The Vigil: Part Four
LotR a/u
Aragorn/Legolas
Rated: PG13
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
See Part One for summary.
Thank you, Jean
:::::::::
Aragorn reached for the ties of his cloak only to find the Elf’s hands there first. Deftly, Legolas divested the Heir of his cloak, and went to work on the laces of his tunic. Before Aragorn could protest, he stood in leggings and boots in the middle of his bedchamber.
A push on his sternum, and Aragorn sat down rather suddenly on the chair behind him. In a trice, his boots were yanked off and his leggings seemed slated for the same fate. Grasping at the knitted silk, Aragorn narrowly avoided being stripped naked.
“I can attend to this,” the Heir said. “I am unused to servants.”
“But you are a prince.”
“A fact I hardly need reminding of,” Aragorn sighed. “I had hoped you might be different, think differently from those around me.”
The Elf’s smooth brow furrowed, and Aragorn went on.
“I prefer not to waste a servant’s time on such a trivial task. It is a poor use of a resource, and I am easily capable of doffing and donning my own garments.”
“Very practical,” the Vigil said. “Will you be sleeping now?”
“Soon,” Aragon said. “I would like to learn more about you first.”
“I will answer any question you put to me.”
“You said you would disobey any order that put me at risk, yet you released Boromir when I told you too.”
“Boromir is a threat only so long as I allow him to be one.”
“I…see,” Aragorn said, not at all sure that he did. “Forgive my curiosity, but would you mind giving me a display of your strength?”
Without hesitation, Legolas ripped an iron sconce from the wall and bent the metal arc into a circle. Without a word, he handed it to the Heir. Aragorn stared at the sconce solemnly.
“That will do,” he said. “I hope my thirst for knowledge does not offend you. I have read much of the Eldar, and I have many questions.”
“I have questions also.”
Aragorn’s eyebrows went up. “Very well,” he said. “I will make you a bargain: one for one.”
Legolas inclined his head, firelight gleaming on the coiled battle braids. “It would seem a fair exchange. Why do you submit to that soulless Steward?”
“You do come right to the point, don’t you?” Aragorn said, as he pulled a nightshirt over his head. “Denethor’s house has always been allied with mine. He has been father and mentor to me since my sire was killed. His sons are my closest companions. And I do not call being respectful submission.”
“Nor do I.”
Aragorn cocked an eye at the Vigil. There was nothing in the Elf’s tone to take exception to, but the young man knew that he was being subtly mocked.
“The Steward does not control me,” he said firmly. “Why did you allow yourself to be bound to a mortal?”
Legolas took a deep, chest-expanding breath before answering. “Because I am a young and foolish Sindar.”
“That is hardly the whole story.”
The Elf’s eyes went to the window. Night had crept over Gondor, but here in Minas Tirith the torches held it at bay.
“It would please me if I could say to you that I was deceived, but in truth, I was blinded by hatred. Even had I known the price, I would have put on the ring and taken up the sword Aiglosithil if all I gained was one moment of suffering for my sire.”
Aragorn’s breath was stolen by this raw candor. No one in the palace ever said what he or she meant directly. Everything must be danced around like some verbal gavotte.
“Are all your Race so plainspoken?”
“It is my turn,” the Elf said. Why do you cover yourself when you sleep?”
“An easy question. For the same reason we all wear clothing: to protect us from the elements.”
“We are under a roof, and you have blankets.”
“I cannot dispute your logic. Then I suppose I wear a nightshirt because it is the custom of my people.”
“Ah. Will my nakedness offend you then?”
Aragorn blinked. “Offend me? No. Of course not. Men are often naked together at the public baths. Why do you ask?”
“Because I do not wear clothing when I rest, and I will be resting next to you.”
“By day and night,” Aragorn murmured.
“That was not a question.”
“No, just a line from your oath. Am I to have no privacy at all?”
“You will be King,” Legolas answered.
“Aye,” Aragorn sighed. “And right soon, I fear.”
