Fic: Underneath It All (8/?) A/L
Title: Underneath It All (8/?)
Author: laeglass
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Aragorn/Legolas, Aragorn/Boromir (implied), Boromir/OMC (implied)
Summary: Surprise guests.
Feedback: Yes please.
Beta: thdancingferret, without whom I would be lost. Thank you! :)
Disclaimer: Everyone and everything you recognize belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not him.
“Tell me again why I cannot order my archers to shoot down the King on sight,” Aragorn said, cradling his head in his hands. Boromir’s news had been most inconvenient; a messenger had arrived that morning, bringing word from Éomer, the King of Rohan. A party consisting of the King and his sister as well as some high-ranking members of his court who would arrive later that day. Aragorn itched to pick up his sword and teach some manners to his fellow King, but according to the members of his council, ‘such actions would have severe diplomatic consequences’.
A brief smile crossed Boromir’s stern lips. “’Tis not deemed polite to assassinate visiting dignitaries,” he said grinning, but then regained his composure.
“King Éomer is but a child,” Boromir said. “Not only of age, but also of experience and patience. I will give him that he was not trained for this position and he has had little time to get adapted to his new status, but I agree with you that this is just bad manners.”
Aragorn pinched the bridge of his nose irritably.
“I imagine that it would have been terribly inconvenient to send word before they left Edoras,” he muttered sarcastically. “To arrive unannounced is an insult in itself, but to arrive unannounced on the day after my wedding is nothing short of deliberate rudeness.”
The Steward shrugged. “The nobles of Rohan have ever been more interested in their horses than in diplomacy,” he said with a sigh. “And I can imagine that King Éomer is lacking in insightful advising on that frontier, having lost both his cousin and his uncle in such a short time span.” He smiled then. “There was also talk that lady Éowyn was betrothed to Théoden’s son, Théodred, and now the King perhaps wishes to find his sister a husband among the Gondorian nobles.”
“I wish her the best of luck; I, for one, would not touch any of our nobles with a stick,” the King said and couldn’t help chuckling at the idea. “Perhaps you will find her company lovely and entertaining,” he said. “After all, you seem to listen to the court gossip eagerly enough.”
Boromir huffed. “Regardless, the fact remains that they will arrive in but a few hours, and we must prepare rooms for them, as well as a proper feast in their honour. To do otherwise would be scandalous and prove a killing blow to our relations.”
Aragorn stood up from his comfortable, stuffed chair and walked to the window that gave to the courtyard. He had been called from Legolas’ side to hear the news of a visiting noble; it was annoying to say the least, and he couldn’t help thinking that his Steward could very well have handled this by himself. Aragorn turned to look at his lover, raising an inquiring eyebrow. “Tell me, Boromir, was it truly necessary to interrupt my morning with this news?”
Boromir stiffened at the implication. “I can assure you that I, too, was in the middle of something of interest when I was called to attend to the messenger,” he said somewhat darkly. “Surely your little Prince can wait a little bit to be taken again; he must be awfully sore from last night.”
Anger flashed in Aragorn’s steely grey eyes before it was quenched. “Mind your words, Boromir,” he said with deceptive softness. “Legolas is my husband now, and will be the bearer of my heir; I will not suffer any slights to him, not even from you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Do not speak to me like I was a child, Aragorn,” Boromir countered, coming to stand in front of his King and folding his arms across his chest. “I have no intentions to trade insults with you,” he then added, more softly. “I knew this was a matter that would interest you, and that you would be very angry had I kept the information of King Éomer’s arrival to myself. Pardon if your morning was interrupted, but it could not be helped; the kingdom doesn’t wait on her King’s pleasure.”
Aragorn looked at him sternly for a moment and then relented. “I know that, Boromir, and you did the right thing, of course. But let us not speak of visiting nobles and husbands right now. I have missed your company these past few days,” he admitted.
Boromir’s face softened as he embraced his King. “I have missed you, as well,” he said roughly. “Ever we have been the best of friends, and I would not begrudge you the comfort of your marriage bed; just like I know you will not scorn me for finding solace in another’s arms last night.”
“I am guessing that your conquest was not happy that your dalliance ended so quickly,” Aragorn said, letting go of the other man and regarding him with fondness. Boromir snorted.
“No, not happy at all. I merely wish I had remembered earlier how eager young ones are in bed,” he groaned. “I think I pulled a muscle last night.”
The sound of the dinner bell reminded them that they had gone without food since breakfast, having spent the entire day in meetings with the council and the King’s advisors, and together the King and his Steward headed for the Dining Hall.
~*~
A smile lit up the King’s face as he saw Legolas already in the Hall, standing beside his chair that was placed next to the Majesty’s, and he was even more pleased to see that the Prince was smiling and looked happy. Aragorn’s joy was dimmed somewhat as he realised that Legolas wasn’t looking at him, but talking animatedly with Faramir, whose seat was next to his. He frowned slightly, wondering where and when had Legolas made the Captain’s acquaintance.
It didn’t escape his attention how Faramir’s admiring eyes followed the Elf’s every movement, and how delighted Legolas seemed when the Man said something particularly clever or entertaining. Aragorn tried to curb off his annoyance, but couldn’t help looking discontent as he sat down on his chair. Everyone else followed his example, as was the custom, and Legolas turned to his husband with a smile on his face. It froze on his lips, however, when he was met with Aragorn’s displeased eyes.
“I see that you have made friends with the good Captain,” the King remarked after they had been served the soup - the cooks had been asked to prepare a light meal for dinner - and his eyes remained fixed on Legolas’, challenging him to tell the truth.
“Aye, we met in the gardens and talked,” Legolas said carefully. Why was Aragorn looking so stern, he wondered; perhaps Boromir’s news had been unpleasant. “May I ask what it was that the Steward had to see you about? Not bad news, I hope.”
“Nothing that cannot be dealt with,” Aragorn said curtly, and turned to talk to the noble on the other side of him. The Prince looked at him, astonished at Aragorn’s cold demeanour, and then turned his own attention to his meal, his appetite truly well gone. Faramir looked at him sympathetically, having heard their brief exchange, and squeezed Legolas’ fingers in support.
Why Aragorn was suddenly so distant and cold, Legolas couldn’t understand, but having Faramir next to him made the dinner much more bearable for him.
~*~
A grand feast was prepared to honour the guests, much to the kitchen staff’s chagrin; after the prior day’s wedding dinner, they had been promised a day off. The King was also in a gloomy mood, and this affected everyone else in turn; the whole castle was feeling the strain of the upcoming visit, and with baited breath awaited the arrival of the royals of Rohan.
Aragorn remembered that King Éomer was his junior by at least ten years, if not fifteen, having ascended to his throne at an early age, and had never visited Gondor before. This visit was to be their first meeting, and Elessar was aware of the importance of first impressions.
