.|. Radical Dreamers .|.

Chapter 17

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* * * * *

We’ll never know the nature of the potion Éowyn put on her cookies, but after they fell accidentally into the Nimrodel and were carried by the flow of waters deeper into the woods, a multitude of flowers sprouted along the riverbanks and colourful birds –most of them believed extinct- began singing songs of love.

And I mean it.

The most hit were My Heart Will Go On and Iris, along with Saved The Best for Last and Always.

Legends say that one thirsty Squirrel, after having a taste of the love-potion tainted water, went to one beautiful Elven Maiden and sang his love to her till morn, putting up one incredible show in which he sang, danced, made the acrobat, the equilibrist, the clown and even proved his valour taming some wild ants.

If questioned, Lascarn still denies it was him.

Anyway, no such pretty side-effect was seen on the site where Éowyn & Co. still splashed. It was only long after the cookies were lost that they all finally seemed to come back to their senses. The strident din of their yells stopped abruptly as it finally sunk that they were all fighting in the Elves’ World Day of Love, drenched from head to toe in a water that was supposed to be holy and pacifying.

To be blunt about it, they’d screwed up big time.

In the moments of stillness that followed, Éowyn looked longingly down the river, and allowed one single tear to fall for her precious cookies. She reached behind her blindly, clinging to Elladan’s hand almost thoughtlessly. She was not that surprised when he gave a frustrated sigh and knelt right next to her, letting her wail about her precious cookies (and make his chest purple with bruises as she punched at it between sobs).

Yet, she was positively dumbfounded when she felt someone else place a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was a touch warm and soothing, that immediately made her feel slightly better.

“I’m so sorry…” The person whispered. Sniffling, Éowyn looked up from Elladan’s chest, and had the shock of her life when she saw Arwen staring intently at her, a sad and repentant expression on her face. For a moment, Éowyn was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

“Milady?”

“You put so much love and effort in those cookies, and now they’re lost – because of me! I’m sorry…” Éowyn rubbed harshly at her own eyes with the back of her hand.

“It wasn’t really your fault.”

“I’m the one that--!”

“No, no!” Éowyn shook her head. “You *did* push the tray of cookies away from Boromir (something completely understandable since it’s *my* cooking we’re talking about, but that’s not the point), but really, it was Haldir who made me trip and that –when I handed him the tray- threw it in the stream because scared of me.” she shot the retreating Haldir a glare that made him swallow convulsedly and stop. Was it just him, or the temperature had just raised of quite a few degrees…?

“You’re kind,” continued Arwen, biting her bottom lip. “But if I hadn’t reacted that way--”

“It’s not your fault!!!!!!!!!” Éowyn puffed out her cheeks, trying to look annoyed, but feeling strangely warm inside as Arwen reached up to comb her wet, dishevelled hair with gentle fingers.

There was another thing Éowyn’d missed in Mirkwood, other than a human friend: a female friend.

Because of her skill in combat and her fierce character, only male elves had ever dared befriend her – even if most of them were either driven by the curiosity for someone of a different race, or just planned to use her to get close to the Prince. She had Legolas, sure, but never had she had a friend of her own gender.

And now, here it was a beautiful elven Maiden almost in tears for some cookies.

Maybe, Éowyn mused, I’ve got myself a friend. A real one. One with which I can talk about boys and gowns and jewels as well as of arrows and swords and ambushes.

The notion sounded strangely good to her ears.

Arwen smiled when Éowyn did too, and carefully helped the other woman to her feet, drying the tears on her cheeks and tenderly wiping Éowyn’s nose with her handkerchief.

“Better?” she said softly. When Éowyn nodded Arwen began to lead her away with the promise of a cup of tea and some dry clothes.

The moment Éowyn made Arwen change the cup of tea with one of Sam’s hot chocolate, and had her add to the package not only some home-made cakes but the promise they would spend the night long chatting, it became an offer she couldn’t deny, and the woman happily strolled after the Elven Lady towards her talan.

