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The stream behind camp spread into a quiet pool where the bank widened and the current slowed. Rocks ringed the edge in a rough circle. Alder roots pushed into the water and made a low tangle near the far side. The Rangers had filled skins there at dusk. No one had gone back since. The main fire burned low. Soft talk faded as men settled. Legolas finished his round and returned to the edge of camp, eyes running from the lines of the tents to the dark band of the trees and back again, keeping a private count of what lay where.
He told himself it was routine, just a final check before settling. But he lingered too long at the tree line, unease prickling beneath his ribs. Something in the quiet felt stretched, as if the camp held its breath, and he could not name why.
Aragorn stood apart with his cloak around his was a tightness to him that hadn't eased in days. The weight in his chest sat heavy andno matter how many times he told himself to breathe through it.
He listened to the pool more than the camp. The sound held steady, quiet on the surface and hidden underneath. He tried to match his breath to it and could not. The errand to the fire had done nothing. The brief talk with Halbarad had done nothing. The routine check of gear had done nothing. Something inside him would not twisted low in his chest, too old to be panic, too quiet to be called fear, and yet it kept him from stillness. The thoughts that pressed at him had no name, only shape, a growing tangle that he could neither hold nor leave behind.
He set his cup near the coals and turned toward the water as if the path had already been chosen long before he took a felt fear start low and quick. He could not call it anything had seen Aragorn quiet before, even brooding, but this was not brooding. This was stillness turned inward, like watching someone step too close to an edge with eyes closed.
Legolas watched him go. There was purpose in the way Aragorn moved, but there was a shut quality to his shoulders that did not belong to a simple walk for a drink. Legolas gave him a span of heartbeats to see whether he would stop at the edge and pause, and when Aragorn did not, he followed. He kept the distance that would not draw a question from sleeping men, his tread light on the needles and the thin crust of frost at the margin of camp.
The pool's surface lay dark and smooth. A low film of mist hung above it like breath caught in cold air. The shallows near the camp side were gravel that gave easy footing. Farther out, silt covered the bottom in a thin layer that rose with any disturbance and drifted away. In the center the bed dipped, enough that water would rise to the chest of a tall man. On the far edge the alder roots reached up in knotted shapes that broke the surface in two places. A flat stone sat among those roots, submerged, its top pale where small eddies had scoured away the sand.
Aragorn stepped down to the gravel and stopped long enough to shrug off his cloak. He set it over a low branch. He rolled his sleeves to the elbow. He left boots and trousers on. Cold air slid up through the cloth at his shins and drew a small tremor from the skin beneath. He pulled a breath through his nose and let it out slowly. He glanced once toward the glow of the camp and then stepped in as if a promise had been made and need not be spoken.
Water closed over his ankles with a bite that shocked and steadied at once. He kept going, careful where he set his feet, testing before he shifted weight to the next of him expected the cold to jar his thoughts back into order. But even as his muscles tensed and his skin burned from the chill, the silence inside him only deepened. It felt almost welcome.
Numbness crept up his calves. It reached his knees and climbed along his thighs in a thin band that made the muscles tighten. He did not pause. The gravel gave way to the smooth lip of the central dip, and the water rose to his waist. He stood there for a count that he did not finish. He drew one long breath. He bent his knees and let his body drop.
The surface slid over his chest, his mouth, his eyes. Cold took him whole. His ribs tightened. His throat answered with a first bright stab that asked for air. He quieted that request. His boots settled on stone with a faint scrape.
Firelight from camp reached down in wavering threads, brown and green in the churn of silt that lifted in small puffs and thinned. He kept his eyes open, but what he saw did not matter. Part of him expected the cold to jar his thoughts back into order. But even as his muscles tensed and his skin burned from the chill, the silence inside him only deepened. It felt almost welcome. Sound narrowed to the thrum in his ears. He let himself sink into that small sound.
He kept his arms loose at his sides. He let his head tip back and looked at the broken oval of light above. The ache in his chest sharpened from a tug to a pull that burned along his throat and behind his breastbone. He did not answer it. He pressed his heels lightly to the stone so that his body stayed where it had settled, and he fixed on the thought that the silence down here did not ask questions.
On the bank, Legolas reached the edge and stopped. He counted a short span while he watched for a head to break the surface. No ripple came. The dark sheet held its line. The mist shifted and then lay still again.
He felt fear rise fast. The still surface told him Aragorn was not coming up. His mouth went dry. Waiting any longer felt wrong and left him ashamed. He pictured hauling a silent body into the firelight and his chest tightened. He stepped forward until the water reached his shins. Cold cut into him through the leather. He stepped again, and again, until the gravel ended. He pulled a breath deep into his lungs, pushed off with both feet, and drove his body flat to the surface with a clean stroke that sent him out over the darker center.
The water took his heat at once. He fell into long, evenstrokeswith arms and legs, eyes on the dim shape below as it gathered form in the murk. The drop met him. He filled his lungs, tipped forward at the hips, and dove. Sound from camp vanished. The world folded into pressure and a blurred green-brown haze pierced by pale flecks where light fell through the skin of the pool. He kicked down through silt that lifted and drifted past his face, angling toward Aragorn's shoulders and the line of his head.
Aragorn stood on the submerged stone. His arms hung at his sides. His hair moved with the slow swirl of water that pooled here before the stream slid on. His face tilted slightly upward but not enough for air. Legolas reached him in a handful of strokes and caught his upper arm with one hand. The other hand slid under his chest, fingers finding the seam of cloth at the rib. Aragorn did not fight him. He did not help him. His body had that loose steadiness of a person who had made a choice and would not change it.
Legolas tightened his grip, gathered Aragorn against him, and kicked hard for the surface. Cloth dragged at them, water pulling at sleeves and trousers. Legolas set his jaw and held the pace. The oval of light widened. He drove the last span with a final burst from hips and shoulders. The surface broke around them in a flat slap that stung skin and gave air. Aragorn coughed once and drew water into his mouth with it. Legolas turned his face sideways, lifted his chin, and held him high while he pulled in a breath and then another.
They were still in the deep bowl. Legolas shifted his hold so that Aragorn's arm lay across his shoulders, hand hooked by collarbone. He angled them toward the gravel shelf. He kicked and pulled, letting the small current help without giving it control. The fetch felt long because the cloth on both bodies held water and dragged, but the grip did not fail. The hiss of the bank reached them first, then the scrape of a boot against a stone, then the sudden change when feet found something that did not give.
Legolas set Aragorn upright as soon as the water shallowed enough to let him stand. The set of Aragorn's knees wavered. Legolas reached under his near arm and steadied him without a word, then walked him forward step by step until their boots ground against pebbles that did not shift. The cold felt harsher in open air. Water ran from hair and sleeves in steady lines. Skin flushed with the return of blood that had fled from the pool's bite.
"Sit," Legolas said, and he guided Aragorn down onto a flat rock near the edge. He crouched in front of him and slid one hand under Aragorn's chin to lift his face toward the camp light. The pupils narrowed to the change, not too slow and not too fast. The color at the edges of his lips was better than it had been at the first breath. A tremor worked along his fingers when he lowered his hand to his knee. A thin scrape showed across two knuckles where skin had found rough stone below.
Aragorn pulled air into his lungs in slow, stubborn draws and let it go the same way. His gaze moved past Legolas to the pool. The water had smoothed itself again. The mist lay almost flat. No swirl marked the place where he had gone down. No force waited there for an unwary foot. The danger had been the stillness and the choice to remain inside it. The knowledge of that pressed in more than the cold.
