.

The Lady misunderstood his embarrassment or more likely chose to. "A relationship between two males is not unusual among the Peoples of Middle Earth."

He knew that and forgot himself enough to give her an irritated look at her even pretending he was some baby who didn't.

She looked amused.

Opting to ignore her, he returned his attention back to the watery image. "He's beautiful," he decided. More beautiful than any among a race known for its beauty. He blushed again, remembering too late that the Lady Galadriel was supposed to be the fairest of all.

This time she laughed and did not pretend she did not know his thoughts. "Such things are in the eye of the beholder, child, and you will come to measure all things by his grace."

"Who is he?"

"I cannot see him," she answered. "He is of your heart. Not mine."

Aragorn frowned. "He is blond, like your people, but I have not seen him."

"Do you wish to know him while you are still a child to his eyes?"

He considered the matter, then shook his head. The images were fading. In truth he expected it was unusual for them to remain when the seer kept looking away, but he bade the waters show him one last truth – what would he look like when this love came to be?

The water shimmered and for a moment he thought he would be denied his answer, then the surface stilled again and showed him the Elf in the arms of a Man full grown, then he was looking into nothing more than water.

He frowned. It could be a very long time before his appearance matched the vision. Too long to wait for a boy bursting with curiosity. He looked up to ask Galadriel if there weren't some way to find out who his Elf was, but she was gone. Wonderful, he thought in place of a curse he should not know, but did. He would have to figure this out on his own.

Twenty-two years later

Legolas sighed with relief as his party crossed the stream and entered the lands of Rivendell. It was a very long ride from the northern forests where his father ruled, and he was more than sick of the saddle. He noted a similar look of relief on his companions' faces.

He was the youngest of Thranduil's children, but Rivendell was his special province. An Elf-king had little need of an heir, but each of his children was given the task of serving as envoy to one of the other Elven kingdoms. Although there were few parts of Middle Earth he had not traveled, he knew Rivendell almost as well as his own lands. But it had been a hundred or so years since the last time he had ridden among these trees.

A smile touched his lips as he wondered which of the fair children of Elrond would greet him. All of them knowing their destinies were not entwined, they had had ceased to fight over his attentions long ago. Instead which of them courted him for his visit tended to be decided before he arrived. He suspected they drew lots.

It should have offended him, and would have if the sex were born of anything other than friendship. In truth, he suspected he was not capable of a greater affection. He had seen more than 3,000 summers and not once had he known anything deeper. Many Elves never did and were happier for it. Some said it was a consequence of immortality. Others a mental safeguard against dying of a broken heart. He neither knew nor cared. He had merely accepted his fate though he often felt the flickers of envy when he looked upon those who had found a lasting love.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was not like him to brood. Especially when Rivendell beckoned to him. But his 'acceptance' had wavered of late and there was an emptiness within him that was beginning to ache.

So deep were his thoughts that he was startled when his entourage halted. They'd arrived and he'd not even noticed.

"Legolas!"

He looked up at the call and watched Elrond's only daughter hurry down the steps from the main hall to greet him.

Legolas told himself he was not disappointed and smiled.

Oracs, twelve of them swarming out of the newly fallen night. Aragorn slew three before they had a sense of the skill he possessed. The others switched tactics and attacked in force, determined to overwhelm him with numbers. A fatal error.

Shrieks of pain filled the glade, heads feel to the ground rolling away from the bodies they had once been attached to. An arc of his blade to the right cut one foe's throat. A thrust forward sliced through a foul heart. He wrenched the blade free from the body and slashed to his right, disemboweling two trying to take him from behind.

Sharp pains tickled at his consciousness, but he ignored them. They could cut him all they liked. He would heal. He guarded against a greater injury and nothing more. To attempt more would be to die.

Sweat threatened to blind him, his sword hand grew slick with blood both red and black, but he fought on. Behind him again. He spun his sword around in his hand and stabbed backwards beneath his arm.

