.|. On Forever's Eve .|.

by Nemesi

Beware of the fields in which Eagles fly as omen of victory, Estel. The fields of fire of Mordor are no place where a Leaf can survive alone, without Hope.

Drammatico/Sentimentale | Slash | Rating PG - 13/R | in inglese - One Piece

| Commenta - Leggi i Commenti |

~*~

“I choose a mortal life.”

Her voice was soft – like the silver giggle of a gushing stream. Like the wind whispering through the leaves in summer. Like the snow falling on in Winter, and just as pure.

“You cannot give me this.”

Hesitant. His answer was hesitant. And pained. The fair Lady was hurting him, though why he wasn’t sure. She had stepped forward, and now something cold and hard was pressed against his palm – like ice, except it was dry, and its own way burned. He glanced down at it, briefly. A teardrop. It was a teardrop made solid. Was it his? Or hers, maybe? She was sacrificing herself for him. Sure he loved her, but this… she’d die, and because of him. Not now maybe, not even soon, but one day… one day…

“It is mine to give to whom I will.”

Her eyes drilled into his, searching and indeed finding what they expected to find, for a smile as radiant as thousand stars blossomed on her lips.

“Like my heart.”

And she kissed him then, thoroughly, cupping his rough cheek in her porcelain hand, seeming like she wanted to commit the feeling of him to her memory; like this was both their first and last kiss; their first meeting, and last farewell. Her touch was full of promises, and Aragorn’s heart soared at the sensation, even while it cracked and shattered. She’d die, now. One day she’d die. Because of their love. Because of his love.

And Aragorn found himself wondering if his love, the love of the crownless King, wasn’t cursed. If all he loved were bound to die. His father, his mother, his comrades who had fallen under his lead, his Arwen…

Maybe, he thought, he should stop loving. So that no one else would die because of him. Maybe if he made his heart a stone, and banish feelings such as love and desire and passion from it the curse would fade, and none would die anymore because of him.

~*~

Remnants of that conversation always swirled through his mind, seeding themselves under his skin viciously. Even now, while searching desperately for Legolas in the midst of the battle, they tormented him. Shouting the Elf’s name so loudly his voice had ran bloody; flying on leg that felt so tired –so stiff- he feared that if he took a wrong step they’d shatter, Aragorn’s thoughts flashed briefly to another Elf, darker, of sweeter voice and softer body than his comrade.

Arwen.

“Legolas!”

They say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Aragorn’s had been. Yet that didn’t make Hell any less terrible. He had never wanted to see Arwen gave her immortality up for him. He had never wished to fall out of love with his evening star, even thought he knew not why it had happened. He had never wished for war to come, or for death to claim his dear ones. He had never wished to pain Legolas like he had – in all reality that was the last thing he’d ever want to do.

Hurt him.

“Legolas!!”

Yet he had.

And Legolas had ran from him, swallowed in the rage of battle to never come back. What it is that the Man had said to him? Oh, yes. “…and you could at least show some happiness, for the Valar’s sake! I’m going to be married to Arwen, the dream of a lifetime, not to be executed! If you could just stop being so damn sad and imperturbable all the time, you would see that I need you to be happy for me!! I regret having you as a friend!”

Those where the words the Man used as the tail end of his argument. Even an unknowing bystander would have been able to acknowledge that as the moment when Legolas’s heart broke in two. Yet Aragorn hadn’t. He had merely paused his rant, his breathing brisk, and Legolas had raised his chin higher with a shrug of his shoulders. The Elf’s eyes were glittering suspiciously then, and the shocking prospective he was crying – and doing it because of him- rendered Aragorn speechless for a long moment.

Then the Elf snarled, whipping his head to a side, and his blonde hair fell in front of his face in waves.

“Of course you do.” He said dryly. The Man started to open his mouth, when his mind registered the Elf’s words. He forced his lips in a thin line and frowned, staring at the golden Elf wordlessly. He was suddenly conscious that he should talk, or move at least; but he could not, and just hardened his features as icy blue eyes peered up at him through long black lashes.

He could not show weakness. Not to Legolas.

