.|. Seeking Harmony .|.

5. Crèid (To believe)

~

* * * * *

There’s a red fox torn by a huntsmen’s pack

That’s my soul up there

There’s a black winged gull with a broken back

That’s my soul up there

There’s a little black spot on the sun today

It's the same old thing as yesterday

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain

With the world turning circles running ’round my brain

I guess I'm always hoping that you’ll end this reign

But it’s my destiny to be the King of pain

- King of Pain - The Police

oh I am what I am

I'll do what I want

but I can't hide

I won't go

I won't sleep

I can't breathe

until you're resting

here with me

I won't leave

I can't hide

I cannot be

until you're resting

here with me

                            -Here with Me - Dido

Some say dreams are enjoyable only before you realize them: then they become reality, and thus dull.

Aragorn had dreamed the walls of Minas Tirith for his whole life, and now that he dwelled inside them, the glimmering sections of solidified moonlight of his dreams were but unfeeling fences of cold rock, dull and heartless. In a word, reality – illusion made bitter reality in front of his eyes.

Yet, there was a dream he knew – he just knew – he would savour ten times more if it were to realize.

Ai! You’re breaking my heart, Legolas.

A weary sigh escaped him as Aragorn left his chambers, cloaked in twilight and sorrow.

Where are you? Are you safe?

The Man walked down the gloom corridors slowly, limping through a long series of twisting, never-ending hallways slowly, leisurely, as he didn’t have a care in the world. The high ceiling and the cold walls were fused with the oddly dense shadows, overlapping and melding, so that he felt like moving through layers of darkness.

Do you ever think about me? Dream about me as I do about you?

The Man staggered and limped as he went, his body worn-out beyond words. Worry and tension had been his companions for the last weeks, and during the endless nights sleep had proved impossible. Every time he closed his eyes darkness descended upon him, closing in on him like towering walls. All he wanted was to run away, to leave Gondor, the city he’d dreamed of for decades, even if only for one night.

Do you ever miss me, tortured by the distance as I am?

He moved through the shadows as one of them, eyes downcast, knowing the depths of the castle and its every corner and shadow too well to really need to watch where he was going. And when he finally left first the Castle and then Gondor, it was like drawing in the very first breath of life – like being born in that one instant admits moonlight and mist and blue.

Do you – will you ever- feel for me as I…

The breeze was unnaturally cold that night, and the Man tucked the high collar of his tunic up around his neck a little tighter. Or maybe it was just him feeling cold, colder as he’d ever felt, all alone in the darkness, without any light to guide and warm him. Without Legolas by his side. His feet splashed over the wet ground as he went, noisy as no Ranger should be. But no Ranger should feel that weary either, Aragorn would retort if he had the spirit to. Stumbling upon unsure legs Aragorn walked for a few more moments, then stopped and sighed, looking up. At last he found himself leaning his with his back against the cold walls of Minas Tirith, glistening wet with evening dew, icy water seeping through his clothes to add to the coldness.

His lids felt heavy, and Aragorn complied the silent order, though he discovered it to be a mistake soon afterwards, when glimpses of golden hair and glittering blue eyes filled his mind and soft ache filled his heart. Frustrated with himself Aragorn turned around and touched his forehead to the wall, in search of refuge and solace from his demons. From his loneliness and pain. From his fears, and the feeling of overwhelming loneliness that was drowning his heart. He hated feeling this way, so helpless and exhausted. Beaten, something the King of Men couldn’t allow himself to be.

Dark locks were soon plastered to his clammy face and neck, and water glistened on his skin, tracing curves down his cheeks like teardrops would. An icy drop ran from the wall down his hand, pressed fatly against the rock wall, and he immediately curled his fingers, delivering the protective fence a desperate blow. 

After a moment more of distress, he turned, and whipped his head back, slamming it against the wall and barely registering the pain. Forget. He wanted to forget. Never before had he felt so helpless, sorrow and exhaustions twining in his veins like poison. The mantle of leadership that for so long had been placed on his shoulders, felt now as heavy as ever, and not for the first since the beginning of their quest – no, since Legolas had left- Aragorn wished to be someone else. Anyone else.

