Soar (soar38) wrote in lotr_mpreg,

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Fic: A/L Hearts Veiled

Title: Hearts Veiled
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas
(For the Legolas_Aragorn_Slash yahoo!group August Fic-a-Thon)
Written for Bailey and since it was her birthday yesterday I sincerely hope she likes this. :-)

Author: Soar
Archive: Sure, but ask please, also at my website and LJ
Rating: R
Request/Warnings: AU, Mpreg, angst, could be dark, hurt/comfort, just about anything that doesn't involve Dwarves in the mix(sexually speaking)or objects used as phalluses.
Disclaimer: Tolkien invented these wonderful characters for me to play with, but I make no profit from doing so.
Beta: niennas_dreams, my gwathel nin.

Summary: An incident at Edoras has the potential to either bring Aragorn and Legolas together, or drive them apart forever.

The battle for Helm’s Deep was over.

A long, winding procession of survivors had slowly made their way back to Edoras, many of the homeless and bereaved being taken in by others, still more sleeping in the mighty Halls of Meduseld themselves. But not everything was as bleak as it appeared to be. An undercurrent of triumph over adversity ran through the people of Rohan, their strength and solidarity visible proof to the dark lord that they had not, and would not, be defeated and cowed.

After many days of preparation, men hunting scarce game and women scrounging for whatever they could find, a victory feast was held, to pay respect to those who had fallen in defence of their people and to celebrate the life that remained.

Eowyn, niece of Theoden King, carefully carried a small goblet of ale in her hands, wary of the boisterous men who almost careened into her, but she paid their antics no mind, they had earned the right to be so free with themselves, as she was hoping someone else would be after this drink.

“Westu, Aragorn, hál,” she greeted softly as she approached the object of her desire.

She handed him the small goblet and with a smile, Aragorn drank. He then handed the goblet back to her and Eowyn hid a triumphant grin as she saw that the goblet had been drained. A sudden prickling of her senses made her look around and her eyes met the bright orbs of the elf. He was watching carefully, a frown set upon his fair face, a frown that deepened as Aragorn stumbled suddenly. Turning her attention quickly back to Aragorn, Eowyn saw that the man did not look at all well. He was flushed and sweat had formed on his brow.

A hand grasping her arm tightly, startled her and she was taken aback to find the elf now at her side. He snatched the goblet from her other hand and brought it up to his nose, sniffing at the contents. He put his finger inside the goblet and transferred some of the droplets to his skin. Then he raised the fingers to his mouth to taste the liquid. His eyes widened suddenly and with a grimace he spat the moisture from his mouth.

“Stupid girl,” he ground out furiously. “Were you never taught to be careful to whom you give heartfruit juice? It reacts badly to those with elvish blood.”

Eowyn was bewildered. “I… I am sorry, but Lord Aragorn is human,” she objected.

“He is Numenorean,” Legolas corrected, his flaring nostrils making his contempt of her obvious. “His bloodline was once connected with the race of elves and some of that potent blood lingers still. What did you hope to gain from drugging him?” Legolas was furious.

“I had hoped to make him look at me favorably,” Eowyn admitted, suddenly feeling like the stupid girl Legolas had proclaimed her to be.

“I wonder at times why I joined this quest. To ensure the safety of the human world means nothing if they are not worth saving,” Legolas said coldly and spun away from Eowyn, effectively ignoring her as he turned his attention towards Aragorn. “Come, my friend, you look tired. Let us retire and sleep away our weariness,” he said softly to the drugged man, who was blinking slowly in confusion.

Legolas took hold of Aragorn’s arm and they turned together, to head towards the private chamber they had been given. Eowyn saw something then, something in the way Legolas was looking at Aragorn.

“You want him for yourself,” she declared in shock. The shock quickly turned to anger. “You lust after him as I do, that makes you no better than me, worse, since I am of noble blood,” she stated self-righteously.

Legolas turned icy eyes upon her and Eowyn shivered as they seemed to penetrate her soul. “It is not I who drugged him,” Legolas said, his tone as frosty as a wintry dawn, not finding her worthy of correction. Then he continued on with Aragorn and left the hall.