If Fate saw that he, indeed, cared for the Elf, he would be ripped from him mercilessly, stolen from him by a crude death forevermore. His parents, some of his fellow Dùnedains, Boromir, Gandalf who fell and resurfaced from the shadow, Hàma the Rohirrim, Théoden his King… Arwen who surrendered her eternal time for him… all the people he came to respect and love inevitably fell and left him.

He would not allow it happen again; not to Legolas.

Aragorn knew he was scared, like a child of the shadows, of his curse. Like a child that feared monstrous hands to emerge from the shadows and clutch his heart to death, he feared to see his curse get hold of Legolas and tear them apart. And like a child would hide his fears behind fake pride, Aragorn raised his chin and straightened proudly on his saddle, dying a little inside as he glared at Legolas, but comforted by the childlike knowledge it was for the best. The Elf swallowed inaudibly and then worked his vocal cords one last time, Aragorn’s silence enough of an answer for him.

“Receive my wish for happiness, then.” he began tersely, an edge of quiet bitterness honing his low tenor. His voice was always beautiful, a melodic tune even when raised in combat cries. Right then, though, it just felt weary and thin, incredibly small.  “May you and your spouse live a life of sheer happiness without clouds darkening your horizon.” He bowed his head, “I’ll just… go, then. When this one battle we’re facing will be over, I’ll be gone. Consider yourself free from the friendship you seem to regret so. In hope we’ll part amidst the joy of victory I say farewell now. I trust my departure won’t sadden you – after all, you don’t need me. Never had, never will. Not as…” and he bit his bottom lip, looking flustered for having voiced part of a secret thought, before digging his heels hardly in his steed’s sides and galloping toward the approaching mountains.

Why hadn’t Aragorn stopped him then? Because just then the Black Gates of Mordor had loomed into view, dark and ominous, and Legolas had strayed from his side to dispatch light among the Men? Because little afterwards the Mouth of Sauron had spoken and Orcs had leaped at them with screams that shook the sky and earth alike? Or rather because he was too shocked, simply too *scared* at the mere prospective to see Legolas go, to move?

Maybe it was all of that, or maybe it was the sudden realization of where he was. The fields of fire of Mordor. Not a place where a Leaf could… 

Growling deep in his throat Aragorn fought his way through celebrating Men and bloody corpses, through brothers wailing and broken spears embedded in the ground as gravestones. Legolas. Where was Legolas? Surely he was well, wasn’t he? Surely he had retired in a quiet corner, laughing merrily with Gimli at a jest the Dwarf had said. Surely… surely he wasn’t lying amidst the corpses, ethereal beauty wasted in a lake of blood.

He couldn’t.

He just *couldn’t*.

He kept running, the speed of the wind blanching in comparison. And as he did, other shreds of what Arwen told him that day by the bridge rose to his mind, forcing unwanted tears to his eyes and doubling his cries to leave him breathless.

“Legolas!”

~*~

Arwen smiled, securing the Evenstar around his neck with utmost care, letting her touch linger over his sun-darkened skin. Her fingers skidded down to where she could feel his racing heart, and for a moment he felt hot within, almost too hot to stand, as if liquid fire was seeping through him from the necklace. Then she moved away.

“Just like your own heart is yours to give, Dùnedain.”

~*~

Oh, how wrong she had been, Aragorn thought bitterly. If his heart was, indeed, his own to give then he would have given it to her, the shining star of the evening. But the choice had never been his own, and Aragorn understood all of a sudden that somehow she had always known. His heart would not follow his mind – it never had. That’s why it longed now, painfully, for…

“Legolas!”

…who for?

“…Legolas…”

…who…?

“…Legolas!!”

~*~

“Ai, though I wish to stay just like this, within you, I can listen to our future.” She said just before skidding backwards into the quiet shadows of the forest. She gazed to the blurred lines of the Eastern horizon for a long moment, silence befalling in the twilight. “It has been echoing within my chest for longer than I can admit, a whisper tinier than a drop of dew, and still you can’t see it. The Spring of changes has come, calling awake the green leaves of grass to endlessly sway in the wind of hope. Everything’s changing, my love, but nothing will. We’ve come to an end: our road begins from this moment onward.” Confusion claimed him then, a confusion that still had to dissipate. In that moment of silence she looked up at him, and something wafted by her gaze, something bottomless and dark, and her voice was suddenly wise beyond her looks, old and solemn.

