Chapter Text
Darkness, and the sound of rain.
The room was cool and dank as a grave. One candle, perched on the nightstand, bravely fought the ink of the air with everything in its little heart, but its light did not make it any further than the bedpost.
The door opened, and light filled the room. A quiet rustle came from the bed, bedecked in furs and velvet. Something stirred and in the process made itself recognizable as a robed and hooded figure. A soft hum broke the lifelessness, brittle.
“... Legolas, mellon-nin?” Aragorn’s low voice rumbled through the room. “Are you here?”
“... My lord.” His voice came, a low rasp. “What is your desire? Your wants are mine.”
“Please, let go of the formalities.” He sat down on the bed, giving Legolas a pat on the shoulder. “Now, where have you been all day? It was a terrible time making decisions without my chief advisor.”
Legolas was silent for a moment. “... Here, my lord.”
“Are you injured?”
“... Only in my heart,” he murmured.
“And who has injured your heart, pray tell?”
“... I have not the heart to tell you.”
“Your heart has strength to brood but not to speak?”
“Hearts brood more easily than they air their pain.”
Aragorn was silent for a few beats. “... How was your return from the Greenwood? You went to see your compatriots, you said. Were they proud of you?”
“... My compatriots were quite enthralled by my tales,” Legolas said dully. “They loved hearing of the Hobbits most of all; they have not known hide nor hair of the Shire-folk since Bilbo Baggins stumbled into our realm seventy years ago.”
“Wonderful. It is always nice to see old friends and family, is it not?”
“Tis,” murmured Legolas without emotion.
There was a long, long silence. Finally, Aragorn spoke. “... It pains me to see you so disheartened, mellon-nin.”
“... I cannot help it.”
Aragorn studied him, a prone, listless form on the bed. “... Come. I will give you a proper embrace, in the style of Men. If you will not unburden your soul to me, that is all I can do to hearten you.”
Legolas sat up, flopping against Aragorn, burying his face into the shoulder of Aragorn’s robes. Aragorn patted his back. Legolas smelled nice, like honeysuckle.
It was a long time before Legolas pulled away.
“... Thank you,” he whispered.
Aragorn only smiled. “Sometimes the best healing is a kind word and gentle touch, you know. Do not feel shame.”
Legolas was silent. “... But he who matters most is ashamed of me.”
“... Who is ashamed of you?”
Legolas didn’t respond for one breath. Three. “... My… my lo--my father. He is not proud that I am cavorting with… ‘tis Gimli. He does not approve of my friendship with Gimli. He got angry and.. he told me that… I was stupid and I had… I had disgraced my line. He called me a disgrace to the Sindar.” He sniffled. “I know it is downright gentle compared to what some people say to their children, but he had never said anything that sharp to me before, and… and it hurt.”
Aragorn stood up, extending a strong, regal hand. “You poor thing. Come, let us get you a good meal and some drink. Everything hurts more when you are hungry and thirsty.”
Legolas visibly relaxed. “... May I have another hug first?”
“Always.” They embraced again, Legolas melting against Aragorn’s chest like a homecoming.
As they left the crypt-like room, Legolas murmured, “... You are my home, you know that? You and Gimli. My heart belongs here, with you and Arwen and Gimli. No longer does it belong in the Greenwood.”
“... You are my family too, Legolas,” Aragorn finally replied. “Although my home is the world; its floor, the earth beneath me, its ceiling, the firmaments of heaven above. I do not belong to any one person. I have not belonged to anyone since I was told of my destiny. My fate is to belong to the world, not to you or Gimli or even to Arwen.”
“Stop being hard to love.” Legolas poked him. “You’re mine and Arwen’s and Gimli’s and the Hobbits’ and Faramir’s and Eowyn’s and Elrond’s and Elladan’s and Elrohir’s and…”
“I believe I understand,” Aragorn said dryly. “Although, I am glad you are more heartened now.”
“A bit. Does the offer of food and wine still stand?”
“That, mellon-nin, is an offer that will stand as long as both of us are alive and hale.”