“Why fear?”
“I am tired and I misspoke. It has just come home to me that I shall not see my mother for many years.”
“She is leaving?”
“She left just after you arrived. She has not seen her kin since my birth. I do not begrudge her the journey, but I need her here.”
“She gave you life. What more would you have of her?”
Aragorn drew breath to answer but a knock forestalled him. “Come in, Faramir,” he called.
Legolas was beside the opening door before Aragorn finished speaking. When he saw that it was indeed the Steward’s younger son, the Vigil stood aside. Faramir nodded cordially to the Elf as he moved around him.
“Well, Boromir is no testier than a bear with a toothache,” he said, sitting down opposite Aragorn. “In other words, he is himself.”
Aragorn smiled. “A night’s rest will sweeten him, and your father seems to have taken mercy upon me. Not one courier bearing urgent documents to be signed since I retired.”
“It has been a momentous day,” Faramir said. “Father knows you need your rest.”
“But you feel differently to judge by your expression.”
Faramir pulled a small book from an inner pocket of his burgundy robe. It was scarcely larger than Aragorn’s handspan, and barely a finger’s thickness. Bound in green leather, it was embossed with golden elanor blossoms.
“It was my mother’s,” Faramir said, running his fingertips over the silver clasp. “A collection of verses she translated from the Elvish. I thought they might soothe you.”
Aragorn’s shy smile bloomed over his face and Faramir’s heart was warmed. Ever did Faramir seek for ways to smooth the Heir’s path.
“I assure you Faramir isn’t trying to kill me with a book of poetry,” Aragorn said mildly as the slim volume was plucked from his hand.
Legolas ignored the prince as he paged quickly through the book. Stopping just before the end, the Elf read aloud in a voice as cool and beautiful as frost flowers on a windowpane. The Heir and his friend sat spellbound until the Vigil stopped speaking.
“It does not sound so bad in your tongue,” was the Elf’s judgment.
“I have never heard anything half so beautiful,” Faramir murmured.
“Nor I,” Aragorn agreed. “I would keep you around just to read to me, even if you were not a mighty warrior.”
Legolas cocked his head. “Your words are foolish, and yet oddly pleasing. Will Faramir sleep here as well?”
“Would it be a problem?”
“Are you lovers?”
Aragorn’s jaw dropped as he exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Faramir. “You must answer my question first,” the Heir blurted out.
“Whom you bed is of great importance to me,” the Vigil said. “And I would not let it become a problem.”
“I see. No, Faramir is not my lover. What put that notion in your head? We are both men.”
“How is that significant?” Legolas wanted to know.
Aragorn and Faramir’s gazes met again.
“Is there no stigma attached to the love of one man for another among your kind?” Faramir made bold to ask the Elf.
“Nay, and why should there be?”
“No reason that I can think of,” Faramir replied with another look at Aragorn. “But there are those in the White City, indeed throughout Gondor, and probably across the breadth of Middle Earth that could find reasons.”
Legolas’s delicate brows drew down again. “My sire has told me of the backwardness of Mankind. I am sorry to see him proven right, but I am not surprised.”
Faramir laughed. “Your Vigil has a most subtle wit, Aragorn. I assume he will be with you in the Council Chamber?”
Aragorn nodded. “I should have paid closer attention to the Vigil’s Oath. It seems he is bound to stay at my side, waking and sleeping, until death sunders the magic that joins us.”
“That could be… awkward,” the Steward’s son said. “If it were anyone but you.”
Aragorn lifted one eyebrow.
“Well, honestly, is there anyone in Minas Tirith that is more circumspect than the Heir?” Faramir challenged.
Aragorn sighed. “Your words have the ring of truth, my friend. Not only have I never committed an impropriety, I have never even had the opportunity.”
“Poor Aragorn,” Faramir commiserated merrily as he tousled the autumn brown hair. “You should accompany Boromir the next time he invites you to go carousing with him.”