~*~

“Legolas… LEGOLAS!!!!” Aragorn was suddenly conscious of the multitudes of stares now diverged upon him, but for some reason he did not care. They had won, hadn’t them? The realm of Sauron had ended: the final battle in the black lands of Mordor had been won and all was well. Then why was fear devouring their King as he dashed, ashen and weary, through the remnants of the battlefield? Aragorn knew he could –should- call for help in his quest to find Legolas, but he could not. Logic had fled from him; it felt as though his mind had narrowed down to one singular point of focus, Legolas, and on the dull ache claiming Aragorn’s chest in its grip. Arwen’s last words echoed in his mind as though in a hollow cave, strengthening their noise and tempo as seconds passed.

~*~

“…when Green will have turned blue
for a love that isn't spoken,

pain and death will born in rue;

The gem of the Woods will be broken

if Hope won’t surge to rescue,

and to never again be woken.”

~*~ 

Aragorn skidded to a sharp halt in the middle of the battlefield, and ran his eyes across his ruined environments. Eagles flew around him; a rain of feathers of grey and brown fell on the bloodies lands as fire exploded on the dark horizon, coating the sky with crimson and pooling in boiling lakes on the ground. His heart stopped. His head spun.

~*~

“…Beware of the fields in which Eagles fly as omen of victory, Estel. The fields of fire of Mordor are no place where a Leaf can survive alone, without Hope.”

~*~

At last his voice came back to him, and surged from deep within his chest in the form of a pained cry.

“LEGOLAS!!!!!!!”

The only voice than answered him was the one of silence.

* * * * *

Legolas stood, unaware, in the middle of a ring of scorched trees, surrounded by dark grey fumes and dead enemies. He gazed around with eyes that held not sight, surveying the corpses scattered around him like leafs and yet not seeing them. His own arrows winked at him among the bodies, darkened to such a dark shade of red that Legolas refused to acknowledge the gory weapons as his own. His cape had been ripped from him in the heat of the battle, and the rest of his clothing wore strong marks from his fight. His long-emptied quiver had been discarded, thought when he was not sure, and distantly he wondered if he would ever retrieve it. His twin daggers were at his feet, slid from his fingers when realization had it him that it was over. Blood had fell in torrents to taint the ground and shone darkly on the once-fair blades, but the Elf had remained pristine, as pure and perfect as the dawn.

And now he stood, a vision of nobility and grace among the dreads of war. He turned his gaze around, leisurely, and then stared deeply at the shadows few feet in front of him for a long moment. He had never fought like that before, letting his rage and sorrow and despair take control of his body. The Elf looked down at his hands, half-expecting to see they had turned to bloody claws. They hadn’t. They were as perfect as always, unmarred and pale; a musician’s hands. He slowly buried his face in the cupped warmth of those hands and inhaled deeply the faint scent of Ocean and Woods that came from his skin. Never. Never again he would let instinct take over like that. It had been horribly painful, even more painful that then grief consuming him each moment.

Aragorn, how can you hurt me so, and not realize it?

Even when far away, even when love had nothing to do with it, Aragorn still managed to hurt him. Why did he have to love the Man, Legolas wondered. It was painful. It was dangerous. It was crazy. Aragorn was mortal, male, and pledged to she who Legolas called sister. Yet, the Elf would never forsake his feelings. They were what held him together: if the Prince had ever felt alive before knowing Aragorn, he didn’t remember it.

With a groan that ended as a despaired sigh Legolas raised his head, and his eyes flew wide. On the edge of the ring, covered in dirt and blood but unarmed, stood Aragorn. The blade of Andùril gleamed in his hands, but something quite littler shone, brighter than his sword, brighter than the surrounding morning light even, on his breast, and the shout of joy and relief making its way up Legolas’s throat caught painfully. There was something thought, that shone even brighter than the Evenstar, and it was the Man’s smile when he saw that Legolas was well.

But the Elf, saddened as he was, would not see it.

“Aragorn.” He said flatly, a mere statement of his being there. It was so unemotional the Ranger froze in his spot even as he was stepping closer, his smiling fading into a frown. Was Legolas not glad to see him?

