.|. Seeking Harmony .|.

6. Epilogue – Dance with me?

~

* * * * *

Would you dance

if I asked you to dance?

Would you run

and never look back?

Would you cry

if you saw me crying?

And would you save my soul, tonight?

Would you tremble

if I touched your lips?

Would you laugh?

Oh please tell me this.

Now would you die

for the one you loved?

Hold me in your arms, tonight.

I can be your hero, baby.

I can kiss away the pain.

I will stand by you forever.

You can take my breath away.

Would you swear

that you'll always be mine?

Or would you lie?

would you run and hide?

Am I in too deep?

Have I lost my mind?

I don't care...

You're here tonight.

- Hero – Enrique Iglesias

“Aragorn…” soft whispers wafted across his closed eyelids, and tendrils of fine silk slid down his cheek, brushing by his ear and pooling on his pillow as if fallen from above. The man took a deep breath in, smelling a mixture of honey and Ocean and rain-wet leaves, and shifted slightly under the warm weight laying atop him. The moist breath glided down his face to come and rest inches above his mouth. 

“Aragorn…” a hushed giggle followed the sound of his name when Aragorn’s lips twitched upwards, the feeling of warm breath wafting across his lips too pleasurable to elicit no reaction. “It’s no use pretending you’re still asleep, my King.” Legolas smiled, leaning closer to whisper in the King’s ear. “Your breathing pattern is not that of a sleeping Man, Aragorn. I know well that you’re awake.”

A grin drew Aragorn’s lips back, and with a swift, but subtle movement the Man wound his arms round Legolas’s waist and reversed their positions, hiding his face in the gentle sloping valley where The Elf’s shoulder and neck met. Legolas managed a surprised yelp just to please the Man, but when Aragorn -unable to stop smiling- nuzzled his head against the Elf’s neck, he felt a barely contained ripple of laughter against his chest, and the sensation was so oddly familiar to rouse a twin small laugh in his throat.

“Can’t a Man be awake and yet wish not to rise?” Legolas’s fingers danced across Aragorn’s sides, and before he knew it Aragorn was sighing, lost in the bliss that ghostly touch evoked. Legolas was not one to miss details, and when Aragorn relaxed against him the Elf moved - a sudden flip of the muscles in his back and they were back to their original position. Aragorn struggled playfully under Legolas’s weight and the Elf leaned back, hovering above the Man as he straddled his hips with gentle force, each hand curled around one of the King’s shoulders.

“No, he can’t.” Legolas countered, looking at the Man sombrely until grey eyes alighted with the silent promise not to move. Nodding once Legolas freed the restrained Man and slid to the side of the bed, letting his feet thump gently on the floor, fair hands raising to his hair to tend his loose tresses.

Aragorn smiled as Legolas shifted to look at his reflection in the high mirror, frowning down at his crumbled clothes. With agile fingers the Elf straightened his clothing, brushing inexistent dust off his green tunic and grey leggings, and Aragorn was free to lean languidly back down and gaze at the –his- Elf.

Since he’d come to Minas Tirith, Legolas had never neglected his promise to spend each of his nights by the King’s side. Each evening, soon after dining, the King would rose and nod to Legolas, who would follow him to the door of the Royal chambers. There he’d be caught in the Man’s arms to be laid on the bed he knew now so well. On it little he would sleep, if at all, as he watched the Man he loved doze peacefully in the circle of his arms. And each morrow Aragorn would wake up to find beautiful blue eyes shining few inches from his, and would know that everything was going to be well. It was a tradition now, more than a secret or an oddness, and if indeed their actions rose whispers like Gandalf had feared, none were malevolent, nor condemning.

The first to be introduced to the daily ritual and to be greatly envied for that, not to mention peppered with questions, had been two members of the Fellowship – namely Frodo and Sam. Aragorn was leading Legolas through stairs and winding corridors of the Tower after a particularly hard day, walking backwards as not to look away from the Elf’s amused smile. He was still moving backwards when they reached his chambers, and pushing the door open with his shoulder he’d swooped down to catch a very delighted Elf in his arms, then proceeding to rain his ear with kisses and small whispers, rousing gentle laughter from the blonde Prince hanging from his neck.