Legolas made his way to the bedchamber with some difficulty, Aragorn reeling all over the place as the elf attempted to guide them, but eventually, they reached their destination and Legolas escorted Aragorn over to the large bed in the centre of the room. It was one of the guest rooms for visiting dignitaries and Legolas had pressed Aragorn into accepting Théoden’s generous offer of privacy and, knowing Legolas’ disposition towards large groups of humans, Aragorn had invited Legolas to share the room with him.

Legolas helped Aragorn over to the bed, seating the man and checking his brow for signs of fever. Aragorn’s temperature was slightly elevated, but not dangerously so. He tilted Aragorn’s face and, using a candle that he had lit, checked the man’s pupil response to light. A strange flicker in Aragorn’s eyes as he watched him disconcerted Legolas momentarily, but he shrugged aside his vague uneasiness. Instead, he walked back to the door to ensure it was locked to prevent anyone from disturbing them.

He turned back to face the bedroom and stumbled in surprise, Aragorn was now standing only a foot away from him. Legolas looked at the man in confusion, there was a strange glitter in Aragorn’s silver eyes and his body seemed tense and alert. Admonishing himself for feeling uneasy in Aragorn’s presence, Legolas forced himself to take a step forward.

“Aragorn, you really should…” his words trailed off suddenly as Aragorn moved quickly forward, backing Legolas into the door. “Aragorn, what are you…?”

Aragorn’s mouth took sudden possession of Legolas’, the force of the kiss bruising the elf’s mouth and making him gasp in surprise. Aragorn quickly took advantage, thrusting his tongue forward, invading and conquering. Legolas moaned into the kiss as a small flame lit within his being, slowly building in intensity as Aragorn’s hand wandered across his body, feeling, testing, stroking, caressing. He whimpered softly as Aragorn’s mouth finally left his own, but then yelped as Aragorn grabbed him and pulled him towards the large bed. His strength surprised Legolas, who tried to protest and stop his forward momentum. It proved futile, though, as, with one strong push, Legolas felt himself propelled through the air before landing on the soft mattress, his breath leaving him suddenly with the force of the impact.

There was no time to recover, though, as Aragorn was suddenly on him, the full weight of the man straddling his waist, calloused hands holding down his wrists and something hard pressing against his stomach.

Legolas stilled. “Aragorn, no, we cannot do this,” he said, his earlier uneasiness returning, and he struggled against Aragorn’s restraining weight.

Aragorn ignored his objections, leaning down to nuzzle against Legolas’ throat.

“Aragorn, please, I do not wish this.”

In response Aragorn transferred his grasp of Legolas’ wrists to one hand, using the other to dexterously begin removing the elf’s clothes. Legolas’ struggles intensified, causing Aragorn to growl at him in admonishment. Legolas froze in surprise, for Aragorn’s response had seemed almost feral. He had heard of those with elvish blood having effects akin to food poisoning after consuming the heartfruit juice, but never had he heard of it doing this. It was almost intensifying what the natural effects of the juice should be and, suddenly, Legolas felt that he was in some danger, both of losing his virtue and of having his heart broken.

Aragorn had long held a special place in his heart. From the time of their initial meeting, Aragorn had fascinated him, this almost perfect blend of human instinct mixed with elvish upbringing. It gave Aragorn an air of gracefully repressed power, at times almost seeming more animal than human to Legolas, a stalking panther perhaps; dark, beautiful, lean, graceful and yet, still deadly.

Legolas knew that in his right mind, Aragorn would never have attempted anything like this. The human had not even seemed to like Legolas in any way other than that of friendship and brotherhood, unlike Legolas’ own secret longings. The man was even rumoured to be betrothed to Arwen, daughter of Elrond. He was desperate to prevent the man from committing this act, knowing that the consequences would affect more than just their relationship.

Aragorn growled once more, obviously unhappy with Legolas’ struggling, and he reached out for a piece of the rope hanging from the side of an old tapestry, at the head of the bed. With seemingly little effort, he flipped Legolas onto his stomach and pulled the elf’s arms above his head, restraining them quickly. Legolas bucked furiously as he felt hands at his waist, taking hold of his leggings and pulling them down, baring his skin to the world. Strong hands cupped the rounded globes of flesh on display, kneading them, worshipping them with every small caress and, against his will, Legolas felt a surge of arousal flare through him.

“Aragorn, please,” Legolas tried again. He yelped as Aragorn bit into one soft cheek, not hard enough to break the skin, but certainly enough to leave a mark.