“Legolas.” He called back in confusion. He advanced a step, but Legolas took one backwards, maintaining the distance. Again the Man tried to come closer and again the Elf backed away. Aragorn gave up after another try, his frown deepening. Legolas heaved a sigh, standing as still as a statue of glass, if not for the turn of his head that sent him gazing at the sky.

“I’m tired.” He said at last, and his voice conceived all the weariness of the world. He stood as if listening for another moment, then turned to face Aragorn. The sun was rising behind the Elf, painting a halo of gold atop his head and dark shadows around his eyes. “I’m tired of it all.” Aragorn shook his head, caught at loss of words. What was he saying?

Legolas lips turned up into a smile that made him look both old and extremely young, tired and ageless, and warmth spread through the Man at the sight. The same kind of warmth Arwen would rise inside him once. Maybe even stronger than that.

“I’ve been selfish, following you in this quest.” The Elf said softly. “I’ve kept postponing the time in which we would part for mere fear.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I never knew myself to be such a coward. So disappointing…” he took a deep breath, releasing it into a sigh as he gazed for a moment at the sun. “Coming with you was a mistake, now I see it. I expected emotions to pale as time went by. I bid you my days in the light of that hope, but fond memories won’t ever fill this need. Never I would have believed that the feelings I keep wouldn’t accept burial.” He turned toward the Ranger. “I’m tired of it. The battles, the affection, the grief they alike bring…”

Aragorn shook his head, unable and to some extent unwilling to understand what Legolas was talking about. The Elf saw the Man’s refusal and his eyes narrowed, his voice turning bitter.

“I will leave you now, Dùnedain.” Aragorn cringed. If he had been fond of being a Dùnedain before, the way Legolas had pronounced the title made him flush in shame now. “May a star shine on you way always.” And then he swivelled around, weightless. Aragorn could just stare at him as he moved, strangely flawless, through the morning light. Then, all of a sudden, the Elf stopped, and turned briskly toward Aragorn with wide eyes. The Man regarded him confusedly for a moment, until he became aware of his outstretched arm and of the cry he’d given, which was still echoing through the fields.

Aragorn swallowed, lowering his hand slowly, and gathered what courage was needed to repeat himself again, consciously this time.

“Don’t go.” Legolas closed his eyes.

“You can’t ask me that.”

“Why… why not?”

“Because I can’t deny you anything.” He said softly, “I never could.” Hope rose to Aragorn’s eyes and voice then, unbidden.

“Then stay! Remain… here… … … remain… … … with… … … … … … …me.” Legolas’s eyes grew wide.

“You don’t mean it.”

“I-I do.” Aragorn nodded. Hesitantly at first, then once again, with more confidence. “I want you to stay Legolas. Despite what you may think, I need you.” He reached out for the Elf, seeing him smile with almost painful hope. “You’re my best friend.” As he spoke something died inside Legolas’s eyes. Something Aragorn couldn’t name, but whose loss darkened the azure of the Elf’s gaze to an unfeeling dark blue.

“Best friend.” He said softly, closing his eyes as he took one little, tired, step forward. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t. Sometimes I think your resentment would be better than your friendship. Sometimes I wish you hated me, so that I could, maybe, hate you back.” The Elf stopped, still well out of the Man’s reach, wondering at the sound of his voice. Had he said that aloud? Yes, he had. Aragorn’s small gasp told him so. Strange enough, he didn’t regret saying it. “Would you hate me, if I asked you to? Then I could try to hate you too.”

Aragorn was speechless. Why would Legolas… why would he…? Weren’t they the best of friends? More than comrades, more than brothers, more than…

“Legolas…” The distress wavering in the man’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by the Elf. He looked up at Aragorn, but the words he was struggling for never came. Idly he noted that a shadow had fallen across the ground, and he looked around with utmost languor, as if caught in sleep and unable –unwilling- to rouse. He turned and saw it - the Orc perched on the hilltop behind the line of trees- and gazed at him as he notched an arrow into his long bow. So darker than his own it was, Legolas noted detachedly; so much more rougher, and intimidating. A black smirk blossomed in stark contrasted on the otherwise pristine blue of the morning sky.

