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When traveling with only male individuals of different species, there really is only one destination conversation can go. Of course, they could talk about their journey, or their plans, or their homes, but those aren't interesting enough. They aren't scandalous enough.
All conversation, as it tends to do, leads to sex. And with beings as rowdy as Dwarves and Hobbits and Men, the descriptions start to get graphic.
Legolas, for his part, isn't very fond of it.
Of course, he doesn't think there's anything wrong with sex. In fact, he thinks quite the opposite. He knows it's a stress reliever, a biological urge, the creation of life, and something simply done for pleasure. He isn't one to scorn a person for indulging, and besides, what other people do in their free time is none of his business.
Unfortunately for him, the company is making it his business.
Somehow, the topic of conversation has drifted away from Saruman and landed on sexual escapades, and all he wants to do is scale a tree so high the rest of them are out of his hearing range.
Gimli is speaking through laughter about a time he slept with a woman in a hole in the stone walls of his land, and only luck allowed them not to get caught. Legolas smiles and laughs softly when it is expected of him. He forces his tone to be light, holds back the grimace that threatens to appear, and does everything he can not project the sheer amount of discomfort he's feeling.
And it makes everything so much worse when, many stories in, Aragorn and Boromir start throwing him looks. Boromir he can deal with. The Man only wants him for his body, wants to use him as respite on a hard journey, made all the better by his beauty. That is something easy to ignore. It is Aragorn that troubles him.
They've been dancing around each other for a very long time, even before this quest. Aragorn is very dear to him, but Legolas knows he can't give him what he needs.
So he ignores the looks and dodges possible questions. He does nothing to make Boromir think he feels the same way in any capacity, and at the same time he does nothing that could push Aragorn away. He gets away with his non-answers and halfhearted reactions until he is questioned directly.
Gimli says something about sex among the Dwarves being the very best in Middle Earth, and Pippin, the darling Hobbit, challenges him.
"Hobbits are too peaceful for more experimental things," Gimli retorts when Pippin claims the Dwarves have nothing on the people of the Shire.
"I bet even the Elves do it better than Dwarves!" Pippin exclaims.
And just like that, every eye is on Legolas, even Gandalf's. He tries to think of something to say, but his usually quick mind is blank.
Boromir speaks, but rather than saving him, he says, "We've heard from Aragorn what goes on in Rivendell, but what about the Elves of your homeland?"
Legolas clenches his jaw and ignores the pounding of a heart that tries so hard to be ashamed. "We have celebrations," he says quietly. "My people are generally shameless."
"Shameless how?" Merry questions.
Legolas exhales softly, slightly relieved. This, he can do. He is proud of the traditions of his people, and is happy to not be asked about his own experiences, and lack thereof.
"It is exactly how it seems," he says. "We undress in front of each other, and there is very little worry about public indecency. In Mirkwood, we celebrate holidays and solstices and victories, and often you can find two or more Elves engaged in the open." He sighs wistfully. "We find pleasure where we can, for it is not an abundant thing in my home."
Of course, pleasure for him is going on a walk, or reading in a tree, or sitting in his father's study with a book open in his lap that he ignores in favor of bothering Thranduil. It's shooting his bow as Tauriel throws small objects in the air and bets he can't hit them. It's going to the lake with his friends and splashing around without a care in the world. During the celebrations, he tends to leave early to enjoy a stroll under the stars, and no one questions it. His people know their prince is looking for no one.
"So different from Rivendell Elves," Boromir muses. "Your own stories must be quite the treat."
His heart drops. "Oh, there is nothing to tell," he deflects.
"Nonsense!" Gimli booms. "With traditions like that, you must have something to tell us! Or are the Woodland Elves not as shameless as you say?"
Legolas knows he's challenging Pippin with that remark, but a fierceness rises in his chest. "They are," he snaps. "Any other one would have stories for you, but you shall get none from me."
He is not ashamed. He's not. But he does not know these people very well aside from Aragorn, and he does not want to bear his soul to them. He knows he is sheltered, so he doesn't know if things perceived as normal in Mirkwood are seen the same outside of it. And besides, he knows the pitying, confused looks followed by propositions that come when someone finds out. He does not want to endure them in a place he cannot escape from.
Aragorn speaks up. "You do not have to tell us," he says softly as he lightly bumps his shoulder against Legolas's in an act of comfort. "And besides, I believe the Hobbits have more stories to last us a while."
The distraction works, and Merry launches into a story in an attempt to one-up Gimli's latest one.
"Thank you," Legolas murmurs in Sindarin.
"Of course," Aragorn responds. "I do not know what has you so tense, but I will not push." He reaches over and squeezes Legolas's hand before moving forward, leaving Legolas in the back to cool off. He smiles softly at how well Aragorn knows him.
The conversation continues, and Legolas elects to say in the back silently. Gimli has the most stories to share, and he thinks Pippin is starting to make some up to compare. Boromir comes in with what he thinks is a rather filthy story, though Legolas finds it relatively mild. He's seen more erotic couplings during his patrols.