He straightened against the wall and lowered his head, his damp hair falling across his face in heavy locks. Grey eyes shut against the gloomy light, he sank his teeth into his bottom lip, not aware of the tiny drops of blood his action drew forth. Aragorn closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the cold air coat the insides of his mouth with its rusty taste, clawing its way down his lungs. Without reason he suddenly found himself lost in the memory of a cobalt dusk, a dusk in which the Elf had fled, tears shimmering in his eyes. The last sunset they’d seen together, that had started serenely and ended mournfully. Burning moisture welling in his eyes caused the Man to start and blink rapidly. How strange, that the tears he had repressed for all his life now gathered for such small matter: being abandoned.

He found himself praying to Deities he wasn’t sure he even believed in anymore, let alone trusted, pleading to be allowed to see Legolas again, even if for just one time, for the fleetest of instants; even if he’d have to surrender his life immediately afterwards, but soon; right then, right there, for he knew he could not bare such loneliness and darkness anymore.

‘He’s the only thing in this darkened world that really matters to me,’ the Man silently realized. True to his word Aragorn would have followed Frodo to Mordor, but for Legolas… for Legolas he would have thrown himself inside the very fires of those cursed lands and come through death just to whisper the Elf’s name, gazing in those wondrous marine irises of his.

‘What am I going to do without him, now?’ The man choked back a sob and leaned his head back on the wet coldness of the stony wall.

“I need you, Legolas.” He said in such a far off voice that it was almost a whisper, his eyes watering behind his lowered eyelids. “I love you. I hope you know that.”

His muscles sagged without warning, and Aragorn slid down the wall some, knees bending under the weight of his pain. Aragorn may not have been an Elf, but he knew. He knew his grief was killing him. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. With a sigh which ended as a painful groan, he moved from the wall, slipping out the shadow he was lurking in only to slip into another one. Suddenly, he came to an halt. His tired, yet keen eyes quickly scanned his darkened surroundings, looking for any sign of movement.

The sky was livid, that liquid tone of black it turns to after storms. Walking on top of the fence stray soldiers, be they Dùnedain, Men of Gondor or of Rohan, spurted forth: shadows from the shadows. Inside the city the lights had long since gone out, and he guessed it was past midnight. The fields would have been completely drowned in the darkness, if not for the torches hanging from the walls, the soft grey mist floating through the air and the patches of pale moonlight running over grey grass. Little creatures hid around him, but in their buzzing and whispering, Aragorn’s keen ear suddenly caught a different note.

He ran his eyes back over the walls and gates and fields and hills again, and this time something caught his eyes. A pale radiance seemed to come from the riverside, low down the hill and behind the Castle. He narrowed his eyes at it. Then, almost after their own volition, his legs carried him forward and forward, until he reached the shores. Someone was there, like he’d expected.

He halted for a moment, staring numbly at the lone figure glittering in the moonlight, and for Aragorn time froze. It was unfocused for the mist, and Aragorn could no see their face, but this was someone the Man couldn’t stop from recognizing - even between dozen billions of people, even after dozen billions years. The world reached a grinding halt, Time screeching like gears of failing machinery and slowly decomposing to ashes.

Aragorn’s heart pounded in his ears.

Pound…

The radiance of the moon flickered gently through the mist. Water shimmered in swaying pools on the ground. The rustling sound of distant trees trembled in the air, sounding as if it came from a whole different world, far and impalpable. Drowned in a dreamlike atmosphere, the figure tipped its head up, taking a deep breath in.

Aragorn’s heart continued to pound.

Pound… pound…

A colder breath of wind blew by then, making a few silken strands whip around snowy cheeks, almost iridescent under the faint moonlight leaking through livid clouds. Shining little droplets clung to golden hair, and as the figure gave its head a slight toss the quivering droplets rose, glittering like diamonds in the eldritch light.