Aragorn couldn’t suppress a cry of dismay as he saw the fey creature hidden amongst the corpses. For a moment he stood as if rooted, and then let out a scream, one that shook the forest whole but that he, in his fear, failed to hear. All of his senses seemed to have shrivelled to focus only on Legolas, fair and luminous star on the edge of the darkest night. Again he screamed Legolas’s name, or so it appeared to him, for again he heard not the sound of his own voice. Legolas did though, and turned to face the Man, his long hair swirling around him.

Their eyes met for a feeble instant, grey and azure, and Aragorn reached out to the Elf –thought it seemed to him that moving his arm was has hard as moving the Caradhras would. He could not speak, nor move. His mouth felt dry, his limbs lifeless, his chest hollow. He was sure he knew what pain was already, but never he’d felt an anguish such as this. Nothing he’d felt before could ever compare to what he was feeling now, as the events unrolled in front of his eyes in slow motion.

Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go… Legolas… no…

Legolas smiled, the most beautiful, brightest smile the Man would ever see, and for a moment he seemed happy, like when back in Mirkwood he used to teach an adolescent Ranger the secrets of archery. Or way before, when he would chase a human child through the sunny glades of Rivendell. His eyes were suddenly free of any shadow, shining with emotions like currents of the Ocean – powerful and warm, incredibly warm. Some of his hair got caught in the breeze and wavered, gleaming in the golden light. He didn’t look away, nor let his smile fade for what feels an eternity, and Aragorn became suddenly aware at how painful it would be to never see those eyes again.

Forever.

Forever…

No…

…Legolas…

“Goodbye.” The Elf said softly, and then he whipped back around, head held high in pride, and threw his arms open, as if to better offer the expanse of his chest to his fate. A disgusting grin formed on the Orc’s scaly face, and he snarled, raising his bow higher even as life poured out from him from his wounds. Aragorn’s head spun. He couldn’t move. Legolas wouldn’t. The dark creature did though, and swayed, falling lifeless to the ground.

Relief hastily flooded the Man. But that was not enough. Salvation was never an option.

Even as the Orc fell, his bow still sang one last time, a seemingly pleased hiss, and the dark arrow flew forth.

Time slowed, stopped, died.

Legolas, please…

The Universe held its breath and was smothered.

Don’t. Don’t leave me…

Aragorn didn’t know what he was feeling then. Everything became blurry around him, and it all seemed to vanish, if not for Legolas glowing in the heart of his vision. The arrow ran toward the Elf, hissing lowly as it went. But Legolas just dipped his head further backwards; just held his arms a little wider. Aragorn felt suddenly cold, totally powerless against the feelings claiming him, swirling in a kaleidoscope of hazy shades and shapes deep inside him.

Pain and fear and coldness and ache and sorrow and dread and horror and…

And…

Aragorn closed his eyes, and even behind his closed eyelids he could see Legolas. Fair and ageless as ever, the loveliest, most beautiful thing the man would ever see. And he would die. And because of him.

And…

Legolas smiled, his eyes closed. Deep inside he’d wanted this, needed it, and it was happening at last. He was finally going to be freed from the demons that haunted him; that tore at his heart endlessly, bringing forth the awful grief, the guilt, the realization that he had failed his friendship with Aragorn.

He was finally going to achieve what had been out of his reach for too long.

His salvation. His freedom.

And his grieving heart would sleep forever.

Yet…

…why did his freedom had to have such a price?
The life of…

…Aragorn’s…

And…

Legolas parted his lips, and whispered “Aragorn” softly into the nothingness.

And…

The Man shook.

“LEGOLAS!” He cried out. Time snapped back into motion, like the string of a bow drawn to its limit and beyond, and Legolas’s eyes shot open, just in time to see the Orc-arrow pierce the Man’s chest as he stood, arms spread, in front of him. Aragorn gasped, a barely audible sound and Andùril slid from his hand to roll on the field, a child’s useless toy. Legolas sucked in a sharp breath, eyes instantly going wide. He felt it – felt as if the arrow pierced his own heart, even though it was embedded deep into Aragorn’s chest, and his world darkened under the veils of a sudden nightfall.

And…

Aragorn lowered his eyes, staring blankly at the arrow protruding from his chest. Ruby red spilled from the wound, dark and dense, painting a rosebud on the Man’s tunic. Arwen’s Evenstar glittered above it, the translucent tear of pain he seemed unable to shed. Aragorn raised his eyes to the Elf’s and, amidst the joy to see that he was well, a flicker of fear rose to darken their depths.

