The Vigil
Part Twenty-One
Please see chapter one for synopsis.
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rated: NC17
Disclaimer: I borrow these characters from J.R.R. Tolkien with love and respect.
Thank you, Jean.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Haldir hurried after the Elf rapidly disappearing down the street that led away from the Houses of Healing. Legolas did not slow his stride and the Marchwarden had to break into a trot to catch him. The scales of his shimmering mail chimed softly against the shining plate armor that protected his joints. It was a martial music, ringing sweet and wild in the ears of Mirkwood’s rebel prince, but the call to battle stirred him not. A leaden pall lay over his spirit like the smoke of war that hid Minas Tirith from the sun and he did not acknowledge the Lorien Elf’s presence when Haldir reached his side.
“Prince Legolas,” the Marchwarden said. “Allow me to offer my aid in your search.”
“I cannot control your actions.”
Haldir ignored the discourteous reply. “Have you any suggestions where we might look?”
“Anywhere but here,” Legolas said tersely. “If you would do me a kindness, you will leave me alone.”
“You are not well,” Haldir said, moving in front of the Vigil.
“Do not hinder me.”
Haldir nearly took a step back from the implacable tone in Legolas’s soft voice. The Prince’s eyes were as cold and dead as the heart of an iceberg. A chill struck at the Marchwarden’s steadfast heart, shaking him to his solid core. His faith in the Light was strong, having lived most of his days in Its last outpost on Middle Earth, but that grace faded before the black howling emptiness that screamed silently in the Vigil’s gaze. “Let me take you to the Lady Arwen,” Haldir said.
“For what purpose? This is no hedge-wizard’s spell that binds me. The sword and the ring were forged with the blessing of the Valar to be a pledge and a bridge between our Race and Man. I am one with the Heir. Can you understand what this means?”
“By your tone, you would say that I cannot, but I tell you that each moment spent away from my Lady is a lifetime to me. It may not be evident in my speech or my action, but to be so far from the green and gold heart of all I hold dear weighs down my spirit. I cannot speak of the depths of your pain, but I feel its echo; I know that you suffer and I know the nature of your suffering.”
“Then move from my path.”
“So I shall, after saying this. Remember your duty always. It is not solace, but it is the best distraction for such as we.”
Legolas was silent for a long moment, staring into the Marchwarden’s earnest gaze, and seeing, against all expectation, a kindred soul. He raised a gloved hand to clasp Haldir’s biceps in a rough salute. “I intend to search among the enemy,” he said.
Haldir nodded. “I see your logic. It is most likely that the Umbaran boy was a spy and the Steward killed or taken hostage.”
“It is not logical,” Legolas contradicted. “Yet, I feel it to be so.”
The Marchwarden drew breath to speak, but Faramir’s shout forestalled him. Haldir and Legolas turned as the Steward’s younger son and his companions reached them.
“Vigil,” Faramir said, pointing up the street. “Where are you going when your charge is back there?”
“I have orders.”
Elrohir laughed, drawing the stares of the others. “Legolas of Mirkwood following orders,” he said. “It amuses me.”
“I do not find it amusing,” Legolas said.
“You have forgotten yourself, brother of my heart,” Elrohir said.
Elladan nodded. “You are not the Legolas we set out to find.”
“I am not,” the Vigil agreed. “And we are wasting time.”
“Your place is with the Heir,” Faramir said. “We will search for my father. Elrohir and Elladan have made many raids on the enemy encampment and are better suited to the task than any other here.”
“Deny the logic of this,” Haldir challenged Legolas.
“I cannot and I burn to be with Aragorn, but it was he that ordered me from his presence.”
“Then ignore those orders as you have ignored those of your Sire all these years,” Elladan answered. “Ever you have followed your heart, Lasse.”
“Do not stop now,” Elrohir finished for his twin.
Legolas looked down at the plain band of the ring of power on his forefinger. The circle was a most potent symbol of power, representing the never-ending cycles of the world. It came to him then that it also symbolized unity, and a simple truth bloomed in his mind. He and Aragorn together were much greater than the sum of their parts, and vastly stronger than either was alone. It was a terrible mistake to leave the Heir. “I must go to him,” he said.
“Keep him safe,” Faramir said. “He is precious and much beloved and his loss would shatter many hearts and hopes.”
Legolas nodded curtly and turned to the Twain. “Good hunting,” he said, in their customary phrase at leave-taking, but this time, he added new words. “Come safely home.”