King Théoden and King Arathorn had been on friendly, if distant, terms and after Arathorn’s death fifteen years ago, it had been decided that Aragorn would only become King after his twenty-fifth birthday, which left Denethor, the Steward, as well as the King’s council to take care of the kingdom’s relations with neighbouring nations, during which period the old alliance between the kingdoms had slowly but surely decayed.
This was a new situation for both Gondor and Rohan - after Aragorn’s coronation, the former had turned outward again, seeking to improve her relations with all of the existing Elven realms, of which Elessar’s wedding to Legolas was only one part; and the latter had just greeted her new King, Éomer, after the long reign of King Théoden.
All of Elessar’s council members had made it abundantly clear that this marked the beginning of a new era, and that Gondor needed to forge close relations to Rohan.
This was one of the moments when Aragorn truly felt the weight of his crown.
Boromir’s reassuring words fell to deaf ears; Elessar was convinced that a hurried meeting such as this one, could only result in a disastrous outcome. Legolas stood next to him as they waited for the party to arrive, and the Elf offered his stony-faced husband a small smile, hoping to resolve the strange tension that had hung between them ever since the dinner. Aragorn was grateful for this small sign of support, but frowned again as he saw Faramir lean to say something into Legolas’ ear and the Elf smiling at his words.
Just then King Éomer and lady Éowyn’s arrival was announced, and Aragorn straightened his spine, memorizing the welcome speech he had prepared for his guests.
Pasting a smile on his face, he descended the stairs to greet the King and his sister.
~*~
After the feast the festivities were moved into the Grand Hall, and a happy chattering filled the large space. It was decided that even though King Éomer was young, there was a kingly air about him, and the lady Éowyn was both lively and beautiful. Many an unmarried noble stole glances her way, and to Legolas’ glee, Faramir was among them. It seemed, however, that the fair lady’s eyes were fixed on the King himself, and Aragorn couldn’t deny her request to dance the first dance with him. Legolas looked a bit disappointed at being left behind, but graciously accepted King Éomer’s offer to dance with him.
“I hope I have not offended your husband by stealing your attention,” Lady Éowyn said coyly, her long lashes fluttering against her high cheekbones. “Please, allow me to congratulate you on your marriage; Prince Legolas is very charming. I must confess being curious, though; I find it very intriguing that you have chosen a male as your Consort, and an Elf at that.”
Aragorn decided to stick to the formal explanation, certain that it would discourage the lady from her obvious trail of thought. “Thank you, my lady. To answer the question you are too courteous to ask, I married Prince Legolas because I could not do otherwise, for he had already captured my heart. To be parted from him would mean to be parted from my heart, and I could not bear to do so.”
Lady Éowyn pursed her lips and then offered a smile. “Then I am twice as happy for you both. To find true love is rare indeed, and we should cherish every opportunity we get in life.”
Elessar studied the young woman in his arms, noting that as beautiful she was with her golden hued hair and sky blue eyes, she looked discontent and unhappy. “Such serious talk from a young woman like you,” he said kindly. “Lady, love can come our way many times in life, if only we keep our eyes and minds open.”
Éowyn looked at him closely. “Forgive me for being bold, but you seem to be talking from personal experience,” she remarked, gasping as Aragorn’s arm tightened briefly around her waist.
Aragorn apologised, loosened his grip a little and then nodded. “Yes, I am talking from personal experience,” he admitted, and wondered how easy it was to admit to a stranger that he did have deeper feelings for Legolas. He hadn’t intended to develop any feelings for the Elf, but he also couldn’t deny that he hadn’t stopped thinking about his husband for a minute since that morning. Somehow the young Prince had found his way into Aragorn’s heart, without him even noticing it.
It also explained the burning feeling in his gut as he watched Éomer dancing with Legolas, his hand possessively resting in the small of the Elf’s back. The look on the Man’s face was positively enchanted as he looked at Legolas, as they chattered while trying to keep from bumping into other couples on the crowded floor.
Aragorn tried to tell himself that it was only to be expected; Legolas’ beauty was without compare, and the King of Rohan had probably had little dealings with the Firstborn before this, but it didn’t keep him from glaring daggers in Éomer’s direction. Aragorn could hardly blame him from admiring Legolas’ looks, since the Elf tended to have that effect on people, but he didn’t like the sly glances Éomer kept giving Legolas, or the hand that seemed to have inched lower on Legolas’ back toward his backside every time Aragorn looked their way.
“I hope…” Lady Éowyn started to say and then stopped. Her eyes darted up to meet his and she blushed. “I hope that it is possible for me as well,” she finally said. “I am not a great believer in love, but sometimes I still find myself hoping that I could find someone who will marry me because of who I am, and not because I am related to the King.” She noticed Aragorn’s frustrated expression, which in reality had nothing to do with her but everything to do with her brother, and blushed again. “Forgive me; I did not intend to bore you with talk about my personal matters.”
“There is no need for an apology”, Aragorn said and smiled; he had got an idea. “Come with me, I shall introduce to the Steward and his brother, the Captain of Gondor. They are both unwed,” he added as an afterthought.
Lady Éowyn shook her head and laughed, but followed the King as he took her hand and led her to Boromir and Faramir, who had decided not to partake in the dancing. Elessar introduced her to Faramir first, and was amused by his reaction; the Captain couldn’t keep his eyes off of Lady Éowyn but, to his own annoyance, couldn’t come up with anything to say.
Boromir looked at his brother for a moment, expecting him to say something, but when it became obvious that the younger son of Denethor was severely tongue-tied, Boromir stepped in.
“Forgive my younger brother. He seems to forget his manners in the presence of true beauty,” he said good-naturedly. Faramir looked miserable as Lady Éowyn laughed, and excused himself politely from their company. He searched for Legolas with his eyes and noticed that the Elf was having trouble handling the overly eager Monarch.
“Your hair is like sunlight turned to silk,” Éomer remarked with no small amount of amazement. “I cannot remember ever having seen anything as lovely as you.”
Legolas offered a polite smile and prayed the Valar for someone to come and save him from the Man’s clutches. King Éomer had been very kind and courteous when they were having meal together at the Dining Hall earlier, but apparently the wine he had sampled with great interest had gone straight to his head, and the King had trouble keeping his hands to himself. Legolas didn’t appreciate being pawed at in public by someone who was practically a stranger to him, and he was furiously trying to come up with a polite way to tell Éomer to keep his distance; it wouldn’t do to tell a visiting King to ‘keep his dirty hands off’.
“I have heard that Elves are a very warm-blooded race,” the King said, winking clumsily. “Have I heard right?”
