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.|. Radical Dreamers .|.
Epilogue ~ The Wedding Day
Aragorn stood in front of a long mirror, clad in the blue and silver velvets Faramir had chosen for him. Never before had he looked so kingly. Never before had he felt so unlike himself.
As he gazed at his reflection Aragorn asked himself if that was really him, but though his image pleased him he would have given everything for his Ranger clothes – so formal, comfortable, smelling of sunshine and rain and grass, the smell of freedom he loved above any other. His reflection seemed to shift suddenly and laugh, throwing its head back even as Aragorn frowned and glared at it, fists clenched. Liar! sang the reflection. Liar, liar liar! The smell of Legolas’s hair, that is the smell you love the most. The future King swirled around angrily, and gave his back to the mirror. Where was the sense in thinking about such things? Both the prickling smell of freedom and the sweet alluring smell of Legolas’s hair were precluded to him, now. He’d better forget - forget it all and forever.
Ah, forget. That will be impossible, came again that taunting voice. But this time it sounded forlorn and sweet, almost compassionate. You can lock away in the deepest pit of your soul the memories of your precious Legolas, of his delighted voice, his dazzling eyes, his sweet love. But you will never forget. In the end, the memories will have you locked and prisoner. Not the other way around. Aragorn gave a low bark of a laugh and rubbed the bridge if his nose. “A willing prisoner I’d be, then.”
There came a knock at the door, and Faramir entered, clad in shades of green. Boromir went in after him, and behind them was Arwen. Her lilac gown flowed like mist around her ankles, leaving her long pale arms and shoulders bare. Her hair was tied up upon her head; three glassy ringlets cascaded down her back, while littler ones fell like an ebony frame around her lovely face. “Arwen!” Cried Aragorn, and clasping her to him he spun her round, revelling in the silvery sound of her laugh. “Ah, Estel!” she sighed, touching his cheek. “It’s so good to see your face again!” “That I should say!” replied he, touching her face as well. “I’m sorry I was not there when you woke, but I was—delayed.” he said lamely. “That I understand,” she nodded. Her lips were up in the sweetest smile. “We’re celebrating your wedding today, after all. You must have had much to do and think about.” She cast a quick glance at Boromir, who nodded briskly. “Estel…” “Arwen, please, no.” “But, Estel…” “I don’t want pity. I’m doing the best thing.” She exhaled softly, and then nodded. “I understand, but let me tell you this.” She clasped his hands in hers, and when their eyes met, hers were like bottomless lakes, shimmering and dancing and alive with the gentle songs of sirens. It seemed to Aragorn that her eyes were putting a spell on him, but he did not fight it, because it felt it was not evil magic – she was just letting him see the depths of her love for him, her sincerity, her pain. “Love is a most unpredictable thing, Estel,” she said in a smoky voice. “It can make you cry and bleed, just as it can make you laugh and fly. And if it chooses, it can come to you in the lest likely of forms and times. I ask you only this: grasp love when it comes your way. Grasp it, and don’t let it slip through your fingers because of pride.” “Arwen, what are you…?” he stuttered, dazed. What was she saying? “Just… believe in yourself and in what you feel. I said this to Boromir once, and I will tell it to now: your destiny is already laid before your feet. You cannot falter now. But if you’re lost, then close your eyes, and just listen to this.” She said and gently put his hand on his own heart. He could feel its beating under his palm, and her warmth around his fingers. “It will know how to guide you. It always will,” she ended softly, and then, suddenly weak, she leaned back against Boromir. The Man curled one arm around her waist protectively, and caressing her hair gently, he put a sweet lingering kiss on her mouth.
