Work Text:
Searching for an Elf and a Dwarf amidst a sea of Men should have proved a relatively simple task – like finding shining goblet in a haystack, or perhaps more aptly a fine bow and a mithril shirt. But even with the fighting ended, the chaos of war had not yet left the Dagorlad, even if it had now shifted to the frantic tending of the wounded, where there were on occasion even fewer seconds to spare than in the heat of battle
Aragorn knew they lived, at least, which was a mercy. Somehow, against all odds, all their party that had ridden to the Black Gate and even the two who had ventured beyond had lived. But he had not seen them since last he spied Gimli hefting his axe into the middle of a foe that had nearly crept up on Legolas, who had been running low on arrows, and it left him uneasy. Hearing the Elf and Dwarf had been the ones to bring poor Pippin to the healers’ tents – where he remained for now, though having seen to the hobbit himself, Aragorn was hopeful enough he would recover quickly, and be back to plaguing them all with his incessant questions – had been heartening, banishing some of the images his brain had conjured of one or both of them fallen somewhere out on the battlefield, mangled beyond the point even he could heal. But neither was he so foolish to assume that meant they were safe, too well-versed in the sort of wounds that could, in lingering or festering slowly, bring down even the warrior who had defeated every other foe.
He had begun his search for them in earnest nearly an hour prior, but it had been countless more since the fighting had ended – hours in which his healer’s hands had been kept busy, a task he was glad to aid with, but which had not helped his mounting anxiety over the safety of those he held dearest. But none could tell him where the pair had gone, once they had retired from scouring the battlefield for the last of the still-living. It was almost as though they had vanished.
Steeling himself against the risk of disappointment as he pulled aside the door to another tent, he instead breathed in relief when he spotted the two figures resting within, Gimli nearly in the lap of his companion, arms draped over the Elf even as he slept. Legolas’ bright eyes met his own as he entered, a tiredness to them that made the Elf look almost his true age for once but that could still not wholly mute his delight.
“Aragorn!” he cried out. “You have escaped being pulled in all directions, I see!”
“For a time,” he said with a chuckle, moving to take a seat on the ground near his friends. “I am sure it will resume soon enough. I hear kings have little in the way of undemanded hours.”
Something strange flitted across Legolas’ face, as though Aragorn’s words had cast some shadow across his mood.
“I hope I must only take your word for it,” the Elf said eventually.
“You are worrying for your father,” he deduced.
Legolas was silent.
“I am sure there will be word from Mirkwood soon enough,” Aragorn said. “Has he been on your mind a great deal these past few days?”
“Oh,” Legolas said. “A great many things have been. I have hardly had the chance to think what think might look like after… after…”
“...after the war,” Aragorn finished.
“I cannot believe it is really done,” said Legolas. “I wonder if the trees back home shall finally grow green again. I have never seen them green. I should like to.”
“Ironic, considering,” Aragorn said with a wry smile.
Legolas laughed. “Were you not called ‘Estel’ when you were younger? Our peoples are not always so different.”
They were silent a moment, the only sound in the tent that of Gimli’s heavy breathing, the dwarf still sound asleep. Aragorn could hardly fault him – he felt in need of a great deel of sleep himself – though it was still funny to see the way he clung to Legolas even in his slumber.
“I have no idea what I will say to him,” Legolas said eventually.
“Hm?”
“My father,” he clarified. “If he is well. He will be glad to see me, I have no doubt. But it will be a bit awkward to explain all that has changed.”
“Do you mean your brush with the Sea?” Aragorn said.
“Oh, yes, there is that,” Legolas said, sounding as though it had not truly been what weighed on his mind. “But I meant about Gimli.”
“What do you mean?” Aragorn asked. It was not hard, of course, to remember the early days of the Quest, when the two had bickered to such a great extent. But Legolas sounded as though he spoke of something greater than simply the animosity of the Elves and Dwarves.
Frowning, Legolas began to pick at a stray thread on the sleeve of Gimli’s tunic.
“We are… we have agreed to travel together, for a time. And I think I will not like to be parted from him long, even after. It is… I have not felt..”
He trailed off, and Aragorn raised an eyebrow. The closeness of the pair was plain to all who knew them, of course, but they had spoken little of the exact nature of it.
“Are you…?”
Legolas flicked one of his ears. “I am holding on to him and not letting go. That is all. I am not sure I can describe it better than that.”
He laughed. “Well I intend to hold onto you both as well, for what it may be worth.”
“And here I was worried,” Legolas said, laughing in return.
Something of the stress of the day – of the week, of the months prior – must have spilled over, for soon the two of them were laughing together, great mirthful heaves that eventually wakened the last of the trio. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Gimli fixed them with a wry expression.
“I see Aragorn has found us,” he said. “I thought I told you to wake me.”
“You were so tired!” Legolas protested. “And I am never certain how much sleep you mortals need. It is strange to me.”
“How do the others fare, Aragorn?” Gimli asked. “Have you tended to the Elf yet?”
“You are hurt?” he asked, looking towards Legolas in alarm.
“It is not so bad,” he said. “A few broken ribs. I thought to seek advice on them later, knowing the healers would have many more wounded than I to see first. I am not so fragile as a Man.”
“I wish you had told me all the same,” said Aragorn. “Will you let me have a look?”
“Yes, let him have a look,” said Gimli, “Or I shall sit on you until you do. What were you talking about instead?”
Aragorn and Legolas exchanged glances, and he was amused to note the Elf had a warning look in his eye. The three of them had always been quite free in expressing their love for one another, so it was not that. But perhaps Legolas wished to explain about the other complication in his own time.
“The future,” was all he said.
What a strange and wonderful thing to have, now, a future. And what strange and wonderful companions to share it with.