Another scream rent the air. A second joined it when he slashed to the left. He spun around to face the next and found himself with nothing but twelve bodies to keep him company.

Victory might have a sweetness to it, but it also stung. The energy of the battle draining from him told him how little of his body had not felt the cut of metal. Some of the wounds were deep. Dangerously so. His earlier confidence vanished and he wondered if he might not have finally found a way to thwart his destiny.

Fresh water from a nearby stream cleaned the wounds, then herbs from his pouch slowed or stopped the bleeding from a dozen wounds. He had to resort to ripping a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt to make a bandage for the long gash on his sword arm. There was little more he could do.

To his dismay, neither Rivendell nor Arwen's charming company could lighten Legolas' growing melancholy.

With regret he did not accept her offers of intimacy and she did not push though he knew she shared his disappointment. They had always had great fun together. He wished he could make it up to her outside of his bed, but his heart grew heavy. Something was just out of his reach. He could feel it.

He feared he was going mad and longed for the days when he had worn serenity like a cloak. Images filled his thoughts whenever he tried to rest. Over and over again, the same face. A Man's face. One he'd never met.

It drove him from his rooms in the middle of the night, out to the trees to seek some small measure of peace. He climbed a large gnarled oak that reminded him of his favorite tree in Mirkwood, then settled into the crook of an upper branch. It offered no more comfort than Arwen or rest.

What was happening to him? He was of the Wood Elves. The calm of a forest had ever been a balm to his soul. Now it seemed to mock him, whispering secrets in a language beyond him. A fever burned within him, but his skin remained cool. Stillness was in his nature, yet he found himself near fidgeting like a Human child.

The whispers of the trees grew louder and he abandoned his perch. He would not linger while his shelter tormented him. Foolishness. The whispers were within, not without, but he descended all the same.

Something was going to happen. No, that was not right. Something that should have happened had not. Go. Must go. He ran.

It made no more sense than the trees. But he ran. As hard and fast as he could. He did not stop when he reached the borders of Rivendell. Without supplies or weapons of any sort, he crossed the river and kept going.

Dawn broke.

He ran.

The sun rose toward mid-day.

He ran.

The sun began its descent toward evening.

Here. Legolas stopped in the middle of the path leading toward the Wilds. Not the best place for an unarmed Elf to linger, but he waited.

A soft sound tickled his ears. Defeat, weariness, pain. The sigh held all these things. It drew him to a bush a few feet from the path. Not a good hiding place, but the Man he found lying beneath it was well beyond judging such things.

Legolas could feel the heat of the fever before his hand settled on the Man's flesh. The clothes were bloodied, ripped, and the scent of infection tainted the air. All spoke of death's approach.

His hands shook as he eased back the hood covering the Man's face. He knew it well, but the eyes were wrong. Fever-bright, they showed no sign of knowing anything but misery. No intelligence, no bravery, no love. Nothing for him, but the promise they would soon close forever.

No. Legolas would not allow it.

He had come with nothing beyond the clothes he wore, but no Elf, especially one who thrived on adventure, was ignorant of the bounty around him.

It had been too long since he had passed this way to rely on memory. He willed the pounding of his heart to soften and trained his senses on their surroundings. Water.

The Man had an empty water skin on his belt. Legolas took it and hurried toward the scent, then sound of a stream, his eyes searching for a better lair than the bush. He found one very near the water. A cluster of young trees to put wood at their backs and good enough to keep wind at bay with a little help from him.

By nightfall, he'd tended the Man's wounds, built the needed shelter and started a fire. A part of him knew it would do no good. He had come too late for any true hope, but he could not allow the Human to slip away without fighting for him.

He gathered the Man in his arms pulling him close to keep him as warm as possible until it was time to refresh the herbs and change the dressings again. What else could he do?

Legolas searched his memory for anything that might help. Nothing, but he had to do something. He had been gravely wounded more than once, and carefully he examined the memory of everything done for him. No, only a healer could do more if anything more could indeed be done. But he remembered his mother sitting at his bedside and what she had done to comfort him.

