.|. Radical Dreamers .|.

Chapter 8

~

* * * * *

As he stared at Strider’s tanned body gloriously bathed in moonlight, Legolas had to remember himself over and over that man was the most annoying creature on Eä, and that he simply hated him. Abhorred even. Loathed. Despised. Detested. And the list was long.

Just when the Elf was an inch from convincing himself he did *not* fancy Strider *at all* and that whoever dared to state the opposite was a fool, a liar and would meet Legolas’s wrath, Strider waded backwards to the small waterfall bubbling in a forgotten corner. Eyes never leaving Legolas’s, he stepped under it and let water splash over him, mix with moonlight and dapple on his flexing muscles.

“Want to join me?” Aragorn said slowly, unfastening casually the strings of his breeches. *Damn tease* Legolas concluded with yet another blush.

“I’m fine just right where I’m now, thankyouverymuch.” Strider shrugged, droplets raising from his hair, and Legolas hunched his shoulders instinctively, modestly covering himself. *That* caught Strider’s attention. The Man stopped stripping, much to Legolas’s relief (and profound disappointment at the same time) and made his way to the flushed Elf, his arms creating waves at his sides. Once he was few inches from the Elf he stopped, and regarded the blonde inquisitively, head cocked to one side.

“…what?” Legolas asked after a minute, growing more and more nervous with each second. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and sank a little underwater, his arms crossed in front of his body, as he became acutely aware of his nudity.

Coming from an Elf such shyness was astounding – it was no less surprising than frogs raining from the sky. Elves, you must know, are incredibly open-minded. They’re not ashamed of nudity at all, considering clothes mere disguises that mask one’s true self. Had it been anyone *but* Strider standing there in front of him, half-naked and wet, Legolas was sure he wouldn’t have reacted so oddly. Yet he felt so strangely embarrassed that he wanted to hide his nudity from the Man. He feared, at some deep level, that Strider might find his nude body less appealing than he did its clothed version. Slowly he retreated, but his runaway had a short life, because of the boulder protruding from the water just two steps behind him.

“Legolas?” Aragorn queried, one eyebrow raised in pure Elrond-style. Legolas only mumbled a small reply, looking anywhere but at Strider. “Are you embarrassed?” Legolas mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Of course not,” but it came out muffled because the Elf had kneeled down so much that water bubbled in front of him when he spoke. Aragorn knelt in front of him, and ran a hand through Legolas’s hair comfortingly, almost worried at the Elf’s reaction. He knew such shyness to be atypical for Elves, and feared something he’d done had upset the Elf so deeply that he felt the need to recoil from him.

At the Man’s touch Legolas shakily looked up from his own reflection, and Strider chuckled gently at the blush colouring the high cheekbones.

“Come on, Legolas. ‘Tis no place or time for shyness - it’s not like you’ve got anything I haven’t seen before.” He said. Legolas glared in response, but the Elf was such a sexy thing when glaring, that Aragorn didn’t mind the display of enmity at all. In truth, it made him happy whenever he was able to put an expression different from sorrow on that fair face. Quiet sadness suffused through Legolas’s face each time he gazed at the approaching lands of Gondor, azure and misty at the horizon. It was as if his doom was expecting him in those lands, and Aragorn had found himself hating the lingering sadness not even him could tear from the Elf’s eyes.

“If this can be of any consolation to you,” the Man added, his eyes sparkling even as his tone was conversational, “I must admit you look a lot better naked then I imagined you would.” Legolas gaped at him for a moment, mouth wide, and found himself torn between blushing at the compliment and yelling in rage because it seemed the Man *had* imagined him naked.

“Thanks, I guess.” He said at last, slowly coming to his feet. Aragorn moved up with him, and found his hands laying each on one of Legolas’s shoulders. The Elf’s arms were still draped protectively around his body, but a smile was slowly finding its way over his lips. Strider took that as a token of peace, and before he could think better about it, he leaned down and touched his lips to Legolas’s forehead in the whisper of a kiss.

“Good Elf.” He mock-complimented, a rumbling chuckle escaping him. Thoughtful, Legolas rubbed gently the spot where the Man’s kiss still burned, before raising his head a little, regarding Strider oddly through his lashes.