A fish would have envied Aragorn the skill he showed when he began to open and close his mouth rhythmically. Arwen could not suppress a giggle when she saw his stunned face. “Surely you knew this would come to happen, sooner or later?” she asked playfully. Her eyes positively sparkled. “Well, yes,” Aragorn managed to say. “I think I’ve always known you two were in love. When I was little, whenever I thought about my future, the only thing I was sure of was that you two would be there, and would be together. We surely can’t call it ‘sudden’, but to see it with my own eyes… well… wow.” He shook his head, a disbelieving yet joyful look on his face. “I’m happy for you. I really am. Take care of her, Boromir - and you of him, Arwen.” They laughed, but the joy was short lived – Denethor stormed into the room, and bowing briskly he told Aragorn it was time to go: the ceremony must begun.
* * * * *
Butterflies had danced in his stomach the entire way to the terrace where the ceremony would take place. But now that he stood before the altar, it felt like those little butterflies had suddenly morphed into seagulls. Giant seagulls. Aragorn took a breath and looked about him. All the Members of the Company (minus Legolas and Éowyn, of course) were sitting in semicircle behind him, smiling encouragingly up the dais where he stood. Faramir and a few guards were with them too, and even those unknown people seemed to be cheering him silently. Aragorn tried to smile for them, but found he could not. He faced forward again. Gandalf stood before him on the other side of the altar. His worn out robes had been replaced by a shining white attire. His hair and long white beard had been combed, and instead of his old ragged staff he bore one beautifully carved sceptre. A flaming red ring shone on his other hand. His eyes danced with mischief – to be honest, he looked about to burst into laughter. Aragorn tried to burn holes trough him with a glare, but found out that that too he could not do. Denethor instead looked like gravity made flesh. He stood straight like an ancient tree beside Aragorn, his bushy brows furrowed, his hands fisted tightly, his chin raised with more than little pride. Gollum, poor little thing, was sitting on his heels in a corner, watching in fascination the wedding rings he’d been asked to carry. The light in his eyes was uncanny – almost as though he was hearing voices coming from the rings and they mesmerized him. What a weird creature, Aragorn thought. But what really, really unnerved the future King was the crowd gathered in the plaza down below them. Every habitant of the White City was there, waiting for them moment when, at the end of the ceremony, Aragorn would walk up to the edge of the balcony and introduce them to his bride, his mate for life, their other ruler. And it would be Éowyn. Not Legolas. Never Legolas. Valar, give me strength… He could feel their wide eyes on him, their fingers pointing, their delighted laughter ringing. And their soft whispered voices were louder than the Fall of Rauros in his ears. Aragorn wanted nothing more than pass out. No, he wanted to run. Better yet, kidnap Legolas and run. He broke into a cold sweat.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Aragorn turned towards the door, towards his future. As he expected, Éowyn stood in the doorway. But beautiful and radiant as she was, it was not the sight of her that stole his breath. It was not the sight of her that made him gasp, that made his knees almost buckle, his head spin. Arm in arm with Éowyn was what he once again swore to be the most beautiful creature to ever walk Middle Earth. Arm in arm with Éowyn was Legolas.
It cannot be… He was confused at first. Even scared. Then he felt compelled to laugh. The voice from the mirror was back in his head. Of course, you fool. Who did you think would walk the spouse up to the altar? Elladan, so that you could see his heart break before your eyes? Of course it had to be Legolas. He’s come for this, he’s said it himself when you’ve first met. He’s Éowyn’s servant. He’s come to give you her hand, since her father could not come himself. Aragorn closed he eyes. ‘Cruel irony’, he thought. The voice had nothing to add to it.
* * * * * Legolas’s eyes widened when he saw, right next to the old Man who had to be Prince Estel, none other but Aragorn. His heart skipped a beat; fire spread on his cheeks. “It cannot be…” he murmured to himself. Why, oh why of all people they had to choose Aragorn to be the best man at the wedding? Couldn’t it be someone else? But then again, who else could they chose? Boromir, whose heart you almost broke, letting Arwen be hurt? No, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. It made sense that the Man who had brought the bride safe to the Kingdom should attend to the ceremony. It made sense that such a hero was chosen to stand side by side with the soon to be husband of his love. It was perfectly logical. And so, so cruel. Legolas shut his eyes as Éowyn began to led him forward. He was ashamed to feel the now familiar prickle of tears behind his closed eyelids.
