Chapter Text
The world is deafening. It always is when they're together.
It's not so much that Legolas can truly hear anything. The wind doesn't scream so loud he can't make out anything else, but he can just tell. He feels the sound, if that's what he should call it, deep in his soul. The world's meaning translates somewhere inside him, only for him to know.
Today, it makes its happiness very apparent. It's waiting eagerly. It knows something he doesn't.
The earth has been singing with joy for weeks, ever since Legolas and Aragorn reunited.
It's been almost thirty years since they first met, and twenty years since Aragorn made his way to Legolas's home. He remembers that day more clearly than almost any other.
He remembers the kiss the most. The feeling of his friend's lips on his own, gentle and possessive, like Aragorn wanted to crawl into his skin and stay there. He could feel the pent up love and want Aragorn hid inside him for a decade, and something erupted in Legolas's chest to match such devotion.
Aragorn had to leave the next morning. Legolas's chest ached for days. Clouds resided both in his heart and over his home to the point where even his fellow soldiers got over their fear of him and expressed concern. It took many days after for the sun to shine on Mirkwood again.
He's here with him now, though. Where he's always meant to be.
He's sitting with Aragorn at the edge of a forest, looking over a beautiful meadow just down a small hill. On the other side is the faintest glimmering of a lake, just barely visible.
Aragorn's head is tilted back slightly, his eyes shut and his face calm as he enjoys tranquility. Legolas can't look away.
The sun shines on his face, letting him glow golden in a way many elves would be jealous of. When the wind allows it, the shadows of leaves dance over his skin in the most captivating way. That same wind picks up his hair, braided by Legolas's own hand. He wants to reach out and touch it, but he doesn't want to disturb Aragorn's peace. It warms his heart to know the ranger feels safe enough with him to let his guard down this much. He knows Legolas will protect him with everything he has.
"I can feel your gaze," Aragorn says softly. He cracks his eyes open. "I thought it was your job to be stared at, not mine."
Legolas blushes. "If this is the first time you've noticed my eyes on you, you are a most unobservant ranger indeed."
Aragorn brings his head forward, leaning slightly in Legolas's space. He puts a hand on his chest in mock offense. "Words hurt, my love."
Legolas leans in as well, magnetically, almost unconsciously, his eyes flicking to Aragorn's lips. "And what will you do about it?"
Aragorn grins. He puts a hand on Legolas's chest and pushes him down onto the soft grass. He slings one leg over Legolas's hips, straddling his waist, and bends down to kiss him.
It's not gentle. Not like their first one when Legolas was upside down and falling in love. This time, Aragorn's mouth is hot and demanding against his, kissing him with such fervor Legolas is almost convinced he's trying to consume him.
Legolas kisses back with as much passion and want as one of Aragorn's hands snakes up his torso and over his neck to cup his face. He pulls Legolas impossibly closer, his blunt nails digging into the skin where the corner of his jaw meets his neck, and Legolas sighs into him.
It's perfect. It always is. Their kisses are always sweetened by time apart. Though the feeling of Aragorn's lips on his after months or years without contact is utterly intoxicating, Legolas would much rather be by his side at every moment.
Alas, they have responsibilities.
Aragorn nips at his bottom lip, drawing Legolas from his wandering thoughts. He threads his fingers through his ranger's hair, tilting his head slightly for better access to his mouth.
Aragorn is divine. Something deep within Legolas chimes like wedding bells with every time Aragorn's hands wander over his body.
The breeze picks up, whispering around him.
He is the one, it says to him in a language that doesn't exist. There will never be another.
I know, he thinks back as Aragorn's hand makes its way under his tunic.
Deft fingers run over smooth skin, leaving fire in their wake. They wander as Aragorn kisses down his neck, biting softly at the tender skin. He places a bite over his pulse as his hands roam lower over his stomach, and his hips jerk against Aragorn's.
The contact doesn't last nearly as long as it should, because just as Aragorn pulls away from his neck to start undoing the various clasps on Legolas's clothes, the trees scream danger. Legolas puts a hand on Aragorn's chest, pushing him back and sitting up in alarm.
Aragorn's hand instinctively finds the hilt of his sword where it was discarded only a foot away. "What is it?"