Unknown to herself, Éowyn was still holding fast onto Elladan. Deaf to his protests she dragged him along, something she noticed only when in front of the talan. Under Arwen’s amused stare Elladan cleared his throat, making the woman snuggled against him look up and notice him a last. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, silently asking to let go. Éowyn sniffled and –lo and behold!- swatted the Elf on the back of his head with a cry of, “Silly, El! You can’t follow me in my bedchamber!” followed by some nervous giggling and blushing as a barely conscious Elladan tried to make out where was the Olyphant that had sent him sprawled on the ground.

* * * *

Still knee-deep in the Nimrodel, Boromir gave a wistful sigh. Arwen had shot him an apologetic glance when she’d seen Éowyn cry, and had whispered him a soft and lingering “Sorry for our dinner,” before hurrying to console the other woman.

My sweet Arwen. Thought him. Always ready to help. He smiled slightly, despite himself, remembering how Arwen’s eyes had kept searching his own while she led Éowyn away. She was sorry for their dinner, he could tell, but there was something else. Almost…

He knew she could not bear to see anyone in pain, and that despite their difference, Arwen was in deep awe of Éowyn. But did their blossoming friendship – a friendship Arwen had confessed him to treasure deeply- justify the degree of sorrow he’d seen in Arwen’s eyes?

It looked like she knew something they didn’t, and that this knowledge pained her. Almost as if she thought that was the last time they would all be together like this, and regretted the argument that had occurred. Almost as if she was unable to tell them –him- something, and that unspoken truth was what he’d seen shining in her eyes, paining her.

He could not quite put his fingers on what could trouble the Lady thus, and so thought it better to focus onto those who had remained there with him – a hurt and vaguely angered Aragorn, a still petrified Haldir, and a flushed, ever-lovely and sorry-looking Legolas.

For a long moment none moved. Then, the Prince of Mirkwood recovered wits enough to talk.

“Aragorn…” he said softly, raising a tentative hand towards the Man. Both he and Boromir were made speechless when Aragorn snapped at him.

“What?” he very much growled, trying not to think about how handsome Legolas had become –blue eyes huge and scared, cheeks pale and lips parted, as though begging to be kissed- under his icy glare.

“I… are you angry, Melam--*?”

“DON’T!” The Man snapped again, clenching his fists. “Don’t call me that.” And then he added, so soft it was almost inaudible: “Please.” Legolas nodded, his head swirling, and found himself unable to even look at the Man anymore, least of all speak to him.

One eternity later Boromir took one step forward, gaining an icy glare from his Prince.

“There’s no need to react thus.” He pointed slowly, yet with what hoped was a friendly voice – not that he was feeling very friendly at all, seeing Legolas hurt so much.

Aragorn merely sneered at him. “I’d like to see your reaction if it was *Arwen* in Haldir’s arms.”

For a moment Boromir looked utterly and completely confused. He dwelled on the deepest meaning of that statement for one long nanosecond, and then his brain decided he’d better not start thinking of Arwen or else he’d never be concentrated enough to help Legolas.

“I’d ask her what was she doing there.” He blurted out very quickly.

“Other than enjoying herself?” Aragorn mumbled, but shot Legolas a glance, anyway. The Elf’s eyes were suspiciously bright, and his cheeks suddenly blossomed with a lovely shade of red.

“Tonight… it’s the night of Nimrodel.” Began Legolas, getting a brisk nod from Aragorn and a reassuring smile from Boromir. Haldir was still lost sending prayers to all the Valar he could think of in his panicked state, asking to be saved from Éowyn’s wrath.

“If two lovers touch the stream in this magical night, then Elbereth herself will bless their union.” Aragorn’s angered frown began to give way to one softer look, slightly confused but hopeful. Legolas felt hope filling him anew. “For two lovers, to be blessed by Elbereth means more than the blessing they can get in a wedding ceremony… even if they’re separated in this world, there always will be an unbreakable bond between them. A sacred bond that makes them one. In this life… and in whatever awaits them beyond it.”