He sang. His voice pitched too low to reach much further than the Man's ears, he sang every song he knew about life and love.

Aragorn woke to discover the morning sun well above the horizon and himself alone in a small camp. While finding himself thus did not displease him, it did not fit well with memory.

He should be dead. That he was going to die had been his last thought before fever had stolen reason. Yet somehow he had lived. He felt weak, exhausted, but the deadly fever had broken.

Obviously someone had found him. Helped him, but he would have sworn he had been well beyond any aid. Too much blood lost. Too many wounds festering. Curious.

Movement drew his attention. An Elf. He'd been too still to see before, but now he stood up, water skin in hand and turned back toward the camp. No, not an Elf. His Elf.

Warmth swept through Aragorn. How he had regretted coming to his end before he could meet his love. He could not help but smile.

The Elf stopped, looked at him, then smiled as well. "I did not think you would see this day, Human," he said, kneeling beside Aragorn. "Thank you for proving me wrong."

Aragorn wanted to say a great many things, but managed nothing more than a dry, rasp of sound.

The Elf helped him sit, then to drink. "Who?" Aragorn grated out.

"Legolas, son of Thranduil."

He knew the name. Youngest prince of Mirkwood and a good friend to the House of Elrond. Not a wonder then that they had met, but one that they had not. More water and he spoke more easily. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn." It did not occur to him to hide the truth. Not from Legolas. Never from Legolas

Legolas' eyes widened. Few would not recognize the name of the missing heir to the throne of Gondor. "Yet again you surprise me," he said, then recovered his smile. "I suspect you will make a habit of it."

He wanted to reach out and caress the beautiful Elf's face, but he was too weak, too tired to lift his hand. The effort it took for a small smile drained him totally and, quite unwillingly, he fell asleep.

The sound of horses approaching propelled Legolas to his feet, the Man's sword in his hands. A moment later, he blushed and lowered the weapon as the twin sons of Elrond arrived. While glad of the aid, he had apparently left an obvious trail – at least to another Elf. His father would have a few words to say about such carelessness. Should he ever find out.

"Are you well, Legolas?" Elladan asked, dismounting.

"Yes, but." He faltered. What should he say of Aragorn? "My companion is in great need of your father's care."

Elrohir took two steps toward the sleeping Man, then froze. "Gods, Estel!"

Estel? Elrond's foster son? Legolas shot a glare at his unconscious charge. Full of surprises, indeed.

The two brothers were at Aragorn's side in a heartbeat.

To Legolas' utter irritation, they woke him.

"Elladan?" Aragorn said.

Elrohir smiled. "Close, but I will forgive the mistake this time."

"Only a dream then."

The sorrow in Aragorn's voice pulled at Legolas and he moved closer. The Man's smile marked the moment Aragorn saw him. Strange how Legolas knew this. He should not have understood the Man so well with so little time spent in his company, but he had no doubts the smile was for him. "Given how close you came to death, Human, I would say nightmare would be a more apt description."

Aragorn's hand lifted a few inches, then dropped back to his side. Legolas knelt beside him and took the hand in his. Another smile rewarded him.

Legolas gave the hand a squeeze. "I know you need to sleep." The infection had cleared and the wounds were healing at an amazing rate, but the effort had exhausted the Man. He would wager Aragorn would need to sleep for the better part of a week to recover. "But it is not safe to remain here. If we help you, can you stay awake long enough to mount a horse?"

"You will ride with me?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Then get me to the damned horse."

Aragorn woke mid-morning on the fourth day after his return to Rivendell. For the first time he felt the urge to get out of bed instead of to go back to sleep. Progress at last.

He chucked at himself. He had almost died. No, more than that, he should have died. And yet he grumbled at how long the miracle was taking to heal him totally. Ungrateful bastard, he chided himself, then decided to begin the day by trying to sit up.

To his surprise neither pain nor weakness hindered him and he sat with ease.