"There's something in the woods," Legolas says.
He stands swiftly, Aragorn following suit. He draws his sword as Legolas nocks an arrow, scanning the trees and the spaces between. He listens intently, but he can hear nothing, not even the scurrying of a squirrel.
"The animals are gone," he says. "They've all fled."
Aragorn swears, crude but warranted. He steps forward cautiously, sword raised and ready. It's not the time, but something swoops deep in Legolas's abdomen.
In love for twenty years at least, but the sight of Aragorn prepared for battle has not yet lost its effect.
They wait and watch, listening for anything out of place. As he searches the dense brush, his gaze starts to narrow. He feels as though the world is caving in around him, drawing him to one particular point.
He's multiple steps forward before he notices he's moved at all. Aragorn puts a strong hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his place. Legolas looks back at him, dazed, the tunnel vision leaving his eyes.
"Careful, my love," Aragorn murmurs.
All is silent. The world doesn't even rush in that place it lives deep inside Legolas's soul. He blinks, still disoriented from his eyes narrowing in. When he opens them, he sees a rush of black shadow and hears the rapid galloping of a horse. Whatever it is dashes between them, knocking Legolas off kilter and Aragorn to the ground.
When he turns, he finds something he's never seen before.
In front of them looms a lone horseman dressed in all black. Under its billowing, tattered cloak is thick metal armor covered in small spikes. It's difficult to find where the being ends and its horse begins, for they are both so lightless as to be cast in an eternal shadow.
Legolas and the mysterious being stare at each other. Its sword is drawn but not raised to strike as Aragorn's is.
Slowly, it approaches them.
Not them.
Aragorn.
Before it can reach him, Legolas steps between them, protective fury rising in him. His bowstring is taught. He is riddled with energy in the face of this being who has its sight set on the one he loves, but his hands do not shake.
"Who are you?" Aragorn asks from behind him.
There is no answer. Legolas isn't even sure if it can speak — he doesn't see a mouth.
It stares at them a moment longer, and the feeling of tunnel vision comes back. It's gone almost as soon, though, because the horseman swiftly turns and takes off in a different direction, riding parallel to the forest.
It's out of sight quickly, and the trees around them are relieved.
"We are safe," Legolas says. He lowers his bow and puts his arrow back in his quiver.
Aragorn comes up beside him, sheathing his sword. He stands close, his shoulder brushing Legolas's in an act of comfort.
"What was that?" he asks.
Legolas tilts his head. The question bounces around in his mind as he tries to think of anything he's ever read or been told about that could match the thing’s description.
Centuries ago, possibly a millennium, his father told him about the kings of old, the ones who belonged to the race of Men.
"They went mad with power," he had said. "The rings gifted to them by Sauron the Deceiver had turned them into something that exists only between this world and the next. They know nothing but the scent of gold long lost."
"My father calls them the Nazgûl," Legolas answers. "Ringwraiths. They chase the One Ring throughout Middle Earth, drawn to its power, but it hasn't been seen since the death of Isildur." He frowns. "Neither have the Nazgûl. I know not why we encountered one."
"Perhaps it smelled my blood," Aragorn says bitterly. He has that grim expression he always gets when reminded of his supposed destiny. "Perhaps it thought I could lead it to the Ring."
He's most likely correct, but Legolas cannot bear to see such a troubled expression on his face. "You will have no more misfortune in finding it as the Ringwraith," he says.
Aragorn hardly looks comforted, but he relaxes ever so slightly.
Legolas grabs his hand. "Come, Estel. We should leave this place. We shall go to the lake across the meadow."
"Your elf eyes can see that, can they?" Aragorn jests, though he hurries to get away from these woods.
Aragorn's steps are off as they cross the meadow, but when Legolas inquires, he assures him that he's simply shaken up by the horseman.
When they're almost at the lake, Aragorn winces when he puts his foot down.
"I'm fine," he says before Legolas can get a word out.
"You may be able to lie to yourself, my love, but never to me," Legolas says.
"May we reach the lake first, then, before you fret?" Aragorn asks.
"I feel as though I could not persuade you to stop no matter how hard I tried."