“What’s with you and kissing me, anyway?” He demanded, and the Man blinked, resembling, in Legolas’s opinion, a newborn owl.

“Uh?”

“When we first met.” Legolas reminded him. “You kissed me.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “OH! Yeah. That. Well, that… that was the Kiss of Friendship.” He shrugged. Legolas just stared at him, unyielding blue eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s a tradition of my kin - you wouldn’t understand it.”

“Well, I’m eager to. Explain. Now.” Aragorn looked down, unable to meet Legolas’s eyes any longer. Yet the motion made them closer, their chests almost touching, now.

“Uhm… it’s just a custom of the Dùnedains, nothing more.” He lied quietly, not really looking forward at admitting to the Elf (and to himself) he’d kissed Legolas without reasons other than his own desire and the Elf’s incredible beauty.

“So, if I ever get to know the other members of your kin I’ll have to kiss all of them?” Aragorn thought about it a little, decided he didn’t like the option of Legolas kissing someone who wasn’t him, and shook his head fervently.

“NO! I-I mean, no, It doesn’t work quite like that.” Legolas kept staring. “The Dùnedains give you The Kiss, not the other way round. And it’s a token of their desire to gain your trust and friendship, so not everyone gets it.”

“Oh. So each time I’ll be polite with a Dùnedain he’ll probably kiss me?” This time the picture was one of Legolas being assaulted and smothered with kisses by Strider’s fellow Dùnedains. The Man swayed a little at the thought.

“Dùnedains? Did I say Dùnedains? Tee-eeh, my mistake. I meant *the* Dùnedain. The Chieftain of our kin.” Legolas cocked his head to one side, his arms slid from around his torso, and he clasped his hands behind him, leaning forward with a pleased grin.

“You, in other words.”

“Err… yes.” Still smiling, Legolas let out a sigh and shook his head, blonde hair swirling.

“I’ve never, ever, in my long life heard a lie so poorly conceived, Strider.” Aragorn gave his shoulders a shrug.

“Well, I tried.”

“And failed miserably.” Familiar irritation began bubbling at the bottom of Aragorn’s stomach, and with a growl he yanked Legolas even closer.

“Do you want me to say I kissed you just because I wanted to? Well okay. I did. There. Happy now? But you too didn’t seem to have anything against kissing me, I recall.” Legolas’s eyes narrowed to dangerous, tiny slits.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, either you subconsciously want me so much you let me to kiss you, or you’re such a pathetic Elf that you can’t even overpower a simple human.”

“You JERK!” Legolas yelled indignantly, only now realizing he was still in the Ranger’s embrace, and wrenched out of it rather violently. “You just caught me off guard!”

“It seems awfully easy to do that.” Aragorn hissed back quietly. Legolas looked ready to kill.

“And I suppose no *one* ever catches *you* off-guard, you mighty leader?!” He snorted. Strider straightened, shoulders thrown back in pride, and gave his head a slight toss.

“Ever.”

That did it. From now on Aragorn would remember it’s not clever to fight with an Elf when he’s glaring murderously at you, pride hurt. Especially if that Elf was Legolas. Had they been in another situation, a battle for example, Aragorn would already have an elven dagger protruding from some rather soft part of his body… luckily, they were not in another situation, surely not into a battle, and what happened afterwards was *really* enjoyable for Aragorn, even thought it taught him to never test an Elf’s temper.

Before he could utter a second word, Aragorn had his back pressed to the cold and wet boulder, while Legolas’s body was warm against his own. He tried to move his arms, but found his wrists held securely above his head, each held with bruising force within one of Legolas’s own fists. At first Aragorn was, as one would expect him, enraged. Furious for being deceived and overpowered so easily, and mortified at his inability of freeing himself. He started struggling, but that resulted in Legolas pinning him harder against the boulder. Aragorn stilled immediately when Legolas pressed himself against him, and when warm breath wafted across his lips as Legolas leaned closer, smirking, it was a wonder that the Man’s knees kept supporting him.