Somehow his hand inched a little bit downward, and he tightened the grip he had on the slender Elf. Éomer had never before entertained a thought of bedding a man, but this beautiful creature warmed his blood and stirred his lust. Certainly Prince Legolas was as beautiful as any maiden with his flowing hair and graceful moves, and Éomer felt that he could be persuaded to sample this lovely being.
“I beg your pardon,” Legolas said coldly, his whole body stiffening at the rude implication. “I could not guess what you are talking about,” he said, his tone making clear that the issue should be left at that and definitely not broached again.
Unfortunately for the Elf, that was too subtle for King Éomer whose thinking was clouded by alcohol and lust.
“Would you mind showing me to my rooms and helping me to settle for the night?” Éomer asked, certain that the Elf would be willing, and to Legolas’ mortification, his hand slid to rest atop the Elf’s sculpted buttock. Legolas stiffened further at the initial touch; he couldn’t believe that a guest of Aragorn’s would treat him so basely, and in front of everyone, including his husband.
Then anger started spreading through his veins like liquid fire, and he raised his burning eyes to meet Éomer’s gaze. The King misinterpreted Legolas’ silence and his expression as signs of acquiescence and emboldened by this, stole a massive grope on the Royal buttock.
Faramir, sensing an upcoming diplomatic problem moved quickly to save Legolas from Éomer’s grasp, sending an irate Aragorn a glance that told that he would take care of this matter.
“Good eve, your Majesty,” he said briskly. “On behalf of King Elessar, I will kindly ask you to remove yourself from the close vicinity of Prince Legolas. King Elessar wishes to maintain the good relations between our nations and to ensure this, it is asked of you to respect the union that has been sealed between Prince Legolas and Elessar himself.”
Éomer blinked a few times as he tried to discern what the Captain was telling him. Then he turned his drunken gaze to Aragorn and flinched at the deadly glare his fellow King was aiming his way. Very deliberately, he let go of Legolas and removed his hand.
“I apologise for this slight,” he said stiffly. “It seems that my judgement was clouded by my appreciation for the beauty of Prince Legolas and I got carried away. Do accept my apology, your Highness. I believe it is time for me to retire for the evening.”
With that, he gave a courteous bow and with a nod to Aragorn’s direction, he left the Hall. Lady Éowyn hurried after her brother after sending an apologetic glance to Legolas.
“I apologise for his behaviour,” Faramir said to Legolas as soon as the Rohan Royals had left the Hall and scanned the Elf with his eyes for any possible damage. “I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him starting to fondle you. Are you well?”
“Yes, thank you,” Legolas said, but his face was stormy and his breathing uneven. “I believe I have had enough of these festivities. I think I shall follow King Éomer’s example and retire to my chambers.”
The Captain nodded. “Shall I escort you back to your rooms? Just in case the King gets the idea of trying to persuade you into an illicit affair.”
Legolas couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips. “I will gladly accept your generous offer, Captain,” he said formally, and linked his arm with Faramir’s. “But only if you tell me what you think of Lady Éowyn,” he said with a low voice, not wanting anyone to hear their discussion. He had seen Faramir looking at the fair lady with a wistful expression.
Faramir blushed all the way to the tips of his ears. “Lady Éowyn is a delight to eyes, that much is certain,” he said. “But not having spoken with her, I cannot say anything more than that.”
The Prince smiled knowingly; the look on Faramir’s face had been very telling. Legolas could only guess that he looked the same every time he saw Aragorn. At least it felt to him that his feelings showed clearly on his face, obvious for anyone who cared to see. Legolas turned to see where Aragorn was so that he could tell him that he would retire already, but the Man’s furious expression disheartened him and the Prince turned away, tightening his hold of Faramir’s arm. “Shall we?” he asked cheerfully, trying not to let it show how much Aragorn’s behaviour confused and hurt him.
The King watched the pair that departed from the Hall with a stormy expression, and turned to look at Boromir as the heavy doors closed behind Legolas and Faramir. “Your brother seems very keen on spending time alone with my husband,” he said darkly. “I am not quite sure what to think about that.”
Boromir shrugged indifferently. “Faramir has always held a fascination for the Fair folk; I reckon he is quite taken with meeting an Elf.”
Aragorn frowned. “Being taken with and being infatuated are two different things, Boromir, and your brother had better bear in mind that Legolas is already wed, and therefore out of his reach.”
“You believe that Faramir wishes to court Prince Legolas?” Boromir asked, failing to stifle a grin. He couldn’t imagine his brother doing anything that untoward; to him it was obvious that while Faramir might have been a bit overwhelmed with meeting Legolas, the Lady Éowyn had snatched his heart at first sight. “Well, I must admit that he did say many complimentary things about your husband yesterday, but certainly that was simply innocuous admiration and nothing more.”
Aragorn was very displeased. He had seen the fawning gazes Faramir had been giving Legolas the whole evening, and now seeing them leaving together was too much for his overheated imagination. He could see before his mind’s eye how Legolas invited Faramir to his chambers, and submitted to the man’s lustful yearnings, urging him on with breathy cries and moans. Aragorn swallowed with difficulty as he remembered how Legolas looked in the throes of passion, his skin flushed and his eyes glazed; and then how drowsy he was afterwards, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking.
To think that someone else would ever see his husband like that made him burn with jealousy.
“More wine, please,” Aragorn said to a passing servant, and emptied his filled goblet in a few gulps. “Fill it again.”
Boromir shook his head as he watched his King and lover starting to drink himself into a stupor. “Faramir, you oaf,” he swore under his breath.
~*~
Legolas had indeed asked Faramir to stay awhile after reaching the Royal chambers, and they had talked a little in the sitting room before wishing one another good night. Legolas went into his private chamber and undressed, folding the clothes carefully on a chair beside the bed. He undid the small braids carefully and then picked his hairbrush from the dressing table. He brushed his hair thoroughly as he had been taught as an Elfling; this was one of his evening rituals and he meticulously counted the brushes.
Sleep eluded him; Legolas could see Aragorn’s annoyed expression before his mind’s eye, and for the life of him Legolas couldn’t understand what had made the Man angry at him. A traitorous part of his mind suggested that perhaps Aragorn regretted their marriage, and shunned him for it. It hardly seemed fair to Legolas, since the marriage hadn’t been his idea to begin with, but it also seemed that he would be the one to deal with the consequences.
He couldn’t help wondering if his father would have allowed him to marry Elessar had he known that the King already had a lover. ‘Yes,’ Legolas thought wryly, ‘he probably would have.’ He remembered Thranduil giving him a speech of how different Men were from Elves in customs and in manners, and how Legolas shouldn’t judge his husband for not acting like an Elf.