* * * * *
Even in the years to come, Gandalf was proud of how long he’d kept his laughter at bay. He did not laugh when Legolas, with his eyes shut, reached the altar where Aragorn stood with his eyes similarly closed. He did not laugh when, hearing him speak the ritual phrase of “we’re all gathered here in this joyous day”, they whipped their head around -eyes still firmly closed- so that even if their bodies faced each other, their faces didn’t. He did not laugh even when, due to his request to hold hands the two groped blindly (their eyes, you must realize, were still closed) for the other’s hand. He did not laugh when they succeeded in finding it, and twin grimaces of disgust appeared on their faces.
But he couldn’t possibly hold his laughter anymore. This was bordering absurd. “Open your eyes, you fools!” He boomed, watching Aragorn and Legolas jump two inches off the floor in surprise and fright. As one they whipped back around, opened their eyes wide, gave a little cry, pointed one shacking finger at the other and – “WHAT THE HELL ARE *YOU* DOING HERE?!” they cried in perfect unison. Gandalf laughed so hard tears came to his eyes. The rest of the Fellowship was laughing just as hard. Gollum had begun to caress softly the rings in his palm.
Aragorn and Legolas were a bit late on the news, but since no one seemed willing to explain, they had time to catch up. “What am *I* doing here?” they cried out as one, each pointing his chest. “What are *you* doing here!” they replied, each pointed the other’s chest. “*Me*?” There came another display of spectacular choreography, as each poked the other in the chest before poking themselves hard a couple of times. “I should ask *you*! This is *my* wedding!” Silence. Well, silence from them, giggles from the Company and hushed whispers from the people of Gondor.
About a minute of staring, and Aragorn and Legolas blinked. Another twenty seconds, and their eyes widened. Another bunch of seconds and they managed first to move their mouths, and then a resounding gasp. “*YOU* are Prince Estel??” “*YOU* are the Aurêl??” “Of course I am!” came from both of them, and once again their voices sounded as one. Gandalf didn’t know what force prevented him from throwing himself on the floor laughing and roll around, holding his sides. The look of mixed horror and hope on their faces was absolutely priceless. A pity non one had invented a device to capture it on paper, or something like that.
Legolas was the first to recover, and in an awed whisper he said: “Your fiancée, who you knew I’d love. The marriage forced upon you, that would turn the warfare in our favour, that would give those that fight Sauron a new hope… me. My marriage. Us.” Aragorn nodded. “And you, so regal and proud even as you said you were a servant. It was a pretence, for your sake, to protect you from those who could want to hurt the Aurêl … just like I pretended not to be of Royal Blood.” Legolas laughed, throwing back his head even as one tear rolled down his cheek. “Misunderstandings! A comedy of errors, it all was! Nothing but pretences.” He shook his head. Aragorn caught the teardrop on the Elf’s face and brought it to his own lips. He licked it gently, and then: “Your love for me,” he asked. “Was that a pretence too?” “Never,” Legolas whispered fiercely, and Aragorn was grateful to see the ring of Barahir shine quietly on Legolas’s ring-finger. Without pausing for thought, he threw his arms around the elf and held him tightly, just as Legolas’s own arms circled his neck. “I love you,” they both said in unison, then laughed. “Truly, we’ve been such fools,” Legolas said, gasping for breath. “It’s part of your charm,” assured Aragorn with a grin. “You’re impossible.” Legolas punched him playfully on the arm. “Which is part of my charm,” sighed Aragorn, catching the Elf’s fist and raising it to his lips to place a kiss on their ring. “I love you, my Elf.” “I know. I never doubted it.” replied Legolas, he too kissing the glittering gem on his finger. “But I love you more.” “No. I love you more.” “I do.” “I do.” “I do.” “*I* do.” “Elves are more capable of love.” “Racist.” “I’m being realist.” “That’s not true, because I love you more.” Legolas wriggled his nose cutely, and put both hands on his hips. “Excuse me, Mr. Ranger, but I am the one that wore your ring at my supposed wedding with another Man. It’s obvious that I love you more.” Aragorn’s eyes narrowed. “Just because I had no ring of yours to wear.” “I gave you the Green Leaf!” “And what do you think this lump under my shirt is??” “That does not change the fact that I---” They kept it on for endless minutes. And yet their audience still giggled, still unnoticed by them. The people in the plaza were starting to wear worried frowns. Gollum was rubbing his cheek against the rings and calling them Preciousss, oh, Precioussss.