“It seems I did manage to catch you off-guard, after all.” Legolas cooed, eyes glinting. “Do I get a reward for that?”

“I don’t know.” Aragorn replied slowly, surprised at the huskiness in his own voice. “I went further than just grabbing your wrists, after all.” Legolas’s eyes grew wide, aware finally of the positions they were in, of Aragorn’s chest warm against his own and of the Man’s face few inches from his. The Elf could nothing to stop the shiver that rushed down his body.

By the Valar, Legolas, what are *you* doing?! He asked himself, and the only answer he found as he leaned closer to the Man, was that he was going to forget good sense and do exactly what his instincts told him. Just as he leaned down Strider crabbed his neck and leaned up, lips slightly parted, and their breaths mingled, hot and moist, between their mouths. No, Legolas did not care anymore if he was to wed someone else in a few days. This once, just for this once, he would forget his duty as the Prince and allow his heart to lead him…

* * * * * 

Meanwhile, at the camp…

…Let’s suppose she *do* think we are a couple. Would it mean I lead her on? But we never did anything even remotely like what lovers would do! Uhm… does this mean I’ve been a bad mate, then? If I’ve been, Lord Elrond will get my head…

…

…but if she doesn’t think we are a couple and I start acting like we were engaged, Lord Elrond will get my head nevertheless… if she doesn’t get it first. Not to mention the twins. Hm… right, I could ask them for advice… but what if they got it the wrong way? Maybe they too think of us as a couple, and will be offended at my asking? I could ruin for ever the relationship between Rivendell and Gondor!

…

…on the other hand, they could be one good help…

…

…given that they won’t get my head for just *thinking* Arwen would look my way. Uhmm…

Estel! I could ask Estel…

…

…if he can stop fighting with Legolas long enough to even *notice* it if I talk to him…

…

…maybe I could ask the Lady Éowyn? Uhm…

* * * * *

         Meanwhile, inside Mirkwood’s Castle…

“And he was 237 when he received his first proposal. Obviously he heed it not, mostly because I would not let him marry the daughter of the Castle’s Confectioner, no matter how good his Strawberry Cakes are. I suspect though, that his refusal was partly because he could not stand the very sight of her – another pastry, my dear Eagle?”

“*Squee!*”

* * * * *

         Meanwhile, inside Rivendell’s Castle…

ZZzzzzzzZZZZz… Estel my boy, stop practicing with your sword inside the Palace… you’ll end up breaking something… ZZzzzZZZZzzzz…Oh, no! Thranduil’s gift… ZzzzzZZZZZzzzzzzzZZZZZzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzZZZZZZZzzzzzz…

Uhm… better leave Elrond to his dreams.

* * * * *

         Back to Aragorn and Legolas…

Legolas’s mouth hovered above Strider’s enticingly, but would not descend on it. Not yet. It was pure torment for the Man, but an enjoyable one. He’d craned his neck to try and catch the Elf’s mouth, but he could not stand the position anymore. His head dropped against the boulder with a loud thud, and Legolas followed him, blowing softly across the Man’s mouth.

“So you imagined me naked, Ranger?” He murmured, his lips teasingly brushing the Ranger’s own with each word. Caught, Strider tried his best not to break into cold sweat.

“Uhm… once, maybe.” Legolas tilted his head, a glint in his eyes, as his smile slowly broadened.

“Just once? I’m offended! I thought I’d rule your every dream by now.” Aragorn blinked at him.

“Well, you do. But you’re usually dress-” Strider paled. Damn.My.Clumsy.Self. Legolas burst into laughter at the look of pure horror on the Man’s face.

“Caught!” The Elf said between giggles. Strider groaned, (or whimpered, he wasn’t actually sure) in his frustration, and Legolas smirked, leaning down enough to trace the Man’s bottom lip with his mouth, settling once again for merely teasing him.

“Oh, screw this!” Came the sudden yell from the bushes on the river bank. “Kiss him already!” Aragorn and Legolas’s heads jerked up and to a side, just in time to see an enraged Elladan surface from amidst said bushes and whack behind the head his twin, who, considering he still had his hands cupped around his mouth, was the voice’s owner.