“Mine!” Aragorn growled, the first word he’d spoken since he’d drunk Eowyn’s offering and Legolas shivered at the possessive nature of the tone.

He was surprised yet again as Aragorn slithered down his body, the man’s weight resting across his legs and effectively halting their movement. Hands were then at his buttocks, gently pulling them apart and Legolas almost shrieked with shock as something hot and wet begin to lick over the entrance to his body, gently pressing into the puckered hole with each pass. He could not withhold a moan as the tongue began to push further into his body, the limber muscle flicking inside, stretching him and taunting him with its inability to drive any deeper and Legolas found himself pushing back against that pressure, knowing it was wrong and yet wanting so much more.

He mewled in disappointment as his hole was suddenly abandoned, but did not protest as Aragorn turned him onto his back. With obvious enjoyment, Aragorn set about exploring Legolas’ body with his hands and tongue, tasting and sniffing his way along the long, pale, elven body.

When he came to the root of Legolas’ desire, he curiously nudged at it with his nose, inhaling loudly, memorizing the scent of his mate. Above him, Legolas groaned, his hands twisting in their restraints as his body hardened in response to the man’s actions. Pleased with himself, Aragorn gave a satisfied purr and then took Legolas into his mouth. Legolas bucked upwards instinctively, seeking to bury himself in the hot, wet heat that had suddenly engulfed him. With firm hands, though, Aragorn pressed his hips back into the mattress below, Legolas moaned as Aragorn began to suckle on him, causing his body to harden further in Aragorn’s mouth. The secret longing he had felt for Aragorn became unfettered and Legolas allowed himself to soar on the wave of desire evoked by his friend. His body writhed as it sought purchase in order to thrust upwards, but Aragorn would allow him none, teasingly nipping at the swollen member as he gently released it from his mouth, and laughing at the petulant whine that escaped Legolas’ lips.

Aragorn was pleased with his mate. Legolas painted a wanton portrait as he lay across the bed, hands tied and currently resting above his head as they tugged at the sheet beneath him. His shirt had only been opened enough to reveal his chest and his leggings were currently half way down his legs, preventing Aragorn from spreading them further. Deciding to rectify this, he tugged at the soft fabric until it slid free of Legolas’ body, also removing the knee high boots and leaving the elf’s lower half exposed to his sight. Pleased with himself, he pushed Legolas’ thighs apart, grinning at the startled look in the elf’s eyes, and settled himself, most of his weight pressing down into Legolas, but his upper body supported by muscled arms. He lowered his head, taking Legolas’ mouth with his own and this time there was no resistance or hesitation from the elf. He thrust forward, allowing Legolas to feel the potency of his body and Legolas gasped into the kiss, the feeling of hard flesh against his hip increasing the flames of his own desire.

“Aragorn, please, untie me,” Legolas begged, wanting to use his own hands to map out Aragorn’s body.

Aragorn grinned toothily and nipped at Legolas’ lower lip, then he raised himself up to straddle Legolas’ hips before taking the elf’s excited flesh in hand, stroking the length, up and down, twisting around, allowing his thumb to brush and tease at the sensitive head, spreading the dripping, milky fluid around. His pace increased, along with Legolas’ attempts to thrust up into his hand until, soon, his hand was almost a blur and the elf beneath him was writhing, oblivious to anything but his own mounting pleasure and, with a wild yell, Legolas erupted.

Gently releasing Legolas’ now softening member, Aragorn quickly scooped up the pearly threads of the elf’s release and used it to coat his own flesh. He then positioned himself between Legolas’ thighs once more and guided the head of his proud stiffness to Legolas’ portal.

Legolas’ eyes flew open, startled from his feelings of satiation by a hardness pressing against his opening. “Aragorn, no, we mustn’t,” he cried out, too late, though, as Aragorn pushed forward and breached his body.

There was pain. Not even the lubrication Legolas’ release had provided could completely negate the effects of this virgin taking, but it did not last overly long and Aragorn paused to rest as his length lay sheathed within his mate’s tight heat. Legolas lay open to him; thighs splayed wide, chest heaving as he sought to adjust to Aragorn’s impressive size. Legolas groaned as Aragorn’s length twitched inside his body and Aragorn’s hips gave a small jerk in response. The groan became a long moan as Aragorn slowly withdrew, the long slide seeming to take hours, until Aragorn was poised once more at the entrance to Legolas’ body. The thrust forward this time was not as forceful as the first and the friction was delicious to both men, in different ways.