“Here they go again…” mumbled Boromir, slapping a hand on his face. Arwen giggled. “I must admit, it’s kind of cute.” “I thought they had stopped fighting over nothing?” Elrohir asked, quirking an eyebrow. “It’s their way of flirting,” assured his sister. “There’s nothing to worry about.” She nodded to Gandalf, who nodded back, equally relieved. Rising his hands above him the wizard cleared his throat nosily. “Yeah, yeah, Legolas is the Aurêl, Aragorn is Prince Estel, and you’re very much in love. Now that that’s settled, do you think we can go back to the wedding?” he asked. Aragorn and Legolas whipped towards him, eyes round. “But *I*…” they said together. “No buts,” he warned. Then he turned towards Aragorn. “So, do you or don’t you?” “Do I or don’t I what?” Gandalf raised an eyebrow at him. “The vows,” he reminded. Aragorn stared blankly at him. Gandalf’s eyebrow twitched. “Did you hear a single word of what I said during the ceremony?” “Uhm… no.” Gandalf slapped his forehead with his hand. “Let’s try it again. Prince Estel of Gondor, will you take the Aurêl, crown Prince of Mirkwood, as your life mate? The one that you shall always love, and cherish and remain true to?” For a moment, Aragorn said nothing. Everyone held their breath. Then, doing as Arwen had told him, Aragorn closed his eyes slowly, and listened intently to the voice coming from his heart. None moved. None dared to speak. Ever so slowly a smile came to his face. Snapping his eyes open he turned towards Legolas with a smile. He took his warm white hand in his own, and leaning towards him he said a resounding and clear: “No.”
* * * * *
“No.” Legolas’s smile died on his lips. His heart contracted painfully. Aragorn’s voice came back at him from the unyielding walls, taunting him, cutting him like blades. No, no, no, no. He said no. He doesn’t want me. He said no. He felt his shoulders sag, the strength pour out of his body. The noises from the Fellowship – the heated cries, Éowyn’s shriek, Gandalf incredulous murmur – were but a faint and distant din in his ears. He faced away, and would have run, hadn’t Aragorn took him by the waist and clasped him to his chest. Curious, Legolas thought, how their hearts still beat in splendid unison.
“No,” repeated Aragorn as he traced Legolas’s face lovingly with his fingertips. The Elf exhaled painfully. “I won’t marry the Aurêl of Mirkwood, for a marriage of duty is not what I want. The one I want to marry, the only one I will marry, is Legolas, the wondrous creature that I met in Mirkwood and that for some great miracle happens to be my betrothed.” With lips and tongue he brushed the graceful tip of Legolas’s ear. The elf gasped. “Because I love him, and I want to make him mine - out of love.” He leaned back away, and on his face was the most radiant grin Legolas had ever seen. “And if my beloved Legolas were to say no, I must warn him that I won’t give up, and I will court him and pester him and charm him until he too will love me enough to forget his duty, and marry his humble Ranger instead that a Royal Prince.” “Oh, Aragorn!” Legolas cried, tears of joy running down his face. Taking both of his beloved’s hands in his, he leaned up and captured his lips in a fierce kiss, immersing his tongue in the Man’s mouth, then reaching up to cradle the back of his head and pressing their bodies flush, burying his fingers in the Man’s hair, pouring all the passion and love he felt in the kiss.
The audience gave a collective sigh of relief. Gollum tried to feed his rings with a baby’s bottle.