He looked back at Legolas. The elf's hair hung in wet strands against his temples. Droplets clung to lashes and fell away. His eyes were steady. Nothing in his face invited excuses. Nothing offered judgment either. The space between them was small and exact, filled with the sound of water dripping from cloth and the soft, steady whisper of the stream where it narrowed above the pool.
Legolas took Aragorn's wrist and felt for the pulse with two fingers. He watched the line of his breathing and the set of his shoulders. He looked again at the scrape on the knuckles and at the pale edges of the mouth that were deepening to a healthier color. He let Aragorn's wrist go and rested his hand on his forearm long enough to be sure the tremor was easing.
Aragorn dragged a palm over his face and left it there for a moment. The skin under his hand was too cold and too hot at once. He could not find a name for what had driven him under except that it had asked for quiet and for an end to choosing what to feel. He lowered his hand and pushed wet hair back with the heel of his palm. He kept his eyes on Legolas because the pool behind him had already offered too much stillness.
"This pool is not for tests," Legolas said.
Aragorn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It was a test of a kind," he said.
"It was foolish," Legolas said. He reached for Aragorn's boot. "Give me the left."
Aragorn balked. "I can manage."
Legolas did not argue. He took the heel and pulled it off with a clean tug while Aragorn worked the right boot himself. Water poured onto the gravel. Legolas set the left boot upside down on the rock to drain. He took Aragorn's wet sleeve and wrung it once. Then, instead of rising, he touched Aragorn's arm and motioned for him to sit back on the rock ledge. "Not yet," he said quietly. "You are still soaked through like a river stone."
He worked methodically, not because he felt calm, but because the routine steadied his hands. If he stopped to think, if he let himself dwell on how close this had come to ending differently, he didn't trust what would come next.
Aragorn lowered himself back down, though stiffly. His legs trembled from the cold, and the stone pressed hard through the damp fabric. Legolas crossed to the branch, took up Aragorn's cloak, and set it on the rock nearby.
"Your tunic is soaked through," Legolas said, frowning at the clinging fabric. He did not wait for permission. His hands went to the edge of Aragorn's collar, pushing it loose. Aragorn grumbled under his breath but did not resist when Legolas peeled the garment over his head, tugging the sleeves past his arms with practiced ease. The tunic clung, reluctant to come free, but Legolas managed it, wringing it hard until water streamed from the hem onto the gravel. He gave Aragorn a second look, sharp but not cruel. "It is far too be cold out here to be so wet."
Aragorn shivered, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His skin goose-pimpled instantly under the cold. He drew his knees up, rubbing his arms once. "Do not fuss," he muttered, though the sound was weak.
Legolas ignored that. He crouched, stripping his own outer tunic and shaking it out, squeezing the water from its edges. Though less soaked than Aragorn, he had not come away dry either.
When he had done what he could, he helped Aragorn put histunic back on, then took upthe cloak and swung it firmly back around Aragorn's shoulders, tucking it close. The thick wool sagged with damp, but it trapped some measure of warmth. Legolas adjusted the clasp at Aragorn's neck, then rested a hand against his arm. "Better."
Aragorn gave a small nod, lips pressed tight, too chilled to argue further.
When Legolas was certain Aragorn would not slip or faint, he gathered the boots and gestured for him to rise. They left the pool behind, the stream's rush fading into the night air. Needles broke underfoot as they climbed the small rise toward camp. The orange glow of the coals spread wider between the trees with every step.
They reached the ring of tents where the fire burned low. A kettle clicked as it shifted in the embers. One of the men snored softly from a nearby bedroll, otherwise undisturbed. Legolas guided Aragorn to the far side of the fire and pressed him down to needed to see him in the firelight. Needed proof that he was still there, still breathing. The image of the still water hadn't faded yet, and he wasn't sure it ever would.
Aragorn lowered himself stiffly, boots set aside, cloak still clutched close around him. His damp hair clung flat to his temples, dripping occasionally onto the wool. He stretched his hands toward the heat, flexing his fingers slowly until the fire's warmth began to sting life back into them.
Legolas sat near him, silent for a long moment. The glow touched his sharp features, his eyes fixed on Aragorn with a steadiness that felt heavier than words. Finally, he asked, "Why?" The word was simple. It carried every other question behind it.
Aragorn said nothing at first. He kept his gaze on the fire, shoulders hunched, cloak closed tight around him. His jaw set, lips pressed into a thin line.
Legolas waited. He did not fill the silence. He only watched.
"I wanted the quiet," Aragorn said at last.
"The quiet that comes when you stop breathing," Legolas said. He spoke it without bite. It landed all the same.
Aragorn's mouth tightened. "I know what I did."
"You know you did it," Legolas said. "Do you know why you picked this instead of walking back to the fire and telling me you could not find your center?"
Aragorn shifted, uncomfortable, his hands flexing against the rough wool of his cloak. He reached down, pulled his boots into his lap, and ran a hand over the leather as though the simple task might excuse him from answering. He stood finally, boots under one arm, then set them back down by the fire before pulling his cloak tighter. "It is finished," he muttered. "No need to drag words over it."
Legolas rose too, stepping beside him but not reaching out. His eyes flicked toward the coals, then back to Aragorn. "This only risked you. Do not tell yourself that makes it better. It makes it worse. If you had stayed down one breath longer, I would have walked into the pool and found a body at arm's length. I know that pool. I found you anyway."
Aragorn's shoulders drew in, cloak creaking as he clutched it. He let out a long breath, nearly a sigh. "You would have found me sooner or later." The words came low, without conviction.
Legolas did not look away. "Not later. Now. I will never again findyou in water for reasons you refuse to name. That ends tonight."
Aragorn turned toward him fully, his face drawn, hair plastered wet to his skin. For a moment he looked like a man who had been pulled out of his own skin and did not know how to stand in it. "You are set on this," he said.
"Yes," Legolas said.
Aragorn glanced around camp, eyes on the tents and the sleepers within, then back to the fire. He swallowed, then tipped his head slightly, tight and short. "Away from camp," he said.
"Now," Legolas answered.
Aragorn did not protest. He pulled the cloak tighter and stepped into the trees, wet hem dragging.
"I chose the trees to spare your dignity," Legolas said without slowing. "Do not make me reconsider."
The clearing Legolas chose lay only a short way beyond, where a fallen trunk waited, the ground dry and a stream's hum close. Aragorn faced him. His eyes held stubborn light though his hands trembled faintly.
Legolas stopped at the log and turned. "Stand there."
Aragorn obeyed, straightening after. His shoulders were square though his skin still carried the chill. He pulled the cloak tight once more, steadying himself. He looked at Legolas, waiting.
Aragorn's feet had hit the bank harder than he intended earlier, and he remembered it now, the near-slip, the sting of cold water dragging at him. His hair still clung to his cheeks, droplets running down his neck. He was still pale, still shivering, though he tried to hide it.
Legolas studied him. "Do you feel better now?" he asked finally. The words were even, but Aragorn heard the edge beneath them.
Aragorn didn't answer. He tugged his cloak tighter, but the wet wool offered little comfort. His jaw clenched. "It's done," he muttered. "No harm came of it."
Legolas stepped closer, expression hard. "No harm?" His eyes flicked back to Aragorn's face, steady. "You are shivering, your skin is pale, and you nearly lost your footing in the water. Tell me again there was no harm."
Aragorn shifted his grip on the cloak, unwilling to let it go. "I said I'm fine."