Aragorn shook his head, confusion wafting by his eyes.

“And why were you…?”

Legolas blushed a bight red, and began worrying the point of his ear nervously. Aragorn had to swallow the sudden urge to let his mouth trace the same path those fingers did – up and down Legolas’s leaf-shaped ear, brushing the pale jaw, barely brushing the golden silk of his hair.

“I wished for… something special to happen tonight. And… I wanted the water to bless it, too… But orders had been given to keep this glade free for another couple, thus quenching any hope I had to immerse myself in the stream.” He risked a glance up at a confused Boromir, but refrained from saying more. Aragorn nodded again, pensive. While he realized immediately it was Boromir and Arwen they were talking about, the Gondorian Knight wondered how come he hadn’t noticed before how awfully cute Éowyn and Elladan were together. Up to that moment, he genuinely though that none stood between the two if not a blossoming friendship. But if *Galadriel* herself was interested in them, and had decided to play matchmaker, surely there was something more at stake… much more.

At last the Knight shrugged it off, making a mental note to ask Arwen help to find a wedding present for Éowyn and Elladan, all the while kicking himself for being so blind when it came to feelings and such – if he had noticed before that there was something between the fake Aurêl and one of the young Lords of Rivendell, he would have loved to help them! Just because he wasn’t an Elf, that didn’t he mean he didn’t enjoy playing matchmaker!

*most relaxing piece of classic music fades in* *annoying metallic voice comes* Author’s Official Announcement: if anyone in the audience is feeling the sudden urge to hurt Boromir for being *so* blind, the author is glad to point you to her own collection of mallets. Just remember that the Knight may be needed again before the end of the fic, so please refrain from using on him the 1000 tons Mallet. Thanks. *most relaxing piece of classic music fades out*

“I decided to just take some water away with me for… later use.” Legolas continued. “So me and Haldir hurried to--”

“HALDIR?!” Legolas started at the telltale tremble in Aragorn’s voice. “It was *Haldir* the one you wanted to spend a special night with?! It’s your love for *him* you want Elbereth to bless?!”

“No! N-no, of course not, melamin! I-I…”

“Don’t call me that!” Legolas opened and closed his mouth, unable to speak, horrified to see Aragorn’s eyes blaze with anger.

Even hurting like that, Legolas was beautiful beyond words.

If anything, the fear and hurt he felt made him even more gorgeous, more desirable.

However, anger and jealousy made a quick job of killing any instinct Aragorn may have to hold the Elf to himself, to claim those trembling lips or stroke that ashen face.

“So that was it?” he spat out. “I was just a momentary distraction until you met your dear Haldir again? I was just some toy to you, that you could use and then discard? That’s why you came with us? With the hope to see him?!”

“No! Aragorn listen, I…”

“And here I was, seriously thinking to call off my engagement! Seriously thinking to mess up my life and the destiny of the whole *world* just to be with *you*.”

Legolas shook his head, not really understanding what his beloved was talking about, but stricken by it all the same. Since he’d admitted his love for the Ranger there hadn’t been one single moment in which he hadn’t thought to call off the marriage with Estel. Yet, not even once had his heart been able to convince his rational mind that his happiness was more important that the result of the warfare.

It simply wasn’t.

And now, hearing Aragorn speak so pained him beyond words.

His heart clenched, and for the first time Legolas wondered if an Elf could really marry without love, longing from someone distant, and survive the grief.

Especially since his love was quickly turning into something unrequited and hurtful.

“How many others there have been, uhn? Have you used them all as a momentary replacement for Haldir, or he too is just a toy?” By now, Legolas’s eyes were filled with tears, but Aragorn did not –would not let himself- heed them, just as he had no apparent reaction when those lovely eyes dimmed, and those lovely lips began to tremble twofold.