“Aragorn…” As he tried to call Legolas’s name –Legolas’s lovely, lovely name- a stream of blood gurgled out of his mouth and Aragorn chocked on the dense liquid, reaching out with trembling fingers. Legolas mirrored him slowly, hesitantly, tremors wracking his body; but even as their fingertips touched Aragorn swayed, crumbling down like a broken doll. Legolas’s world crumbled down with him. He caught the Man as he collapsed backwards, but somehow the Elf lacked the strength to stand and he fell to his knees, spent.

And…

Legolas saw his hand remove the arrow from the Man’s chest more than move it. He stared long at the bloody arrow as red dribbled down his fingers and then he dropped it, startled, almost wondering what would such thing be doing in his hands. Then,

“Aragorn…” he whispered. And then again, softer, closer to the Man’s face, “Aragorn…”

The Man fought to remain conscious. It felt like struggling inside a shell, wildly fighting his way towards the bright surface of consciousness as walls of darkness closed in on him. A teardrop splashed on his closed eyelids, and he tentatively let his eyes flutter open. His and Legolas’s eye met, and instantly he squeezed the Elf’s hand weakly, trying to infuse his smile with reassurance. But he must have failed, because tears began running down Legolas’s cheeks in rivulets. Aragorn frowned, catching one quivering drop with a shaky finger.

“Legolas…”

“Shh…” the Elf hushed him softly, yet urgently. “Save your strength, Aragorn. Save your strength. All will be well. A Healer will see you, and-” Aragorn shook his head.

“Stop…” he gasped quietly, his body arching taunt for one single, painful moment. Legolas gasped in response, and could not help but hold him closer, whispering comforting nonsense in his rounded ear. Then it was gone; the Man relaxed, and Legolas felt damp fingertips brush across his face. “…don’t shed your tears for me. You did not when Boromir… … … …nor when Gandalf… … …” Legolas shook his head, his breathing brisk. Aragorn’s own breathing was short and shallow, heralding what was unavoidable.

“Would you be able to stop the tears if the one who means to you more than anything else on Middle Earth was being ripped apart from you?” He chocked out a small laugh, nuzzling his face against the Man’s hair. “No, I will never stop crying for you, Aragorn.” He moved away, then, and softly brushed some hair out from the Man’s clammy forehead, his finger tracing the bloody scratches residing on the tanned skin.

“Why… do you desire to run from me, Legolas?” Legolas looked away briefly, and he would have remained silent, if Aragorn hadn’t lolled his head to one side, forcing their gazes to meet. He saw the question in the Man’s eyes, looking so beautiful in his fragility, and he couldn’t refuse him. He kissed his forehead, in an ultimate gesture of courage.

“I love you.”

And…

Aragorn smiled.

“So that was what ailed you.” He stated softly, his voice strangely serene. “And only when it is too late I come to know it.” Legolas shook his head, stray hair engulfing them in a fly of doves.

“No. No. No. ‘Tis not too late. You’ll live, foolish Man. You’ll live. And reject me, and live with your spouse and have many children, and always resent your foolish friend that loved you.” His voice failed him and he ducked his head, shedding tears his cascading hair concealed. “Why, Aragorn? Why… why…?” Legolas looked up, his voice hoarse. The Man smiled, in that ever-sad way of his, wishing to provide comfort but unable to even move. All he could manage was to squeeze the Elf’s hand tighter for a moment, and suddenly Legolas had it, his answer, shining brighter than thousand suns in the Man’s eyes.

…love.

The Elf gasped as realization dawned on him and the Ranger smiled up at him warmly, yet his hold on the Elf’s fingers weakened, even as he tried to tighten it. Aragorn felt strangely content. The curse had been broken, he decided. He had fallen in love and was loved back. And his beloved would live, and live forever, and carry Aragorn’s heart with him whenever he went. The Man tried to talk, but all that escaped him was a sharp gasp as his body shook, his voice fading in a painful whimper.