Legolas's brow lifted slightly, and there was a pause long enough for Aragorn to wish he'd chosen his words differently. ThenLegolas said dryly, "Perhaps I should warm you up, since you so clearly needed it."
Aragorn's head came up at that, his eyes narrowing. "That isn't funny."
"I am not laughing," Legolas replied without a change in his expression. "But you will tell me what you were thinking, and why you believed this was worth it."
Aragorn glanced away, scanning the treeline as if the answer might be hidden there. "I don't need a lecture," he said under his breath.
"What you need is to understand that your choices have consequences," Legolas said stepping close enough now that Aragorn could feel the faint heat from him against his own chilled skin. "And if speaking will not reach you, then there are other ways."
Aragorn's grip tightened around the cloak in his hand. "I am not a boy for you to scold."
Legolas stepped forward and reached for the clasp at Aragorn's throat. The man stiffened, but he didn't pull away as the elf's fingers undid the fastening. The cloak slipped from his shoulders with a heavy sag of damp wool. Legolas caught it before it could fall and draped it neatly over a nearby branch, his eyes never leaving Aragorn's face. "You won't need this," he said simply.
Legolas's gaze held steady, his voice still calm. "I have known you since you were a child, Estel. That does not change the truth before me now."There had been years of this. Years of stepping in when Aragorn wouldn't name what pressed on him. The shape of it had changed over time, but the pattern was familiar. Legolas hadn't stopped before, and he wasn't about to now.
The faint sting in Aragorn's pride flared hotter than the cold in his bones. "I don't need you to..."
"You need to stop before you take your stubbornness too far," Legolas cut in, his patience thinning. He reached for Aragorn's forearm, fingers curling firmly around the damp sleeve. "And since you appear unwilling to do that yourself, I will help you."
Aragorn tried to pull back, the movement hindered by the drag of his wet clothes. "Legolas..."
"You can make this harder if you like," Legolas said evenly. "I am not letting this go."He'd seen this mood before. Stubborn silence wrapped around something festering. The signs were clear, and always dangerous when left alone. Legolas had dealt with it before, and he would again, as many times as it took.
The quiet finality in that made Aragorn's stomach tighten. He knew exactly where this was heading, and every instinct pushed him to resist it. He drew back again, testing the elf's grip, but Legolas's hold didn't waver.
Aragorn's free hand came up, gripping Legolas's wrist. "Let go," he said, low and warning, though his voice lacked the steadiness he wanted it to have.
Legolas's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't answer. He shifted closer, keeping Aragorn in place so the two stood facing one angled his stance so that Aragorn's attempt to pull away met with steady resistance. The grip on his arm wasn't crushing, but it was firm enough to keep him rooted in place.
"This is unnecessary," Aragorn tried again, drawing himself up despite the cold water pulling at his shoulders and the ache beginning in his fingers. "You're making too much of this."
"You made too much of it," Legolas said without raising his voice. "You turned a harmless moment into a danger for no reason worth speaking of. And you will explain it to me, one way or another."
"I already said..."
"I do not accept that answer," Legolas cut in, his patience thinning. "Do you imagine I will stand aside and let you throw yourself into whatever folly you choose? That I will look the other way?"
Aragorn's jaw tightened. "It's my choice..."
"Not when your life is tied to others who depend on you," Legolas said, stepping closer still. His height and set stance made it clear that, wet and chilled or not, Aragorn was not walking away without a reckoning.
Aragorn set his jaw, eyes locked on Legolas's, and twisted hard to break free. For a heartbeat, his sleeve slipped under the elf's grip, but before he could take a step back, Legolas's other hand caught his shoulder and spun him sideways.
The sudden turn threw him off balance. His feet sank slightly in the wet earth, and Legolas used the moment to step behind him, bracing one arm across Aragorn's chest while keeping the other hooked around his forearm.
"Let...go..." Aragorn pushed against him, but the elf's hold tightened. The wet fabric clung to his body, making his movements sluggish, and Legolas's grip had the unmistakable steadiness of someone who had done this before, and had no intention of letting it go unfinished.
"I am trying to be patient," Legolas said close to his ear, his breath warm against skin that was still cold from the water. "Do not test how far that patience goes."
Aragorn jerked against the arm across his chest. "You think you can just manhandle me..."
"I know I can," Legolas said he would. If Aragorn needed that reminder planted across his backside to break whatever hold the silence had on him, Legolas would see to it, thoroughly, properly, and without apology.
The bluntness of it made Aragorn bristle. He planted his feet, twisting hard to break free, but Legolas shifted smoothly with him, using his momentum to half-turn him until his back was pressed against the elf's side. The hold tightened, and before Aragorn could struggle again, Legolas bent close, his lips near his ear.
"If you push me further, I'll put you over my knee right here where they can see. Come with me now and I'll spare you that." He said low and steady.
Aragorn's breath caught, his pride flaring. "You wouldn't—"
"I would," Legolas cut in without a flicker of doubt.
For a long beat, neither of them moved. Aragorn's pulse hammered in his ears, shame and anger sparking at the thought of being dragged or worse, punished, where the Rangers could see. The chill of the water still clung to his skin, but the burn of humiliation pressed harder.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," he forced out at last.
Legolas's grip shifted, the motion fluid, and he stepped forward with force. The pull nearly toppled Aragorn, leaving him no choice but to stumble along with it.
"Walk," Legolas ordered, his hand tightening until the threat in his words was unmistakable.
Aragorn's muscles locked, his jaw set. "No."
The elf exhaled once through his nose, then shifted his grip. His hand slid from Aragorn's wrist to clamp around his upper arm, fingers digging hard enough that escape was impossible. With a sharp tug, he yanked him upright and angled his body forward, forcing Aragorn to stumble a step on the cold ground.
Aragorn muttered a curse, his bare feet scraping against the damp earth. "Legolas…"
"You had your chance to walk," Legolas said, driving him ahead with steady pressure. "Now you will go where I choose, and you will not break away until this is settled."
Aragorn twisted, trying to wrench free, but the elf's strength locked him in place. The hold across his arm and shoulder left him with no leverage, only the humiliation of being pushed forward like a prisoner.
"Let me go," Aragorn hissed, though the words rang hollow as Legolas forced another step out of him.
"You will be released when I decide it," Legolas said without slowing, his grip tightening with each attempt Aragorn made to adjusted his grip automatically, keeping Aragorn off balance just enough to remind him who was guiding this. Legolas had corrected him before and would do so again until something finally broke through.
The sound of the Rangers dulled behind them as the firelight faded. Damp grass and cool earth clung to Aragorn's feet, each step a reminder of how little ground he could hold. Legolas kept him marching toward the deeper dark under the trees, his hand firmon his arm.
He didn't want to be rough, but there was no space left for gentleness. Everything in him still throbbed with the fear of what almost happened. Every time he looked at the man's face, still pale and cold, he saw how close it had been. He needed the space as much as Aragorn did, because the tightness in his chest hadn't let go. The anger riding behind his actions wasn't anger at Aragorn's defiance, it was panic that hadn't settled yet. He had nearly pulled a lifeless body from the water. He couldn't forget that.
When they reached a patch of cover shielded by trunks and low branches, Legolas stopped abruptly, jerking Aragorn to a halt. Before he could recoil, the elf turned him slightly and locked his grip higher on his arm, leaving him pinned in place.
"You can fight me here all you like," Legolas said, his words final. "No one will see. But it will not change the outcome."
Aragorn's chest rose and fell quickly from the struggle, his jaw clamped tight. "You are overstepping."