A rosy stain spread over Aragorn’s high cheekbones. “It is one thing for Captain Boromir to spread his seed like a wild bull, but I will rule Gondor one day. I cannot afford to have bastards appearing on my doorstep when I am King.”
“There speaks my father,” Faramir muttered under his breath.
“If you fear the female will catch,” Legolas spoke up, “you must take measures to ensure she does not kindle.”
Again the Elf found himself the focus of two sets of eyes. “Have you no means of…”
Legolas’s words were drowned out by the hammering knock at the outer door. Faramir hurried forward, and found the Vigil at the door ahead of him. Following the Elf, Faramir was in time to see his brother flung against the antechamber wall with armor-rattling force. Boromir bounced off, his hand already wrapped around his sword hilt as he regained footing.
“This is becoming tiresome,” Aragorn said from the doorway. “What news, Boromir?”
Boromir broke eye contact with the Elf. “I wish I did not have to be the one to bring you these tidings, but I thought… better me than my father.”
“What is it?” Aragorn gestured Boromir closer.
Legolas came to stand at Aragorn’s right side as Boromir bowed his head to his liege.
“We have just received word that your mother’s ship was set upon by Corsairs. The ship was captured and even now sails toward Umbar. I have sent word to every ship that flies the flag of Gondor to pursue the black fleet.”
The blood dropped from Aragorn’s face as he stared at Boromir. “No. It cannot be,” he whispered. “Where is the Steward?”
“I am here,” Denethor said as he swept through the door flanked by two Citadel Guards.
“What should we do?” Aragorn asked.
“All that can be done is being done,” the Steward said. “Calm yourself, Your Highness.”
Legolas moved between Aragorn and Denethor. For a long moment, Vigil and Steward locked eyes.
“Why have you not declared war on Umbar and begun mobilizing your forces?” the Elf asked.
“War!” Denethor thundered. “The declaration of war can only come after much careful deliberation by men with cool heads.”
“Corsairs have abducted your queen. That is a declaration of war.”
“Go back to your trees,” Denethor sneered. “You know nothing of the matters you would dabble in, assassin.”
“And you are a coward,” Legolas delivered his deadliest insult.
“I am a man of reason,” Denethor corrected. “And I have striven to instill respect for rationality in the Heir.”
“It is cold counsel you offer that will wither your king before time. Already he speaks as a doddering old man afraid of change.”
“I do not believe your opinion was sought,” the Steward sniffed. “Your Highness, the admirals have their orders and are in pursuit of the Corsairs. There is naught else that may be done save pray that the queen is alive and unharmed.”
The Elf snorted. “And that is as likely as snow in Harad. Corsairs might keep a captive alive, but only to be sold as a slave.”
“Heartless creature,” Denethor hissed. “It is the Heir’s mother we speak of.”
“A woman,” Legolas nodded. “The Captain of the Corsairs at least will taste her sweetness.”
“Legolas!” Aragorn exclaimed in shock.
The Elf turned and beheld the pain he had caused his ward. An iron first reached into his chest and squeezed his heart in a merciless grip.
“Forgive me,” he gasped. “I spoke without thought. The raiders will recognize the sigils on the queen’s ship and may keep her safe for ransom.”
“Aye,” Faramir broke in. “They will likely have taken her hostage.”
“Indeed,” Denethor said. “We have only to wait for word from these pirates.”
Aragorn bit his lip, raking the hair back from his face as he tried desperately to think, but the thought of his mother in the hands of raiders would not let him.
“Denethor is right,” the Heir said finally. “Our only choice is to wait.”
“Let me take a company of knights down the river road,” Boromir said. “We will intercept any messengers from these honorless southrons.”
With a glance at Aragorn, Denethor nodded permission to his eldest son. Faramir started to follow Aragorn back into his bedchamber, but the prince turned him gently away. The Heir’s slumped shoulders tore at Faramir’s heart as the Vigil closed the door on him. For the first time in his life, Aragorn had shut him out.
tbc
Aragorn/Legolas
Rated: PG13
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
See Part One for summary.