Frodo and Sam had been there – doing what this tale does not tell- and saw the amusing show of affection, commenting wisely on it when Man and Elf had disappeared behind the huge gilded door of the King’s bedroom, as if they were Istari instead than Hobbits. When the two faithfully reported to their friends what they’d saw though, each and every member of the Fellowship proclaimed to have sensed the bond between their travelling companions first, and not even the years of arguing and bickering that followed ever divulged which of them was right.

From that day on no secret was made anymore of how deeply they needed to be near, to touch each other as if tomorrow wasn’t to come. And none in Minas Tirith minded. Both Aragorn and Legolas were more than glad to see people taking delight in their closeness, encouraging it even, but… despite having what seemed to be his people’s permission, the Man had yet to tell the flaxen Prince that he loved him. And never had the fact that Legolas was his Harmony made it past Aragorn’s lips. But while he battled with his guilt for not being able to voice his feelings, the King of Men was unaware that Legolas was engaged in an all too similar fight with his own heart.

Aragorn was startled back to reality when, satisfied with the state of his clothing, Legolas rose to his feet, glancing at the Man from the mirror. Had the Man not tore his eyes from the Elf’s bewitching visage and the way his hands skidded across his lithe form, he might not have heard what he was saying. Fortunately, however, he was able to break his silent reverie and thus catch the last words Legolas spoke.

“ …and you must decide a different sleeping arrangement for me – I’d be delighted to be given a room facing the gardens, in fact.” On hearing such request the Man frowned, and Legolas smiled at its reflection.

“Why?” Aragorn said, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Isn’t my… our room enough for you anymore?” Legolas gave a laugh at that, and the sound was so crystalline and pleasurable that Aragorn found himself smiling despite himself.

“I suppose, My King,” Legolas cooed, eyes sparkling. “That your spouse would be more than interested in knowing why her husband shares his chambers with but a mere archer.”

“You’re not a mere archer, Legolas.” Legolas’s laughter rose, his chest rippling. The collar of his shirt hung slightly open and the misty morning light coming from the window teased over his neck and the smooth curves of his face, making him a pristine statue of gently glimmering glass.

Precious, and seemingly fragile.

Aragorn ached to reach out and hold him, but Legolas stood, and twirled around in a swirl of green cloth and golden hair. He glided weightlessly toward the door, and pressed his back against it, hands behind him, head tilted, hair flowing and torso bent slightly forward.

“Still she’d wonder why I do occupy the place that’s rightly hers in your bed, my King.” The statement was but a mere teasing. The faint innuendo that laid underneath the Elf’s words was meant as a mere jest, but Aragorn’s heart panged nonetheless – that place is righteously yours to take Legolas, if you’ll ever want it, he thought. It’s not hers. Not anymore.

“I hate to drag you from your pleasant dreams, Aragorn-” Aragorn briefly wondered what had aroused such a comment, and if Legolas had the slightest awareness of who did fill his dreams “-but the Lady Arwen is arriving today, and you’ve to ready the City for the coming of its Queen – let me remind you you’ve yet to finish the arrangement of the ball up to this date.”  That said Legolas outstretched a hand, palm up, as if offering Aragorn help to stand despite the distance. “And I *want* my garden-facing room.” The Man could do nothing more but smile.

It’s not time. Aragorn lied quietly as he rose slowly. Not yet. But I’ll tell him. One day, I’ll tell him.

* * * * *

The journey had been harder than she’d thought, and the hardship she’d been through for the last few days only doubled her glee when Minas Tirith loomed into vision at the end of the stony pass, fair and shiny like a ray of sun made solid. Once at the gates Arwen quickly dismounted her steed, all but running inside the Citadel, hood drawn down to cover most of her face. Few saw her as she ran up the streets, and fewer still paid heed to the dashing hooded figure. Among these few though, there was someone who not only saw and heed her, but recognized the Evenstar for what she was despite never having seen her before, for they’d been waiting for her.