“A whore you think I am, then?” Legolas murmured. “I… I cannot believe it! Have you heard none of all those promises of love I uttered…? Or is it just that you don’t find them worthy enough?” He surrendered at last, and let the tears run freely down his cheeks. “Haldir was just trying to help me. The water was for us, Aragorn. For us, who are in love, but will be parted forevermore once we’re in Gondor. It was to bless the pure love I thought stood between us, and that you seem to regard so little.”

Some of Legolas’s words seemed to finally made it through the angered haze clogging Aragorn’s mind. His own eyes widened. His face paled.

“…us?” he asked, forcing the words past his suddenly lips.

“Have you ever loved someone so much that you’d do anything for them, Aragorn?” Legolas whispered, so quietly that for moment Aragorn doubted it was but an illusion of his clouded mind. “That you feel like something withers deep inside yourself whenever you’re not near them? That you’d give up everything to see them happy?” He let out a shaky breath, and looked down at the moon’s wavering reflection on the water, his smile bitter and his eye filled with longing. “Have you ever felt like your heart beats at unison with theirs? Have you ever loved someone so completely that losing them you *knew* you’d lose your life?” At this point Legolas looked straight into Aragorn’s wide eyes. “That’s how I love you. How I thought you loved me also. How… how I *loved* you.”

And that said, he ran.

Ran from Aragorn, ran from all the hurt, the pain, the promises they’d made.

Ran, towards his room and closer to his marriage.

A marriage he thought useless to call off, by now.

* * * * *

Aragorn stared after Legolas, speechless, eyes squinted as he watched the Elf glide weightlessly away, until the unfeeling black shadows swallowed him and his soft light.

Then something happened that had never been seen before.

Aragorn, Estel, chieftain of the Dùnedain, nephew of Elrond, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor and betrothed to the Morning Star of Mirkwood, was –for the first time in his life- slapped. Boromir’s hand connected hard and fast with his cheek, and Aragorn reeled backwards, one hand flying up to his face in his shock.

When he looked up, Boromir’s eyes were aflame with anger and strangely filled with sorrow.

“Have you an idea of what you’ve done to him?” the Knight hissed, his voice low and hoarse. “Do you know what it means to have the love of an Elf? No, Aragorn, you don’t. Or else you would treasure it, cherish it even, and never forsake it!” Aragorn lowered his eyes, unable and to some extent unwilling to say anything. The other Man saw his Prince’s helplessness, and his eyes softened, his voice turning kind. “When Elves fall in love it is once and forever, Estel. For Legolas to give you his heart means to die and little inside each time you part, each time you fight. It means to leave this world the moment *you* do.”

“He loves not Haldir, he loves you!” He cried then, when Aragorn still would not say a thing. One moment, and suddenly his words became pained – nor did they seem meant for only just Aragorn. “Even if you can’t understand how or why… you have this Elf’s heart. Even if you’re just a mere mortal and think yourself unworthy of such gift, and think him too perfect for you. Even if there won’t a moment in your life in which you won’t scream at the sky because you don’t *want* him to die for you… he loves you. You feel helpless because -regardless of your wishes, of your love- *that* is what will happen: one Elf, one wonderful light, will be lost to Middle Earth because of *you*. And even as it pains you, you can’t change it, nor you want to. Because not only you have his heart - he has yours as well.” When he lapsed into silence a strange stillness came onto the glade, even the usual nighttimes sounds gone.

Aragorn took the chance of looking up at Boromir’s face, feeling strangely meek.

His friend had slapped him.

The subordinate had reprimanded his future King as though he was but a mere child.

Right then, Aragorn would have hugged him.

There was a long pause. One in which nothing sounded in Aragorn’s ears, if not the rushing boom of his blood. Then Boromir sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Go to him. Please. Don’t break his heart. Don’t let him pine away for something he thinks lost.” And when Aragorn opened his mouth to ask, he explained softly: “You.”