Thank you, Jean
:::::::::
Aragorn reached for the ties of his cloak only to find the Elf’s hands there first. Deftly, Legolas divested the Heir of his cloak, and went to work on the laces of his tunic. Before Aragorn could protest, he stood in leggings and boots in the middle of his bedchamber.
A push on his sternum, and Aragorn sat down rather suddenly on the chair behind him. In a trice, his boots were yanked off and his leggings seemed slated for the same fate. Grasping at the knitted silk, Aragorn narrowly avoided being stripped naked.
“I can attend to this,” the Heir said. “I am unused to servants.”
“But you are a prince.”
“A fact I hardly need reminding of,” Aragorn sighed. “I had hoped you might be different, think differently from those around me.”
The Elf’s smooth brow furrowed, and Aragorn went on.
“I prefer not to waste a servant’s time on such a trivial task. It is a poor use of a resource, and I am easily capable of doffing and donning my own garments.”
“Very practical,” the Vigil said. “Will you be sleeping now?”
“Soon,” Aragon said. “I would like to learn more about you first.”
“I will answer any question you put to me.”
“You said you would disobey any order that put me at risk, yet you released Boromir when I told you too.”
“Boromir is a threat only so long as I allow him to be one.”
“I…see,” Aragorn said, not at all sure that he did. “Forgive my curiosity, but would you mind giving me a display of your strength?”
Without hesitation, Legolas ripped an iron sconce from the wall and bent the metal arc into a circle. Without a word, he handed it to the Heir. Aragorn stared at the sconce solemnly.
“That will do,” he said. “I hope my thirst for knowledge does not offend you. I have read much of the Eldar, and I have many questions.”
“I have questions also.”
Aragorn’s eyebrows went up. “Very well,” he said. “I will make you a bargain: one for one.”
Legolas inclined his head, firelight gleaming on the coiled battle braids. “It would seem a fair exchange. Why do you submit to that soulless Steward?”
“You do come right to the point, don’t you?” Aragorn said, as he pulled a nightshirt over his head. “Denethor’s house has always been allied with mine. He has been father and mentor to me since my sire was killed. His sons are my closest companions. And I do not call being respectful submission.”
“Nor do I.”
Aragorn cocked an eye at the Vigil. There was nothing in the Elf’s tone to take exception to, but the young man knew that he was being subtly mocked.
“The Steward does not control me,” he said firmly. “Why did you allow yourself to be bound to a mortal?”
Legolas took a deep, chest-expanding breath before answering. “Because I am a young and foolish Sindar.”
“That is hardly the whole story.”
The Elf’s eyes went to the window. Night had crept over Gondor, but here in Minas Tirith the torches held it at bay.
“It would please me if I could say to you that I was deceived, but in truth, I was blinded by hatred. Even had I known the price, I would have put on the ring and taken up the sword Aiglosithil if all I gained was one moment of suffering for my sire.”
Aragorn’s breath was stolen by this raw candor. No one in the palace ever said what he or she meant directly. Everything must be danced around like some verbal gavotte.
“Are all your Race so plainspoken?”
“It is my turn,” the Elf said. Why do you cover yourself when you sleep?”
“An easy question. For the same reason we all wear clothing: to protect us from the elements.”
“We are under a roof, and you have blankets.”
“I cannot dispute your logic. Then I suppose I wear a nightshirt because it is the custom of my people.”
“Ah. Will my nakedness offend you then?”
Aragorn blinked. “Offend me? No. Of course not. Men are often naked together at the public baths. Why do you ask?”
“Because I do not wear clothing when I rest, and I will be resting next to you.”
“By day and night,” Aragorn murmured.
“That was not a question.”
“No, just a line from your oath. Am I to have no privacy at all?”
“You will be King,” Legolas answered.
“Aye,” Aragorn sighed. “And right soon, I fear.”