Arwen kept running, delighted at the idea of surprising Aragorn with her early arrival – it had been Gandalf’s idea, and Arwen had been quick to agree to come earlier than planned, even if she wondered why had Gandalf and Frodo rode all the way up to Rivendell just to change her travelling arrangements. In the midst of her excitation she did not see the figure creeping behind her, nor did she guess its intention until fingers curled around her wrist and she was turned around to stare into eyes as blue as summer skies. Arwen’s breath caught, but not out of fear. The hooded figure bowed its head slightly, and golden tendrils escaped the dark hood to glitter in the sunlight.

Arwen didn’t know why, but when Éowyn – as the other woman had said she was named- began to gently drag her toward Minas Tirith, she couldn’t help but follow; up, up into the Citadel and inside the Tower. The Undòmiel was not aware of how similar she and Éowyn were to Legolas and Aragorn as they proceeded, one gently dragging the other, down the same aisles and stairs the two males had walked that evening of so many days before. How could she? She knew nothing of what had happened inside the walls of the white tower, after all. Yet there was a difference between then and now: Aragorn had been staring at Legolas’s face all they way, while Arwen could not look at Éowyn’s, no matter how she wanted to discover and name the emotions she’d seen rippling in her pale blue gaze.

“I loved him.” Éowyn said at last, just when certainty was claiming Arwen that she was merely dreaming. Her fingers curled about Éowyn’s wrist, squeezing gently.

“And this troubles you, fair Lady?” She whispered. “Be at ease then: all that know him can do little else but love him.” Éowyn smiled, a secretive smile.

“Yet, I loved him not as a servant would his master, but as a woman.” Arwen nodded, unsure of what to say and let the other woman drag her forward still.

“You speak of this as if your feelings are fallen in the past. Is that it?”

“I’ve forced myself to forget them.” She admitted. “Because I soon realized Aragorn’s heart was not mine to hold, nor it would ever be, because another already had it.” Inexplicably, Arwen’s heart panged. Éowyn came to a halt as they reached the balcony, and curling her other hand around the finely chiselled breast-high railing, she lead Arwen to her side. They spent a moment gazing at each other, the only movement the one that lead Éowyn’s hand up and her hood down. And then, “Look,” Éowyn said, pointing something far down in the gardens. And look Arwen did.

She paid not heed to the Hobbits, the Dwarf and the Wizard as they huddled around her. The only thing that mattered were the Man and the Elf in the gardens, and the strange feeling of serenity seeping through her at the sight. They were strangely beautiful, sitting there under the pale shadows, a balsam to the eye. Almost like fragments of dream glittering gently in the harshness of reality, and she suddenly felt as an intruder, one who had no right to witness them. And yet she could not tear her eyes away, aware of how incredibly, awfully, perfect Legolas and Aragorn looked one near the other.

Legolas was luminous, fair skin gleaming faintly, hair spilling across his shoulders and wafting gently in the small breeze. Sat next to him, long legs stretched, was Aragorn. Shaggy, dark and strong, but not less breathtaking. They matched each other – like shadow and light they were, moon and sun, and just like the fair stars they resembled they seemed unable –but not unwilling- to touch as it seemed they should, and Arwen’s heart gave yet another pang. Then they moved, and spoke, and the Lady of Rivendell was suddenly aware that love could indeed be expressed without rich or heady words. 

Legolas tilted his head, and Aragorn’s hand moved in perfect unison, running through Legolas’s hair and curling behind his nape, leading the fair head gently to his shoulder.

“It’s so peaceful.” Legolas said softly. “The wind, the trees, the grass—the earth even, are singing.” Aragorn placed his cheek atop Legolas’s head, inhaling the scent of vanilla his hair seemed to exude, and wrapped both arms around the Elf’s waist.

“I think I can hear it.” Legolas chuckled, a melodious tinkle, and Aragorn’s smile grew wider.

“Don’t flatter yourself Ranger. To hear nature’s voice is a privilege of the Elves.” He chided gently, playing thoughtlessly with the loose collar of Aragorn’s tunic. Then he paused, head tilted as if listening. He shook his head at whatever the trees had asked of him, before laying it back on Aragorn’s shoulder. “This might be the last tree-song we’ll ever hear together.” Legolas said at last, in such a quiet whisper that even Arwen’s keen ear had to strain to hear him.