Legolas felt miserable and truly alone. To this point he had felt he could count on Aragorn’s kindness, and he had thought that the Man held him in some regard. Now he didn’t know what to think.
He had finally managed to fall asleep when someone pushed his door open with such force that it connected with the wall with a loud bang. Legolas sat up quickly, grabbing his hairbrush and preparing to defend himself against the intruder when the person spoke.
”What a surprise to find you all alone,” the voice slurred.
Aragorn!
Legolas’ wildly beating heart that had jumped to his throat settled as he realised that it indeed was his husband. “What is this?” he asked, trying to keep accusation out of his voice. “Aragorn, I was deeply asleep. Surely you could have waited till morning to speak with me.”
“Quiet”, Aragorn said impatiently and with a few strides crossed the room to stand beside the Prince’s bed, looking down at the Elf with a complicated expression on his handsome features. Legolas frowned as he caught the smell of alcohol in the Man’s breath and wrapped the bedcover more tightly around his body; he trusted Aragorn, but the Man was not himself. “I wanted to see if you had company. You seemed to have no problem with being intimate with the good Captain; do you want to explain that?”
“You are drunk,” Legolas said. “How dare you barge into my bedroom and demand any kind of explanations from me? It is not I that have treated you with indifference and coldness today.”
“Indeed, you have not treated anyone with coldness today, have you, Legolas?” Aragorn asked cruelly, the words heavy with implication. “Perhaps you already gave Faramir what he wanted.”
“Get out,” Legolas said. His eyes were bright with unshed tears and inside his chest was a tight knot that made it hard for him to breathe. “You are not yourself, and I will not discuss with you when you are drunk.”
“I did not come here to discuss, pretty Elf,” Elessar said roughly, climbing onto Legolas’ bed. He brought his hand to rest behind Legolas’ neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was not the tender, undemanding kiss from before; it was a hungry, voracious claiming of Legolas’ mouth that robbed him of breath and thought.
As soon as the Man relinquished his mouth, the Elf pulled back and spat on Aragorn’s face. “I am not a common wench to be treated in this manner”, he said furiously. “I will not even pretend to understand what has brought this on, and frankly, I do not even care. Remove yourself from my bed, Elessar, or you will be sorry!”
Aragorn wiped his face with the back of his hand, looking at it incredulously before he fastened his eyes again on Legolas’ face. What he saw there almost made his heart cease beating. Legolas held himself tightly, his slender figure rigid and unyielding; he was positively trembling with fury, his eyes bright and his cheeks burning with his ire, and the King didn’t think for a second that Legolas wouldn’t remove him from his bed should he pursue the Elf again.
What truly stopped him was the hurt and betrayal that lingered in the cerulean depths. Suddenly a wave of repulsion hit Aragorn as he realised what he had been about to do.
Legolas had come to his bed last night as an innocent, having never known the touch of another, trusting his well-being and safety into his hands. And only one day later, he was willing to break that trust, to violate the one he had promised to protect and keep from all harm until the end of his days.
The thought that his heir could have been conceived in that manner, in a mating brought on by anger and aggression, brought a vile taste to his mouth and his stomach rolled queasily.
Aragorn felt sick with himself and with a disgusted grunt, got up from the bed. He couldn’t bear to look at Legolas anymore, not after what he had almost done to him. “Forgive me,” he choked on the words and stumbled out of Legolas’ bedchamber, all too aware of the fact that he was going to empty his stomach and wished to spare himself the embarrassment of doing the deed in front of Legolas and in his bedchamber nonetheless.
A few minutes later, his stomach had nothing more to give and he heaved dryly above the wash-basin, pressing his burning forehead against the sink. Low, lowliest of creatures, he thought, keeping his eyes shut. There is naught lower than forcing your attentions on someone who is unwilling.
He didn’t hear the light footsteps that approached, and only after he felt cool fingers on his burning neck did Aragorn realise he was not alone. The fingers swept his tangled hair from his flushed face and soothingly stroked the reddened skin.
“I am not worthy,” he said through the awful taste in his mouth. “Legolas, if you care for me at all, I beg of you, leave me tend to my own misery.” He still kept his head bowed and his eyes closed. “I deserve no kindness from you, not after what --”
“Quiet,” Legolas said, not fully unkindly. His fingers left Aragorn’s neck for a moment, only to return with a damp towel with which he wiped the scorching hot skin. “I have lived with Men for a fortnight,” he said as he tended to his drunken husband. “I have learned a few things of your kin, Elessar, and one of them is that alcohol tends to dull even the sharpest of wits and make you say and do things that had better stay undone and unsaid.”
Aragorn raised his head slowly, as the world still seemed to spin, and put his hand over the one that rested on his neck. He squeezed the Elf’s slender fingers briefly, and then pried the damp cloth from Legolas’ grip. He wiped his face with it with a grimace and only then he felt he had the courage to meet Legolas’ gaze. It was the least he could do.
“Legolas,” he said with difficulty.
“Nay, let me speak,” the Elf said firmly. All anger had vanished from his face as he now looked at his husband. “I am willing to forget about this evening and what happened in my room earlier; you are, after all, my husband, and you did me no damage. All I ask is why you felt the need to attack me so. You have but to ask and I will be yours; surely you know this.”
Aragorn bowed his head in shame. He had let drunken lust and jealousy cloud his thoughts, and had almost committed a crime that was punishable by death in his kingdom. More than that, it chilled Elessar’s spine to think that he had come so close to hurting someone he held dear to his heart. It wasn’t Legolas’ fault, none of it was. Aragorn knew that the Elf was oblivious to his beauty and the effect it had on Men; how could he be blamed should someone try their luck with him?
The truth was that he couldn’t be blamed for it, and therefore Aragorn found that he couldn’t explain to Legolas what had brought on his odd behaviour earlier.
“Forgive me,” he said throatily. He didn’t know if his touch was welcome but shakily he raised his hand and gently cupped the curve of the Elf’s chin. “My brain was clouded by my own anger and insecurity, and it pains me to know that I have brought you harm.”
Legolas shook his head, irritably. “I am not looking for an apology but an explanation,” he said. “Come, let us get you into bed and then we shall talk more.”
The King nodded and with the Prince’s assistance, he got up from the floor. The ground felt unsteady under his feet and Aragorn promised himself that he would never touch Dwarven wine again; it seemed to rob him of all reason and thought.
Legolas left him for a moment to pour him a glass of water from a pitcher on the table. When he turned back, Aragorn had already fallen asleep. Not knowing whether to be amused or irritated at the oblivious Man, Legolas pulled the bedcover to his chest and smoothed the unruly hair from the King’s forehead before he left the room, closing the door behind him carefully.
I swear, I will never be able to understand the thoughts of Men, was his last waking thought before sleep claimed him for the second time that night.