Legolas felt his desire reawaken with each long thrust of Aragorn’s body, the intimate connection forming between them warming him from the tips of his toes to the ends of his pointed ears and he felt suffused with love and desire. Instinctively, he brought his legs up, wrapping them around Aragorn’s waist, his heels pressing into the man to encourage him to push further into his newly awakened body. Aragorn needed little encouragement and he paused momentarily to pull Legolas’ hips further up onto his lap before thrusting forward again. The change in angle ensured that his hard shaft dragged across Legolas’ sweet spot, causing the elf to jerk in his arms, a loud keening sound erupting from swollen lips, impassioned pleas in a musical language escaping his lover.

Legolas found Aragorn’s stamina both impressive and frustrating. He longed to find his release again, yet the man seemed to delight in bringing him to the edge only to back away again, teasing him with oblivion. Legolas felt no shame in begging and pleading with the man to end it, to bring them both satisfaction and, finally, Aragorn took Legolas in hand once more, skillfully bringing the elf to climax. Legolas gratefully allowed the darkness to swallow him as the wave he rode proved to be too much. He could not have been out for long, though, as Aragorn was only just finding his own release as bleary blue eyes opened and sought their silver companions. Legolas was aware of the warm rush of Aragorn’s seed as it filled his body and he allowed a feeling of completeness to suffuse his soul as his bond with the ranger was cemented.

He mewled softly as Aragorn slipped free of his body, wanting the connection to have lasted longer, but he was relieved when Aragorn reached up to untie his hands before gathering his mate close and falling swiftly into slumber. Legolas quickly followed.


Legolas stood facing the east, his cloak wound tightly around him. He had awoken a short while ago and, feeling suddenly restless, had left a slumbering Aragorn to escape the man-made walls surrounding him. He’d felt some of the tension gripping him ease slightly, as he breathed in the cool, refreshing air that flowed down from the mountains towering over them. He needed time to think about how much had changed. How much giving himself to Aragorn would affect both the two of them and their loved ones. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the Evenstar, who had pledged herself to Aragorn, and to his own father, who would be disappointed at the match his son had made, and yet a greater part of him was singing with the joy he’d found in the love he’d recently consummated.

He heard movement near the entrance to great hall, where two guards stood to attention, heard softly spoken words that were still audible to his superior hearing.

“My lord, Aragorn,” one of the soldiers acknowledged.

“Be at peace, my friend,” Legolas heard Aragorn respond to their greeting and a small shiver of delight worked its way through his body at the sound of his beloved’s voice. “I only require some fresh air. I fear I celebrated a little too much this night.” There was wry humour in Aragorn’s words.

“It was a very good night,” the other guard offered. “We were all amused and surprised by the capacity of the Halflings for food and ale and their singing and dancing was most entertaining.”

Aragorn laughed, a sound most pleasing to Legolas’ ears. “I’m sure, however, I’m afraid I have little memory of the time after the King spoke and the celebrations began, but someone kindly put me to bed. I can only hope I did not shame myself.”

There was a trace of something unidentifiable underlying Aragorn’s words, but Legolas could not have cared in that instant. His heart felt like it had been caught in the grasp of vice, squeezed painfully tight, and a few silvery tears ran down smooth, pale cheeks. Aragorn appeared to have no memory of their time together. He stiffened suddenly, as he heard Aragorn leave the two guardsmen and make his way outside. A few moments later and he had been spotted. Aragorn walked over to his side, but Legolas kept his face averted, hidden by the hood of his cloak. Aragorn said nothing and with a great effort Legolas forced himself to act as naturally as he could.

“The stars are veiled,” he said finally.

Aragorn still said nothing and Legolas kept his watch over the east, only now there was something…

“Something stirs in the east… a sleepless malice.” Legolas shuddered almost unnoticeably as he felt something crawling across his skin. “The eye of the enemy is moving.” He looked quickly at Aragorn, his own heartache forgotten in the face of this new danger.

“Tell me, Legolas,” Aragorn demanded urgently. “What do you sense?”