“As you command,” Elrohir bowed with exaggerated reverence.
“As you wish,” Elladan said, making appeal with his eyes.
The stern features of the Vigil softened, and he held out his arms. Elrohir and Elladan moved forward to embrace their erstwhile companion, as they had been wont to do in the days when they roamed errant. Kissing each on the forehead, Legolas let go of the twins and made haste back the way he had come, back to the Houses of Healing.
::::::::::::::::::
“To my sorrow, there is naught else I may do for her,” Arwen said, as she placed Gilraen’s hand back on the coverlet. “She wanders in dreams that are much to her liking and her feo will not hear me. If I but knew the method by which she was…”
“We may never know,” Aragorn answered, fighting to keep the bitterness from his voice. “But you have made every effort and now you are weary before the battle has even begun.” Arwen’s lips twitched and the Man realized that he had become somewhat adept at reading Elvish expressions. “Of course, you have already fought a great battle this morning,” he added. “I was speaking of the contest of arms we still face with Umbar’s legions.”
“I take your meaning, Heir of Isildur and I find your humanity… endearing. You have rekindled in me a passion for balancing injustice by the might of my mind as well as that of my arm. Your people hail me by the name Warrior Princess and I see fear as well as wonder in their eyes. Long has my father wished me to return to Rivendell to take up again my studies in the ancient arts of my line, but I have longed only to sleep under the stars after a day spent keeping our borders safe.” Arwen paused. “Prince Legolas and I are much alike in devotion to our Race’s survival, but now I question the single-mindedness of my mission. Have I neglected individuals in service to the whole? If I am not true to those I profess to love, how may I be trusted to make decisions for the good of a nation?”
“You are as wise as you are beautiful and your eyes see much that is hidden,” Aragorn said. “You have my thanks, Lady, but I fear my heart belongs to one that cannot feel love.”
“No word of mine will convince you until you are ready to believe,” she said, placing her palm briefly to Gilraen’s forehead in farewell. “And I must go to lead my troops.”
Boromir straightened from his slouch in the doorway, a consummate soldier that never stood when he could rest. His gaze fastened on Arwen like an eagle sighting his mate on the wind, and he judged her temper by the deepened color of her chatoyant eyes. Her fire jumped the gap between them like the lighting of a signal beacon and the Captain’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. He did not ask if the word was given; he could feel the Heir’s will to go forth and vanquish those that had so grievously injured that which he loved.
“Aragorn! My liege!” Boromir called out as he drew forth his great blade. “I will meet you again on a red field atop a mountain of Umbar’s dead.”
Aragorn straightened his shoulders, unwilling to show his Captain the despair that Arwen had sensed. His people must not know that his resolve sprang from a growing belief that none of it mattered. No matter how many battles were won, there were always losses and more battles to be fought. “We will meet again,” he said to Boromir and Arwen. “If aught should befall me, I would wish that any child of yours might be named my heir.”
Boromir and Arwen exchanged a swift glance. “If my liege commands it,” Boromir drawled.
“If there should be such a child,” Arwen said pointedly.
“I am glad to have that settled,” Aragorn said, as the Vigil appeared in the doorway. “If you will excuse me now, I see I have other business to attend.”
Legolas stood aside for the couple and did not speak until Aragorn bade him. “This is my place,” he said.
“That is all of your explanation for disobeying my order?”
“It is the only explanation.”
“And what of the Steward?”
“Faramir and the sons of Elrond search for him.”
Aragorn nodded. “They are best equipped for it,” he admitted. “I was angry with you when I sent you hence.”
“I beg you not to do so again.”
“Beg? You?”
“I cannot bear to be parted from you.”
“The cursed spell of that ring,” Aragorn said. “How much sorrow in this world has been caused by the lust for rings of power?”
Legolas bowed his head. “I am near to breaking,” he said.
Aragorn’s heart contracted with a sudden sharp pain that stole his breath. He could feel the Vigil’s agony and wondered how the Elf remained on his feet. “How is it that I can feel so strongly what you are feeling?”
“I never allowed it until now. As soon as I realized the nature of the spell and how complete the bond was, I began to guard my thoughts and feelings from you. I could not allow you to have such power over me. Not you nor anyone.”
“You hid well in plain sight.”
“I had much practice at my Sire’s court.”
“And now?”
“I am trusting you not to hurt me.”
