Chapter Text
Night is falling, and the Fellowship has stopped for the evening. They gather around burning logs, sharpening weapons, conversing quietly, or, in the case of two certain hobbits, messing around with stones to see who can throw them the farthest.
Aragorn, for his part, idly pokes at the small flames to prepare them to cook a decent meal. His sword is sharpened and he has no one to make conversation with since the elf accompanying them has vanished into the thick woods.
"Um, Mr. Strider, sir?" Sam calls meekly from the other side of the budding fire, interrupting his thoughts. "We're running low on food. We don't have enough for the night."
Aragorn surveys their supplies. They have some fruit and bread, but Sam is right. There's not enough to feed the four insatiable hobbits, let alone the entire Fellowship.
"Eat what is left, Master Gamgee," he commands softly as he readies a bow. "I will hunt."
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam give an apple to Frodo, softly coaxing him to eat.
They've been on this quest for over a month already, Aragorn muses as he walks, and some of them are faring better than others. Boromir and Gimli have adapted well to their travels, and, surprisingly, as have Merry and Pippin. They two rambunctious halflings have retained their gaiety, uplifting the spirits of the entire Fellowship. Even Gandalf has managed a smile or two despite his dislike of Pippin.
Sam and Frodo have not been so lucky. The Ring weighs them both down. Frodo has hardly been able to eat or sleep, and Sam frets over him like the other hobbit will disappear if he leaves his sight for even a moment. They're both exhausted and Aragorn's heart breaks for them. They did not deserve to be the subjects of such a burden.
And, of course, no one knows how Gandalf feels or what he's thinking. As is par for the course.
As for Aragorn, he is perfectly at home on an adventure, and he knows Legolas is as well. The elf is happy to be out of Mirkwood for a time, feeling the breeze of places he's never known and seeing the world without the need to be royal.
Not that he knows where Legolas is right now. The moment Aragorn called for them to stop, the elf ditched his bow and many outer layers and disappeared into the trees. He won't be found if he doesn't want to be, and Aragorn tries to ignore the stinging in his heart.
As he listens and looks for something that will feed them, he tries not to think about the overwhelming feelings he has — has always had — for his friend. He's always found Legolas beautiful and kind, and late at night he can't help but wonder what a life together would look like for them. He never entertains the idea for long, though. Not unless he wants to become even more heartbroken.
He doesn't know how Legolas feels towards him. He knows the elf cherishes him as a friend, but if he feels anything deeper, he hasn't shown it.
He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. He needs to focus.
He listens carefully as he stalks throughout the woods. A good sized stag would be the ideal find, and he knows they populate this area. He only brought a few arrows, but he won't need more than two to catch something if his aim is true. It's about time for the deer to wake up too. Perhaps he'll catch one trying to find its breakfast.
For a while, he hears nothing but his own steps as he weaves through the trees. His footfalls aren't so heavy as to scare something off, there just isn't anything good enough to eat. He's seen a few squirrels and a rabbit or two, but that's not enough.
No more than twenty minutes or so into his venture, he hears the faint rushing of a stream when he strains his ears to make out the sound of possible food. He grins to himself. He's sure to find something to eat near clean water.
He follows the sound, but the stream is much farther than he thought it would be. He's hesitant to leave the Fellowship, but he trusts Gimli and Gandalf with the hobbits.
He has yet to form an opinion on Boromir. The man is brash and haughty, and he's more drawn to the Ring than the rest of them, including the Ring-Bearer. Even ignoring that, something primal in Aragorn wants to throttle him with every time the Man of Gondor attempts to flirt with Legolas.
His attraction is clear as day. He offers to take up the rear with him when they travel and to share warmth at night. He looks at Legolas like he hung the moon, but there is something in his gaze that hints to the Man just wanting his body. There is no hint of the pure love Aragorn has always harbored deep in his chest.
He's angry even thinking about it. He takes a breath, trying to calm himself down. Legolas doesn't belong to him. He doesn't possess him, no matter how much he wants to.
No, he shouldn't think like that. Legolas isn't a thing to be possessed. He's a prince, strong and regal in his own right, and, as Aragorn evidently needs to keep reminding himself, completely independent. Besides, he knows Legolas, and he knows he wouldn't want to be owned.
As he comes closer to the rush of the water, another sound layers on top of it. Soft singing doesn't overpower the stream, but rather blends with it to create something enchanting, more even than Lórien laments.
What makes it all the more beautiful is that the song belongs to Legolas. Aragorn would know his voice anywhere. His Silvan accent wraps around words in a sweet lilt that always has Aragorn's heart skipping in his chest.
As he gets closer, he can make out the soft lyrics, and he frowns. He is not well-versed in Silvan, but he can get by. He picks up words for mourning, bidding the listener to pass on peacefully. It holds the cadence of a lullaby, something a grieving mother would sing to her child in its final moments.
He makes it to the bank of the stream, out of the dense brush, and his breath hitches in his throat.
On the other side of the stream sits Legolas, facing away from Aragorn and cradling something unseen in his arms. His hair is damp and unbraided, falling down his back in loose waves. The moonlight shines through the leaves, illuminating Legolas in silver. His hair and skin catch the stars as he glows in that way all elves do. He's wonderfully slender without his weapons and cloak, and Aragorn finds himself tracing the length of his lithe body with his eyes, and he's eternally grateful that the elf can't see him.
The song ends, and Aragorn knows already that Legolas is aware of his presence.
"You've found me, mellon nîn," Legolas jests, but Aragorn can hear a note of heaviness in his voice.
"Yes," Aragorn says softly. "May I come over?"
"You may," Legolas says, "but you must be quiet."