Legolas's grip didn't shift. "I am keeping you alive."
Aragorn shifted his weight, testing the grip on his arm. "You've made your point," he said tightly. "Now let go."
Legolas did not move. "I have not yet begun to make my point."
Aragorn's eyes narrowed, and he gave a sharp jerk, twisting his arm and stepping into the pull. The sudden move might have thrown off a less experienced opponent, but Legolas simply turned with him, hand sliding down to Aragorn's wrist, locking it in place.
"Enough," Legolas said.
"I'll decide when it's enough," Aragorn shot back, and with a burst of force, he tried to break free entirely.
Legolas let him push for a heartbeat, then redirected the energy, pulling him forward and off balance. Aragorn caught himself before he stumbled, but the misstep cost him. In the same instant, Legolas shifted behind him, one hand on his shoulder and the other catching his opposite forearm, folding it across his own chest.
"Yield," Legolas ordered.
Aragorn braced his feet in the wet earth, leaning into the resistance. "Not to you."
There was no anger in Legolas's voice when he answered,only certainty. "Then I will take what you will not give."
He moved quickly, stepping sideways and drawing Aragorn with him in a half-circle that ended with Aragorn bent slightly forward, his own arm pinned against him, Legolas's other hand braced at his hip. The position robbed him of leverage, forcing his weight down through his legs, already leaden from the cold.
Aragorn pushed upward, but Legolas's hold was steady. "You think this will teach me anything?" he demanded.
"It will remind you of things you seem to have forgotten," Legolas said. "Including what your Ada would have done had he seen such foolishness."
Aragorn's jaw tightened at that, and he looked away. "Don't bring him into this."
"Why not? His lessons kept you alive this long." Legolas's hand shifted from his hip to the waistband of his trousers, a firm grip anchoring him in place. "And you have ignored them today."
Aragorn twisted again, but Legolas anticipated it, planting a foot between his feet to block his step and adjusting his grip to keep him low.
"Let me go."
"No," Legolas said, and there was no room in the word for argument. "You need to hear this...and you will."
Aragorn's chest rose faster, breath fogging in the cool air. He shoved back hard enough to break the hold for half a second, but before he could turn, Legolas caught him again, this time pulling him back against his side with an arm hooked firmly across his middle.
"You can fight me until you're too tired to stand," Legolas said. "It will not change what comes next."
Aragorn gritted his teeth, every muscle taut. "You can't..."
"I can," Legolas said, calm as ever. "And I will."
Without another word, he steered Aragorn toward a fallen log at the edge of the clearing. The wood was broad and solid, its bark still cool and faintly damp from the night air. Legolas lowered himself onto it with steady control, keeping hold of Aragorn's arm so he couldn't back away.
Before Aragorn could react, the elf gave a sharp tug, pulling him forward. The sudden imbalance was all it took to haul him down across his lap. Aragorn's damp clothes clung to him as he bent, not dripping any longer but still carrying the chill of the earlier plunge in the pool. He caught himself with one hand against the ground, breath hitching, and immediately shoved to rise again.
Legolas caught him firmly at the waist, pressing him down against his thigh. "Stay down."
"Not happening," Aragorn growled, his palm pushing against the earth for leverage, his other hand straining to shove against the elf's leg.
The first swat landed thenfirm across his bottom,cutting through the cling of fabric that was still damp but no longer heavy with water. Aragorn stiffened, a sharp breath leaving him as he twisted to strike back with his elbow. Legolas caught his wrist mid-swing and forced it forward again.
"You are chilled to the bone," Legolas said, almost wryly. "Consider this warming you up."
Aragorn made a frustrated sound, the irony not lost on him. "That's not..."
Another swat fell, and then another, each one landing sharplyto draw his attention and keep it. The cold fabric softened the sting, but not enough for Aragorn to ignore the growing heat underneath.
"Stop it," he said sharply, trying to shove up again.
"Not until you stop me," Legolas said, and though his voice remained calm, his grip on Aragorn's waist stayed unbreakable.
Aragorn twisted hard, kicking his legs, but Legolas leaned his weight just enough to keep him pinned, keeping the pace steady and even. The swats weren't fast, but they landed exactly where they'd get the most reaction,high enough to get his attention, low enough to make sitting later an unwelcome thought.
"You need to hear me," Legolas said over the sharp smacks of fabric on damp cloth. "You put yourself in danger for something that could have been left behind. That is not the choice of a captain, or of a man thinking of those who depend on him."
Aragorn sucked in a breath, pushing hard again, but Legolas was ready for it. The grip on his waist tightened, and another swat landed, this time lower, right at the point where his thigh met his backside.
Aragorn jerked at the sharper sting, heat blooming under the damp cloth.
"That… is for walking past me into the deep without a word."
Aragorn's face burned hotter than the ache in his skin. "You're..."
"Correct," Legolas finished for him, and another swat landed in the same spot.
Legolas shifted his hold on Aragorn, his hand gripping firmly at the younger man's hip. The damp fabric of Aragorn's trousers clung stubbornly, making the first pull slow. Aragorn twisted sharply, planting his hands into the ground to push himself forward, but Legolas anchored him in place with one arm across his middle.
"You are not..." Aragorn started, but the elf gave another hard tug, pulling the waistband down just far enough to reveal the very top curve of skin. The cold air struck the damp flesh, and Aragorn stiffened.
He'd heard this defiance before. The argument was old, worn, and meaningless now. Aragorn always fought until he couldn't, and Legolas had never once let him off before the lesson landed.
"That is far enough," he said through clenched teeth, trying to reach back to cover himself.
Legolas caught his wrist before it reached its mark, folding it against the small of his back. "No," he said flatly. "It is not."
Patiently Legolas drew the trousers lower, each inch met with another twist or kick from Aragorn. The cloth slid down over the curve of his backside, baring it to the chill. His skin, still clammy from the damp, prickled in the air.
The first swat landed high and to the center, the sharp crack breaking the silence. Aragorn jolted forward, a hiss escaping before he could stop it. Another followed on the opposite side, then another still, each spank solid enough to make him tense all over.
"You have made your point," Aragorn ground out, his shoulders tight.
"I am far from finished," Legolas said without breaking rhythm. His palm landed again, this time lower, on the underside where the sting deepened. Aragorn jerked his hips, trying to shift the target out of reach, but Legolas's grip adjusted to keep him angled exactly where he wanted.
A swat to the same spot brought an involuntary grunt. "Legolas..."
"You will not end this with words," the elf cut in. He brought his hand down twice more in quick succession to the other side, matching the sting evenly.
The steady smacks continued, each spank placed with intention, covering every inch of the upper curves before gradually working lower. Aragorn's breathing had grown heavier, though he kept his jaw tight and eyes fixed on the dirt beneath him.
Legolas pressed his forearm more firmly against Aragorn's back when the younger man tried to push himself up. "You are going nowhere until I decide you may rise," he said.
He didn't ease the pressure. He knew the signs when Aragorn began to shift from resistance to endurance. That was the point when real honesty often followed, and Legolas had every intention of getting there.
"You think you can..." Another swat cut him short, and the next two fell just as firmly.
The sting built steadily, each swat layering on the heat. Legolas alternated between the center and outer edges, never letting one spot cool before returning to it again. The pale skin was already shifting to a flushed red, the dampness making the color stand out even clearer. A particularly sharp smack to the lower curve drew a gasp, and Aragorn's legs tensed to kick, but Legolas's free hand caught his thigh and held it still.