“It won’t be.” Aragorn assured gently, his voice full of promise and resolution, and one arm draped about the slim waist trailed up to Legolas’s shoulders. He stretched his fingers, and cupped Legolas’s cheek, his thumbs caressing the smooth skin. “I may be a King, but I am and always will be your Harmony, Legolas.”

I’m your Harmony…

Everything seemed to hold still. Arwen barely restrained herself from reeling backward.

Your Harmony… the word began spinning in her mind.

Always your Harmony… now she understood much, but just as much became unclear to her.

Harmony…

“We should go.” The Elf said, fair features twisting in pain. “Gondor… “ he licked his lips, a quick gesture. “…needs you.”

“Not yet.” Aragorn’s arms tightened around Legolas, gently pressing their bodies closer together. And the Elf could just whisper the Man’s words back to him, snuggling closer in his embrace.

“Legolas, I…” Aragorn began, but Legolas stopped him.

“Shh,” He whispered, placing a gentle fingertip over the Man’s lips, smiling as he hid his face against the Man’s neck. “The trees are singing.” Aragorn nodded, closing his eyes.

“About us?”

“About us.” But he would add no more.

Shaking her head, Arwen retreated from the window, and the world inside seemed strangely dark and oppressive: deprived of the dreamy light shining outside, the halls of Minas Tirith felt like the pits of Mordor for a long moment, and Arwen froze. Then the voice came, soft and hesitant, and when Arwen turned Pippin was in front of her, unsure and uncomfortable in his oversized guard-outfit.

“Don’t… take him away from Legolas, fair Lady.” He said, eyes darting around. “They… they are… they…”

“They… need each other!” Sam interjected, blushing fiercely and lowering his eyes when Arwen cocked her head to look at him. “I’m no good at poetry – not when it goes to compose it, if you see what I mean, but I guess I can say they’re like the wings of a bird, fair Lady, and be quite sure I’d put it the right way. One can’t fly without the other.” He bowed to the ground. Frodo smiled at his companion’s almost prone form, and stepped forward, bowing himself.

“What binds them we do not know –even if we do guess. But they are not aware themselves of what it is that they have. Thus - unsure of what to do, they choose to do naught.” Frodo straightened enough to catch the Lady’s eye. “For all they know now, is that they love you.” And Arwen smiled at him then, and it was like thousands of springs had flooded the gloomy hall to lit it with heavenly radiance.

“I know. Just as I love them.” She turned, her skirt brushing against her legs with the sound of Ocean waves. She would say no more, but offered her hand to Éowyn and let the other woman lead her back to the gates. And there together they waited for the rest of the Undòmiel’s escort, Elladan and Elrohir, and Elrond their father, to arrive. Only then Arwen entered again the city, as a Queen this time, instead than a dashing shadow, but she would not let Éowyn leave her side: not when Aragorn and Legolas embraced her; not when the Dùnedain and Men of Gondor bowed to her, nervously recognizing her as the one that would divide their King and their Prince; not when the Fellowship falteringly nodded to her; not even when she readied herself for the ball, or when she entered the gleaming halls into which it was taking place.

Yes, they loved her, and she loved them.

But not enough, she realized. Of course they loved her greatly - enough to tell her naught of their love; enough to sacrifice it –something so astonishingly right- for her sake. But she… she didn’t love them as much as they did her. She did not love either of them enough to grieve at the sight of said love. She loved them just enough… yes, surely just enough to desire to see them where they belonged: together.

And she was determined to see her wish realized before morrow.

* * * * *

The vast hall was a glitter of white and gold, with tapestries of fiery red and velvety black hanging like flames and twilight made cloth from the walls. When Arwen came in, clad in white and lilac, descending slowly the marble stairs, it was as if the glittering and shining doubled to the point to be dazzling. Aragorn, perched atop the dais where the King and Queen’s thrones were set, felt his breath catch. His heart ached as she approached, dark and luminous at the same time, and he searched Legolas with his eyes, bottomless grey aflame with desperation.