"Well done, brother," Arwen said, drawing his attention to the doorway of the balcony outside his room.

He smiled, undisturbed to find his foster sister watching over him instead of his Elf. The long ride home nestled in the warm security of Legolas' arms had eased all doubt from Aragorn's mind. He had done more than survive what he should not have. He had also found his destined love.

"Legolas is with father," she said, then laughed. "You should not look so surprised, Estel. You have sought his attentions each time you woke."

So he had. "He is a beautiful sight for tired eyes. But I am not saddened to find you here in his absence."

Something touched her eyes. Regret? Shame? It was there and gone so quickly, Aragorn could not identify it. "I will have a bath drawn for you," she said.

He frowned, but resisted the impulse to stop her as she left his rooms. Elves did not sweat. Men did. And he had not enjoyed more than the caress of a damp cloth in far too long. A bath sounded like paradise.

Legolas found him while he was lounging in the midst of his steaming paradise. He was naked and in Aragorn's arms before either of them said a word.

It felt right beyond all measure. As did the sweet depths of Legolas' mouth yielding to the press of his tongue. It was insane to love this deeply, this quickly. Aragorn knew it and reason suggested making love would worsen the situation, but he was far from any state of reason. As was the Elf.

Legolas drew back, his blue eyes fixed on Aragorn's. A shift of his weight upward, then he eased down onto the Man's cock, his muscles allowing the entrance with an ease no Human's could.

Aragorn threw back his head, crying out in a mix of joy and pleasure so great it bordered on painful. Neither could manage further voice as their bodies exploded with release the moment Legolas had taken him fully inside.

The universe seemed to spin out of existence as wave after wave of ecstasy shuddered through Aragorn. Then nothingness swept in for an eternity, yet the water had not cooled when awareness returned. Mere seconds then, he thought, hugging the Elf in his arms close to him.

"We have sealed our fates, my love," he said when he found his voice once more.

Legolas did not stiffen at the words. He merely sighed and snuggled closer, his muscles clenching firmly enough around Aragorn to keep his spent organ inside of him.

He stroked the wet, silken hair. "Legolas?"

"Magic, then."

"Yes, and we have rashly completed the spell."

This made Legolas move, drawing back enough to once again stare into Aragorn's eyes. "You regret it, then?"

"No," he answered, though he knew they both should. "But what sort of magic did this?"

The Elf considered for a moment, then said, "A time loop. It can be nothing else given our contentment."

Aragorn nodded his agreement. Somehow, someone had looped the feelings they would have for one another in the future back to their beginning. They felt nothing more or less than they eventually would have, hence the peace. "But why?"

"I suspect so my strength could save you where your own would have failed. It is a temporary side effect of such a spell. Or so Gandlalf once told me."

Of course. The power of the emotions roiling back through time had allowed his miraculous healing. "He is a friend of mine." Even more so now. The Gray Wizard had given him his love as well as his life.

"His friendship is a wondrous gift, my Aragorn, but how could he have known to call me to you?"

Aragorn frowned. He could not have done so for Aragorn had never spoken of his destined love to anyone outside of Galadriel's grove. "The Lady of Light, it must have been her," he said, then told Legolas of seeing him in the scrying pool.

"You are dear to her?"

He shook his head. "She is the grandmother of my foster siblings, but I have not seen her but for the one time." It made no sense, yet it did. He remembered her odd happiness at his arrival in Lothlorien, his sense of being summoned to her grove and she alone had known of Legolas. "How does this spell work?"

"I am no magic weaver, Aragorn, but I know it calls the future to those enspelled."

"Then if she cast around me, I could have summoned you."

He nodded.

"But how did she know of my need?"

"I do not know. Perhaps we should journey to Lothlorien and ask her?"

He laughed. He couldn't help it and the motion jiggled him free from Legolas' body.

The Elf frowned his disapproval. "I was not ready to lose your presence, Human."