"Still," Legolas warned.
"I am still enough," Aragorn muttered, but his body betrayed the strain of holding his position.
Legolas shifted his aim lower, to the crease where thigh met backside. The first swat there made Aragorn's head snap up, his mouth parting in a sharp breath. The next landed to match it on the other side, the sting immediate and deeper.
"You are far too sure of yourself," Legolas said, his hand landing again in the same place.
Aragorn's reply was interrupted by another swat to the tender spot, and he exhaled through his nose sharply. The heat had spread now across his entire backside, the sharper burn at the sit spots lingering longer between smacks.
The struggle had shifted,Aragorn still pushed against the hold, but his movements were slower, his breath heavier. The fight in his shoulders was not gone, but it was weakening under the steady rain of smacks.
Legolas leaned back slightly to get a better angle and resumed his pattern,two quick swats to one side, a pause, then two to the other,each one firm, and final in its placement. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed in the stillness, matched by the uneven rhythm of Aragorn's breathing.
Moisture had gathered at the corners of his eyes, though he kept his face angled away, refusing to let it be seen.
"What would your Ada have done if he had found you?" Legolas asked, his hand pausing only long enough to wait for the answer.
Aragorn's shoulders tensed. "Do not..."
"Answer me."
His reply came grudgingly, the words low. "He would have switched me."
Legolas swatted again, squarely over the most heated spot. "Then perhaps that is what we must do."It wasn't a threat. It was a promise. If Aragorn had slipped so far into this that only pain could bring him out, then that was what he would get, and Legolas would see it through to the end.
He eased his arm from across Aragorn's back and let him rise, watching as Aragorn pushed up unsteadily to his feet. The trousers still clung low on his hips, and when his hand darted back to yank them into place, Legolas's grip was faster. He caught the waistband and held it down, keeping him bare.
Aragorn twisted hard against the restraint, his face burning hotter than his skin already did. "You mean to keep me like this?"
"Until you've earned otherwise," Legolas said flatly.
Aragorn's jaw tightened, his body still straining in Legolas's hold.
But his eyes flicked toward the treeline. The next instant he twisted, stepping back quickly with clear intent to put distance between them.
He made it three paces before Legolas's hand caught the back of his collar and yanked him off balance. Aragorn stumbled, trying to wrench free, but Legolas spun him and landed a sharp swat across the still-bared flesh. Another followed before Aragorn could plant his feet, and the sting made him draw in a sharp breath.
A third landed, crisper still. Aragorn's hand shot back to block, but Legolas caught his wrist and held it aside as he delivered two more.
"You will not run from me," Legolas said, his tone flat and had been no chance he would allow it, not after dragging him from the water, not after watching that stillness in his body. If Aragorn thought the matter could be outrun, Legolas would remind him otherwise.
The burn in Aragorn's backside was fierce now, every step making him aware of it. His glare was there, but his breathing was uneven, and the fight was no longer as steady in his posture.
Legolas gave one last swat before letting go. "Choose the branch, or I will choose it for you. Refuse me, and you will leave this place with a far hotter bottom than you carry now."He knew the look Aragorn gave him. Defiance andpride, but under it, something more fragile. Legolas met it without blinking. He had seen that look before, and he had outlasted it every time.
Aragorn's jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on Legolas as though sheer will alone might undo the command. His backside throbbed from the hand spanking, the heat radiating across the curves and sit spots, but the elf's calm certainty in those words kept him rooted to the spot.
"I will not," Aragorn said finally.
Legolas raised a brow. "Then I will choose."
Aragorn hesitated, shifting his weight. He glanced toward the edge of the clearing, where a stand of slim young saplings swayed lightly. His body urged him to resist, to refuse, but the look in Legolas's eyes was the same one he had seen when he was fifteen, after pulling another reckless stunt. It was the look of someone who would outlast him no matter how long he fought.
His jaw tightened, the fight still alive in him, but the sting in his backside kept his defiance from settling cleanly. He drew in a long breath, then exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound closer to anger than surrender, and finally turned toward the treeline.
The soreness followed him across the clearing, the damp trousers tugging at his skin and making the walk heavier than it should have been. He did not stop until he reached the saplings. He ran his hand across the branches, testing them in clipped, impatient motions. Thin ones promised a sharper sting; thicker ones carried heavier punishment. His stomach knotted at the choice, yet he finally wrapped his fingers around one in between, straight, firm, and long enough to serve its purpose.
When he turned back, the elf was standing exactly where he had left him, arms crossed, patient as ever. Aragorn placed the branch in his hand with more force than necessary, but Legolas only took it without comment, testing the flex with a casual flick of his wrist.
Aragorn's nostrils flared. "I have already..."
Legolas stepped forward, one hand closing firmly around his upper arm. "I told you before, this is not over until I say it is."
Aragorn dug his heels into the earth, the soles of his bare feet grinding for traction. His trousers still sagged about his knees, leaving his backside exposed and marked from the hand spanking. He knew exactly what was coming with the switch, and pride alone drove him to fight. He twisted hard against the grip, trying to pull free, his free hand lashing out to shove at Legolas's chest. The elf shifted with the blow, unmoved, and pulled him forward again.
Snarling, Aragorn dropped his weight, trying to wrench his arm down and out of Legolas's hold. It nearly broke loose, but Legolas's other hand caught him around the waist and drew him in tight. Aragorn bucked against the hold, his bare feet tearing shallow furrows in the dirt as he pushed back with everything he had. His reddened backside brushed against the elf's leg in his thrashing, the heat of it making his humiliation all the sharper.
Legolas adjusted smoothly, lowering himself to sit and pulling Aragorn with him. Aragorn braced both hands against the ground, trying to lever himself away, but the elf's arm banded across his middle and pulled him across his knee. Aragorn twisted, kicking out behind him, his exposed backside squirming in a last effort to break free, but Legolas caught his wrist and forced it forward, pinning him firmly.
The switch flexed once in Legolas's hand before it came down, sharp and clean across the low curve of Aragorn's backside. He jerked, breath breaking into a hiss, the sting biting deep into flesh already hot from the hand spanking. The second stroke landed quick on the other side, no less fierce, and Aragorn bucked, his heels drumming the ground in helpless protest.
He gritted his teeth, determined to keep silent, but the next three fell in quick succession across the center of his backside, the sting cutting deep enough to make him groan. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms.
"You risked more than your own life," Legolas said between spanks, though his tone carried no heat. "You left no word. No warning. I find you in waterpulled all the wayunder, chilled to the bone, and you think I will let it pass with words alone?"
Aragorn twisted, trying to pull free, but Legolas's arm around his middle held him firm. The switch landed again across the sit spots, and his breath caught, shoulders tightening.
"You think yourself strong enough to bear all things without aid," Legolas continued, the switch striking in an even tempo. "You are not. And you will learn that before this ends."
The burn had deepened now, every stroke layering over the heat from the hand spanking until the line between the two was gone. Aragorn's jaw ached from clenching it, his breaths uneven. Moisture blurred his vision, and he blinked hard, refusing to let it fall.
Legolas delivered another sharp stroke, and the sting broke through his resistance. The words slipped out before he could stop them, rough and uneven. "It was not only defiance."
Legolas stilled the switch but did not release him. "Then what was it?"
Aragorn's breath was unsteady. "It..." He swallowed, the fight in him momentarily faltering. "I could not stay. Not in camp. Not in my own head. I needed…" His voice caught, and he broke off, jaw tightening again.
"You needed to put yourself at risk?"