“Why fear?”
“I am tired and I misspoke. It has just come home to me that I shall not see my mother for many years.”
“She is leaving?”
“She left just after you arrived. She has not seen her kin since my birth. I do not begrudge her the journey, but I need her here.”
“She gave you life. What more would you have of her?”
Aragorn drew breath to answer but a knock forestalled him. “Come in, Faramir,” he called.
Legolas was beside the opening door before Aragorn finished speaking. When he saw that it was indeed the Steward’s younger son, the Vigil stood aside. Faramir nodded cordially to the Elf as he moved around him.
“Well, Boromir is no testier than a bear with a toothache,” he said, sitting down opposite Aragorn. “In other words, he is himself.”
Aragorn smiled. “A night’s rest will sweeten him, and your father seems to have taken mercy upon me. Not one courier bearing urgent documents to be signed since I retired.”
“It has been a momentous day,” Faramir said. “Father knows you need your rest.”
“But you feel differently to judge by your expression.”
Faramir pulled a small book from an inner pocket of his burgundy robe. It was scarcely larger than Aragorn’s handspan, and barely a finger’s thickness. Bound in green leather, it was embossed with golden elanor blossoms.
“It was my mother’s,” Faramir said, running his fingertips over the silver clasp. “A collection of verses she translated from the Elvish. I thought they might soothe you.”
Aragorn’s shy smile bloomed over his face and Faramir’s heart was warmed. Ever did Faramir seek for ways to smooth the Heir’s path.
“I assure you Faramir isn’t trying to kill me with a book of poetry,” Aragorn said mildly as the slim volume was plucked from his hand.
Legolas ignored the prince as he paged quickly through the book. Stopping just before the end, the Elf read aloud in a voice as cool and beautiful as frost flowers on a windowpane. The Heir and his friend sat spellbound until the Vigil stopped speaking.
“It does not sound so bad in your tongue,” was the Elf’s judgment.
“I have never heard anything half so beautiful,” Faramir murmured.
“Nor I,” Aragorn agreed. “I would keep you around just to read to me, even if you were not a mighty warrior.”
Legolas cocked his head. “Your words are foolish, and yet oddly pleasing. Will Faramir sleep here as well?”
“Would it be a problem?”
“Are you lovers?”
Aragorn’s jaw dropped as he exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Faramir. “You must answer my question first,” the Heir blurted out.
“Whom you bed is of great importance to me,” the Vigil said. “And I would not let it become a problem.”
“I see. No, Faramir is not my lover. What put that notion in your head? We are both men.”
“How is that significant?” Legolas wanted to know.
Aragorn and Faramir’s gazes met again.
“Is there no stigma attached to the love of one man for another among your kind?” Faramir made bold to ask the Elf.
“Nay, and why should there be?”
“No reason that I can think of,” Faramir replied with another look at Aragorn. “But there are those in the White City, indeed throughout Gondor, and probably across the breadth of Middle Earth that could find reasons.”
Legolas’s delicate brows drew down again. “My sire has told me of the backwardness of Mankind. I am sorry to see him proven right, but I am not surprised.”
Faramir laughed. “Your Vigil has a most subtle wit, Aragorn. I assume he will be with you in the Council Chamber?”
Aragorn nodded. “I should have paid closer attention to the Vigil’s Oath. It seems he is bound to stay at my side, waking and sleeping, until death sunders the magic that joins us.”
“That could be… awkward,” the Steward’s son said. “If it were anyone but you.”
Aragorn lifted one eyebrow.
“Well, honestly, is there anyone in Minas Tirith that is more circumspect than the Heir?” Faramir challenged.
Aragorn sighed. “Your words have the ring of truth, my friend. Not only have I never committed an impropriety, I have never even had the opportunity.”
“Poor Aragorn,” Faramir commiserated merrily as he tousled the autumn brown hair. “You should accompany Boromir the next time he invites you to go carousing with him.”