His laughter faded into a smile. "I will return as soon as my flesh allows, have no fear of that, my love."

Legolas looked mildly appeased. "And what matter amused you so?"

"The notion of the Lady of Light explaining anything. Gandalf is more inclined to reveal his secrets."

A slight smile touched the corners of his mouth, proving he had experience with the evasive Wizard. It was a lovely smile.

Aragorn pushed the mystery to the back of his mind and nuzzled the fine point of the nearest ear. "I grow weary of soaking. Will you come with me to my bed?"

"I will do anything you ask of me, Lord Aragorn. I am yours."

"As I am yours."

The next morning, Legolas rose with the sun. Aragorn did not stir when he slipped from his arms and his bed.

This neither surprised nor disappointed the Elf. His Aragorn had not yet recovered fully and their passion had made many demands of him.

So many things were clear now. He should have healed quickly no matter how often Aragorn took him, but a sweet ache remained. He did not regret it. In truth, he would mourn the loss of both the ache and the inevitable return of his full healing ability. For it would mean Aragorn could no longer use Legolas' strength.

There was Elven blood within Aragorn's line. He would always heal more quickly than a Human, but he would never heal as swiftly as an Elf. Legolas did not want him so vulnerable, but there was nothing he could do. At least, when the inevitable happened, he would not suffer his loss for long.

He drew on his leggings, then moved out onto the balcony, wondering at how little his own inevitable death concerned him. His heart full of a love he'd long been warned against, he could feel nothing but sorrow for his kindred who scorned a lasting love in an effort to avoid fatal consequences. Aragorn was too precious to avoid or survive. Should all the songs of love for mortals and broken hearts prove wrong, Legolas would resort to cold steel to follow his love beyond this life. He could not regret it. Not even if it should happen this very day. He had lived too long alone.

The soft rustle of a gown drew his attention to the next balcony. Arwen. He began to smile then stopped at the sudden look on her face. "Arwen?"

She turned and fled back into her rooms, the morning sun glinting on the jewel around her neck.

An insignificant jump would have carried him from his balcony to hers, but even as his muscles bunched to make the leap his mind whispered, 'She never takes off the jewel.'

He froze instantly understanding two things. He verified the first by turning his attention to the few items Aragorn had possessed when Legolas found him. Clothing, a pouch too new to be what he sought and his weapons. The sword perhaps? No, Aragorn had said he was but ten when he had met the Lady of Light and no child would have carried so formidable a blade. The dagger, then. He picked it up and his fingers tingled with the lingering traces of magic within the metal.

She had enchanted the dagger to tell her if death threatened to claim Aragorn, then she must have used it as a focal point to ensnare both he and Aragorn in the time loop.

One mystery solved, he quickly finished dressing then put his evidence in the sheath on his own belt. He glanced toward the bed and his sleeping love. Perhaps he should wait for him, then they could confront Arwen together, but no, what if he were wrong about her?

His certainty that she was somehow involved faltered. The sorrow and pain he had seen might not have been meant for him. Yet they had been friends for many summers, and his suspicions would not fade. No, better to talk to her alone, then summon Aragorn if his presence proved necessary.

The tight grip of exhaustion eased and Aragorn slipped from a deep sleep into a lighter one. Still mostly asleep, he reached for his Elf and found an emptiness that instantly pulled him into wakefulness.

"Legolas?" he called, disturbed by his absence. Foolish. An Elf did not need as much sleep as a Man. Especially a Man so newly healed. But the feeling something was wrong pulled him from the bed and he snatched up his robe.

The scream shattered the peace of the morning as he finished tying the sash. Arwen! He grabbed his sword and ran from his room to his sister's, then for the first time in his life he froze at the sight of blood.

Her face awash with tears, Arwen knelt on the floor clutching a bleeding body to her bosom. The blond hair Aragorn had so recently wound through his fingers told him all too well who had fallen.

"Legolas," he moaned with a low wail of despair. He crumpled down beside them and claimed what was his. Blue eyes so full of pain looked up with him.

