WARNING: This is SLASH. While there is no explicit homosexual action, this story involves two men in an intimate relationship. If this bothers you, I am certainly not going to make you read it, and indeed kindly request that you take yourself elsewhere and read some of the lovely het works on ffnet. If you read the fic in spite of my warning, then don't complain to me!

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, and all of its characters clearly do not belong to me. They belong to the amazing J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm merely playing with their minds...(evil grin).

Feedback: Please, please, please...yes, I am begging! I would like to know what you think of it; love it, hate it, don't get it- whatever! Just keep in mind that flames will be used to heat my very cold dorm room.

Author's Notes: This ficlet is the first in a small series of glimpses into the interweaving struggles faced in Aragorn's desire to heal the world, and Legolas' acceptance of his necessary role in the future king's life.

Note: This has absolutely nothing to do with my Double Edged series (though chapter 4 is up now!). This is probably a stand alone piece that offered itself up to me. (There is a possibility that I could be induced to write a follow-up, if there is enough interest).

ADDITIONAL WARNING I am rather depressed tonight, so this is a very angsty little ficlet.


By Kitsune


"I'm leaving." Rain splattered against the pane glass window. A soft-footed form crossed the room halfway, then came to a hesitant stop. A pause. Surely he didn't expect an answer? Silence.

"I'm leaving," He repeats, though softer this time. As though the tone of his voice can somehow affect the level of pain the words will bring me. He does not realize that the words bring me no pain. I knew that they would be spoken. I have known it from the moment I set eyes upon him. I knew it long before our skin touched.

He creeps closer. Cautiously? Is he afraid that I will attack him? I could never hurt him. He and I are too closely matched; even if I were to turn on him, he would be able to defend himself. Unlike me. But, no. He is not turning on me. I have always known which direction his heart faced.

"Legolas...Please." Please? Please what? Does he wish me to plead with him to remain? To cry as a little girl would? Or to tell him to get the fuck away from him, somehow absolving him of guilt. That would allow him to tell himself that he was leaving because it was best for both of us. Clearly there is nothing real between us if I demand that he leave. Certainly nothing beautiful joining us. Nothing like the night that we shared.

Rough hands spreading over satin skin, seeking for a way through the barrier of separation. Lips meeting with gasps, tongues plunging desperately. Blue eyes connecting with brown, and holding fast as bodies met and hearts beat in unison. A fast tempo created by the mutual drumming of hidden muscle against bone, reverberating through skin. The desire to connect in some deeper way, to fight off the abyss of loneliness, if for just one night. And when his body joins with mine in the most pure and primal way, and he whispers hungrily of forever, I force my ears to hear, "Tonight."

It is light outside now, that lazy, refreshingly clean light that can only come from reflecting off of the raindrops as they fall through crystalline air. He steps in front of me now. He is dressed in traveling clothes, his sword already fixed in his scabbard. He is haloed by the light of the afternoon rain. Almost as though it is trying to wash him away.

"Legolas...I...I am sor-" I cut him off, not verbally, nor even with a soft hand. I allow my eyes to rise to his, and he cannot say those words. Do not be sorry, Dunadan. I have always known that we would meet like this. I have known it and I have craved it. Many nights I have dreamt of the pleasure that your body could bring to me. I have so many times wondered what words you would whisper at crucial moments, flavoring them mentally in different honey coated tones of your voice. I wish you had not spoken of forever. I never imagined you would. For I have always known that you would leave. We were destined to come together, and you were fated to leave. I will not stop you. Nor will I stop my heart from following after you, or my body from wishing for yours.

The look in his eyes is precious. Like a fox that has been caught in a trap begging for release from the very hunter who set the trap. Oh, Aragorn. Beloved. I will not keep you in your trap. It is a hard and treacherous path which you walk, and in the future it will only become more so. Perhaps my soul reason of existence is to offer what comfort I can along the way. To alleviate some of the soul deep pain of isolation. If this is so, I will live to fulfill my purpose for being. My body and mind will always welcome you when you seek for me. And I shall always force myself to release you afterwards. No matter how hard it is. No matter.

The rain is lessening. The road will be muddy, but the sun will light your way as you flee from my arms back into the harsh world.

"Fare you well, Son of Arathorn." The words, so practiced, though never before used, roll off of my tongue with ease. Surely it will only become easier to say them as time goes by, and I practice them more.

The look of relief in his face, the loosening of muscles in his neck. He can convince himself that this assignation has meant nothing to me other than an amusing way to pass a rainy night. He nod, turns, and strides briskly out the door and beyond my sight. I return my gaze to the window. The rain has stopped completely, leaving the colors bright and fresh. The world is alive today. A tiny droplet of water clings precariously to the tip of a verdant leaf directly beyond the glass. It slips, struggles, then silently falls. I watch it tumble through the unsoiled air until it disappears under the frame of the window, continuing its soundless descent behind the wall.

"Fare you well, Son of Arathorn." Until you again seek my comfort.



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