Aragorn swayed as his Vigil’s memories flooded into him through the link of the bond, permeating his essence until he stood with Legolas in countless moments of the past and felt what the Elf had felt as though they were one. In that brief eternity, Aragorn realized a simple truth. He had already found peace; it was in Legolas’s eyes and in his embrace as they lay together. “I am sorry I said you had no heart,” he said softly.
Legolas looked up. “I do not,” he said. “I gave it to you.”
“Elves,” Aragorn sighed. “You come of an older, wiser Race than mine and I fear you will one day lose patience with me and leave me forever.”
“Still your fears. I cannot leave your side even under a direct order.”
“I had noticed.” Aragorn cleared his throat. “Will you not embrace me?”
Legolas was across the chamber before the Heir finished speaking. Their arms went around one another in a fierce embrace born of an emotion so large it left no room for gentleness. Each divined the other’s desire and Aragorn drew back to put his fingers over the Elf’s lips and whisper. “Not here.”
“As you command,” the Vigil said, taking the Heir’s hand and pulling him from the sickroom.
Aragorn let himself be led, knowing he had not the time for this dalliance, but unable to deny himself or Legolas. He smiled when the Vigil steered him into the small garden where the healers grew their herbs, and he stripped off his fine cloak to throw upon the ground. Legolas took it from his hands, and draped it over a bench behind a screen of vines. The Elf turned and was swept into Aragorn’s arms for a kiss that made the blood sing in their veins.
“Take me,” the Vigil said breathlessly, turning his back on the Heir and bracing himself against the bench. “Let me know I am yours.”
“You are free,” Aragorn contradicted. “I do not own you.”
“I give myself to you and that is what makes the belonging sweet. Claim me, Aragorn. Let me ride into battle beside you knowing you love me best of all.”
“I do,” Aragorn said, against the Vigil’s nape.
The Man felt the shiver that ran the length of the supple frame as he began to unlace the leather leggings of the Vigil’s uniform. This frantic coupling did not sit well with Aragorn’s romantic notions of the act of love, but the lust that flared up in him was hotter than the forge of Feanor. By the time he had bared Legolas’s ivory backside, he was hard and eager to bury his shaft in the Elf’s velvet heat. Neither was willing to wait and with the help of the fluid already seeping from Aragorn’s arousal, the Heir entered his Vigil without delay. Taking hold of Legolas’s slim hips, fingers curving around the winged bones, Aragorn rocked into the narrow passage in short, steady strokes.
“Ah yes,” the Elf breathed. “I feel the pulse of life in your staff; I feel your eagerness to be one with me. Do not hold back, my own. I wish to feel your strength.”
“Why, my best beloved?”
Legolas trembled with the force of the emotion that swept through him. “You make me feel desired, beautiful and cherished when you take me like this. I revel in your impatience.”
Aragorn set aside his fine manners and his fear of doing the Elf an injury and gave the Vigil what he craved. Grasping the Elf around his supple waist, the Man laid his cheek against the leather of the Vigil’s tunic and thrust powerfully. Legolas’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the back of the bench as he widened his stance, providing solid resistance for Aragorn to push against. The Heir’s weapon hand crept down until his fingers wrapped around the Elf’s hard flesh. Legolas bit down on his lower lip to stifle a glad cry when the Man began to stroke him to the rhythm set by the plunging cock.
“None but you,” the Vigil breathed as he spilled his seed over the Heir’s shuttling fingers.
Aragorn gasped as the clinging muscles of the Elf’s sheath clamped down on his rod, massaging his aching length. “My only one,” he panted, thrusting in sharp shallow strokes until his groin tightened and his release unspooled into the fenny channel. “My heart.”
Spent, the Heir leaned on the Vigil’s back for long moments of peaceful lassitude. The breeze blew over them, bringing coolness, the fresh green scent of the herbs and the song of a solitary bird. Without speaking, Elf and Man mused together on these things that did not change, come what may. It was oddly comforting to know that though they might fall in battle this day, the world would go on and there would be good things in it. Simple things…
Aragorn raised his head. “I must go to the library,” he said.
“Your troops await you.” Legolas remained still as the Man disengaged, and began doing up laces in haste.
“I think I know where to find the cause of my mother’s mysterious sleep.”
“If you tarry, many might perish.”
“If I die in the fray, she may never wake.”
Legolas inclined his head and waited for the Heir to make his decision.
tbc
Please see chapter one for synopsis.