“He is here,” Legolas announced and without pause, he turned and ran back towards the halls, feeling the threat surrounding him grow stronger, as he approached the room in which most of their group were sleeping.

They emerged into chaos. Pippin held a glowing palantir in his hands, his small body writhing in pain as he tried fruitlessly to release it. Aragorn darted forwards and Legolas rushed after him, hoping the human wasn’t about to do something foolish. He realized his hopes were in vain as Aragorn took the palantir from Pippin, the hobbit collapsing at the loss of contact, Aragorn quickly following after, his body sliding limply to the floor. Legolas caught him before he hit the stone and the palantir fell from Aragorn’s hands and rolled across the floor, only to be covered by Gandalf’s cloak.

Legolas looked down at the man in his arms, who was beginning to stir. Aragorn blinked blearily as he focused on his surroundings, then his gaze was caught by bright blue orbs and he smiled.

“Hannon le, mellon nin,” he offered softly, his hand tightening on the arm that lay across his chest.

He was puzzled by the sudden blankness of Legolas’ features, as though a curtain had suddenly veiled his face, hiding his thoughts away. Legolas released him and rose to his feet, striding over to Gandalf to see what he could do to help and leaving a puzzled human behind.


Gandalf had left, to ride for Minas Tirith, taking Pippin with him and leaving the others to wait for his signal. The signal had come in the guise of the beacon fires that stretched between Gondor and Rohan and Theoden had announced that Rohan would march to the aid of Gondor. All those still capable of fighting had been relocated to Dunharrow, as they awaited further forces to arrive from the outlying reaches of Rohan.

Although the four members of the fellowship had traveled together for some time, a new tension seemed to have arisen between them. Merry was lost in thoughts of his cousin, Gimli seemed oblivious to anything as he continued to bluster on about anything and nothing. Aragorn could understand the behavior of both his friends, but it was Legolas’ behavior that continued to confound him. Whenever he approached, Legolas would always find a reason or excuse to be somewhere else and he did not understand why.

Aragorn had been young when he had stumbled across Arwen Undomiel and their romance had seemed like a fairytale, yet, as time passed, they had settled into a comfortable familiarity that no longer seemed to invoke any passion, so, when the young Prince of Mirkwood had arrived in Rivendell, Aragorn’s heart has been wide open and he had fallen deeply for the golden elf. However, their relationship had never seemed to move beyond anything further than close friendship and Aragorn had resigned himself to the fact that Legolas did not hold similar feelings towards him.

Before they had set out upon their quest, Arwen had come to him. She had offered herself to him, to stand at his side when he took the throne of Gondor, to provide him with heirs, but Aragorn had not wished to take Arwen’s immortal life from her, knowing that their love stretched no further than kinship, and he had asked her to take the boat to Valinor instead. He had vague hopes that the enforced closeness of the Fellowship would bring Legolas closer to him, but thus far it had not been so.

Worse still, he now found himself feeling increasingly irritated and angered by the growing closeness between Legolas and Eomer. Eomer was constantly underfoot when not helping his uncle prepare the army, and each peal of laughter Legolas released was like a nail being driven into Aragorn’s head. Another source of irritation came from how tactile Eomer seemed to be, he was always touching Legolas, a hand on his arm, gripping his shoulders, speaking closely and privately in Legolas’ ear. It was not right for Eomer to be so familiar with Legolas.

His nights were filled with dreams of Eomer and Legolas laughing together, sharing secret glances and smiles, laughing at him. He often woke abruptly, his heart pounding within his chest, feeling that a part of him was missing, yet unable to decipher what that part was. It was on one such night that he was summoned to Theoden’s tent. He was shocked to find his foster father awaiting him.

“My lord,” he said after regaining his wits and then he bowed deeply to the elf lord.

“Aragorn, my son,” Elrond acknowledged. “Arwen has left these shores,” he announced abruptly.

Aragorn was stunned. He looked at his foster father for a long moment, unable to say anything. “Ada, I must confess I am glad of it,” he said finally. He bowed his head in shame. “My thoughts have not been with her these past months. I loved Arwen greatly, but only as a sister.”

Elrond smiled. “Then I am glad of it too, my son. I have never wished pain and heartache on either of you.”

Aragorn’s face fell. “And yet I fear my heart does ache.”