"I needed something I could control," Aragorn said at last, the admission quiet. "Something where I decided the end."
Legolas studied him for a moment that felt longer than it was. Then he shifted the branch back into position. "Then I will see to it you remember that there are better ways to find control than seeking harm."
The next strokes fell slower but harder, each one forcing a raw sound from Aragorn as the branch bit into flesh already welted and sore. His body twisted despite himself, heels digging into the earth, but the elf's hold gave him no escape. His face pressed into his arm, breath ragged, every nerve in his body lit with the sharp burn of the switch.
When Legolas finally stopped, Aragorn's backside was properly striped, red and angry where the wood had laid into him. The sting spread hotacross the punished skin, the marks throbbing in time with his pulse. He shifted against the restraint, but the effort only brought a fresh reminder of how raw and exposed he was.
Legolas laid the branch aside, though not far. It rested close at hand, a silent warning that it could be taken up again without hesitation. Aragorn's eyes flickered toward it for the briefest instant, though his head turned quickly back down, pressed into the crook of his arm.
Even after the switch was laid aside, Legolas kept him pinned, making it clear the punishment was not finished. His palm came down again, steady, striking across flesh already raw and burning. The pace was slow, but each swat built on the fire left behind by the branch.
"We are not done," Legolas said quietly, his grip strong and sure. "Not until you speak all of it."
He held Aragorn where he was, hips still locked under one arm. The other hand continued its work, striking against skin already welted and hot from what had come before. The sound cracked through the clearing, and the burn mounted with every fall of Legolas's palm until Aragorn felt consumed by it, his body betraying him with sharp jolts at each contact.
The rhythm was not hurried, yet it was merciless in its persistence. Seconds stretched long between smacks, each one landing with enough force to draw a wince and keep his breath ragged. Aragorn twisted, but the hold never loosened, and Legolas gave him no chance to slip free of the lesson.
"Tell me," Legolas said, his eyes steady, "why the switch was not enough to bring the answer from you." Another swat followed without delay. "Why did you walk into that water and stay there?"
Aragorn tensed, his fingers clawing at the earth. "It's… nothing," he muttered, the words rough and thin. Another swat cut him off, driving the air from his lungs in a hiss.
"Not nothing," Legolas countered, bringing his hand down again, a touch harder this time. "You didn't move until I pulled you out. You were letting the water have you. Why?"
"I..." Aragorn shifted, trying to twist away from both the question and the sting, but the arm across his back kept him where he was. His breath hitched. "It's… it doesn't matter."
"It matters," Legolas said, his palm finding the same tender spot with the next smack. "Say it."
Aragorn bit down on a sound that wanted to break free. His shoulders were tight, his head low, and when the next swat landed a little sharper than the last, the sting broke a shallow gasp out of him. "I can't."
"You can," Legolas pressed. Another swat, low on the curve, made Aragorn jerk involuntarily. "And you will. I will have the truth from you."
The smacks resumed, each swat falling on skin already blazing from both palm and branch. Aragorn's body trembled now under the strain of punishment that gave him no reprieve.
"It's..." he began, then broke off with a shudder as another swat landed. He swallowed hard, his breathing uneven. "Ada… told me." The words were barely above a whisper, almost lost to the sound of the next smack.
Legolas's eyes narrowed slightly, but his hand kept falling heavily and slowly. "Told you what?"
Another flinch, another quick breath. "About… me." The word came out raw, the sting making it sharper. "All of it."
"All of what?" Legolas prompted, his palm falling again, steady and firm.
Aragorn gave a sound between a sob and a gasp, his shoulders jerking with it. "Who I am," he forced out. "What… blood." The next smack drove the word from him like it hurt to say. "Isildur."
The name seemed to take something from him. He sagged slightly, but the swats kept coming, keeping the heat alive and the tears close.
"I thought I knew," Aragorn choked, his breath stumbling over the words. "I thought… just a name. A story." Another smack. His fingers curled into fists. "Not… not in me."
Legolas adjusted his hold, not easing up on the slow spanks. "You think your blood is wrong."
A sharp sob broke from Aragorn at that, his whole frame trembling. "It is." The word cracked apart as soon as it left his mouth. "Shouldn't..." The next swat made him gasp. "Should've ended."
The tears came heavier now, wet and hot against his face. The constant smacks kept him from retreating into silence, each one forcing another sound from him.
"With Isildur," Aragorn got out between sobs. "Should've… stopped there. I..." The next smack had him curling forward, breath hitching. "Not meant… to be here."
Legolas's palm landed again, not cruelly but firmly, the sting enough to keep Aragorn grounded even as he broke apart. "You are here," he said, not yet realizing the depth of it. "And you are meant to be."
Aragorn shook his head, tears spilling faster now. "No. Wrong. All wrong. Feels..." He gasped as another swat landed. "In me. Like..." His voice dissolved into sobs, words breaking apart entirely.
Legolas's jaw tightened. "Like what?" The next smack was sharper, forcing Aragorn to gasp and try again.
"Like… something's there that… shouldn't be." Aragorn's voice was wrecked, every word dragged out between sobs and swats. "Don't… want it passed on. Don't… want it here."
The next smack landed and Aragorn's hands clenched hard, his sobs deepening. "Water..." he choked. "Could take it. All of it. Not...not just me gone. Gone… gone like..." He broke off with a cry as another swat fell.
Legolas stilled for a fraction, his mind piecing it together. "You wanted the water to erase you."
Aragorn's answer came out as a sobbed "Yes," followed by another sharp intake of breath as the smacks resumed. "No… no trace. Like I never...never here. Clean." The last word was torn and raw, as if it hurt to admit.
Legolas's hand faltered mid-swat then, the sound of it breaking the rhythm for the first time. He looked down at the bent head, the trembling shoulders, the way Aragorn's breath was coming in ragged, desperate pulls.
Aragorn couldn't stop now, the words spilling with no control left. "Better… better if gone. Better if never was. Water..." A sob cut him off. "Would've fixed it."
The swats had slowed without him realizing, Legolas's palm resting still for a moment before landing again, softer now but enough to keep Aragorn present. "Aragorn," he said quietly, his arm holding the man just as firmly as before.
Aragorn cried harder at that, his face hot and wet, the burn in his bottom still sharp and alive. His words were no longer clear, only fragments between the sobs,wrong, shouldn't, gone,each one twisting something deeper in Legolas's chest.
Legolas kept him there, his hand resuming a slow, steady pace. And when Aragorn finally slumped, still crying but too drained to fight, Legolas's hold didn't ease. His hand rested warm against the heated skin, the silence saying what words could not.
Aragorn's body shook with uneven sobs. His chest hitched against the curve of Legolas's leg, his arms braced awkwardly, fingers curling into the mossy wood beneath them as if holding on to something solid might help him keep from unraveling further. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, the scent settling over them like a blanket.
Legolas's other hand moved in slow sweeps along the line of Aragorn's back, steady and unhurried, pausing now and then to press gently between his shoulder blades before starting again. His palm stayed warm and firm, the same grounding touch he had used countless times since Aragorn was small. He gave no speech at first. Aragorn would hear little beyond the sound of his own ragged breaths and the heavy thud of his heartbeat in his ears. Legolas kept the motion even, coaxing each breath to fall closer to the pace of his own.