…Legolas…

…pound…

One of Legolas’s hands rose, as he, eyes closed and lips parted, slid his fingers through his hair to tame the work of the wind, accomplishing the motion in a slow fashion, as if he had no cares in the world; no hurry; no hope. In that brief moment Aragorn could see Legolas’s profile outlined clearly against the sky. Dim emotions obscured his gentle features in slow succession, and when he opened his eyes again they were like the sky above, dark and scattered with stars. Aragorn’s face paled, and he moved his mouth in his incredulity, swallowing air through jagged breaths.

…pound.

For a moment Aragorn thought he was merely dreaming, but even as he did, he was caught in the realization that his mind couldn’t have conceived something as beautiful as the flaxen Elf standing in front of him. During their forced parting Aragorn had seen Legolas’s face a hundred billion times in his mind’s eye. He’d played the sound of his voice over and over in his head until he feared that he would go crazy with need. And yet not even in his most beautiful dreams he had been able to replicate the perfection this lithe figure held.

Aragorn’s senses seemed to shrivel suddenly to focus solely on the ethereal creature standing a few paces away from him. Legolas stood in a stream of moonlight, slender figure dappled in silver and the grey of shadows, a vision of dignity and grace and profound sorrow. A shiver chased its way down Aragorn’s spine, and he found himself reaching out tentatively, as if to touch him. But the gap between them was wide and his legs would not carry him forward, rooted as they were to the ground.

The mere sight of Legolas was enough to take Aragorn’s breath away, but when the Elf parted his lips, to let a song flow, the world itself was left breathless.

Legolas sang. Of stormed oceans and endless shores; of life and love; of pain and longing twined together like lovers. His song tasted like mist and moonlight; like summer rain and drenched soil, reminding the Man of times and places he’d never lived, whispering in his ears of times to come and of times already gone.

Caught in his song, Legolas held out his arms and tilted his head back, arching his body, offering to the moonlight the lovely expanse of his white throat. Light suffused through him to lighten the shadows of nightfall, and the very darkness around Aragorn’s heart and body and soul began to fade, chased away by golden brilliance.

Aragorn’s Light was back to him.

The world itself was fading around the Man, drowned in the twilight mist. The air was a cold caress against is hot skin, and he allowed himself to close his eyes, savouring the feeling for a brief moment. Then, all too soon, the melody came to it whispered end, and the world was free to move again. The noise of the rushing branches echoed again in the trembling air. The wind rose once more from the secret cradle it had gone resting. Time restarted its endless flow again.

Taking in a deep, flowing breath of misted air Aragorn dug his nails in his palms hard enough to draw blood, trying to sooth his wild heart a tad and awake himself to action. His efforts proved vain though, for wonder claimed him once more when his eyes were opened again.

As he watched, a faint ray of moonlight slid through the grey fog to get caught in Legolas’s figure, turning his hair into fluid gold, his skin translucent, his lips rose, his eyes into gleaming stars. It sculpted the planes and the gently sloping curves of his face out of silver; unmarred like a statue of marble he was, like a glitter of the Ocean’s face, and Aragorn had to swallow the awe that was rising fast inside him.

“Legolas… ?” He called hesitantly, his voice reduced to a tentative whisper, as if he was scared the Elf could shatter the moment he raised his voice.

Afterwards it all unfolded before his eyes as if Time was flying on tired wings.

Legolas turned around to face him, eyes wide, and golden, soft hair swirled around his body like Ocean’s waves. Tears glistened in the Elf’s unique eyes, and Aragorn’s throat tightened around all the pleads and questions he wanted to voice. He choked on all the promises he wanted to make him, and remained silent, even if he was hungering for the sound of a voice.

Moonlight wrapped about the Man and the Elf, bathing them in a halo of light. It was like being caught inside a diamond, with no sound other than that of their brisk breathing; with no one else save for the two of them, caught, willing or not, in a world composed solely by their beating hearts, liquid moonlight and accomplice mist.

“Aragorn…” Legolas’s voice glided through the air like on butterfly wings, and before he knew Aragorn had strode forward and captured his Light in the circle of his arms, holding Legolas to him like he’d die without him. Caught, wanting to flee and yet not to, and hating himself for responding so quickly and powerfully, Legolas wound his arms around Aragorn’s neck, rising on his tiptoes to better accomplish the task, and pressed their bodies so closely together it seemed he wanted to become one with the Man.