“If Arwen is not the cause of this ache, then who has stolen your heart?” Elrond queried in surprise.

“It does not matter. I fear my love will remain unrequited.”

“Does this person know of your feelings?” Elrond asked.

Aragorn shook his head. “I do not believe so. T’is for the best though, such a relationship could never work for many reasons, one of which is the need for an heir for Gondor’s throne,” he said bitterly.

“So it is a male?” Elrond mused.

Aragorn flushed and looked away from his foster father.

“Estel, what has become of you that you are now ashamed to feel love? Did we not teach you that love is something to be treasured?” Elrond asked in disbelief.

Aragorn looked discomfited. “I am not ashamed, Ada,” he said, falling back on the more familiar term. “You have given hope over to the people of Middle Earth, and yet I find I am afraid to keep any for myself, afraid that my heart will be broken and I could not face rejection from my love.”

“This is a difficult situation, Estel, and I think, perhaps, this is not the time for such ruminations.” Elrond said after a few moments’ thought. “There are still many battles ahead of you and it is for this reason I have come now. Behold, Anduril, Flame of the West.” Elrond swept aside his cloak and pulled out a long, sheathed sword.

With visibly trembling fingers, Aragorn took the sword from Elrond and then pulled the blade from its sheath. The blade rang pure and clear as it was held up to the light, flames dancing across its decorated edges. Aragorn could only gasp in amazement. Surely Narsil had not been so magnificent. He felt humbled by this representation of elven artistry and with one last sigh, he straightened his shoulders. He would put aside his own personal problems for now, they could wait until the war was over, if any of them survived, that is. He knew what he must do.


As the Three Hunters stood in the vast cavern under the mountain, an army of the dead surrounding them, Aragorn regretted his decision to allow Legolas and Gimli to come with him. He ignored the part of him that whispered that he’d had little choice in the matter, and pushed aside his guilt caused by the part of him that was glad his two friends, one friend in particular, was with him now, facing the almost impossible task of convincing these traitors and murderers to join his cause.

“You bring living spirits to these halls of the dead,” their lord said to him, standing casually before the ranger, his soldiers surrounding the trio. “You are filled with life,” he added and his gaze seemed to veer over to Legolas.

Legolas paled as the undead eyes fixed themselves upon his form, assuming that these spirits were drawn to his immortal glow, but instead, the leader’s eyes drifted down to his belly and Legolas blanched in dawning horror. The spirit seemed to see something within him that he had only just begun consciously to be aware of, the possibility of new life created within his body. A child. Aragorn’s child.

Aragorn watched as the spirit lord’s gaze settled upon his elven friend and he didn’t like the strange glint in the ghost’s eyes as they spoke of life. He knew that elves naturally drew other creatures to them with their immortal essence. They were unable to control their very natures and sometimes, unfortunately, fell afoul of those with less reverence for their immortal brilliance. Aragorn would not have Legolas fall to that fate, he would die first protecting the elf. He stepped to the side, blocking the spirit’s view of Legolas and readdressed the ghosts himself.

“I am Isildur’s Heir. Fight for me and I will hold your oath fulfilled,” he called out, looking around at the assembled army. “What say you?”

The lord of the dead smiled.


Legolas sat up in the crow’s nest, but he was only vaguely aware of their surroundings. The army had done its work well at each of the small towns they had passed on their way down the river, and the corsair fleet, which would have bolstered the enemy’s forces, was now broken and shattered.

Although he’d done little in the way of actual fighting along the way, Legolas now felt drained and his mind was in conflict. Part of him wanted to give himself up the song of the gulls that flew above him, his heart being pulled ever closer to the sea, the sea that would one day take him home, but that part of him had less hold on his thoughts than the recent revelation of his pregnancy. He was conflicted, what was he to do?

Aragorn had no awareness of their bonding, or perhaps he should say no conscious awareness, because he often felt the man’s eyes on him and, in the back of his mind, he felt Aragorn’s concern for his well-being grow. Yet, how could he suddenly break the news to Aragorn of their night in Edoras, of the child conceived by their passion, or Legolas’ own long-standing love for the human, especially in light of what lay ahead for Aragorn at the end of their quest, should they survive. A kingdom to rule and a maiden already plighted to become his Queen. Was it even possible for a human to bond more than once, and what would happen once Arwen discovered her betrothed already tied to another of her kind, one who already carried the heir to the kingdom?