"No, you must let me go," Legolas whispered.

"Never." It should have given comfort, but Legolas looked away.

"I will get Father," he heard Arwen gasp then run from the room.

Her nearness gone, Aragorn saw his dagger buried to the hilt in Legolas' side. His mind reeled. He knew wounds. This one promised death within a few more moments. It was also self-inflicted.

The roar rolled up from deep inside him. "Why?"

Legolas did not answer, although he was not yet beyond doing so.

Aragorn wanted to shake him, to lash out, to -. He stopped and forced his mind to clear. The spell had given them an understanding of each other of years together. Legolas was manipulating him. He wanted Aragorn to waste these last seconds. The helplessness fell away. Suddenly he remembered his dreams while he himself had lain dying. Dreams of an angel singing.

His voice rough, but determined, Aragorn began to sing.

Legolas longed for death, but Arwen fought him, preventing the instant peace of oblivion.

Hope remained and he opened his arms wide to embrace the unending darkness, but Aragorn would not let him go.

The man bound him to life while Legolas' own body and Lord Elrond's skill conspired to help him.

The crisis came quickly, then passed. Life, not death held him in its unyielding grasp. And Legolas could do naught but mourn.

"He will live," Elrond said, the relief heavy in his voice.

Aragorn's voice faltered for a moment caught in a sob, then he made himself go on and finish his song. He fell silent after the last note. There was much he needed to know, but he feared the answers.

His foster father might have honored Legolas' desire for death, but for Arwen's sobs that he must save him, that it had been her fault. His daughter and the son of his heart distraught, the Elf Lord had worked his healing magic while Aragorn had clung to the remnants of Galadriel's spell to keep Legolas on this side of the veil. It had been a near thing. So very near.

"Why?" he asked what he'd screamed three hours before. His voice was hoarse from so much singing, but it had strength enough for all in the room to hear. Yet he received the same silence as he had the first time.

He looked to Arwen. She had been as much mother as sister to him, but a near hatred simmered through him at the sight of her. "Your fault, you said. Explain."

Elrond stiffened at the threat in his voice and shifted as if to move between the two of them, but her hand on his arm stopped him.

"The Prince of Mirkwood has ever been my friend." She spoke softly at first, but her voice gained strength as she talked. "I gave no thought to silence when he came to me and asked why I had greeted the dawn with such sorrow."

Her word should have moved him to his own concern for her, but he had suffered too much fear in the last few hours for his heart to yield. "And what did you tell him?"

"Since the night before your return, illusive memories have haunted my dreams. Last night my sleep revealed all."

"You know what you saw in Galadriel's grove."

She looked at him in surprise. "How do you know?"

He sighed. "It never made sense to me that you would forget such a thing. If magic caused the loss, then her attention moving to me would have diminished the spell." It was obvious. Not even the Lady of Light could do all over such distance. The question he must ask was equally obvious, but he could not understand how any answer she could give would explain why his beloved had courted death. He asked anyway. "Who did you see in her pool?"

"You, Estel."

Aragorn stared at her as if she'd gone mad and saw an equal shock on Elrond's face. "Me?"

Sorrow wrapped around her like a shroud. "Yes, my brother. I saw myself in your arms, but it did not stop there. I saw myself lingering long after your death. Alone through so many years until my heart finally broke and death granted a merciful end to my wanderings."

Tears welled in her eyes, then spilled. "I was but eight summers old and could not handle such a sight."

"So Galadriel removed the memory to spare you pain." Aragorn shook his head, some of his anger toward his sister and her grandmother easing.

"Yes. Perhaps it was foolish, but when I woke I mourned for the future lost to the question of a silly child." She looked at him. "Knowing you now, I believe I would have considered my fate worth the price of a life spent with you. But after she took my memory, she sent me home to be mother and sister to the babe who arrived in Rivendell three summers later."