And, because he knew his friend was right, Aragorn turned and ran, without another word.

* * * * *

He found Legolas where he thought he would – curled up in the secluded talan Galadriel had given him. He was still crying silently, frail body wracked by quaking shudders. His hair was a wet, tangled mess that fell in small, wild strands across his shoulders and face. His cheeks were the colour of strawberries, but the rest of his skin was pale, glittering wet with little drops coming from either the Nimrodel or his eyes - his eyes, lovely and deep and beautiful even as tears made them red and puffy.

All in all, he was the most beautiful thing Aragorn had ever seen.

“Legolas…?” dared the Man, moving one step closer. The elf sniffled, casting a quick glance up at him over his shoulder. “My love, don’t cry.”

“Elves don’t cry.” Was the whispered reply. Aragorn cringed. Not for the tone – it was soft, and tender even- but for the unspoken truth laying behind those words.

Elves do not cry, unless their heart is breaking.

Legolas shifted a bit, rubbing at his eyes and trying not to look suspect as he did.

“Why?” Aragorn started at the sound of the Elf’s voice. Surely, that feeble whisper wasn’t his…?

“Why what, Legolas?” he said softly.

“You called me ‘my love’. Why?” I thought… I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

“Love cannot be quenched so easily by unfounded jealousy – especially not a love as strong as mine.” Legolas looked like he desperately wanted – no, needed – to believe him. Yet…

“You say you love me, and yet you don’t trust me.” Aragorn stared at his own hands.

“It’s *myself* I don’t trust. I knew I was not worthy of your love. I knew I would have hurt you one day. Just… I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I didn’t know myself to be so foolish. I’m disappointed of myself – I will understand if you’re too.”

“Disappointed of you?” Legolas mused. “Never. Of me? Very much so.” For I had not the strength to tell you the truth.

Aragorn closed his eyes. Was Legolas disappointed in himself for trusting his heart to such a low creature as himself, he wondered.

“Had you really,” Legolas sat slowly up, drawing his long legs closer to his torso. “Thought about breaking off your engagement for me?” Aragorn leaned back against one thick branch, not quite looking at Legolas, instead focusing on the Elf’s dark shadow on the floor.

“Many times. But I don’t think I can really do it.” He rubbed his face harshly with both hands. “Ah! Now that was the understatement of the Era. They won’t let me do it. Ever. Not even with my death could I free myself from this marriage.”

“How is she like…?” Still gazing downwards, Aragorn smiled bitterly at Legolas’s genuine wonder.

“She’s special, really. But I don’t love her, and I never will. She’s just the kind of person you’d like, though. I know. I know it only too well.” If Legolas noticed the underlying hopelessness in the Man’s dulcet tones, or his attempt to hint to something more, he did not show it. He just nodded, lost somewhere in his own thoughts.

“There has been dishonesty between us… Aragorn.” Legolas whispered at last, rubbing his hands hard along his arms, as if trying to rid himself of a coldness Elves should not feel. He’d almost let himself call the Man ‘love’ but deep inside he felt it was no time for such lovely endearments.

And maybe, after his confession, it would never be again.

Aragorn noticed that Legolas refrained from referring to him affectionately, and he felt his heart clench at the idea his stupid jealousy had lost him this wonderful creature’s love. He risked a glance at the Elf, but Legolas eyes were cast downwards, and still suspiciously bright.

“I’ve know since the beginning that you were to be married soon.” Legolas said softly. Aragorn groaned, and made it to explain, but Legolas silenced him.

Not verbally.

He just raised his eyes, and Aragorn could not say a word to the sorrow he saw there.

“But I have no right to react like I do. I’ve no right to be jealous, or angry. Yet I can’t help it, because I love you.” He paused, shifting backwards when the Man made as if to come closer.