He could run away, but that would not solve the problem and would instead leave a number of hurt and confused people behind. He could run home to his ada and confess what had happened, but his ada was protective and his moods often mercurial, he could just as easily march on Gondor as opposed to assisting his son in bringing this new life into the world. He wished so desperately that there was someone to whom he could speak of his problems, yet that same person he would have chosen, was the problem.

He had also considered whether or not he should continue to fight, to take part in the upcoming battles. Putting aside the fact that he would have to confess why he could not fight at this late date, he was also extremely averse to leaving Aragorn unguarded. He could trust no eyes but his own to scout out any potential danger that might come upon his beloved.

With no small amount of effort, he attempted to push away his thoughts and eventually managed to fall into reverie, his mind walking the paths of elvish dreams.


Aragorn looked up for the millionth time, his eyes easily spotting the glowing form sitting in the small bucket shaped resting place, where the watchmen usually sat. As they had traveled swiftly downriver, towards the River Anduin, Aragorn had found himself with more free time than he’d had since beginning this quest. His army of the dead swiftly dealt with any lingering pockets of corsair raiders and there was little he could do now, but allow the ships to carry them to their final destination, Pelennor.

His thoughts had not been calm, though. He found that more of his time seemed to be spent considering Legolas, as opposed to potential battle strategies that he could employ once they reached the main battleground. There seemed to be a small part of him that was always aware of the elf, of his location and even his feelings. It was strange to Aragorn who had never experienced such a thing before, but it did not stop his eyes from constantly wandering towards Legolas whenever his attention lapsed.


Aragorn turned as he heard a loud trumpeting sound and the earth shook, as the large oliphaunt stalked towards them, its cargo shooting deadly projectiles at the ground troops. He spun and saw that Gimli and Legolas were both in its path.

“Legolas!” He screamed out a warning and then watched in disbelief as, instead of running out of the way of danger, the elf ran head on to face it. He did not know how he managed to keep himself alive during the next few minutes, as it seemed that all his awareness was focused on Legolas’ progress as he jumped, hopped and climbed the oliphaunt and effectively dispatched the warriors riding it. His heart skipped a precious few beats as Legolas shot two arrows into the large animal’s head before using the falling momentum of the oliphaunt to glide down it’s trunk before neatly landing on the floor.


Legolas’ feet lightly touched the ground and he smiled inwardly at his little escapade. Looking up, he was taken by surprise as Aragorn suddenly appeared before him.

“What did you think you were doing, you crazy fool,” Aragorn exploded, his face tight with fury.

Legolas blinked in surprise and then gasped as the world seemed to tilt momentarily. Aragorn grabbed him by the shoulders, his hands offering support and Legolas placed his own hands on Aragorn’s strong arms, finding his balance once more.

Aragorn’s fury had quickly dissipated, leaving him cold with sudden fear. “What is it? Are you injured? Legolas, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Legolas hesitated. He was quite sure he knew the reason for his imbalance, his body already beginning to adjust to its new condition. “It was nothing, Aragorn,” he said finally.

Aragorn’s eyes narrowed and his hold on Legolas tightened, bringing the elf slightly closer to his own body. “Do you really think me so foolish, Legolas? Much do I know of elfkind and much do I know of you, my friend. I know that you do not come near to collapsing for no apparent reason. Now, tell me what ails you.”

Legolas’ mouth tightened as his own temper flared. “I have said already that it is nothing.”

Aragorn gave a loud, exasperated sigh and released Legolas, stepping away from the elf. “Very well, have it your way,” he said in disgust and stalked away.

Legolas watched his progress and blinked back tears of pain and anger.


They had won at Pelennor, but the cost was a heavy one. Many lives had been lost and just as many survivors had been deeply wounded by the grief that now hung over the city, but the fight was not yet over and the people were constantly aware that the dark lord’s army was still amassed behind the Black Gates.

Legolas wandered along the healing halls, searching for his friends and trying to offer a little comfort where he could. He had already seen Pippin, who was closely guarding a sleeping Merry. He had brought food to them both, for Pippin had refused to leave Merry’s side, even to eat. He then went in search of Eomer. He had heard of the Horse Lord’s great loss and wanted to offer his own condolences.