…always love…

A tear fell from Legolas’s blue eyes and splashed silently onto the ground. Blood was everywhere, oozing leisurely but surely from Aragorn’s chest and Legolas felt almost as if the pierced heart was his own – even if he doubted he would hurt so much if that was the case. Legolas pressed his face in the Man’s hair. Oh, if only Aragorn was an Elf as he was! Then… then this wound, fatal for a man, would be no more than a petty scratch. In that moment Legolas would have given everything –anything- to be able to pass his healing ability to Aragorn; and he wept, the proud and fearless Elf, for his incapacity.

…everlasting love.

“It’s cold.” He said feebly. “Hold me.” And Legolas did, trying to infuse the Man with all the warmth and strength he possessed, sensing the shivers wracking the Man’s body quiet down inexorably. His face buried in the Elf’s hair Aragorn smiled, committing his beloved’s scent to memory. Then he pulled away some, gazing into Legolas’s eyes with all the love and devotion he could muster – and they were incommensurable.

“Legolas…” the Man gasped. It was getting harder and harder for him to breath with each passing second. Legolas’s hand was on his face immediately, warm and bloody, but still gentle, always gentle.

“Don’t, please… don’t waste breathe, Aragorn… Aragorn…” His mouth descended and captured Aragorn’s with desperate force, forcing him into silence. But the Man’s words needed saying. Fire spread inside Legolas as Aragorn responded to the kiss, hot and soft and powerful, but coldness claimed him when Aragorn pulled away.

I swore not to fall in love.

“I…”

“No… no, please… don’t surrender… no… no…”

But I love you.

“…always…”

“I beg you…”

Forever.

“…love you”

“Aragorn…”

Aragorn’s grey eyes closed, and his hand slid from around Legolas’s. With a gasp that shook his whole frame, the Elf reached out and cupped Aragorn’s face in both hands, trembling, and was stunned to feel the skin already cooling. He called his love’s name, breathing softly across his parted mouth, again and again, but to no avail. Another of his tears tear dripped down his chin and splashed onto the Ranger’s cheek, rolling down his face as if one of his own.

Countless tears followed the first and gently washed away the blood from the Man’s face, until it became as clear and luminous as the Sea Legolas so much longed for; it was fairer than any Elf’s face, and Legolas’s heart gave a pang. Then a gasp came, as his gaze fell on the Man’s once-bloody cheek. He caressed the dark skin tenderly, cleaning it of the last remnants of blood and dirt. Then his touch become more urgent as his caresses extended to the Man’s whole face, tracing the unmarred skin. Eyes wide, his fingers skidded urgently down the Man’s chest, parting the folds of the red rose that had stopped growing, revealing the tanned skin underneath. Legolas closed his eyes briefly. When he looked down at the Man, something shone in gaze; something that was amiss before had healed, and the Elf collapsed forward, holding Aragorn to him as if his life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

Legolas rocked Aragorn to and fro gently, and cried, and cried, and cried, until he thought he had no more tears to shed for all of his eternity. His heart pounded, and against his chest Aragorn’s own heart -feeble, but gaining strength with each beat- did too. The Man’s eyes fluttered, and sudden sunlight flooded the glade, engulfing the pair in golden radiance. Teardrop of love, the Evenstar glittered amidst the blood; brilliant and sweet morning star, it shone with hope, every trace of the night sky it belong to forgotten in the midst of the dawning day.

~*~ EPILOGUE ~*~

Legolas stood, unmoving in front of the tombstone. How many years –how many decades, centuries- had passed since it had been erected? And yet it was still there, a glitter of white marble on the hills of Gondor. Legolas closed his eyes as the wind picked up, teasing him with wafting coldness.

Too many years. Just too many. Why did you have to go so soon? Why because of me? Because of us?

The Elf knelt, and in the manners of his kin brought his hand over the tombstone and let a rain of sweet-smelling pollen and petals fall on the grave. Briefly, he closed his eyes again.

“I miss you.” He said simply. “So much.” Despite the time that had passed it still hurt – deeply. And Legolas somehow felt… no, knew, it always would. “Middle Earth has been dull and gloomy since you left. We lost our most beautiful star to the Heavens – maybe you belong there and always did, but we still wish we could keep you with us.” He breathed out shakily, and strong arms curled around his waist from behind. Legolas’s head fell back against his lover’s supporting shoulder almost as if belonging there, and a sigh escaped him: pleased and sorrowful at the same time.