The forest was quiet enough that Legolas could hear the soft catches in each inhale, the wet edge that came with tears, and the faint rasp of cloth as Aragorn's tunic shifted under his hand. Every so often, his other palm gave a light pat to the overheated skin it rested near, not sharp enough to renew the sting but enough that Aragorn could not forget it. The heat there was steady, pressed firmly against Legolas's lap with no barrier, a constant reminder of what had come before. Legolas made no move to spare him from it. The contact was part of keeping him here, part of keeping him anchored in the now.
When the sobs began to sharpen again, Legolas shifted his hold. His arm slid under Aragorn's knees, the other curving behind his back, and in one smooth motion he lifted him. Aragorn let out a muffled, broken sound, but there was no resistance in it. Turning on the fallen log until his own back rested against the trunk of a young oak, Legolas settled Aragorn sideways across his thighs. The position pressed the man's bare, sore bottom more fully into his leg, and Legolas let it, knowing the steady heat and pressure would keep Aragorn from slipping back into the whirl of his thoughts.
One arm held low around Aragorn's back, the other cupped the back of his head to draw it in until his forehead pressed against the center of Legolas's chest. Legolas lowered his chin so it rested lightly against the crown of Aragorn's head and began the smallest of rocking motions.
The rocking was subtle, more felt than seen, the same one he had used when Aragorn was much younger and his storms had left him shaking in much the same way.
"You have carried this inside you until it nearly broke you," Legolas said after a time, his voice quiet but firm enough to cut through. "It is no wonder it drove you to such recklessness."
Aragorn's forehead stayed pressed into his chest, his grip tight in the fabric of Legolas's tunic. His breaths came in bursts that dampened the cloth beneath his face.
"I know your Ada told you the truth of your blood," Legolas went on, his eyes on the green-brown weave of the undergrowth ahead of them. "I know he meant only to give you the knowledge you deserve. But you heard more than his words. You built something darker from them. You told yourself a tale where your blood was a curse, and you let yourself believe it." His thumb made slow passes at the base of Aragorn's neck, steady and grounding.
Aragorn made a low, muffled sound in answer, not in agreement or denial, but the kind that came from having no air or will to speak. His shoulders trembled, and Legolas felt the faint push of heat against his thigh as the man shifted slightly. He smoothed his hand down Aragorn's back to the curve of sore flesh, letting it rest there before sliding upward again.
"You are not weak," Legolas said, slower now, letting the words stand on their own. "You are not doomed to darkness. You are your own man, no matter whose blood runs in you. You have more strength than you give yourself credit for. I have seen it in you all your life."
He paused, keeping the same motionin his rocking, then his voice firmed. "But I will say this. You let this fester until you near drowned yourself in it. That is not something I will overlook." His hand slid low again, fingers resting over the heated skin before he gave a quick, sharp smack. The sound was small in the stillness, but it landed squarely enough to make Aragorn jolt with a sharp intake of breath. The sting was brief but clear, a warning that carried no mistaking its meaning.
"That is for letting it grow so large before coming to me," Legolas said evenly. "Do not think I will sit idle if you try to carry something like this alone again."
Almost at once, his palm softened, rubbing in slow circles over the same spot. "You are not alone. Not now, not ever. Whatever darkness you think may be in you, it has no hold here."
Aragorn made a broken sound, his hands clutching harder at Legolas's tunic. His forehead pressed deeper against his chest, and the shuddering in his shoulders began again. Legolas only held him closer, one hand working slow paths up and down his back, the other staying low in gentle, grounding contact.
The forest darkened as the night deepened, what little light there was filtering down in muted shades. Somewhere deeper in the trees, a thrush called, its brief note fading quickly back into quiet. Legolas kept his focus on the man in his arms, feeling the damp patches spreading in his tunic, the trembling that came and went in uneven waves.
"You have been mine to watch over since you were small," Legolas said after a long stretch. "I remember every time I have held you like this after your storms. You may have forgotten some of them, but I have not. And I will hold you through this one as well, for as long as it takes."
Aragorn's breathing shifted slowly, jagged bursts giving way to longer, unsteady draws of air. Legolas stayed where he was, keeping the steady heat and pressure of his lap under him and the sure hold around him, until there was no longer any risk of the man slipping back into the same spiral.
Legolas kept him there in silence for a long while, letting the minutes pass without forcing more words between them. His palm stayed steady at Aragorn's back, the slow arcs and circles never breaking rhythm. The man's forehead was still pressed into his chest, his breath hot and damp against the fabric, each uneven exhale marking the depth of his distress. The heat from his bared skin against Legolas's thigh remained constant, the sting no doubt fresh with every shift of weight. Legolas made no move to ease that part, knowing it anchored him here, away from the spiral in his mind.
When Aragorn's breathing began to fray again, Legolas adjusted his hold, one arm low across his back, the other moving up to the nape of his neck. He kept his chin resting lightly on the man's head, his own chest rising and falling in slow, steady time for Aragorn to match if he could. "You're here," he said quietly, not looking for a reply. "Still here."
Another wave of shuddering passed through Aragorn, his hands tightening in the folds of Legolas's tunic until the fabric pulled taut. The elf's grip tightened in answer, pulling him closer, though it could do little to still the restless trembling that seemed to run from his shoulders to his ribs.
"You walked into that water," Legolas said at last, his words low but carrying an unshakable edge. "I know your thoughts had turned dangerous, but there was no reason for that. Not with me here. Not with the others here. That was more than carelessness, Estel." His hand moved again over the heated curve of skin, pressing lightly before gliding back up to Aragorn's spine. "You will tell me why you went there instead of coming to me."
He didn't phrase it as a request. One hand left Aragorn's back, moving to his jaw, coaxing his head up. Aragorn resisted at first, his grip tightening on the tunic, but Legolas's hand was patient and calm until the man's face turned upward. His cheeks were flushed from crying, eyes red and wet, hair sticking to his temples.
Legolas used his sleeve to wipe at the damp tracks on his face, brushing away what tears he could. "Why?" he asked again, softer but no less firm.
Aragorn's lips parted, but nothing came out at first. He swallowed, eyes darting away, then back to Legolas. "I…" The word faltered, breaking into a shaky exhale. "I didn't know how to… stop it." His voice was hoarse, the syllables catching.
"Stop what?" Legolas prompted, not moving his hand from his jaw.
"This… in my head," Aragorn managed, his brows drawing in. "It was like..." He cut off, his chest rising with another rough breath. "Like I couldn't… climb out. And I thought if I could just… make it quiet…" His voice trailed away, the last words almost swallowed entirely.
Legolas's hand at his back stilled for a moment, his fingers pressing more firmly into the warm skin there. "You thought the water would do that for you." It wasn't a question.
Aragorn's eyes shut, a flicker of something close to shame crossing his face. His head dipped, but Legolas didn't let him hide it away again.
"Estel," the elf said, his tone softening though it held an edge of warning, "I have seen darkness take hold of men, but it does not take you unless you give yourself to it. You are not fated to fall, no matter the blood in your veins." His thumb brushed along Aragorn's cheek, clearing away another damp streak. "You are more than what runs in you. More than the fear you've built in your own mind."
Aragorn shook his head slightly, as if unable to accept the words outright. "It doesn't feel that way," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It feels like it's there… waiting. And if I… if I'm not careful..." He stopped, pressing his lips together, another tremor passing through him.
Legolas drew him back in against his chest, but not before speaking again, low and certain. "You will never be that, because you will never face it alone. You have more strength than you will ever give yourself credit for. And you should have come to me before it led you here."
His hand moved again to the sore flesh low against Legolas's thigh. He gave a single, sharp smack, not as hard as earlier, but firm enough to make Aragorn flinch and catch his breath. "That is for going to the water at all," he said evenly. "That is for making me find you there."