Even Sam and Frodo chime in every once in a while, but they are tame stories for tame individuals, and Merry and Pippin quickly get bored. So they turn their attentions to Gandalf.
The wizard says nothing for a long while, only smoking his pipe and hardly acknowledging them. Then he starts telling the tale of an escapade from an unknown number of centuries ago, and all the Fellowship listens with rapt attention.
Legolas just uses it to try to gauge how old Gandalf is, and idly wonders if he ever actually looked young.
When he finishes, Merry and Pippin pester him more, and Legolas thinks he might actually be free from questions. But then the wizard does not entertain them any further, and each of his friends decides it time to unanimously turn their attention back to him.
"Come on, just one story, Elf," Gimli all but demands.
"It would be fun," Boromir says. "We are all closer for it. Should you not join us?"
It is possibly the worst thing Boromir could have possibly said. Yes, they are all closer for it. Legolas can't be. He cannot connect with them like this, and he can't even make himself lie or deflect further to preserve some sense of understanding with them all. And besides, maybe just getting it over with is the best way to get them to leave him alone.
"No, I shall not join you," he snaps. Then, less irritated but still tense, he adds, "I believe you all misunderstood me. When I said there was nothing to tell, I meant it. There is nothing to tell."
Silence falls, and the pitying looks begin.
"You're a virgin?" Boromir asks as if it is the most unbelievable, unheard of thing in the world. But, underneath his surprise, there's something else there. Something like bastardized hope.
Absolutely not.
"Estel, Mithrandir, I shall climb and make sure there are no spies of Saruman nearby."
He doesn't wait for an answer before he scales the nearest tree. He's gone in an instant, leaving behind a verbally confused company. Below him, he hears Aragorn suggest they stop for a while until he comes back down.
He reaches the canopy in record time and sits upon a sturdy branch. He longs to poke his head above the leaves, but he can't risk it.
Far below him, he can hear everything.
"I don't understand," Boromir says. "He is ancient to us, yet he has never taken anyone to bed?"
"Do his Elves not throw themselves at the feet of their prince?" Gimli asks almost mockingly.
Legolas scowls. His citizens and fellow soldiers know he's beautiful, but they have never thrown themselves at him. They know he doesn't desire to have sex, and even if they didn't, they are all much too afraid of his father to try anything.
For a long time, Thranduil was Legolas's excuse to refuse invitations to bed. Legolas would say that he needed him, that there was work to be done, that his father wouldn't be happy if he found out. Eventually, word got back to Thranduil, and he cornered Legolas in his room where he was braiding his hair and asked him why his soldiers were spreading false rumors.
He had told his father everything, and Thranduil was the first to tell him there's nothing wrong with having no sexual desires, and there was nothing wrong with him. Since then, he has found nothing but acceptance among the people of his realm, and he could not be more thankful.
"Do you think he's ever kissed anyone?" one of the Hobbits asks when he tunes back in.
"Oh, he must have!" Boromir exclaims.
He has, but not in the ways they are thinking. He's shared kisses on the forehead and cheeks and hands. He has shared kisses on the lips with friends after particularly hard-won battles. He has never shared anything in passion of the body, and he never wants to.
"We will not discuss this any further," Aragorn says, commanding silence. "He has shared his experience with us, as you all incessantly demanded. We will leave it to rest."
"But do you not find it concerning?" Boromir asks, and oh how Legolas wishes he would stop talking. "There must be a reason why."
"His reason is none of your concern," Aragorn snaps.
"I agree," says Frodo. "If he doesn't want to, or anything, he doesn't want to talk about it. We should respect it."
"Well, that can't be," Boromir goes on. "How can he know what he wants if he doesn't try? Perhaps I can—"
Aragorn interrupts him, his voice as hard as a diamond and cutting as a knife. "You will not finish your sentence if you value your life."
Legolas can feel his anger from so high up in the tree, and it makes something warm inside him bloom.
Boromir huffs and says something in response, but Legolas is done listening. He focuses on the birds chirping, a much more pleasant sound than an indignant Man, and does actually check for spies. He looks as far as he's able and strains his ears, but there is no sign of Saruman and the Enemy. Perhaps they will have a restful night tonight.
He sighs to himself, and scales back down the trees. He would like to stay hidden among the leaves for the rest of the day, but they must keep moving.
He lands silently behind the company. "I see and hear no evil," he reports, startling everyone but Aragorn and Gandalf. "Neither do the trees. We should continue while there is still daylight."
Aragorn nods and commands them all to rise. "We don't stop until nightfall."
Legolas takes up the rear again. As miracle would have it, they've strayed away from the context of sex. Instead, Boromir and Gimli listen as Pippin describes the drama between families back in the Shire. It is quite entertaining to listen to, and Legolas chimes in with questions every now and then.