“A’maelamin…” Warm breath wafted by his ear, and Legolas could feel hot moisture graze his cheek. If those were his own tears or his love’s, or a mixture of them, he was not sure, nor he did want to know. They were tears shed for a life ended ahead of time. For a life that ended when it shouldn’t have. For the life of someone Legolas had loved, and still loved, beyond words.

They were tears too beautiful to be stopped.

“I’m all right, melethron-ne.” The Elf whispered weakly. “But on days like this, days I know we would have enjoyed together, under the kisses of the sun and the whispers of the wind, my heart aches so much, I…” He pulled back and turned, looking his lover in the eyes as though to make sure he was really there. After a brief moment, the Elf was pulled back into a tight hug. The other allowed himself to bathe in Legolas’s mild, sweet scent, and wondered how could such bliss as the one they shared could be born form such anguish, such pain; the greatest sacrifice of all.

“I know, Legolas.” He said simply. “I miss her too.” It was so soft, so tiny that Legolas almost thought he imagined it, but pulled back anyway. And there was a smile on his lips. Sad and longingly, but still bright.

“Never stop.” He said softly. “She gave her eternity to you that day by the bridge in Rivendell, thought she would not confess it. That was her gift to you. Her gift to us. She surrendered her immortality--” the Man caught one of his love’s hands as it brushed his dark hair from his face, and pressed a kiss into the soft palm.

“-so that, receiving it, I could stay with you. Forever.” He finished for him, and then embraced him again. Silent and graceful Legolas pulled away, and he, wanting to keep the Elf to him, but not daring to harm him, made no effort to stop him. Legolas leaned over the tombstone, kissing it lightly, and smiled even as his tears splashed on the glittering marble.

“I love you, sister. Forever.” Behind him Aragorn, Elessar, the immortal King of Gondor, knelt, looking down at the inscription on the tombstone:

Here Lies

Arwen Evenstar,

Elf among Humans,

Human among Elves.

She who gave up eternity,

So that eternity could flare.

Who died so that

Others might live.

Rest well.

And he cried, freely, like each time when in front of her tombstone. He cried for the light they’d lost, for the eternity she had given up, and for the happiness he’d gained when she’d passed it to him. Legolas leaned his head against Aragorn’s as their hands searched and meet, fingers intertwining like words in a vow of love. Aragorn wouldn’t have survived the arrow that pierced his chest in the shadows of Mordor that day, nor he would have lived through the many years and battles that had followed if she had not lied to him, pretending to be dying with him when she was dying instead of him. And he thanked her and cursed himself everyday for that.

But she never cursed him. Never minded. She just wanted him to live. And to do it with Legolas, happily, forevermore. She had known, somehow. All along. She’d known of the love that bonded Legolas and Aragorn even before they did – even before it was born. And she loved them. She loved them so much she granted them what no other but her, daughter of Elrond and offspring of Galadriel, could have given.

Eternity.

A forever for them to live in.

And she gave it freely, out of love, blessing her beloved and her brother always, even when on the verge of death she’d called out for them one last time. Seeing them hurrying to her, crying and shivering; forever-young suns shining down on the withered flower she now was. She’d cried then, tears of joy trailing down her face.

“It was mine to give to whom I would.” Was the only thing she said to them in a last act of love, using her last vestiges of strength to finger the Evenstar lying on Aragorn’s breast. “Like my heart.” And that said she smiled, the brightest, loveliest smile ever, and sighed softly, going back to the heaven she’d fallen from. Her necklace snapped open as her heart stopped, and the Evenstar slid to the ground, leaving a glittering arch behind. In that final moment it did not resemble a twilight star, nor a lone tear, anymore: the times for tears had come and gone, and no one should cry anymore.

Instead it became a symbol of love, a token of hope and happiness, as it was right.

Shedding a final tear Aragorn bought Legolas to him, holding him closer as tough he was a part of himself long lost and finally found. Maybe they’d meet again some day, the two of them and Arwen, if her gift wouldn’t be enough to overcome Aragorn’s mortal fate. But for now they would go on, loving each other, and loving her; thanking always and never regretting, taking her gift for what it was: a gift of love.

The gift of forever.

-End.