“Elrohir!” The older twin hollered fiercely. Forgotten and frozen in place, Aragorn and Legolas watched on as the twins bickered, barely blinking for the surprise.

The twins stood glaring at each other, Elladan on his feet and with his arms crossed across his chest, while Elrohir remained crouched, sulkily rubbing his offended nape.

“What?” the younger twin muttered gloomily, his bottom lip shoved forward. Elladan pointed a menacing finger to his brother’s nose and hissed angrily:

“You have absolutely *no* tact whatsoever! What have I taught you about intruding into people’s personal matters?!”

“But…” Elrohir pouted cutely, an expression he’d learned from his human cousin to use each time he wanted something, or simply needed to be forgiven no matter what he had done. He tilted his head, batting his eyelashes outrageously. Elladan instinctively retreated a half-step, but his finger remained hovering few inches from Elrohir’s nose-tip. “He was taking ages!”

“You should have not revealed yourself, though.” Elladan protested, enraged that his brother had intruded, but completely at ease with the fact them both had been spying on their cousin. Elrohir leaped to his feet, bouncing a little on his toes. He was still pouting.

“You’re saying this only because if they do not kiss you’ll have won the bet!” Elladan snorted indignantly, whipping around with his arms crossed.

“Aragorn’s not going to kiss Legolas. He knows better than that.” Elrohir’s smirk lit up the night.

“It’s not my fault if Legolas turns Aragorn on more than his fiancée ever will!” That (or the annoying pokes that had accompanied his words) gained him another whack behind his head.

“Elrohir!!”

“What?!” The younger twin pouted. Then, a look of horror on his face, he turned toward the river and swallowed soundly, his lips twitching as he tried to smile. With choreographic synchrony each twin raised one hand in wave, twin (and fake) innocent looks plastered on their faces.

“Uhm… we can explain.” they said as one. Neither Legolas nor Aragorn were paying attention to them anymore tough, busy as they were staring into each other’s eyes. An eternity seemed to pass before Aragorn found his voice back; and when he spoke, it was shaky and low.

“Legolas… let me explain.” Legolas’s blue eyes turned to ice, daring Aragorn to go on and yet telling him exactly what would be of him if he did.

“I’m listening.” The Elf said deadly slowly, looking no different from a snake seizing its prey. Aragorn swallowed convulsively, his mind racing to find a good excuse.

“I-It’s not what it may look like. My fiancée…” He’d said a word too much it seemed, because in an instant he found himself soaring into the air with his arms flailing, and crashed down soundly on the twins (who’d been running in circles in panic, but still hadn’t ran away.).

“Of *course* It’s not what it looks like!” Legolas hollered from the water. “It *did* look like I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I? Well, that was *NOT* it!” He flipped his hair angrily from his shoulder and swam away. A hand on his forehead Aragorn tried to pick himself up, but he stopped when he caught glimpse of Legolas’s pale body amidst the dark foliage on the other bank. Mindless of the twins struggling and grunting under his weight Aragorn stopped in adoration, only to flinch when Legolas’s enraged yell reached him.

“If you will excuse me, I’ve a deadly Spirit to find, DÙNEDAIN! See you if *I* care! Maybe on your wedding day!” At loss of what to do, Aragorn flopped back down on his twins-cushions and let out a sigh. He listened distantly to the Elvish curses sent at him from underneath his body, until, after a numbers of those (mixed with general threats of death and detailed descriptions of what would be done to his body if he didn’t move) his eyes narrowed. What he murmured then made the twins freeze.

“I give you three seconds of advantage. Start running and do that fast, because if I get you, I kill you.” The second he finished saying it the twins had disappeared from under him and Aragorn bumped back down on the forest-floor. He laid there, wet and shirtless, staring at the unfeeling black sky and feeling as cold as he knew he never would.

Alas! If just his betrothed was Legolas instead of Éowyn! Then his dreams of having tens of miniature Legolas and miniature Aragorn playing gaily in the gardens of a house of their own would become reality…

But that was impossible…

…

…wasn’t it?

* * * * *

         Meanwhile, inside the refuge of Morfëataur’s Spirits… (yes, they really exist!)