As silently as he can, Aragorn wades through the shallow stream. He is not as quiet as an elf, but he he more so than any Man. The gap between them is small, and he is by Legolas's side in no time at all. He peers over his head and can finally see what he holds in his arms.
It's a fawn. A baby white-tailed doe with her eyes shut and breathing shallowly. One of her legs is speckled with flecks of dry blood.
Slowly, he sits next to Legolas. Their shoulders touch as Aragorn looks at the fawn. After a moment, his eyes find Legolas's and he's surprised to see unshed tears.
Legolas notices. "So often I am surrounded by death, but there are times where it affects me more than it should." A pale hand lightly strokes the tan, white-spotted fur. "Her leg is wounded. It was twisted and bleeding when I found her and I could do nothing to fix it. She lost too much blood."
A tear falls, and Aragorn resists the urge to wipe it away. Such sadness does not belong on Legolas's face.
"I have nothing to put her out of her misery," he continues. "The least I can do is comfort her. Besides, she is almost gone."
Aragorn can see it. The fawn's breaths become even shorter. Legolas starts to hum, soft and low, comforting even Aragorn. The fawn's eyes blink open for a split second. Their warm brown finds Legolas's light blue before closing again and nestling against his body. Legolas runs his hand up and down the fawns back as she seems to melt into the touch. But Aragorn knows better. She is gone.
Legolas holds her for a moment longer, staring at the small form.
But Aragorn… Aragorn stares at Legolas.
He's the perfect picture of sorrow, as odd as it sounds, and Aragorn has always thought there was something beautiful about grief. The moonlight catches on another fallen tear, and this time Aragorn allows himself to brush it away. Legolas looks up at the action. His blue eyes shine as they look into his, filled with grief and something else. Something Aragorn feels in his own.
His heart swells as he's filled with utter devotion.
I would do anything for you, he thinks unbidden.
"Forgive me," Legolas says. "I don't know what has gotten into me tonight."
"This is a hard time for us all," Aragorn says. "Heightened emotions are only natural."
"Perhaps," Legolas says, though Aragorn knows he doesn't believe it.
He doesn't push. "Should we bury her?" Aragorn asks.
Legolas shakes his head, his swishing hair catching the moonlight and stopping Aragorn's heart in awe. "No. She'll feed something else."
Legolas gently sets the fawn on the soft grass under a tree. He stands and spares one more glance towards her before he turns to wash her blood off his hands in the stream. Aragorn, not knowing quiet what to do, stands beside him to offer some sort of comfort. He's never seen Legolas quite like this before, and is completely at a loss.
Legolas shakes the water off his hands and finally turns to look at Aragorn fully. For the first time, he notices the bow in his hands. He looks up and raises an eyebrow.
"We're out of food," Aragorn says. "I was hunting."
Tasteful, Estel, he thinks uselessly.
Legolas hums. If he's hurt by the prospect of killing a deer right after a fawn died in his arms, he doesn't show it. "You've caught nothing?"
"Well," Aragorn sputters, "that's why I came to the stream. Water means animals."
Legolas fondly rolls his eyes, so different to how they were shining with tears just a few short moments before. "Give me the bow, Estel. I will catch something."
His lower abdomen swoops the way it always does when Legolas says his name, the one given to him by the elves. It's familiar from his lips, warm and welcome.
Wordlessly, he hands the bow and few arrows over to the elf. He looks more comfortable now with a weapon in his arms rather than an dying animal.
Legolas loosely nocks an arrow. "Go back and rest, mellon nîn. I will bring food shortly."
"Thank you, Legolas," Aragorn says.
Legolas smiles at him. It's small but there, and it's all for him. He doesn't look at anyone else the same. It's a smile brought about from decades of friendship and the knowledge that they have each other's backs.
Boromir doesn't get this smile, Aragorn thinks.
In the blink of an eye, Legolas disappears. He's somewhere in the trees, invisible to everyone in the world. The game will never hear him coming.
Aragorn walks slowly back to camp, enjoying having a moment to himself. It's very rare that he gets to be alone these days, and he relishes in it. Very soon, though, his mind is filled with thoughts of Legolas, as it always is.
Rather than thinking of the elf as he usually is, strong and kind and regal with a bow in hand and hair in the wind, Aragorn can't help but picture him as he cradled the fawn. He looked like something out of a painting. The glow of his skin, the starlight on his hair, his downcast eyes, they all make Legolas seem like he he should be immortalized on canvas.
He pauses in a clearing where the trees open up for the sky, and he gazes steadily at the moon and the stars. He loves them dearly for how they let Legolas shine under their light, and even more for illuminating his mourning figure.
He can't get the image out of his mind. He thinks at some point in the brief moment they were together across the stream, Aragorn fell impossibly more in love with him.
When he returns to camp, Legolas has already made it back with a stag shot behind its front shoulder. He and Gimli strip meat from its bones to give to Sam to cook as Merry stands by with salt and spices. Aragorn stands still for a moment, taking in the sight in front of him. If it weren't for the dire circumstances, it would be a nice scene. If all were well, this would be a simple adventure with friends with not a care in the world. But it's not, and they have energy to keep up, so he makes his way over to Legolas and helps pull meat from the stag. The elf glances over and smiles that small smile reserved just for him.
They eat dinner and quickly settle in for the night. Legolas, as always, takes first watch, but tonight he sits closer to Aragorn than usual. He thinks he can see Boromir scowling at him, but it's too dark to truly tell.
He falls asleep with the comfort of Legolas by his side. He dreams of loose blond hair falling over a lost fawn and blue eyes that look at him so earnestly that he wonders, for the first time, if the elf really does love him back.