“But… the real reason why I’ve no right to… to be angry it’s because… oh, Aragorn I’m engaged too!” he cried, dropping his forehead on his bent knees, gripping the fabric of his shirt so hard his knuckles turned white.

“…Legolas?”

“It’s not of my choice… I… I’ve been handed over from my country to another by my Father. He’s… using me, as a politic tool. The real reason why I’m following you to Gondor, it’s because my future husband awaits me there.” Aragorn’s knees gave way and he found himself kneeling on the floor, almost in a daze.

“…husband?” he croaked.

“Oh, Aragorn I’m so sorry, so sorry! I love you so much, so much it hurts, but I can’t call off the marriage! I can’t! I wanted Elbereth to bless us before we parted ways forevermore, because no matter where I’ll go, what I’ll do, the only one I’ll ever love is you!” he was silenced abruptly when Aragorn’s arms encircled him, and the man held him fiercely to his chest.

“You hate me now, don’t you?” whispered the Elf.

“Hate you?” Aragorn’s laugh was hoarse and low, more like a strangled sob. “I love you, Legolas! Like I’ve never loved anyone, and I can’t have you because I must marry someone of my Uncle’s choosing! This marriage will turn the warfare in our favour, he says; it will give those that fight Sauron a new hope… and I can’t call it off… I simply… can’t.” He paused, gently running his hand through Legolas’s hair.

“I was so glad I could be of help, so proud! I cared not if I was to marry someone I did not know or love. I deluded myself into thinking it would be easy to sacrifice my happiness for Middle Earth’s sake. But now… now that I have you…” he trailed off, broken. He placed a soft lingering kiss on Legolas forehead, then one on his nose. And when he saw no trace of bitterness on anger in the Elf’s blue eyes, he touched his lips to Legolas’s.

“We’re such fools, aren’t we, love?”

“Yes.” Legolas smiled against the Man’s chest. A small, broken smile. “But I’m the happiest fool to ever walk middle Earth as long as I have you.” He too lapsed into silence, and his hand came up on its own volition to finger the jewel around his neck.

“This leaf…” Aragorn whispered after a moment of silence, he too sliding his fingers gently over the pendant. “A green leaf… the symbol of your name… lego las… You’ve been fumbling with it since we came to Lòrien. And even before we arrived here, you never wore it off. What is it? What does it mean to you?” Legolas’s hand curled around the Green Leaf. The Elf shivered, and Aragorn felt a pang of regret for his curiosity.

“My mother gave it to me when she sailed over to the West.” Legolas said at last, and his voice, usually so proud and strong, sounded strangely feeble in the darkness. The jewel felt warm at the touch, and Legolas played it about gently. “She said that one day, if the war continued, Father may have ordered me to twine my life with someone of his choosing. Like a mere toy -a tool- I would be handed over to a stranger from my country to theirs. And for Middle Earth’s sake I would have to agree, she said, and give my hand in marriage to whoever Father chose. But this-” Legolas opened his palm, flicking his gaze lovingly over the Green Leaf. “-would always remain mine to give to whom I will.” He looked up then, blue eyes bottomless, and searched for something inside Aragorn’s own eyes.

“Like my heart.”

Aragorn’s breath caught. Legolas’s eyes where deep and bright, and watched him with such intensity that the Man felt his breath catch, his heart stop. He watched dumbly as the pendant slid from Legolas’s fingers to thump against his chest, the Elf’s hand raising tentatively towards him. Aragorn closed his eyes when Legolas’s fingertips explored his face, sliding across his forehead, his closed eyelids; they skimmed gently down his cheek, tracing his nose and ghosting over his lips. Then the fingers left his face, and Aragorn felt them dance across his palm, until something warm and light was pressed into it. He looked down, and saw Legolas’s fingers close about his own around the Green Leaf.

“Would you take it?”

Aragorn’s eyes jumped from the Green Leaf glittering quietly in his palm into Legolas’s bright eyes. He felt a smile start to form on his lips, both sad and happy, but taming it he placed the jewel back into Legolas’s hand.