TBC…
Author: laeglass
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Aragorn/Legolas, Aragorn/Boromir (implied), Boromir/OMC (implied)
Summary: Surprise guests.
Feedback: Yes please.
Beta: thdancingferret, without whom I would be lost. Thank you! :)
Disclaimer: Everyone and everything you recognize belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not him.
“Tell me again why I cannot order my archers to shoot down the King on sight,” Aragorn said, cradling his head in his hands. Boromir’s news had been most inconvenient; a messenger had arrived that morning, bringing word from Éomer, the King of Rohan. A party consisting of the King and his sister as well as some high-ranking members of his court who would arrive later that day. Aragorn itched to pick up his sword and teach some manners to his fellow King, but according to the members of his council, ‘such actions would have severe diplomatic consequences’.
A brief smile crossed Boromir’s stern lips. “’Tis not deemed polite to assassinate visiting dignitaries,” he said grinning, but then regained his composure.
“King Éomer is but a child,” Boromir said. “Not only of age, but also of experience and patience. I will give him that he was not trained for this position and he has had little time to get adapted to his new status, but I agree with you that this is just bad manners.”
Aragorn pinched the bridge of his nose irritably.
“I imagine that it would have been terribly inconvenient to send word before they left Edoras,” he muttered sarcastically. “To arrive unannounced is an insult in itself, but to arrive unannounced on the day after my wedding is nothing short of deliberate rudeness.”
The Steward shrugged. “The nobles of Rohan have ever been more interested in their horses than in diplomacy,” he said with a sigh. “And I can imagine that King Éomer is lacking in insightful advising on that frontier, having lost both his cousin and his uncle in such a short time span.” He smiled then. “There was also talk that lady Éowyn was betrothed to Théoden’s son, Théodred, and now the King perhaps wishes to find his sister a husband among the Gondorian nobles.”
“I wish her the best of luck; I, for one, would not touch any of our nobles with a stick,” the King said and couldn’t help chuckling at the idea. “Perhaps you will find her company lovely and entertaining,” he said. “After all, you seem to listen to the court gossip eagerly enough.”
Boromir huffed. “Regardless, the fact remains that they will arrive in but a few hours, and we must prepare rooms for them, as well as a proper feast in their honour. To do otherwise would be scandalous and prove a killing blow to our relations.”
Aragorn stood up from his comfortable, stuffed chair and walked to the window that gave to the courtyard. He had been called from Legolas’ side to hear the news of a visiting noble; it was annoying to say the least, and he couldn’t help thinking that his Steward could very well have handled this by himself. Aragorn turned to look at his lover, raising an inquiring eyebrow. “Tell me, Boromir, was it truly necessary to interrupt my morning with this news?”
Boromir stiffened at the implication. “I can assure you that I, too, was in the middle of something of interest when I was called to attend to the messenger,” he said somewhat darkly. “Surely your little Prince can wait a little bit to be taken again; he must be awfully sore from last night.”
Anger flashed in Aragorn’s steely grey eyes before it was quenched. “Mind your words, Boromir,” he said with deceptive softness. “Legolas is my husband now, and will be the bearer of my heir; I will not suffer any slights to him, not even from you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Do not speak to me like I was a child, Aragorn,” Boromir countered, coming to stand in front of his King and folding his arms across his chest. “I have no intentions to trade insults with you,” he then added, more softly. “I knew this was a matter that would interest you, and that you would be very angry had I kept the information of King Éomer’s arrival to myself. Pardon if your morning was interrupted, but it could not be helped; the kingdom doesn’t wait on her King’s pleasure.”
Aragorn looked at him sternly for a moment and then relented. “I know that, Boromir, and you did the right thing, of course. But let us not speak of visiting nobles and husbands right now. I have missed your company these past few days,” he admitted.
Boromir’s face softened as he embraced his King. “I have missed you, as well,” he said roughly. “Ever we have been the best of friends, and I would not begrudge you the comfort of your marriage bed; just like I know you will not scorn me for finding solace in another’s arms last night.”
“I am guessing that your conquest was not happy that your dalliance ended so quickly,” Aragorn said, letting go of the other man and regarding him with fondness. Boromir snorted.
“No, not happy at all. I merely wish I had remembered earlier how eager young ones are in bed,” he groaned. “I think I pulled a muscle last night.”
The sound of the dinner bell reminded them that they had gone without food since breakfast, having spent the entire day in meetings with the council and the King’s advisors, and together the King and his Steward headed for the Dining Hall.
~*~
A smile lit up the King’s face as he saw Legolas already in the Hall, standing beside his chair that was placed next to the Majesty’s, and he was even more pleased to see that the Prince was smiling and looked happy. Aragorn’s joy was dimmed somewhat as he realised that Legolas wasn’t looking at him, but talking animatedly with Faramir, whose seat was next to his. He frowned slightly, wondering where and when had Legolas made the Captain’s acquaintance.
It didn’t escape his attention how Faramir’s admiring eyes followed the Elf’s every movement, and how delighted Legolas seemed when the Man said something particularly clever or entertaining. Aragorn tried to curb off his annoyance, but couldn’t help looking discontent as he sat down on his chair. Everyone else followed his example, as was the custom, and Legolas turned to his husband with a smile on his face. It froze on his lips, however, when he was met with Aragorn’s displeased eyes.
“I see that you have made friends with the good Captain,” the King remarked after they had been served the soup - the cooks had been asked to prepare a light meal for dinner - and his eyes remained fixed on Legolas’, challenging him to tell the truth.
“Aye, we met in the gardens and talked,” Legolas said carefully. Why was Aragorn looking so stern, he wondered; perhaps Boromir’s news had been unpleasant. “May I ask what it was that the Steward had to see you about? Not bad news, I hope.”
“Nothing that cannot be dealt with,” Aragorn said curtly, and turned to talk to the noble on the other side of him. The Prince looked at him, astonished at Aragorn’s cold demeanour, and then turned his own attention to his meal, his appetite truly well gone. Faramir looked at him sympathetically, having heard their brief exchange, and squeezed Legolas’ fingers in support.
Why Aragorn was suddenly so distant and cold, Legolas couldn’t understand, but having Faramir next to him made the dinner much more bearable for him.
~*~
A grand feast was prepared to honour the guests, much to the kitchen staff’s chagrin; after the prior day’s wedding dinner, they had been promised a day off. The King was also in a gloomy mood, and this affected everyone else in turn; the whole castle was feeling the strain of the upcoming visit, and with baited breath awaited the arrival of the royals of Rohan.
Aragorn remembered that King Éomer was his junior by at least ten years, if not fifteen, having ascended to his throne at an early age, and had never visited Gondor before. This visit was to be their first meeting, and Elessar was aware of the importance of first impressions.