Aragorn walks with a more noticeable limp in the last stretch to the lake. The sight causes Legolas's chest to ache. Many times have they seen each other injured, but it never gets easier for him. He can't help but grapple with the reality of his love's mortality. It's a heavy weight on his heart, one that has the sun disappearing behind the clouds.
Aragorn knows him too well. "What ails you?"
Legolas shakes his head and smiles softly. "Do not try to turn this on me. You are a stubborn Man, but you forget my millennia of patience."
There's a half ring of trees and bushes along one curve of the lake. He sets Aragorn down against a log and runs his hands over his body. Aragorn stares at him with something heavy behind his eyes, but now is not the time.
Legolas finally finds it, a large tear in Aragorn's pants and a gash on his thigh. It's not too deep, but it isn't shallow either.
"What did this?" he asks.
"The horseman's armor," Aragorn answers, hissing as Legolas pours water over the wound. "It caught me when it rode past."
Legolas rustles around in his bag for a suture needle and thread. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Aragorn says nothing. Legolas threads the needle.
"Estel," he prods.
"I just…" he pauses, "I don't want you to worry."
Legolas's eyes soften. "I'll always worry about you." He brings the needle to his skin. "Ready?"
"As I can be," Aragorn says.
He grits his teeth as Legolas pushes the needle through his skin. Aragorn inhales sharply with every stitch, but he doesn't make a sound. Legolas tries to get it over with quick, but he can only go so fast without hurting Aragorn more.
"Almost done," he murmurs. "You're doing so well, my love."
Aragorn sags in relief when Legolas ties off the last stitch. Legolas presses a water skin to his chest and commands him to drink.
They're quiet as Aragorn all but inhales the water while Legolas wraps the stitches to keep them dry. When he finishes dressing the wound, he looks up to see such pain on his ranger's face.
Legolas puts the aid supplies away and cups Aragorn's face. "You're alright, my love," he says. "I have you."
"You won't one day," Aragorn whispers, leaning into his touch, finally looking Legolas in the eyes. In a broken voice, he continues. "I don't want to leave you alone."
Legolas's heart shatters, but he does everything he can not to show it. Aragorn is hurt, far more than he initially thought. It's not the time to think about his lonesome future.
"Estel, my heart, do not worry about me." He clutches Aragorn's hand in his own. "Do not let the prospect of the future disrupt the joy we can feel in the present."
"In moments like these, I find myself unable to think about anything else," Aragorn admits. "I'm not afraid of death. I am a mortal raised by the elves. It plagues my mind endlessly, but it does not scare me."
"Then what are you afraid of?" Legolas asks.
"What will happen to you." He gently tugs Legolas forward. He maneuvers himself to sit beside Aragorn, who leans against him.
"There are things you haven't told me," Aragorn says. "You refuse to talk about what you will do once I am no longer here. I have seen how much life Elrond lost after the death of his wife. I can't bear to think of how you could end up the same way."
"The price I will pay for loving you will be worth it," Legolas says. "I chose you now, and I will choose you again in the next life."
"But—"
He turns Aragorn's head towards his and kisses him hard.
Mine, he pours into it.
Yours, the world around him promises. Only yours. Forever yours.
When he pulls back, he's met with unshed tears in Aragorn's eyes. "Cherish what we have now," he says. "You are mine, I am yours, and whether you live or die will never change that."
"I love you," Aragorn whispers as Legolas wipes away a falling tear. "More than anything in this world."
"And I love you," Legolas responds. "As you are now and as you will be. I love you more than you can ever know."
Aragorn looks at him reverently. It's not out of place, but there's something else in his gaze. He has the same glint in his eyes religious men do during times of worship.
Every one of Aragorn's stares are filled with such an impossible amount of love and adoration, but this one brings Legolas back twenty years ago, when he told him that meeting him was the best thing that ever happened to him.
"Marry me."
Legolas blinks. "What?"
Aragorn kisses him, slow and soft. "Marry me," he says again when he pulls away. "I was planning on asking soon, but I see your heart break when faced with my mortality, and today is harder for you than any other."
Legolas says nothing for a moment. He filters out Aragorn's worries to focus on only one thing. "You want to marry me?"