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
Rated: NC17
Disclaimer: I borrow these characters from J.R.R. Tolkien with love and respect.
Thank you, Jean.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::>
Haldir hurried after the Elf rapidly disappearing down the street that led away from the Houses of Healing. Legolas did not slow his stride and the Marchwarden had to break into a trot to catch him. The scales of his shimmering mail chimed softly against the shining plate armor that protected his joints. It was a martial music, ringing sweet and wild in the ears of Mirkwood’s rebel prince, but the call to battle stirred him not. A leaden pall lay over his spirit like the smoke of war that hid Minas Tirith from the sun and he did not acknowledge the Lorien Elf’s presence when Haldir reached his side.
“Prince Legolas,” the Marchwarden said. “Allow me to offer my aid in your search.”
“I cannot control your actions.”
Haldir ignored the discourteous reply. “Have you any suggestions where we might look?”
“Anywhere but here,” Legolas said tersely. “If you would do me a kindness, you will leave me alone.”
“You are not well,” Haldir said, moving in front of the Vigil.
“Do not hinder me.”
Haldir nearly took a step back from the implacable tone in Legolas’s soft voice. The Prince’s eyes were as cold and dead as the heart of an iceberg. A chill struck at the Marchwarden’s steadfast heart, shaking him to his solid core. His faith in the Light was strong, having lived most of his days in Its last outpost on Middle Earth, but that grace faded before the black howling emptiness that screamed silently in the Vigil’s gaze. “Let me take you to the Lady Arwen,” Haldir said.
“For what purpose? This is no hedge-wizard’s spell that binds me. The sword and the ring were forged with the blessing of the Valar to be a pledge and a bridge between our Race and Man. I am one with the Heir. Can you understand what this means?”
“By your tone, you would say that I cannot, but I tell you that each moment spent away from my Lady is a lifetime to me. It may not be evident in my speech or my action, but to be so far from the green and gold heart of all I hold dear weighs down my spirit. I cannot speak of the depths of your pain, but I feel its echo; I know that you suffer and I know the nature of your suffering.”
“Then move from my path.”
“So I shall, after saying this. Remember your duty always. It is not solace, but it is the best distraction for such as we.”
Legolas was silent for a long moment, staring into the Marchwarden’s earnest gaze, and seeing, against all expectation, a kindred soul. He raised a gloved hand to clasp Haldir’s biceps in a rough salute. “I intend to search among the enemy,” he said.
Haldir nodded. “I see your logic. It is most likely that the Umbaran boy was a spy and the Steward killed or taken hostage.”
“It is not logical,” Legolas contradicted. “Yet, I feel it to be so.”
The Marchwarden drew breath to speak, but Faramir’s shout forestalled him. Haldir and Legolas turned as the Steward’s younger son and his companions reached them.
“Vigil,” Faramir said, pointing up the street. “Where are you going when your charge is back there?”
“I have orders.”
Elrohir laughed, drawing the stares of the others. “Legolas of Mirkwood following orders,” he said. “It amuses me.”
“I do not find it amusing,” Legolas said.
“You have forgotten yourself, brother of my heart,” Elrohir said.
Elladan nodded. “You are not the Legolas we set out to find.”
“I am not,” the Vigil agreed. “And we are wasting time.”
“Your place is with the Heir,” Faramir said. “We will search for my father. Elrohir and Elladan have made many raids on the enemy encampment and are better suited to the task than any other here.”
“Deny the logic of this,” Haldir challenged Legolas.
“I cannot and I burn to be with Aragorn, but it was he that ordered me from his presence.”
“Then ignore those orders as you have ignored those of your Sire all these years,” Elladan answered. “Ever you have followed your heart, Lasse.”
“Do not stop now,” Elrohir finished for his twin.
Legolas looked down at the plain band of the ring of power on his forefinger. The circle was a most potent symbol of power, representing the never-ending cycles of the world. It came to him then that it also symbolized unity, and a simple truth bloomed in his mind. He and Aragorn together were much greater than the sum of their parts, and vastly stronger than either was alone. It was a terrible mistake to leave the Heir. “I must go to him,” he said.
“Keep him safe,” Faramir said. “He is precious and much beloved and his loss would shatter many hearts and hopes.”
Legolas nodded curtly and turned to the Twain. “Good hunting,” he said, in their customary phrase at leave-taking, but this time, he added new words. “Come safely home.”