He found the Elf almost effortlessly, as if knowing without need to look where his heart’s desire was. Legolas stood on the other side of the room, leaning gracefully against a high column, fingers curled around a glass of wine. A vision of grace and nobility, fair and luminous, without any trace of Arwen’s dark beauty, but with so much more light than her. When his eyes met his King’s Legolas held up the translucent chalice in his hands, golden torch-light setting the sweet liquor it held on fire. It cast bows of eldritch ruby light to course down the Elf’s skin, tracing sensuous lines down his high cheekbones, caressing his forehead, licking his lips and his chin to die on his neck. His features were peaceful, glowing beautifully amidst light and music and pale shadow. Then something crossed across his countenance, a swift shadow of sorrow. Then it was gone, and both Man and Elf turned toward the vision that Arwen was.

She had already walked up the three steps that lead to the dais, and within instants she was in front of Aragorn, her head bowed in greeting. By her side, head similarly bowed but held with more pride and might, was Éowyn, ethereal in the folds of her ivory dress. Aragorn frowned, wondering why such duty as accompany Arwen to him –a duty that should have been righteously Elrond’s- had been given to the golden Lady of Rohan. Legolas merely looked away. Dark and beautiful, Arwen was a vision he could not bare to look. Not when she belonged to he who Legolas loved.

Arwen smiled fondly at Aragorn, but the Man had to swallow more than once before his lips would curve into a smile. His eyes darted around, searching friendly faces admits the crowd, and found plenty. But no help came from the comforting sight. Many smiled at him, but when his eyes fell on Gandalf’s own smile he could not help but wonder, yet again, why the Wizard was doing this to him. His eyes flickered down to Arwen, and again he swallowed upon seeing her sweet smile. Tradition said that once the King had chosen his spouse he had to hold a ball, and thus present the future Queen to his people. He would ask her to join him for the night’s first dance, one during which only the King and his spouse could occupy the dance floor, and after it they’d be as good as married. None in Minas Tirith had known of such tradition until Gandalf had spoken of it, showing Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship a worn-out, ancient-looking book of Gondor Lore. Doubtless the Wizard had been searching for it in the libraries of Minas Tirith for days, but what was his purpose Aragorn did not know.

Taking a deep breath in the Man closed his eyes, and gathered courage to choose the course of his life. Taker her white hand, and stop thinking about Legolas forevermore, or run away with the Prince, even though friendship would be most surely all that would bind them? Lost in his thoughts he failed to see Arwen beckoning the musicians to start playing, but felt as if jolts of lightning coursed through him as she took one of his hands in hers. He forced his eyes open, and Arwen’s smiling face was there, luminous and breathtaking, and his heart gave a pang. She was already dragging him to the centre of the hall, where they’d had to start waltzing, walking backward like Aragorn had done that night of so much time ago with Legolas. He found himself lost in his Prince’s thoughts, and closed his eyes yet again, failing to see it when Arwen reached the middle of the room and did not stop.

Watching Arwen leading Aragorn through the room Legolas felt the familiar prick of tears and exhaled shakily, repeating himself over and over that was for the best. That Aragorn would be happy with her, happier than he would ever be with him. Eyes closed he pressed a hand to his chest, as if waiting to feel his heart shatter, and bit his bottom lip in hope to tame the tears he felt gathering. Then a shadow came, hovering above him, and Legolas frowned. His lids fluttered open, and in front of him stood Arwen, with Aragorn behind her, his mouth and eyes alike wide. Immediately the Prince scampered to his feet and made to bow, but Arwen placed a gentle hand on his chest, just where he had laid his own before, and helped him stand. She curled her fingers around his, gently, and then brought both her hands in front of her. The Lady of Rivendell smiled then, the light of it putting sunlight to shame. Then she walked backwards, dropping her hands slowly, and Éowyn appeared behind her, looking as if supporting her. Both ladies smiled, and Aragorn and Legolas shared a look, confusion clear over their features. It was then that they noticed it.

Their hands, clasped together between them.

Legolas’s eyes went wide, and he would have reeled backward in his shock if not for fear of losing the marvellous feeling of Aragorn’s touch. The King sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darting from his and Legolas’s linked hands to Arwen’s smile and back

Tradition said that once the King had chosen his spouse he had to hold a ball, and thus present the future Queen to his people.