"I've been in love with you for thirty years," Aragorn says. "And, by some miracle, you fell in love with me too. I want you to be mine, officially, with a ring on your finger."
He pulls his hands away from Legolas to rummage through a bag on his hip. He pulls out a small, deep blue velvet box, and Legolas's heart stops in his chest.
"I can't get on one knee," Aragorn says, his voice wavering ever so slightly, "but I don't need to for you to know just how in love I am with you."
He opens the box. Inside is a beautiful silver ring with small, emerald-accented leaves surrounding a glistening dark blue sapphire.
"Estel…" He doesn't know what to say.
"Legolas, will you do me the honor of standing by my side the rest of my mortal life?"
"Yes," Legolas breathes, unable to raise is voice any more in the face of Aragorn's love. "Estel, my heart, of course I will."
Aragorn smiles blindingly, all the love in the world radiating from him. He takes the ring out of the box and slips it tenderly onto Legolas's finger.
It fits perfectly.
He stares at the ring on his finger in a dreamlike haze, still grappling with the fact that this is real.
Aragorn wants to marry him.
He suddenly focuses on the sounds around them. The rustling of the leaves, the soft rippling of the lake's water, the birds flying overhead.
It is meant to be, they all say to him. He feels tears well up in his eyes.
A hand cups his face, and he looks up to see Aragorn's kind grey eyes.
"Are you alright, my love?" he asks.
Legolas nods. "I just… find myself in disbelief. I don't know what to say."
Aragorn grins. "Then say nothing."
He leans forward and kisses him, slow and sweet and gentle just like the first one so many years ago. Legolas brings his hand up to cradle Aragorn's head. It snakes to the back of his neck, the cool metal of the ring brushing against his skin. He feels Aragorn's breath hitch against his mouth at the small feeling.
The kiss quickly becomes heated. There's a passion in Aragorn unlike anything Legolas has ever known. Aragorn bites and nips at his lower lip while his hand slides up his thigh to rest on his lower stomach.
Aragorn shifts, pushing Legolas down and positioning himself almost on top of him.
When he tries to straddle his waist, he lets out a pained hiss. Legolas pushes him up and leans him back against the log.
"You're in no state for this right now," he says, checking Aragorn's leg. "It doesn't seem like you tore your stitches."
"I'm—"
"Don't say you're fine."
Aragorn gives him a stubborn glare, but Legolas has been alive for a very long time and dealt with much worse. While he normally folds to whatever his ranger wants, he takes no chances when it comes to his health.
Legolas stares back at him, giving as good as he gets.
They stay like that for a while. He's fairly certain Aragorn has started admiring his eyes under the pretense of determination.
Finally, he relents.
"As you wish," Aragorn sighs.
"Good," Legolas says as he unclasps his traveling cloak. "You should rest."
Aragorn looks up to the sun high in the sky. "It's only afternoon."
Legolas balls up his cloak into something that could pass as a pillow. "And don't think I can't see how the encounter with the Ringwraith has drained you."
He lays his makeshift cushion down and looks pointedly between it and Aragorn. Aragorn, who has always been hopeless to deny Legolas anything, obediently lies down. He relaxes visibly, his eyes closing almost as soon as his head hits the soft fabric.
Legolas idly runs his fingers through Aragorn's hair and hums a soft melody from his childhood. His love is out almost instantly, his chest rising and falling in measured increments.
He climbs to the top of the tallest tree in the area. Granted, it's not that high, but he's okay with that. It means he can keep an eye on Aragorn better.
The Man is asleep far below him and has been for multiple hours. He's so deep in his dreams Legolas managed to slip away.
Perhaps he had something to do with it. He's been told his songs have an odd effect on a person, but he doesn't know the extent.
It's of no matter. He's up here now.
He shed most of his outer clothes, leaving him in a simple navy tunic and pants, but the chill of the high up breeze doesn't touch him.
His hair flows in the wind as he fidgets with the ring in his finger. His heart skips a beat every time he looks at it.
He always knew Aragorn was madly in love with him, borderline obsessed (though Legolas can't say he's unopposed to it — he feels quite similar himself), but to have his ring on his finger? To know that he wants their love to be broadcast to the world?