King Théoden and King Arathorn had been on friendly, if distant, terms and after Arathorn’s death fifteen years ago, it had been decided that Aragorn would only become King after his twenty-fifth birthday, which left Denethor, the Steward, as well as the King’s council to take care of the kingdom’s relations with neighbouring nations, during which period the old alliance between the kingdoms had slowly but surely decayed.
This was a new situation for both Gondor and Rohan - after Aragorn’s coronation, the former had turned outward again, seeking to improve her relations with all of the existing Elven realms, of which Elessar’s wedding to Legolas was only one part; and the latter had just greeted her new King, Éomer, after the long reign of King Théoden.
All of Elessar’s council members had made it abundantly clear that this marked the beginning of a new era, and that Gondor needed to forge close relations to Rohan.
This was one of the moments when Aragorn truly felt the weight of his crown.
Boromir’s reassuring words fell to deaf ears; Elessar was convinced that a hurried meeting such as this one, could only result in a disastrous outcome. Legolas stood next to him as they waited for the party to arrive, and the Elf offered his stony-faced husband a small smile, hoping to resolve the strange tension that had hung between them ever since the dinner. Aragorn was grateful for this small sign of support, but frowned again as he saw Faramir lean to say something into Legolas’ ear and the Elf smiling at his words.
Just then King Éomer and lady Éowyn’s arrival was announced, and Aragorn straightened his spine, memorizing the welcome speech he had prepared for his guests.
Pasting a smile on his face, he descended the stairs to greet the King and his sister.
~*~
After the feast the festivities were moved into the Grand Hall, and a happy chattering filled the large space. It was decided that even though King Éomer was young, there was a kingly air about him, and the lady Éowyn was both lively and beautiful. Many an unmarried noble stole glances her way, and to Legolas’ glee, Faramir was among them. It seemed, however, that the fair lady’s eyes were fixed on the King himself, and Aragorn couldn’t deny her request to dance the first dance with him. Legolas looked a bit disappointed at being left behind, but graciously accepted King Éomer’s offer to dance with him.
“I hope I have not offended your husband by stealing your attention,” Lady Éowyn said coyly, her long lashes fluttering against her high cheekbones. “Please, allow me to congratulate you on your marriage; Prince Legolas is very charming. I must confess being curious, though; I find it very intriguing that you have chosen a male as your Consort, and an Elf at that.”
Aragorn decided to stick to the formal explanation, certain that it would discourage the lady from her obvious trail of thought. “Thank you, my lady. To answer the question you are too courteous to ask, I married Prince Legolas because I could not do otherwise, for he had already captured my heart. To be parted from him would mean to be parted from my heart, and I could not bear to do so.”
Lady Éowyn pursed her lips and then offered a smile. “Then I am twice as happy for you both. To find true love is rare indeed, and we should cherish every opportunity we get in life.”
Elessar studied the young woman in his arms, noting that as beautiful she was with her golden hued hair and sky blue eyes, she looked discontent and unhappy. “Such serious talk from a young woman like you,” he said kindly. “Lady, love can come our way many times in life, if only we keep our eyes and minds open.”
Éowyn looked at him closely. “Forgive me for being bold, but you seem to be talking from personal experience,” she remarked, gasping as Aragorn’s arm tightened briefly around her waist.
Aragorn apologised, loosened his grip a little and then nodded. “Yes, I am talking from personal experience,” he admitted, and wondered how easy it was to admit to a stranger that he did have deeper feelings for Legolas. He hadn’t intended to develop any feelings for the Elf, but he also couldn’t deny that he hadn’t stopped thinking about his husband for a minute since that morning. Somehow the young Prince had found his way into Aragorn’s heart, without him even noticing it.
It also explained the burning feeling in his gut as he watched Éomer dancing with Legolas, his hand possessively resting in the small of the Elf’s back. The look on the Man’s face was positively enchanted as he looked at Legolas, as they chattered while trying to keep from bumping into other couples on the crowded floor.
Aragorn tried to tell himself that it was only to be expected; Legolas’ beauty was without compare, and the King of Rohan had probably had little dealings with the Firstborn before this, but it didn’t keep him from glaring daggers in Éomer’s direction. Aragorn could hardly blame him from admiring Legolas’ looks, since the Elf tended to have that effect on people, but he didn’t like the sly glances Éomer kept giving Legolas, or the hand that seemed to have inched lower on Legolas’ back toward his backside every time Aragorn looked their way.
“I hope…” Lady Éowyn started to say and then stopped. Her eyes darted up to meet his and she blushed. “I hope that it is possible for me as well,” she finally said. “I am not a great believer in love, but sometimes I still find myself hoping that I could find someone who will marry me because of who I am, and not because I am related to the King.” She noticed Aragorn’s frustrated expression, which in reality had nothing to do with her but everything to do with her brother, and blushed again. “Forgive me; I did not intend to bore you with talk about my personal matters.”
“There is no need for an apology”, Aragorn said and smiled; he had got an idea. “Come with me, I shall introduce to the Steward and his brother, the Captain of Gondor. They are both unwed,” he added as an afterthought.
Lady Éowyn shook her head and laughed, but followed the King as he took her hand and led her to Boromir and Faramir, who had decided not to partake in the dancing. Elessar introduced her to Faramir first, and was amused by his reaction; the Captain couldn’t keep his eyes off of Lady Éowyn but, to his own annoyance, couldn’t come up with anything to say.
Boromir looked at his brother for a moment, expecting him to say something, but when it became obvious that the younger son of Denethor was severely tongue-tied, Boromir stepped in.
“Forgive my younger brother. He seems to forget his manners in the presence of true beauty,” he said good-naturedly. Faramir looked miserable as Lady Éowyn laughed, and excused himself politely from their company. He searched for Legolas with his eyes and noticed that the Elf was having trouble handling the overly eager Monarch.
“Your hair is like sunlight turned to silk,” Éomer remarked with no small amount of amazement. “I cannot remember ever having seen anything as lovely as you.”
Legolas offered a polite smile and prayed the Valar for someone to come and save him from the Man’s clutches. King Éomer had been very kind and courteous when they were having meal together at the Dining Hall earlier, but apparently the wine he had sampled with great interest had gone straight to his head, and the King had trouble keeping his hands to himself. Legolas didn’t appreciate being pawed at in public by someone who was practically a stranger to him, and he was furiously trying to come up with a polite way to tell Éomer to keep his distance; it wouldn’t do to tell a visiting King to ‘keep his dirty hands off’.
“I have heard that Elves are a very warm-blooded race,” the King said, winking clumsily. “Have I heard right?”