As remembrance came to him Legolas felt the sudden urge to bolt. Suddenly he felt his chest ache and desired to run. Surely… surely Arwen… Aragorn… couldn’t… wouldn’t… he wasn’t… he was just an Elf Prince… he couldn’t… they couldn’t…

He would ask her to join him for the night’s first dance, one during which only the King and his spouse could occupy the dance floor, and after it they’d be as good as married.

Aragorn looked at Arwen a last time, and she smiled, beckoning him to move with a tilt of her head. The Man smiled at her, for real this time, and both their hearts warmed. Then he looked down at the shivering Prince, who still couldn’t move his cerulean eyes from their clasped hands, and Aragorn felt the warmth generated from his heart spread through him. He still lacked the courage to move though, but when he felt Legolas’s fingers slid from his own he squeezed the Elf’s hands gently. Scared, wide blue eyes and equally scared and wide grey ones met when the Elf looked up sharply, his breathing brisk. Aragorn shivered once, and then he stepped closer and brought their clasped hands up, so that they hovered between their faces. His mouth was dry, his chest burned, and his voice came as a hoarse whisper.

“…dance with me?”

Tradition said that once the King had chosen his spouse he had to hold a ball, and thus present the future Queen to his people. He would ask her to join him for the night’s first dance, one during which only the King and his spouse could occupy the dance floor, and after it they’d be as good as married.

Legolas’s head spun. Aragorn… was… asking him to marry him? That… that could not be. Yet… the Prince could not stop his head when he nodded slowly, nor he could stop his feet when Aragorn led him to the middle of the dance floor. The Man’s strong arm curled around his waist, and Legolas leaned against him completely, unable to contain a sigh as dizzying warmth filled him. The world dissolved and melded around him as they began to waltz. At first Aragorn wouldn’t loosen the grip he had on the fair Prince, almost scared that if he let go he would vanish, but then Legolas was linked with Aragorn with but a hand. He was lead around, his arm stretched, and then he was spinning gracefully, under the man’s arm. A gentle pull lead him back into the Man’s embrace, and it was like coming back home after a long journey: warm and welcoming and refreshing at once. But still he shivered. And his shivers doubled when Aragorn leaned down and hot breath wafted across the Elf’s pointed ear.

“You’re shivering.” The Man said softly, trembling slightly himself. Shaking his head Legolas riased his eyes from Aragorn’s chest to his low neckline, where the Evenstart ought to be, gazing at the bare skin at the base of his throat.

“I’m scared.” He said softly. “I don’t want to wake up.” With one broad hand Aragorn reached out and lifted the Elf's face gently. Legolas looked into his eyes then, and saw stormed Oceans that allured him more than any Sea on Middle Heart would ever.

“Wake up?” The man questioned gently. Legolas nodded.

“And go back in a world where you don’t love me as I do.” Finally the time for words had come, Aragorn realized. With the most radiant smile that had ever grazed his face the Man stopped, and cupped Legolas’s face in both hands.

“Legolas Greenleaf, I love you. I’m in love with you, my Harmony, and my heart is and will always be yours to keep.” Legolas’s eyes grew wide, and if possible that made him look even more beautiful.

“I… I’m your…?” Aragorn nodded, dragging his thumb gently across Legolas’s lips to silence the stuttered question.

“My Harmony.” He whispered softly, drawing his face closer to Legolas agonizingly slowly. “My love. My Legolas.” And finally he leaned all the way down, putting his heart and soul in a kiss that was just the first of many to come. At first the Elf did naught but accept the kiss, moaning softly against the Man’s lips, a bit rough, a bit tinier than his own, but still gentle and as sweet as honey. Then, before he knew it Legolas had slid his hands up to cup Aragorn’s face as he had done his own, pressing back into the kiss with desperate passion, and slid his tongue into the Man’s waiting mouth, twin moans escaping both of them. Their mouths parted briefly, and then touched again, even more briefly. Again they parted and again they met over and over, until it could not be told anymore where one kiss ended and the other began.