They walk for hours, and they stop in a clearing as the last rays of sunlight disappear beyond the horizon. They all collapse the moment Aragorn says they can, pulling out food and climbing under bedrolls. Within half an hour, they're all dead asleep except for Aragorn and Legolas.
Aragorn comes over to where Legolas is sitting for his watch. He sits next to him against a tree and pulls out his pipe.
After moments of silence, Legolas says, "Thank you."
Aragorn doesn't need to ask him what for. He likely knew Legolas was listening in.
"I'm sorry about them," he says softly. "I should have stopped them sooner."
"It's okay," Legolas says. "It is I who should apologize. I did not mean to dampen the mood, not when light spirits are so desperately needed."
"No, Legolas, there's no need to apologize," Aragorn says. "It clearly affected you greatly. Never feel wrong about how you feel."
Legolas smiles at him. "And you claim you are not wise enough to be King."
Aragorn lightly shoves him, but his laugh is clear as day, and Legolas feels all the better for it. Aragorn's company never fails to lift his spirits, and Legolas finds it easy to fall back into his usual light and playful demeanor. It's shadowed quickly, however, when he gets the sudden urge to open his heart up to the Man.
"Estel, can I tell you something?" he asks in Sindarin, not wanting anyone else to understand them.
"Of course," Aragorn responds.
Legolas draws his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them. "The truth is, I've never taken anyone to bed because I never wished to. I don't get those desires. I never have, and I know I never will. My people know. It's why they don't 'throw themselves at the feet of the prince,' as Gimli put it."
Aragorn snorts. "Even if they did, I doubt your father would be happy about it."
"No, he would not be," Legolas says. "My father and my people accepted it instantly, but I did not know how an unwed and uninterested prince would be received away from my homeland. I was uncomfortable today, and I was cruel. Forgive me, I did not mean to lose my temper."
Aragorn reaches for his hand again, but instead of squeezing it once and pulling away, he entangles their fingers and lets them drop between them.
"There is nothing to apologize for," he assures. "But will you tell me more?"
"More?"
Aragorn nods. "I wish to know you well." He says it quietly, as if it was a late-night confession. And it may be.
They sit hand-in-hand against the tree as Legolas talks and Aragorn smokes. He tells his friend of his experiences, how he's never felt the need to "release stress," as Aragorn puts it. He tells him how he is relatively indifferent to other people having sex around him, but even the thought of him in someone's bed like that makes him nauseous. He tells him how he adores physical contact besides that, and when he does, Aragorn starts rubbing small circles into his skin, and the action is enough to make Legolas tear up.
All the while, Aragorn listens. He asks questions and offers support, and he makes Legolas feel safe in ways he never finds outside of his home.
When Legolas is done going on what was essentially a rant, Aragorn speaks up. "Thank you for telling me."
"Of course," Legolas says. "I would tell you anything if you asked."
Aragorn raises an eyebrow. "Anything?"
Legolas squeezes his hand in admonishment, but he feels himself grin regardless. "Don't abuse it, Estel."
"And if I asked what sort of touches you like?"
Legolas studies him, trying to gauge his motive behind the question. All he sees is earnestness and admiration in those bright grey eyes, and his breath hitches in his throat.
"I like when you hold my hand," he starts. "Casual touches, like hands on my shoulder or back. I like to sleep next to someone at night, but I tend not to because I know how it ends." His heart is pounding. "I like when someone runs their hand through my hair."
As soon as the words leave his lips, Aragorn's hand leaves his and he puts out his pipe. He pulls Legolas down to his lap, and suddenly there are fingers on his scalp. It would be embarrassing if it didn't make Legolas so blissful. "Tell me more."
"I have kissed people," he admits softly, melting into the touch and acutely aware of the hand so gently pushing golden strands behind his ear. "I've never shied away from it. But when I kiss my friends back home, it's not for want of something more. It's an expression of my love and a need to feel them alive. I… I don't quite know how to describe it."
Slowly, as if he's afraid Legolas will tell him to stop, Aragorn takes his hand and raises it to his lips, kissing it gently. "You don't need to," he says. "I understand."
Tears prick at his eyes, and he wills them not to fall. "I am so afraid," he whispers. "You are very dear to me, Estel, and I am afraid I can't give you what you need."
"I do not need your body, Legolas," Aragorn says. "I find myself falling for your soul."
He lets his hand go, and Legolas rests it over his chest.
"Tell me more about yourself," Aragorn says.
"What do you wish to know?"
"Everything."
And so, Legolas tells him everything. As the night passes on and their friends sleep, Legolas tells Aragorn all that is important and inconsequential. He tells him stories of his home, his father, his battles, his friends back in Mirkwood. He tells him of how he longs for the day Mirkwood returns to Greenwood the Great. And through it all, as he did before, Aragorn listens. He keeps running his fingers through his hair and occasionally speaks up. Legolas feels safer than he has in a very long time, and he feels his fears dissipate. Like this, in the quiet of the moonlight with his head in Aragorn's lap and the ranger's hand in his hair, he can be himself, and that is someone who can be loved.