Somehow his hand inched a little bit downward, and he tightened the grip he had on the slender Elf. Éomer had never before entertained a thought of bedding a man, but this beautiful creature warmed his blood and stirred his lust. Certainly Prince Legolas was as beautiful as any maiden with his flowing hair and graceful moves, and Éomer felt that he could be persuaded to sample this lovely being.
“I beg your pardon,” Legolas said coldly, his whole body stiffening at the rude implication. “I could not guess what you are talking about,” he said, his tone making clear that the issue should be left at that and definitely not broached again.
Unfortunately for the Elf, that was too subtle for King Éomer whose thinking was clouded by alcohol and lust.
“Would you mind showing me to my rooms and helping me to settle for the night?” Éomer asked, certain that the Elf would be willing, and to Legolas’ mortification, his hand slid to rest atop the Elf’s sculpted buttock. Legolas stiffened further at the initial touch; he couldn’t believe that a guest of Aragorn’s would treat him so basely, and in front of everyone, including his husband.
Then anger started spreading through his veins like liquid fire, and he raised his burning eyes to meet Éomer’s gaze. The King misinterpreted Legolas’ silence and his expression as signs of acquiescence and emboldened by this, stole a massive grope on the Royal buttock.
Faramir, sensing an upcoming diplomatic problem moved quickly to save Legolas from Éomer’s grasp, sending an irate Aragorn a glance that told that he would take care of this matter.
“Good eve, your Majesty,” he said briskly. “On behalf of King Elessar, I will kindly ask you to remove yourself from the close vicinity of Prince Legolas. King Elessar wishes to maintain the good relations between our nations and to ensure this, it is asked of you to respect the union that has been sealed between Prince Legolas and Elessar himself.”
Éomer blinked a few times as he tried to discern what the Captain was telling him. Then he turned his drunken gaze to Aragorn and flinched at the deadly glare his fellow King was aiming his way. Very deliberately, he let go of Legolas and removed his hand.
“I apologise for this slight,” he said stiffly. “It seems that my judgement was clouded by my appreciation for the beauty of Prince Legolas and I got carried away. Do accept my apology, your Highness. I believe it is time for me to retire for the evening.”
With that, he gave a courteous bow and with a nod to Aragorn’s direction, he left the Hall. Lady Éowyn hurried after her brother after sending an apologetic glance to Legolas.
“I apologise for his behaviour,” Faramir said to Legolas as soon as the Rohan Royals had left the Hall and scanned the Elf with his eyes for any possible damage. “I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him starting to fondle you. Are you well?”
“Yes, thank you,” Legolas said, but his face was stormy and his breathing uneven. “I believe I have had enough of these festivities. I think I shall follow King Éomer’s example and retire to my chambers.”
The Captain nodded. “Shall I escort you back to your rooms? Just in case the King gets the idea of trying to persuade you into an illicit affair.”
Legolas couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips. “I will gladly accept your generous offer, Captain,” he said formally, and linked his arm with Faramir’s. “But only if you tell me what you think of Lady Éowyn,” he said with a low voice, not wanting anyone to hear their discussion. He had seen Faramir looking at the fair lady with a wistful expression.
Faramir blushed all the way to the tips of his ears. “Lady Éowyn is a delight to eyes, that much is certain,” he said. “But not having spoken with her, I cannot say anything more than that.”
The Prince smiled knowingly; the look on Faramir’s face had been very telling. Legolas could only guess that he looked the same every time he saw Aragorn. At least it felt to him that his feelings showed clearly on his face, obvious for anyone who cared to see. Legolas turned to see where Aragorn was so that he could tell him that he would retire already, but the Man’s furious expression disheartened him and the Prince turned away, tightening his hold of Faramir’s arm. “Shall we?” he asked cheerfully, trying not to let it show how much Aragorn’s behaviour confused and hurt him.
The King watched the pair that departed from the Hall with a stormy expression, and turned to look at Boromir as the heavy doors closed behind Legolas and Faramir. “Your brother seems very keen on spending time alone with my husband,” he said darkly. “I am not quite sure what to think about that.”
Boromir shrugged indifferently. “Faramir has always held a fascination for the Fair folk; I reckon he is quite taken with meeting an Elf.”
Aragorn frowned. “Being taken with and being infatuated are two different things, Boromir, and your brother had better bear in mind that Legolas is already wed, and therefore out of his reach.”
“You believe that Faramir wishes to court Prince Legolas?” Boromir asked, failing to stifle a grin. He couldn’t imagine his brother doing anything that untoward; to him it was obvious that while Faramir might have been a bit overwhelmed with meeting Legolas, the Lady Éowyn had snatched his heart at first sight. “Well, I must admit that he did say many complimentary things about your husband yesterday, but certainly that was simply innocuous admiration and nothing more.”
Aragorn was very displeased. He had seen the fawning gazes Faramir had been giving Legolas the whole evening, and now seeing them leaving together was too much for his overheated imagination. He could see before his mind’s eye how Legolas invited Faramir to his chambers, and submitted to the man’s lustful yearnings, urging him on with breathy cries and moans. Aragorn swallowed with difficulty as he remembered how Legolas looked in the throes of passion, his skin flushed and his eyes glazed; and then how drowsy he was afterwards, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking.
To think that someone else would ever see his husband like that made him burn with jealousy.
“More wine, please,” Aragorn said to a passing servant, and emptied his filled goblet in a few gulps. “Fill it again.”
Boromir shook his head as he watched his King and lover starting to drink himself into a stupor. “Faramir, you oaf,” he swore under his breath.
~*~
Legolas had indeed asked Faramir to stay awhile after reaching the Royal chambers, and they had talked a little in the sitting room before wishing one another good night. Legolas went into his private chamber and undressed, folding the clothes carefully on a chair beside the bed. He undid the small braids carefully and then picked his hairbrush from the dressing table. He brushed his hair thoroughly as he had been taught as an Elfling; this was one of his evening rituals and he meticulously counted the brushes.
Sleep eluded him; Legolas could see Aragorn’s annoyed expression before his mind’s eye, and for the life of him Legolas couldn’t understand what had made the Man angry at him. A traitorous part of his mind suggested that perhaps Aragorn regretted their marriage, and shunned him for it. It hardly seemed fair to Legolas, since the marriage hadn’t been his idea to begin with, but it also seemed that he would be the one to deal with the consequences.
He couldn’t help wondering if his father would have allowed him to marry Elessar had he known that the King already had a lover. ‘Yes,’ Legolas thought wryly, ‘he probably would have.’ He remembered Thranduil giving him a speech of how different Men were from Elves in customs and in manners, and how Legolas shouldn’t judge his husband for not acting like an Elf.
Legolas felt miserable and truly alone. To this point he had felt he could count on Aragorn’s kindness, and he had thought that the Man held him in some regard. Now he didn’t know what to think.