A bell had been ringing since morning, vibrating and echoing through the dark cave they called Headquarter and, let’s admit it, making a noise that would wake the dead. Sitting in the middle of said cave with his legs in a crouch, one of Morfëataur’s Spirits was trying at the same time to:

a) clamp his ears shut with his hands, b) flip the pages of the book he had on his lap, and c) not to be splattered in a bloody heap under the book’s noticeable weight.

“Uhm… It should be here somewhere… damn… I know it *means* something when this blasted bell sets off…” the Spirit grumbled unspeakably things under his breath in… ehy, wait just a second, was that Elvish? Mh, surely seems like it.

The Spirit kept grumbling and searching the book for some more minutes, completely unaware of the fellow Spirits tapping his shoulder.

“Ehy…” no response. “Ehy…” again, no response. “EHY!!!” surprise, surprise. No response. The second Spirit, of darker colouring than the other, and surely with shorter temper, cupped his hands around his mouth and leaning against the other Spirit’s ear, yelled:

“EHY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” The paler Spirit jumped out of his skin, threw the book in the air, whirled around, gaped, gasped, went rolling down the seat he was in and across the room, felt the book land on him and, as a final point, spluttered. And all in less than ten seconds! Wow! Mere humans can’t do that, but ehy, we never claimed that Morfëataur’s Spirits were human, did we?

“What.Was.That.For?” He spluttered, hurt, and looking up he found that his companion had crawled on the back of his seat, waving and grinning innocently down at him.

“The Boss wants to know why the heck the bell’s ringing!” The Spirit picked himself up and grabbed the book, seeming ready to throw it to his companion, (that’s what he was trying to find out, dammit!) when his eyes fell on the page the book had opened itself up. He gave out a squeal and dashed away, almost knocking his companion over in his rush. The Headquarter’s corridors were long and winding, like tunnels of a mole’s hole, but the Spirit knew them all by heart, and reached his destination in no time. Unfortunately, as soon as he stepped onto the first of the five steps leading into the Meeting Room he tripped, and fell down the small flight of steps, yelling one word each time he collided with it.

“Intruders!” Bump. “Into.” Bump. “Our.” Bump. “Forest!” A less than perfect landing on the Control room’s floor. The Spirits there gathered all leaped to their feet, and began running around in what could seem, to an untrained eye, just disorganized panic. In truth it was more of a very choreographic ballet than anything, but that may be just a pretence.

For the longest of moments the commotion seemed impossible to tame. The Spirits of Morfëataur ran around aimlessly; some screamed, some bounced, some hid themselves, while two of them just tried to slip away quietly and hide from the upcoming reaction of their Boss. No luck. A tougher Spirit, shorter and stouter than the others, rose from the seat he’d been burrowed in, grabbed the two by the collars of their shirts and strode out of the room, low growls coming from deep within his throat.

“Getcher arse up an’ follou me, ya all! No bloody outsida’ll cross our woods as long as *I* am the rula ‘ere! C’mon, littla ones! For our Lady!!” The two Spirits he was clutching dropped their heads dejectedly and allowed their Boss to drag them along, sharing a long, worried look as they went. Their companions followed after them, cheering and leaping.

The first Spirit leaped to his feet as well, eager to follow, but the book he’d let go during his fall had other plans – it landed on him with a resounding ‘thud’, sandwiching him against the floor. He made no move to rise this time, just cupping his cheek with one hand and drumming his other hand’s fingers on the floor.

“Someone up there *really* hates me and is having one hell of a good time right now.” The other Spirit, having followed him, bounced on top of him, giggling delightedly as he played Rohan-Knight and horses with his cousin.

“You’re so silly.”

“It’s *star-crossed*, Pip. *Star-crossed*”

“If you say so.”

TBC

*looks the chapter over and notices what exactly has happened between Aragorn and Legolas* Uhm… *hides behind Legolas* Don’t kill me… please? *peeks from behind our favourite Mirkwood Prince* What about dropping me a review instead? You know, I’ve never received 100 reviews and we’re so close… *ducks behind Legolas again*