After an eternity that was too short to sate Aragorn’s needs, the Man slowly moved away, mouthing the Elf’s name over and over, all the while smoothing the hair back from his fair face with anxious caresses, incredulity clear on his face. Legolas stared deeply at his King, eyes rippling with affection, but even as he gazed, worry rose to cloud his eyes. This Man was his personal vision of happiness, yet today, as he watched him, Legolas’s eyes burned: the fire that Aragorn was had extinguished, and all that remained was the pale smoke rising after the ashes had cooled.

The Man was dangerously close to breaking point. A deadly paleness had overtook golden auburn on his face. His silver eyes were clouded, blunted to a dead grey. The shining flames that dwelled in the depths of his gaze had been extinguished, drowned in dull shadows. He seemed to have shrunk, dwarfed by a terrible weight into a shadow of the old Aragorn. 

The Elf had never seen him this vulnerable, ever.

Quickly forgetting his carefully plotted plan of separation, Legolas reached up and gently fingered Aragorn’s pale cheek. The Man snagged the Elf’s hand as it made to retreat, and intertwined their fingers in a shocking contrast of snow against auburn. Legolas smiled, his eyes softening, and savoured the rough feeling of Aragorn’s stubble on his fingertips as the Man placed small, soft kisses across the inside of his wrist.

“What ails you, my King?” Legolas asked at last, his melodious voice hushed into a whisper.

“Are you a dream?” Aragorn replied, pressing his lips to Legolas’s skin in one last, desperate kiss. The Man’s voice was like a tapestry. Shimmering threads weaved through it: the designs of sorrow, need and pain, entwining with another strand Legolas could not name at first. It was fear, he suddenly understood, but fear of what, he did not know.

Standing so close to the Elf, Aragorn could feel his senses gradually getting intoxicated by Legolas’s scent and warmth, but it still wasn’t enough a proof to him, who knew all too well that the most hurting dreams are just the more realistic, more so if they deal with one’s deepest needs and hopes.

“Are you?” He whispered again, an added thread weaving through his voice: the thread of supplication.

Legolas smiled, albeit painfully, and closed the distance between them again, gently caressing Aragorn’s cheek.

“Do I feel like a dream?” The Elf whispered back, a rose petal falling on the ground, as his fingers crawled up the man’s face to gently tuck a lock of dark hair behind his ear. The man leaned into the touch, and his eyes narrowed as he went pensive for a moment.

“Yes.” He said at last, with a shake of his head. “A beautiful dream that will fade with the morning, like in all these past nights. I will reach out for you, and you will fade before I can touch you. Before I can feel you. Before we can…” and he stopped himself, merely staring at the Elf as he exhaled shakily. Legolas felt the desperate need and longing for him radiating off of Aragorn in waves. While part of him rejoiced that he’d been missed as much as he had missed the Man, another part withered and died painfully at mere thought of having hurt the Man that meant so much to him. Closing his eyes, Legolas lowered his head, gazing down unseeingly at their touching chests, feeling Aragorn’s heart thumping wildly against his own.

There was a moment of silence, and Aragorn feared his scattered words had been comprehended somehow; that his deepest feelings had been revealed, and the Elf was searching a graceful way to reject him. Pain rose to his heart, and something inside the King of Men suddenly cracked. His dream was starting to become like real life: a nightmare. A nightmare in which Legolas did not care for him. A Nightmare in which there was no Light for him, if not that of a pale star that was less than enough for him who had known the wondrous luminosity of Mirkwood’s Midsummer Sun. Closing his eyes like Legolas had done before, Aragorn tipped his head backward, letting pale moonlight shine down his pained features as the nightmare grew around him.

It was then that Legolas leaned down, touching his soft lips to Aragorn’s chest, just where his heart lay. The Delusion Aragorn was trapped in suddenly became Dream, and Dream became Reality. A shiver coursed down the Man’s spine, and his fingers ran through Legolas’s soft hair after their own volition, holding him close. Aragorn ran his hand leisurely down Legolas’s neck and then back up to his cheek, cherishing the touch, as Legolas slowly moved away.