He had finally managed to fall asleep when someone pushed his door open with such force that it connected with the wall with a loud bang. Legolas sat up quickly, grabbing his hairbrush and preparing to defend himself against the intruder when the person spoke.
”What a surprise to find you all alone,” the voice slurred.
Aragorn!
Legolas’ wildly beating heart that had jumped to his throat settled as he realised that it indeed was his husband. “What is this?” he asked, trying to keep accusation out of his voice. “Aragorn, I was deeply asleep. Surely you could have waited till morning to speak with me.”
“Quiet”, Aragorn said impatiently and with a few strides crossed the room to stand beside the Prince’s bed, looking down at the Elf with a complicated expression on his handsome features. Legolas frowned as he caught the smell of alcohol in the Man’s breath and wrapped the bedcover more tightly around his body; he trusted Aragorn, but the Man was not himself. “I wanted to see if you had company. You seemed to have no problem with being intimate with the good Captain; do you want to explain that?”
“You are drunk,” Legolas said. “How dare you barge into my bedroom and demand any kind of explanations from me? It is not I that have treated you with indifference and coldness today.”
“Indeed, you have not treated anyone with coldness today, have you, Legolas?” Aragorn asked cruelly, the words heavy with implication. “Perhaps you already gave Faramir what he wanted.”
“Get out,” Legolas said. His eyes were bright with unshed tears and inside his chest was a tight knot that made it hard for him to breathe. “You are not yourself, and I will not discuss with you when you are drunk.”
“I did not come here to discuss, pretty Elf,” Elessar said roughly, climbing onto Legolas’ bed. He brought his hand to rest behind Legolas’ neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was not the tender, undemanding kiss from before; it was a hungry, voracious claiming of Legolas’ mouth that robbed him of breath and thought.
As soon as the Man relinquished his mouth, the Elf pulled back and spat on Aragorn’s face. “I am not a common wench to be treated in this manner”, he said furiously. “I will not even pretend to understand what has brought this on, and frankly, I do not even care. Remove yourself from my bed, Elessar, or you will be sorry!”
Aragorn wiped his face with the back of his hand, looking at it incredulously before he fastened his eyes again on Legolas’ face. What he saw there almost made his heart cease beating. Legolas held himself tightly, his slender figure rigid and unyielding; he was positively trembling with fury, his eyes bright and his cheeks burning with his ire, and the King didn’t think for a second that Legolas wouldn’t remove him from his bed should he pursue the Elf again.
What truly stopped him was the hurt and betrayal that lingered in the cerulean depths. Suddenly a wave of repulsion hit Aragorn as he realised what he had been about to do.
Legolas had come to his bed last night as an innocent, having never known the touch of another, trusting his well-being and safety into his hands. And only one day later, he was willing to break that trust, to violate the one he had promised to protect and keep from all harm until the end of his days.
The thought that his heir could have been conceived in that manner, in a mating brought on by anger and aggression, brought a vile taste to his mouth and his stomach rolled queasily.
Aragorn felt sick with himself and with a disgusted grunt, got up from the bed. He couldn’t bear to look at Legolas anymore, not after what he had almost done to him. “Forgive me,” he choked on the words and stumbled out of Legolas’ bedchamber, all too aware of the fact that he was going to empty his stomach and wished to spare himself the embarrassment of doing the deed in front of Legolas and in his bedchamber nonetheless.
A few minutes later, his stomach had nothing more to give and he heaved dryly above the wash-basin, pressing his burning forehead against the sink. Low, lowliest of creatures, he thought, keeping his eyes shut. There is naught lower than forcing your attentions on someone who is unwilling.
He didn’t hear the light footsteps that approached, and only after he felt cool fingers on his burning neck did Aragorn realise he was not alone. The fingers swept his tangled hair from his flushed face and soothingly stroked the reddened skin.
“I am not worthy,” he said through the awful taste in his mouth. “Legolas, if you care for me at all, I beg of you, leave me tend to my own misery.” He still kept his head bowed and his eyes closed. “I deserve no kindness from you, not after what --”
“Quiet,” Legolas said, not fully unkindly. His fingers left Aragorn’s neck for a moment, only to return with a damp towel with which he wiped the scorching hot skin. “I have lived with Men for a fortnight,” he said as he tended to his drunken husband. “I have learned a few things of your kin, Elessar, and one of them is that alcohol tends to dull even the sharpest of wits and make you say and do things that had better stay undone and unsaid.”
Aragorn raised his head slowly, as the world still seemed to spin, and put his hand over the one that rested on his neck. He squeezed the Elf’s slender fingers briefly, and then pried the damp cloth from Legolas’ grip. He wiped his face with it with a grimace and only then he felt he had the courage to meet Legolas’ gaze. It was the least he could do.
“Legolas,” he said with difficulty.
“Nay, let me speak,” the Elf said firmly. All anger had vanished from his face as he now looked at his husband. “I am willing to forget about this evening and what happened in my room earlier; you are, after all, my husband, and you did me no damage. All I ask is why you felt the need to attack me so. You have but to ask and I will be yours; surely you know this.”
Aragorn bowed his head in shame. He had let drunken lust and jealousy cloud his thoughts, and had almost committed a crime that was punishable by death in his kingdom. More than that, it chilled Elessar’s spine to think that he had come so close to hurting someone he held dear to his heart. It wasn’t Legolas’ fault, none of it was. Aragorn knew that the Elf was oblivious to his beauty and the effect it had on Men; how could he be blamed should someone try their luck with him?
The truth was that he couldn’t be blamed for it, and therefore Aragorn found that he couldn’t explain to Legolas what had brought on his odd behaviour earlier.
“Forgive me,” he said throatily. He didn’t know if his touch was welcome but shakily he raised his hand and gently cupped the curve of the Elf’s chin. “My brain was clouded by my own anger and insecurity, and it pains me to know that I have brought you harm.”
Legolas shook his head, irritably. “I am not looking for an apology but an explanation,” he said. “Come, let us get you into bed and then we shall talk more.”
The King nodded and with the Prince’s assistance, he got up from the floor. The ground felt unsteady under his feet and Aragorn promised himself that he would never touch Dwarven wine again; it seemed to rob him of all reason and thought.
Legolas left him for a moment to pour him a glass of water from a pitcher on the table. When he turned back, Aragorn had already fallen asleep. Not knowing whether to be amused or irritated at the oblivious Man, Legolas pulled the bedcover to his chest and smoothed the unruly hair from the King’s forehead before he left the room, closing the door behind him carefully.
I swear, I will never be able to understand the thoughts of Men, was his last waking thought before sleep claimed him for the second time that night.
TBC…