“As you command,” Elrohir bowed with exaggerated reverence.
“As you wish,” Elladan said, making appeal with his eyes.
The stern features of the Vigil softened, and he held out his arms. Elrohir and Elladan moved forward to embrace their erstwhile companion, as they had been wont to do in the days when they roamed errant. Kissing each on the forehead, Legolas let go of the twins and made haste back the way he had come, back to the Houses of Healing.
::::::::::::::::::
“To my sorrow, there is naught else I may do for her,” Arwen said, as she placed Gilraen’s hand back on the coverlet. “She wanders in dreams that are much to her liking and her feo will not hear me. If I but knew the method by which she was…”
“We may never know,” Aragorn answered, fighting to keep the bitterness from his voice. “But you have made every effort and now you are weary before the battle has even begun.” Arwen’s lips twitched and the Man realized that he had become somewhat adept at reading Elvish expressions. “Of course, you have already fought a great battle this morning,” he added. “I was speaking of the contest of arms we still face with Umbar’s legions.”
“I take your meaning, Heir of Isildur and I find your humanity… endearing. You have rekindled in me a passion for balancing injustice by the might of my mind as well as that of my arm. Your people hail me by the name Warrior Princess and I see fear as well as wonder in their eyes. Long has my father wished me to return to Rivendell to take up again my studies in the ancient arts of my line, but I have longed only to sleep under the stars after a day spent keeping our borders safe.” Arwen paused. “Prince Legolas and I are much alike in devotion to our Race’s survival, but now I question the single-mindedness of my mission. Have I neglected individuals in service to the whole? If I am not true to those I profess to love, how may I be trusted to make decisions for the good of a nation?”
“You are as wise as you are beautiful and your eyes see much that is hidden,” Aragorn said. “You have my thanks, Lady, but I fear my heart belongs to one that cannot feel love.”
“No word of mine will convince you until you are ready to believe,” she said, placing her palm briefly to Gilraen’s forehead in farewell. “And I must go to lead my troops.”
Boromir straightened from his slouch in the doorway, a consummate soldier that never stood when he could rest. His gaze fastened on Arwen like an eagle sighting his mate on the wind, and he judged her temper by the deepened color of her chatoyant eyes. Her fire jumped the gap between them like the lighting of a signal beacon and the Captain’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. He did not ask if the word was given; he could feel the Heir’s will to go forth and vanquish those that had so grievously injured that which he loved.
“Aragorn! My liege!” Boromir called out as he drew forth his great blade. “I will meet you again on a red field atop a mountain of Umbar’s dead.”
Aragorn straightened his shoulders, unwilling to show his Captain the despair that Arwen had sensed. His people must not know that his resolve sprang from a growing belief that none of it mattered. No matter how many battles were won, there were always losses and more battles to be fought. “We will meet again,” he said to Boromir and Arwen. “If aught should befall me, I would wish that any child of yours might be named my heir.”
Boromir and Arwen exchanged a swift glance. “If my liege commands it,” Boromir drawled.
“If there should be such a child,” Arwen said pointedly.
“I am glad to have that settled,” Aragorn said, as the Vigil appeared in the doorway. “If you will excuse me now, I see I have other business to attend.”
Legolas stood aside for the couple and did not speak until Aragorn bade him. “This is my place,” he said.
“That is all of your explanation for disobeying my order?”
“It is the only explanation.”
“And what of the Steward?”
“Faramir and the sons of Elrond search for him.”
Aragorn nodded. “They are best equipped for it,” he admitted. “I was angry with you when I sent you hence.”
“I beg you not to do so again.”
“Beg? You?”
“I cannot bear to be parted from you.”
“The cursed spell of that ring,” Aragorn said. “How much sorrow in this world has been caused by the lust for rings of power?”
Legolas bowed his head. “I am near to breaking,” he said.
Aragorn’s heart contracted with a sudden sharp pain that stole his breath. He could feel the Vigil’s agony and wondered how the Elf remained on his feet. “How is it that I can feel so strongly what you are feeling?”
“I never allowed it until now. As soon as I realized the nature of the spell and how complete the bond was, I began to guard my thoughts and feelings from you. I could not allow you to have such power over me. Not you nor anyone.”
“You hid well in plain sight.”
“I had much practice at my Sire’s court.”
“And now?”
“I am trusting you not to hurt me.”