Silence prevailed once again. Aragorn gazed at the Elf in his arms for one long moment, then he slid his hand down his face to cup the angle of his jaw, and tilted the Legolas’s head upward. Blue and silver met in a clash of emotions.

“I’m sorry for hurting you.” Legolas breathed softly, watery blue eyes staring into pained silver ones, looking for forgiveness. “I never wanted to hurt you, Aragorn. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I’d be your sword and shield and shelter and light if that was enough to prevent any pain from reaching you. But I’m the only one to blame for the pain haunting you now. I’m so sorry, Aragorn, so sorry…”

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Legolas.” The Man breathed. “Please forgive me… forgive whatever I did that chased you away. Was it my mouth that offended you? Then forgive my words, and if an apology is not enough, I’ll rid myself of my tongue. Was it my hand? Then I’m ready to cut it away. Or was it my humanity that offended you? If that’s so, I will tear my mortal heart out my chest and place it at you feet. I could live without my heart, but I could never do without you. I couldn’t even go on if you weren’t by my side. I need you. Please believe me. I need you more than the air I breathe.”

“You did naught; don’t weight your heart with blames that are not yours.” Legolas uttered softly, and Aragorn slid his thumb across his cheek in a tender back and forth fashion, offering reassurance as well as searching it. Legolas leaned into the touch, lips caressing the Man’s chin as he sighed. “I wished you to be happy. I thought your happiness dwelled in a place you could reach only without me. It thought it resided in a place where a Man and a Elf can’t be as close as we are. That’s why I evaded you, even if that pained me. I thought my pain a small price for you happiness. But--”

“Legolas,” the Man interrupted gently. “An happiness in which you’re not with me is no happiness at all. Days have been dark and broody since you left, and Nights became nightmares of ice. Stay with me tonight.” Aragorn halted, wrapping one arm around the Elf’s waist and bending his head enough to kiss the top of the Elf’s head. “Please Legolas… don’t leave me… Whatever you do, just don’t leave me again. Legolas… you promised me to stay by my side until my Harmony was found… I beg of you, now: change your oath,” The elf shuddered softly, as if suddenly cold, and drew in a sharp breath. “And say you’ll stand by my side until I breathe my last breath.”

Legolas’s eyes widened as he looked up at the man, but he said nothing, only welcoming the Elf when he hid his face in the hollow of his neck, inhaling his scent like a drug. The man’s fingers ran slowly through Legolas’s golden hair, his breath a soothing caress over his pointed ear. To their delight both rediscovered that Legolas fit perfectly in the Man’s arms, and from that moment on no other place in the world would be more homely than their embrace for them.

“I will.” Legolas breathed. “I will stay by your side tonight, as well as the rest of your nights, until you leave this lands to meet the Lady Death.” And then I’ll follow you in her embrace, my love.

Gently, always gently, Aragorn reached down and lifted the lithe frame of Legolas into his arms. The Man touched his lips to the Elf’s forehead in an affectionate gesture when Legolas leaned his head against his chest, arms curled loosely about the powerful column of the Man’s neck. Clutching Legolas even closer, Aragorn moved his first step back toward Gondor, heading toward reality and duty and war with light steps; lighter than those of a mere Ranger. Lighter than those of a Elf, even.

He didn’t heed his comrades clattering across the stone ground around him when he entered the Citadel; didn’t glance at them as they swarmed about him, aligning then behind him in a silent file; didn’t bother to answer the few that managed to whisper some scattered words. All he was aware of was the Elf in his arms.

Stunned, practically non-existent for the Prince of Elves and the King of Men, Dùnedain and Rohimirr and Men of Gondor alike stood, lips parted in mute shock. They couldn’t move nor talk, for amaze had caught their breaths at the sight of Aragorn.