Aragorn's breath stuttered, but he made no protest. The heat in his face matched the warmth still searing against Legolas's leg, and he sagged into the hold, his body settling more fully.
The elf's palm resumed its slow circles, smoothing over his back, grounding him again. "You will not do this again," Legolas said quietly. "If your mind begins to fill with such things, you will speak to me. I do not care if it is the middle of the night, or if you have no words yet for what you feel. You will come."
Aragorn gave the faintest nod against his chest, though his breathing still carried the ragged edges of recent tears.
"That darkness you fear has no place here," Legolas went on. "It has no claim on you, Estel. Not while I breathe." He pressed his chin lightly to the crown of Aragorn's head, the words more a promise than reassurance.
The quiet around them deepened, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves overhead and the slow rhythm of Legolas's hand at his back. The heat from Aragorn's skin seeped into him through the thin layers between them, a constant reminder of both the discipline given and the closeness that followed.
It took time, longer than Legolas counted, but gradually the trembling eased. Aragorn's grip loosened, his breathing no longer catching on every other draw of air. Still, Legolas did not release him.
When he finally spoke again, it was softer, as if the worst of the storm had passed. "You are my own to watch over. That will not change because of anything in your blood. Do you understand that?"
Aragorn gave a slow, hesitant nod.
Legolas's hand moved once more over his back, then came to rest low, just above the curve where the skin still burned faintly against his thigh. "Good. Then you will remember this night, and you will remember that the water was never the answer. And if anything even close to this happens again, you will find yourself over my knee for a spanking far longer and far harder than what you've already had tonight."
Legolas kept his hand low on Aragorn's back for a few steady breaths before finally shifting his hold. "On your feet," he said, quiet but leaving no room for delay.
He eased Aragorn upright, one hand at his arm to steady him. The man's legs were slow to take his weight again, knees not entirely sure of themselves after so long across the elf's lap. His balance returned in time, though Legolas didn't let go until he was certain.
The trousers still rested low on Aragorn's hips where they had been pulled down. Without a word, Legolas reached for the waistband and began drawing them back into place. He moved carefully, but there was no avoiding the way the fabric slid over skin still warm and tender from what had been given. Aragorn's breath caught, not sharply, but enough to mark the sting that remained. Legolas kept his attention on the task, straightening the waistband and smoothing the fabric so nothing pressed harder than necessary.
Once they were right, Legolas's eyes moved to Aragorn's face. He lifted a sleeve and brushed gently beneath his eyes, clearing the dampness still there. The gesture lingered a moment longer than required, his thumb briefly touching the edge of Aragorn's cheekbone before his hand dropped away.
"You understand," Legolas said evenly, "this must not happen again. I will be keeping a far closer watch on you from this night forward."
Aragorn's eyes lowered at that, but he gave the smallest of nods.
Legolas moved quietly to retrieve the cloak from where it hung, still damp but no longer dripping. He brought it back and swung it gently around Aragorn's shoulders, securing the clasp once more. The fabric hung heavy against sore skin, but Aragorn didn't flinch. He allowed the weight, let it settle, and stood quieter under it than before.
Without hesitation, Legolas stepped in and drew him into a full embrace. His arms held firm around him, the kind of hold that steadied more than words could. Aragorn leaned into it, resting his forehead against Legolas's shoulder. The warmth of the elf's tunic was solid and grounding, and for a moment, the world beyond that closeness didn't matter.
When Legolas finally eased back, he kept one hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "How do you feel?" he asked, watching for any flicker of something left unsaid.
Aragorn's hand went instinctively behind him, touchinglightly against the sore flesh through the fabric. "Sore," he admitted. A breath later, he added, "but… better. Thank you."
Legolas's mouth curved in a faint, knowing way. "Sore is good. If you are going to make me deal with you like that, it should at least keep you from forgetting it too soon."
Aragorn gave a half-snort, though it lacked real force. "You make it sound as if I'll be able to sit at all before spring."
Legolas's brow lifted slightly. "You might not. And if you can, it will not be without thinking of me."
That earned him a look from Aragorn that carried both resignation and the faintest spark of humor, though he said nothing more.
"Come," Legolas said, adjusting the strap of his bow on his shoulder. "We both need rest, and the night will not grow shorter for us standing here."
They started toward the path. The ground was soft beneath their steps, muffling each footfall with damp leaves and pine canopy above let only thin threads of starlight through, leaving the world around them in shadows.
For a time, neither spoke. The air was cool enough to make the heat still lingering at Aragorn's back more noticeable. The steadiness of walking seemed to settle him further, though the steady burn was a constant reminder of what had passed.
The camp was just coming into view when Aragorn finally said, "You know, I am going to have trouble sitting for a great while after that."
"Good," Legolas answered at once, without turning his head.
"That is your only comment?"
"It is the only one needed," Legolas replied, and though his tone stayed flat, Aragorn caught the faint glint of amusement in the set of his mouth.
They walked on. The forest sounds folded around them: the faint trickle of the stream to their right, the quiet sigh of wind through the upper branches. Here and there, a twig shifted under their feet. The air carried a trace of woodsmoke from the camp ahead, growing stronger with every step.
The closer they came, the more the glow of the banked fire began to seep through the trees, a soft halo against the dark. Low voices reached them, shapes moving in the near distance.
Before they stepped into full view, Legolas's hand came once more to Aragorn's shoulder. "You will remember tonight," he said simply. "And you will remember that whatever storm builds in you, the water is never the answer. If you ever let yourself get to that point again, I will turn you back around, bare your bottom right there, and make sure you leave with a lesson you'll still be feeling every time you sit for a good long while."
Aragorn's mouth twitched in something caught between ruefulness and surrender. "I believe you."
"Good. Then there will be no need for it."
They stepped into the circle of firelight together, the warmth from the flames brushing against their faces. A few heads turned briefly, but no questions were asked. When they returned to the fire, the boots were still there, faintly steaming where the warmth had reached them. Legolas kept his hand on Aragorn's shoulder until they reached the tent line, only letting go when they parted for the night, each carrying the unspoken understanding of what had passed.
The Rangers kept their silence, though the air around the fire carried an unspoken acknowledgment. What had happened beyond the trees was not truly hidden from them. The sharp cracks and muffled yelps had carried through the night, no matter how far Aragorn and Legolas had gone to set themselves apart. A few men glanced quickly at their returning chieftain, then back to the fire, careful not to let their eyes linger. They said nothing, but the truth hung between them, unvoiced yet understood.
Aragorn sat near the fire, drawing his cloak tighter as though to shield himself from more than the cold. He felt the weight of the Rangers' silence but did not meet their eyes. The cup at his side grew cold untouched, and he fixed his gaze on the flames, unwilling to betray what still burned in his mind and body.
Not far away, Legolas remained apart, his watch set toward the dark trees rather than the circle of men. He gave no sign of doubt in what had been done, though his eyes drifted once toward Aragorn, catching the tension in the man's shoulders. He did not look long, but the glance carried its own quiet message: the matter was settled, though the memory of it would linger.
The fire burned low as the company settled into uneasy rest. The Rangers turned in one by one, leaving only the hiss of the embers and the faint creak of the trees. When Aragorn finally rose, Legolas moved with him, their steps falling together without a word. Whatever had passed between them had been heard, though it would never be spoken of. The company would carry its silence, and the two who had walked into the dark would carry something more—an understanding no words could soften, but one they both accepted.