The Elf’s eyes flashed in pain.

Did Aragorn not love him anymore? Was he still so angry with him?

Or maybe, it was just that his love for the Elf was not as strong as Legolas had thought? Not strong enough to allow them few moments of freedom before they had to give it up for the greater good?

The poor Prince was about to turn and run away, apologizing meekly for having bothered the Man with his feelings, when Aragorn moved at last, and sealed their fate.

Gently, he brought his Elf’s hand up to his face, and softly kissed the inside of the slender wrist.

“And keep it forever, lirimaer**. Please, put it around my neck yourself.” Legolas nodded, not trusting his voice, and reached up and around the Man’s neck. When his fingers were done working the clasp, he brushed them gently against the back of Aragorn’s neck, running them slowly down his shoulders and arms to his hands, where their fingers met and twined together.

Only then did he lean up to place a kiss on Aragorn’s mouth.

A moan escaped him when Aragorn’s tongue traced a wet line across his lips, and more still escaped both as their tongues met, teased and danced, fighting for a domination that was both searched and given. For a small eternity they kissed, their mouths and hands the only parts of their bodies touching. Then, as softly as it had begun the kiss ended, and they separated, lips still hovering close, feeling shocks running up and down their spines.

One moment, and Legolas smiled a secretive smile at the Man, gently drawing Aragorn down on the floor and on top of himself, the Man unresisting, surprised, yet pleasantly so.

“Would you take *me*, then?”

“Legolas………………………………………………”

They began kissing again, under the stars and the moon, oblivious to anything but the other. Aragorn’s hands began to slowly roam over the plains and curves of Legolas’s body, exploring, discovering, pleasing.

The Elf was tantalizing to his senses, driving him into something beyond desire.

He lost himself completely on the taste of those lips, of that pale skin. In the feel of that silky hair, that run like water through his fingers. In the rhythmic rise and fall of the Elf’s chest as he breathed - as they breathed, in spending unison.

Not once did Legolas’s lips neglect the Man’s body.

Teasing, exploring and, most of all, worshipping.

He was breathless, and rapt. As thought caught in the depths of a dream his body felt warm, tingling deliciously. His heart boomed in his ears, quicker and louder than he’d imagined possible. And Aragorn’s heart, pounding against his own as they moved together, was just as quick, just as loud.

Moonlight was soon spilling over naked forms moving in slow, perfect unison; it dappled over slender muscles, made sweaty skin gleam wet, suffused their bodies with a gentle glow. Around them, moans and whispers mingled with the rustling leaves, and the gentle chattering of the distant, lovely Nimrodel raised to the ears.

Legolas felt as if he was finally at peace, and closing his eyes, he arched into Aragorn’s warm touch, whispering his name into the night, hearing his own name whispered back just as softly, and then cried breathlessly.

A shudder, a sob, and they reached completion. It was a moment that both of them would remember for always as the closest they would ever come to perfection. Every following joy in their life would be but a shadow of such brilliance.

Somewhere amidst the light, Elbereth looked down, and blessed them, who had touched the water of the sacred river with pure love in their hearts.

TBC

* Legolas was about to say: Melamin: My love

** Lirimaer: lovely one

Uhmm… more serious chapter = crappier chapter.

Neways, Aragorn and Legolas are *not* done being awfully cute on the talan floor. *nudge-nudge, wink-wink* Next chapter shall contain more of that. Nothing detailed, though.  Sorry. =)

Also, I apologize in advance to all those who don’t like/care for Arwen and Boromir’s relationship, but I can’t really find it in myself to leave them hanging. I’ve the perfect ending for them already in mind *taps finger against her forehead*, so you’re going to see more interaction between them, at least in the next chapter.

On an additional note, I made some minor changes to the previous chapter and re-posted it. Nothing big – some mistakes corrected, and one single line about Boromir slightly revised. =)