Tall he was, and kingly, more than he’d ever been. Most of the lines of care that had clouded his features in the past days had disappeared, and their King seemed suddenly younger, and yet wiser. Some thought they saw a dazzling star shone on his brow, but all those that had eyes to see perceived a blazing light inside his eyes. Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elrond was shining at his apex, and wonder filled those that saw him.

It was like a dream: a pale light lined everything in their sight with blurry edges. Never had they seen their King like that before, but suddenly all wished to gaze at him in such guise always and forever, for hope ignited in their hearts as Aragorn walked forth. None thought wrong of the closeness of the Man and the Elf, but many rejoiced in it. In that moment, as they looked, they did not see two males enclosed in the warmest of embraces; rather they saw a Man, the proud and mighty King of all Men, carrying a stream of dreamy sunlight, a sparkling diamond, in his arms, and receiving endless blessing and strength from such closeness. Silent vows were uttered that night, and words of hope were whispered in the wind as the splendour of Elessar was revealed to them.

At last Aragorn came to end of his walk, and whether he found his chamber’s doors open or rather some bowing Dùnedain had held them open for him he was not sure. All he knew was that he was now free to lay Legolas on his bed and rest beside him as it was right, letting the Elf’s steady breath lull him to sleep like he’d dreamed.

After a too long time Legolas was finally laying again on Aragorn’s bedstead, but the Man would not join him; not yet. Legolas shivered softly at the loss of physical contact and silently held his arms out to Aragorn when the Man hovering above him pulled back some to admire him. The splay of hearth-fire gave Aragorn’s skin a bronze glow as he gazed down at the Elf below him, lithe body gleaming softly on the dark sheets, golden hair fanned across the pillows like rays of the Sun.

Letting himself go in the blissful serenity that had engrossed him Aragorn lowered himself slowly onto Legolas, letting him bear his weight, and the Elf sighed softly, the warmth of Aragorn’s body a sensation he’d missed for too much. Faintly, the realization that the unreal feelings pouring through them at the touch were nothing but their Harmony’s work grazed their minds, but too engrossed in each other they were to rejoice at this ultimate proof of their bond.

With a tenderness close to worship Aragorn smoothed Legolas’ hair, kissed his forehead, his eyelids. Then with a quick, but subtle movement his lips were pressed firmly against Legolas’s chest. Long, pale fingers laced through his hair as Aragorn rested a long moment where he could feel the slow even beats of Legolas’s heart under his mouth.

When the fingers in his hair began descending down his neck in gentle caresses Aragorn rose enough to bury his face in the gently sloping hollow where Legolas’s neck and shoulder met, letting his breath waft across porcelain skin. His fingers began to draw shapeless figures across the pale expanse of the archer’s throat as he savoured the scent and taste of his honey skin with calculate slowness, like Legolas had done the first time they’d slept in each other’s arms, as if in some kind of ancient ritual.

At last, with his heart and ears filled with the sweet melody of Legolas’s soft sighs, Aragorn paused all his movements, and held his Elf even closer to him, never wanting to let go. He wanted to promise him everything, to pledge himself to him for all the life, but somehow he knew there was no need for words; not yet. Aragorn wanted to voice his deepest thoughts, but he couldn’t. And it wouldn’t have mattered. That was the moment to feel, not to talk, Aragorn realized. Immediately the Man felt at the mercy of his own emotions and allowed himself to get lost in the pleasurable haze engulfing his mind, still fingering Legolas’s neck gently, a feeling of renewed peace washing over him.

It was with his head still buried in the hollow of Legolas’s neck that Sleep caught the King of Men, but only after a final, wet kiss had been placed on the Elf’s skin. One kiss so warm and sweet to make him moan softly and arch into the touch, revelling in the warm and soothing feeling spreading through him. Legolas could feel his love’s heart beating against his own and suddenly nothing else mattered but them. For the first time, everything felt complete. Circling his arms protectively around Aragorn, cherishing rather than holding, Legolas bent his head enough to touch his face to the Man’s, and then he too surrendered to sleep.

Never did he notice that the Evenstar that so strongly had burned him, even through their clothing, each time Aragorn had rested in his arms like this, was gone…