A rosy stain spread over Aragorn’s high cheekbones. “It is one thing for Captain Boromir to spread his seed like a wild bull, but I will rule Gondor one day. I cannot afford to have bastards appearing on my doorstep when I am King.”
“There speaks my father,” Faramir muttered under his breath.
“If you fear the female will catch,” Legolas spoke up, “you must take measures to ensure she does not kindle.”
Again the Elf found himself the focus of two sets of eyes. “Have you no means of…”
Legolas’s words were drowned out by the hammering knock at the outer door. Faramir hurried forward, and found the Vigil at the door ahead of him. Following the Elf, Faramir was in time to see his brother flung against the antechamber wall with armor-rattling force. Boromir bounced off, his hand already wrapped around his sword hilt as he regained footing.
“This is becoming tiresome,” Aragorn said from the doorway. “What news, Boromir?”
Boromir broke eye contact with the Elf. “I wish I did not have to be the one to bring you these tidings, but I thought… better me than my father.”
“What is it?” Aragorn gestured Boromir closer.
Legolas came to stand at Aragorn’s right side as Boromir bowed his head to his liege.
“We have just received word that your mother’s ship was set upon by Corsairs. The ship was captured and even now sails toward Umbar. I have sent word to every ship that flies the flag of Gondor to pursue the black fleet.”
The blood dropped from Aragorn’s face as he stared at Boromir. “No. It cannot be,” he whispered. “Where is the Steward?”
“I am here,” Denethor said as he swept through the door flanked by two Citadel Guards.
“What should we do?” Aragorn asked.
“All that can be done is being done,” the Steward said. “Calm yourself, Your Highness.”
Legolas moved between Aragorn and Denethor. For a long moment, Vigil and Steward locked eyes.
“Why have you not declared war on Umbar and begun mobilizing your forces?” the Elf asked.
“War!” Denethor thundered. “The declaration of war can only come after much careful deliberation by men with cool heads.”
“Corsairs have abducted your queen. That is a declaration of war.”
“Go back to your trees,” Denethor sneered. “You know nothing of the matters you would dabble in, assassin.”
“And you are a coward,” Legolas delivered his deadliest insult.
“I am a man of reason,” Denethor corrected. “And I have striven to instill respect for rationality in the Heir.”
“It is cold counsel you offer that will wither your king before time. Already he speaks as a doddering old man afraid of change.”
“I do not believe your opinion was sought,” the Steward sniffed. “Your Highness, the admirals have their orders and are in pursuit of the Corsairs. There is naught else that may be done save pray that the queen is alive and unharmed.”
The Elf snorted. “And that is as likely as snow in Harad. Corsairs might keep a captive alive, but only to be sold as a slave.”
“Heartless creature,” Denethor hissed. “It is the Heir’s mother we speak of.”
“A woman,” Legolas nodded. “The Captain of the Corsairs at least will taste her sweetness.”
“Legolas!” Aragorn exclaimed in shock.
The Elf turned and beheld the pain he had caused his ward. An iron first reached into his chest and squeezed his heart in a merciless grip.
“Forgive me,” he gasped. “I spoke without thought. The raiders will recognize the sigils on the queen’s ship and may keep her safe for ransom.”
“Aye,” Faramir broke in. “They will likely have taken her hostage.”
“Indeed,” Denethor said. “We have only to wait for word from these pirates.”
Aragorn bit his lip, raking the hair back from his face as he tried desperately to think, but the thought of his mother in the hands of raiders would not let him.
“Denethor is right,” the Heir said finally. “Our only choice is to wait.”
“Let me take a company of knights down the river road,” Boromir said. “We will intercept any messengers from these honorless southrons.”
With a glance at Aragorn, Denethor nodded permission to his eldest son. Faramir started to follow Aragorn back into his bedchamber, but the prince turned him gently away. The Heir’s slumped shoulders tore at Faramir’s heart as the Vigil closed the door on him. For the first time in his life, Aragorn had shut him out.
tbc