He nodded. They loved one another deeply, but Galadriel had done more than spare a child a trauma, she had prevented the future foreseen by ensuring they had a relationship that could never lead to the passion of lovers. So when he in turn had asked the same question it was not Arwen's face he was shown. "Legolas."

Her hand touched his shoulder in the same comforting touch she had given him when as a child he had stumbled and scraped his knee. "Forgive me. I did not understand what was between you. I thought –"

"That I was yet another member of the house of Elrond to succumb to his charms." More than once his foster brothers and sister had spoken of the delights of the youngest prince of Mirkwood.

"Yes. I am sorry. My own cares blinded me to the truth. Worse, I did not consider another might have also loved you in the future lost."

And Aragorn understood. He turned his gaze to his lover. "You believe it was your love alone the Lady drew back through time and entrapped me into something I did not nor never would feel." He shook his head. "I know you are awake. Open your eyes and answer me."

Blue eyes opened and a stricken voice whispered, "Yes. My death will release you from the spell. Your heart will be our own once more."

'Will' not 'would have.' His prince had not yet finished with death.

Aragorn considered shouts, pleas, even threats to save him, instead he laughed. A harsh sound, but not completely without humor.

Hurt filled the vivid pools of blue and carefully he drew Legolas up into his arms. "Foolish Elf," he chided. "You react when you should think. The Man who would have called you friend and ignored the love within you does not exist. Our love was destined before I was even born." Galadriel had seen to that.

Hope replace hurt and the stiffness faded from the body in his arms. "You are certain?"

"How else could I know you so well? Would not knowledge be yours alone if the love were as well?" He kissed his forehead. "No, my love, the Lady Galadriel drew from a future were our love was shared."

He could see Legolas searching his face for deception. Oh, yes, Aragorn knew him well.

The dagger Elrond had eased from Legolas' flesh had been discarded onto a small table next to the bed. Aragorn picked it up. "This belonged to my father," he said, holding it up for all to see. "It is all I have of him, yet now it has spilled the blood of one I love."

Shame flushed the fair face, erasing the pale cast his ordeal had given Legolas. "I am sorry. I took it when I realized it was what the Lady must have used to watch over you. I meant to ask Arwen what it was, then return it, but I found her weeping."

He nodded. Galadriel had chosen wisely. From the day Elrond had entrusted it to him, the dagger had never been far from him, but now the sight of it sickened him.

Turning the hilt toward Legolas, he said, "It is yours, my love. And by the taint you have placed upon it I will have your word that should you ever feel the need to use it against yourself again, you will cut my throat first. For I will not live without you."

Tears swelled, but did not fall, and Legolas took hold of the hilt. "I swear it." His slender hand fell away from metal. "But hold me now and speak not again of your death. I cannot endure it."

Mindful of his wound, Aragorn drew him even closer and settled his head against his shoulder. "Then we understand each other, my Legolas?"

"Aye, we do, my Aragorn."

Aragorn kissed him, then carefully lie down. "Go to sleep, beloved. Let this day pass and our hearts be at ease."

"I can deny you nothing. I love you," he whispered, then slept.

One day Aragorn knew he would find his way to Lothlorien once again and there would be a reckoning with the games its mistress had played with their lives. But it could wait until a time when life together had grounded their love in experience instead of magic and doubts no longer plagued his Elf.

He gave a slight nod of parting as first Elrond, then Arwen took their leave. She paused in the doorway and for several moments looked at him as he held Legolas. "He will make you happy."

"Yes." He did not doubt it for a moment.

"Then all is well?"

He knew what she was asking. "I will not raise my hand against her." His soul longed for just such a revenge, but the pain it would cause to the family he loved made it impossible. "By the love I bare you in this life, I swear it."

She smiled, walked back across the room, then kissed his forehead. "Sleep well my brother and keep him ever close to your heart."

He caught her hand before she could go, then kissed it. "I thank you, my sister."

She smiled again, then left.

Aragorn closed his eyes and let the heartbeat of the Elf sleeping against him lull him into his own rest.

End

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