Aragorn swayed as his Vigil’s memories flooded into him through the link of the bond, permeating his essence until he stood with Legolas in countless moments of the past and felt what the Elf had felt as though they were one. In that brief eternity, Aragorn realized a simple truth. He had already found peace; it was in Legolas’s eyes and in his embrace as they lay together. “I am sorry I said you had no heart,” he said softly.
Legolas looked up. “I do not,” he said. “I gave it to you.”
“Elves,” Aragorn sighed. “You come of an older, wiser Race than mine and I fear you will one day lose patience with me and leave me forever.”
“Still your fears. I cannot leave your side even under a direct order.”
“I had noticed.” Aragorn cleared his throat. “Will you not embrace me?”
Legolas was across the chamber before the Heir finished speaking. Their arms went around one another in a fierce embrace born of an emotion so large it left no room for gentleness. Each divined the other’s desire and Aragorn drew back to put his fingers over the Elf’s lips and whisper. “Not here.”
“As you command,” the Vigil said, taking the Heir’s hand and pulling him from the sickroom.
Aragorn let himself be led, knowing he had not the time for this dalliance, but unable to deny himself or Legolas. He smiled when the Vigil steered him into the small garden where the healers grew their herbs, and he stripped off his fine cloak to throw upon the ground. Legolas took it from his hands, and draped it over a bench behind a screen of vines. The Elf turned and was swept into Aragorn’s arms for a kiss that made the blood sing in their veins.
“Take me,” the Vigil said breathlessly, turning his back on the Heir and bracing himself against the bench. “Let me know I am yours.”
“You are free,” Aragorn contradicted. “I do not own you.”
“I give myself to you and that is what makes the belonging sweet. Claim me, Aragorn. Let me ride into battle beside you knowing you love me best of all.”
“I do,” Aragorn said, against the Vigil’s nape.
The Man felt the shiver that ran the length of the supple frame as he began to unlace the leather leggings of the Vigil’s uniform. This frantic coupling did not sit well with Aragorn’s romantic notions of the act of love, but the lust that flared up in him was hotter than the forge of Feanor. By the time he had bared Legolas’s ivory backside, he was hard and eager to bury his shaft in the Elf’s velvet heat. Neither was willing to wait and with the help of the fluid already seeping from Aragorn’s arousal, the Heir entered his Vigil without delay. Taking hold of Legolas’s slim hips, fingers curving around the winged bones, Aragorn rocked into the narrow passage in short, steady strokes.
“Ah yes,” the Elf breathed. “I feel the pulse of life in your staff; I feel your eagerness to be one with me. Do not hold back, my own. I wish to feel your strength.”
“Why, my best beloved?”
Legolas trembled with the force of the emotion that swept through him. “You make me feel desired, beautiful and cherished when you take me like this. I revel in your impatience.”
Aragorn set aside his fine manners and his fear of doing the Elf an injury and gave the Vigil what he craved. Grasping the Elf around his supple waist, the Man laid his cheek against the leather of the Vigil’s tunic and thrust powerfully. Legolas’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the back of the bench as he widened his stance, providing solid resistance for Aragorn to push against. The Heir’s weapon hand crept down until his fingers wrapped around the Elf’s hard flesh. Legolas bit down on his lower lip to stifle a glad cry when the Man began to stroke him to the rhythm set by the plunging cock.
“None but you,” the Vigil breathed as he spilled his seed over the Heir’s shuttling fingers.
Aragorn gasped as the clinging muscles of the Elf’s sheath clamped down on his rod, massaging his aching length. “My only one,” he panted, thrusting in sharp shallow strokes until his groin tightened and his release unspooled into the fenny channel. “My heart.”
Spent, the Heir leaned on the Vigil’s back for long moments of peaceful lassitude. The breeze blew over them, bringing coolness, the fresh green scent of the herbs and the song of a solitary bird. Without speaking, Elf and Man mused together on these things that did not change, come what may. It was oddly comforting to know that though they might fall in battle this day, the world would go on and there would be good things in it. Simple things…
Aragorn raised his head. “I must go to the library,” he said.
“Your troops await you.” Legolas remained still as the Man disengaged, and began doing up laces in haste.
“I think I know where to find the cause of my mother’s mysterious sleep.”
“If you tarry, many might perish.”
“If I die in the fray, she may never wake.”
Legolas inclined his head and waited for the Heir to make his decision.
tbc