Gandalf stopped pulling at his hair, and dusted his tunic off of inexistent dust. He coughed in his hand. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, Aragorn. I take you agree to these terms, Legolas?” the pair kept their kissing, ignoring him, and went on for several minutes, setting a new Record. Then an urgency appeared in their moves that forced Gandalf into action. “I take that too as a ‘yes’!” he blurted out. “Legolas, Aragorn, I declare you Man and –uhm- Elf? No. Uhm… Lawfully wedded…husbands? …partners? Oh, who cares! You’re married now!” He shouted, and fireworks shot out from is staff. Vivid beams of colours, red, green, blue and yellows spiralled up to the sky and exploded in dazzling figures that shivered and glittered as though overwhelmed with joy for the newly married couple.
Aragorn and Legolas walked to the edge of the balcony, still kissing, and the audience below them broke into a joyous cry. They all stood up, clapping, shouting, jumping, tromping their feet, even. The sky was by now but a poll of vivid bright colours melting and meeting and exploding, until suddenly flickering lights began to rain down on them from above. Everywhere the shining little teardrops fell they dissolved into a fresh fragrant mist. And, behold! When the light touched the White Tree of Gondor it trembled and swelled, straightening up. New life rushed through its limbs, silvery leaves were born and grew to shiver in the wind, fragrant crystal flowers opened their petals to show their glowering hearts. The crowd redoubled their cries at such magic. Several people began to dance in circle, with their head thrown back, their arms raised, and lovely songs sprouted from their throats. The King has come! they cried as they danced and clapped and laughed and cried. The Dark times are over! The Valar bless the King and the Prince!
It was the beginning of a new Era, the splendid birth of a new hope. On the terrace, Aragorn and Legolas stood in each other’s arms, smiling and waving at their people, and the happiness and love raising from all around them was like a beam of pure golden light reaching to the sky. They had fought, cried, suffered and bleed, and finally they had it. Happiness, at last.
Hours and hours of merrymaking followed one another. The light in the sky diminished, stars blossomed like fragrant white flowers on the velvet of the night and then gave way to the soft radiance of dawn, and still people laughed and danced on the plaza. Fires had been lighted all around and instruments had been brought to make songs even more lovely, even more powerful. Wine and sweet fruit and warm cakes were still being passed around, and not a door was closed, not a single person was alone.
Then Aragorn leaned over Legolas, as though exhausted, and holding his husband close to him he murmured: “This is bliss as I’d never thought possible. If this is a dream, then I don’t ever want to wake up. Now there’s only one thing we need, to make this absolutely perfect. For us and for them all.” “And what could it be?” replied Legolas with a raised eyebrow. “Heirs,” Aragorn whispered, nibbling along the Elf’s sensitive ear. “Shouldn’t we try, and go working a little on some miniature Aragorns and Legolases?” he asked. Legolas laughed, clear and high, and it was the happiest of the songs bubbling all around them. “Definitely,” he murmured back. And so, even in the middle of the festivities for their wedding, the Royal Couple of Gondor disappeared from view.
The sun rose above, and light spilled over Middle Earth.
Joy to all of us.
THE END.
So… this is it. The end of Radical Dreamers. =) Well what can I say? Just… WOW. When I started working on this fic, I surely did NOT imagine I would fall *so* in love with it, (I’ve been playing with the notion to make an original story out of it and publish it), or that so many people would love it as much as I do. ^_^ I want to thank everyone for your wonderful reviews, your e-mails, and all your support and patience. If this story has been completed at last, it is because of YOU all!!! thanks, people. Really. ^_^
Oh, and I hope you don’t mind if I use this update to write a message to my friend Chris-chan: Precious, I’m sorry if I’m not answering you in a private mail, but I’m *still* offline!! A friend is updating this for me. Did you get any of my e-cards??? Anyhow, they said I might not be back online until December! *sigh* I look forward to our chat sessions! I miss you! Ja, Nems.
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