Even thought the world had stopped moving for the two of them, in truth it had not, and presently most of the guests of the Tower exploded in an applause when Gimli gave a sound, throaty laugh. The Hobbits began to shout their approval, making so much noise it seemed as if they were disappointed not to have been the ones to start the cheering. Pippin was literally bouncing, looking particularly hilarious in his oversized outfit. Gandalf took it upon himself to stop the Hobbit’s exuberance, and did just so with a laugh and playful smack on the back of the little one’s head. The Dùnedain, clad in the grey of their kin and the silver and black of Gondor, raised their cups to their King and their Prince. Many followed their example, Éomer and Faramir first. Éowyn held her chin high and smiled, blond tresses glittering in the same light that had made Legolas ethereal, looking like a precious stone. Arwen shed a single tear, but she was indeed glad; glad beyond measure and words as she watched the two lovers finally united. Only Elrond rose an eyebrow in inquiry, but no heed was paid to him until much later.

At last Legolas and Aragorn broke their kiss, reluctantly, and looked into each other’s eyes with wonder and shining love. The Harmony they’d been seeking without knowing, the Harmony each had found because of the other, flared into sudden life, powerful and endless, washing them with warmth and light almost visible to others. Emotions poured from one into the other and back like liquid fire as they looked at each other, their bodies pressed together. The peak and the starting point of their happiness blossomed then, like a rose inside their chests, and Aragorn suddenly knew nothing he’d felt before could ever compare to such bliss. Harmony… endless love, happiness, serenity, bliss… that’s what Legolas was to him, and he knew he meant as much for the Elf: he could feel it, for they were bonded by their souls, and their hearts spoke as they beat in unison.

Aragorn pressed Legolas even closer to him as cheers and laughs seeped into their private world in one silvery bauble. Suddenly aware they were not, indeed, alone, they turned to the crowd filling the hall, and gaped, surprise claiming them. The blonde Prince sought refuge in his love’s warmth, and placed one hand and cheek on the man broad chest timidly, a pink tinge suffusing his pale features. The King smiled down at him, and then beamed at his conspiring friends, aware at last of Gandalf’s intentions. The Wizard had both mischief and a plea for forgiveness shining in his eyes, when Aragorn looked at them; and the long-hoped forgiveness came with a quick nod and a broader smile that Aragorn offered without thought. He squeezed his Elf even closer to him, basking in his mild scent, and breathed soft nonsense in the pointed ear as the cheering grew louder and intertwined with the music, the dance floor swarming now with laughing couples.

“Are you just a dream?” Legolas whispered in the folds of Aragorn’s dark tunic, glancing around at the dizzyingly splendour of the marble hall.

“I thought you were.” Aragorn replied just as softly, lost in Legolas and basking in his closeness even as dancers swayed and twirled about them.

“I’m not.” Legolas purred, snuggling even closer to the Man’s chest, and rubbed his head against it as a puppy would.

“Neither am I…” He retorted, and bending his head he captured Legolas’s lips again, but more sweetly this time, and the Elf closed his eyes as his mouth was ravished in all thoroughness.

Maybe life wasn’t a fairy tale, but Legends and happy endings still existed, it seemed. And as Aragorn held Legolas in his arms he thought of the incommensurable bliss one single creature could cause another. And then he found himself lost in a dream, or a memory, of a life yet to come, where in another time and place he would find himself lost again in the inebriating feeling that was Legolas’s kiss. And there would be no rings, no quests, no death and no tears in an endless circle of lives and love. And Harmony would spread over the two of them as well as everyone who was ready to face happiness.

That was not their end, nor that seemed to be any close.

That was just the beginning, and of a journey that, for granted, would be as long as time itself.

Endless.

~~~~THE END~~~~~

So my LoTR fic comes to its end. This has been one of my favourite stories ever, even thought I never dreamed I’d keep what started as a stand-alone going this long, and it’s kinda sad to let go. I’d like to say thank you to all who have read this. *bows* I really hope you enjoyed reading it just as much as I did writing it. ^^ And a special thanks goes to everyone who reviewed me – you’re the best! It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to be so welcome into a (for me) new fandom. ^_^ THANKS to all of you! I hope this ending lives up to your expectations...

A bonus lemon-chapter is on its way but I must warn you that it may take me a lot, lot, LOT of time to write it. No-no, I‘m not torturing you on purpose, it’s just that I know myself and how slow I can get over writing a NC-17 fic. ^^;;

Uhm… I’m also thinking to write a sequel to this dealing with Aragorn’s mortality and with that one vision Aragorn has in the ending…