It's consuming.
It should be such a happy occasion, but Legolas can't help but think of Aragorn's death. Because he will die one day, and Legolas doesn't know how he's supposed to live on after.
He's been thinking about it constantly for just over a decade, when he finally realized Aragorn wouldn't stop loving him, that he was Legolas's to keep, when Aragorn came by Mirkwood on an errand for Elrond and looked at Legolas like he hung the sun and the moon.
Legolas doesn't cry easily, but that night he sobbed in his fathers arms, asking him for the first time in his unending life how he dealt with losing his mother. Thranduil had no answer. Not one but the confession that it was almost the death of him.
If Legolas's infinite love for Aragorn will kill him, he wants to be the one to choose exactly how he'll go.
I'm sorry Ada.
"I wish to be mortal," he whispers to the sinking sun.
According to literature, an elf knows they succeed in giving their mortality with something described as a chime in their heart. Legolas feels nothing of the sort. There isn't so much as a whisper of assent from the wind.
"Please," he begs, his voice cracking with a broken sob. "I don't want to live without him. I can't."
He starts to hear a whistling, and thinks for the briefest moment that the universe listened to his pleas. It doesn't sound like a chime in his heart, though. No, it sounds like roaring wind wanting to take him away. It rushes past him, louder than anything he's ever heard, surrounding him but not moving him. He hardly has time to put his hands over his sensitive ears to block out some of the noise when it harshly stops.
For a moment, the world is silent.
Not quiet. Utterly, properly silent.
There are no birds, no leaves, no distant sounds. He can't even hear the sound of Aragorn's steady breaths, something he is constantly attuned to.
"What is this?" he wonders aloud.
Look into the sun, something deep within him commands.
He does as he's told. Never before has the sunlight damaged his eyes — his kind is made from the stars. It will not hurt him. He looks into the blinding white light and feels the world disappear around him.
You are ours, the sun says to him. We will not give you up.
"I can't live in a world without Estel," he says.
You will not.
"Then let me be mortal," he pleas. "Allow me to live and die with the love of my life."
We cannot.
"Why?" he asks, his voice breaking over the single syllable.
You are ours, the sun repeats. And he is yours. Forever.
He's cut off from the light by the sun disappearing behind the horizon. He hadn't realized it was so late. He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at them, trying to rid them of the stinging sensation that appeared when night fell.
He climbs back down the tree, descending swiftly and silently, filled with bittersweet thoughts. The world loves him, that much is evident. He's eternally grateful for this more profound connection with everything the universe is made of, but it will mean nothing once Aragorn is gone.
But, the world sounded hopeful. That much cannot be denied. He felt the anticipation of something great to come when he looked into the sun, but he doesn't yet know what it will be.
He lies next to Aragorn when he reaches the ground. He looks so peaceful, and Legolas doesn't want to disturb him, but he needs to calm the worrying in his heart. He gently brushes Aragorn's hair off his neck and puts two fingers over his pulse. It beats steadily, and Legolas lets out a soft sigh in relief.
He lightly runs his fingers through Aragorn's hair, desperate to have him solid under his hand.
A strand gets caught on his ring, and Aragorn cracks his eyes open. He looks intently at Legolas, studying his face without saying a thing. He meets Legolas's eyes and holds them. Where there is usually unchallenged adoration in his gaze, there is also a hint of perplexity.
"There are stars in your eyes," he murmurs, voice rough from sleep. And not enough, clearly. Legolas sees sleep try to take him once again.
He huffs out a laugh, trying not to let Aragorn sense the melancholy in his heart. "You're too kind, my love." He shifts closer too him, minding his leg, and wraps an arm around his waist. "Go back to sleep, Estel. I will be here when you wake."
Aragorn grumbles something incoherent, nestling closer to Legolas and falling back asleep. Legolas holds him throughout the night, not willing to let him go for even a moment. He focuses solely on the sound of his breathing and his warmth against his body. Letting his mind wander now could be a dangerous thing.
He still doesn't know what to do, but he decides, just for the night, to take his own advice to Aragorn and live in the moment. He'll worry about the future another day. For now, he has the love of his life (his fiancé) in his arms, and he knows this is where he's meant to be.