He found Eomer in a small, private room. He was sitting next to his sister’s bed, where the shield maiden still remained oblivious to the world around her. Eomer’s face was etched in grief, sunken eyes staring sightlessly ahead and deep lines marking the burden of responsibility he now faced. Legolas entered the room, his light footsteps making no sound on the wooden floor. He walked over to the Eomer and placed a gentle hand on the stricken man’s shoulder.

“My friend, you should sleep,” he said softly.

Eomer stirred slightly, his gaze taking some time to focus properly on Legolas. “Legolas?”

Legolas smiled. “Come, let us get you something to eat and then find you a place to rest your head.”

“I cannot. I cannot leave her, she is all I have left,” Eomer spoke sadly, his eyes drifting to rest on the slumbering form of his sister.

“Yet, you must also take care of your own needs, else what aid will you be able to offer her when she awakens and you are so tired that you cannot move?” Legolas smiled to soften the harsh words.

Eomer nodded dazedly. “You are right, but still, I cannot leave her alone.”

“Then I shall stay with her until you have rested your fill and can return,” Legolas offered.

Eomer smiled and, with Legolas’ help, rose from his seat. “You are a good friend, Legolas. I had not thought to think so kindly of you after the way we met, yet I find I hold you quite close to my heart,” he said and his eyes glowed warmly as they rested upon his elven friend.

Legolas squirmed under the admiring gaze. “You should not speak so,” he said finally.

“And why not?” Eomer asked curiously. “I am a lord of my people and you are a prince of yours.” He smiled in response to Legolas’ look of surprise. “I’m afraid your friend Gimli has a wagging tongue. I know that you are the son of the elven king of Mirkwood. There would be nothing to stop a bonding between us.”

“Except… I am already bonded.” Legolas could not meet Eomer’s gaze and dropped his head.

Eomer frowned. “Does this bonding not please you, then? Were you matched with someone not of your heart’s choosing?”

This time it was Legolas’ turn to frown. “Nay, it was my heart that bound me. For my people, when we become intimate with someone and our hearts are engaged, then we become bound. It is so much more than a human marriage; it is a connection of two souls in a bond that will last for all time, even beyond death.”

“So, you do love your bonded?” Eomer asked.

“He is my other half,” Legolas said simply.

“Does he know that you have come on this quest?” Eomer asked.

Legolas’ head dropped once more. “He does not know we are bonded,” he replied miserably.

“Forgive me,” Eomer was immediately contrite and stepped forward, pulling Legolas into his arms. “I did not intend to cause you distress.”

“Nay, it is none of your doing, Eomer. You have been a good friend,” Legolas gave a watery smile.

“I only wish that I could be much more to you,” Eomer said softly as he held Legolas close.


Aragorn let himself into the small antechamber of his bedroom and sank into the nearest chair, still reeling in shock. Gandalf found him there a short time later, still seated and staring into space, a dazed expression on his face.

“Aragorn!” Gandalf called out to the man and shook him none too gently for good measure.

Aragorn’s eyes snapped towards Gandalf’s as he was jolted from his stupor. “Legolas is bonded.” Both he and Gandalf seemed surprised at his first words.

Gandalf frowned in surprise. “I was not aware of that. Who is he bonded too?” the wizard asked with no small amount of curiosity. He had always prided himself on that fact that he knew almost all the goings on in Middle Earth, although, he reflected ruefully, that fact had proved not to be so solid in recent months.

“I do not know. I overheard Legolas talking to Eomer…” Aragorn recalled the initial burst of jealousy he had felt upon seeing Legolas tend to Eomer.

He had been on his way to check on Eowyn when he heard their voices and he had paused outside the threshold, hoping that Legolas’ sensitive ears had not heard his catlike steps. He had heard Eomer practically invite Legolas into his bed and had almost walked into the room then and there, intending to halt their conversation, when Legolas announced that he was already bonded.

Aragorn had felt as though someone had taken a sharp spike and driven it straight through his heart, leaving him rent open and bleeding. His initial agony had then turned into a flame of righteous anger on Legolas’ behalf as he heard the elf miserably tell Eomer that his bonded didn’t even know of his soul-deep connection to Legolas.

“How could anyone not know that they were bonded to Legolas?” he asked Gandalf in disbelief. “You would have to be completely unfeeling and certainly undeserving of his love.”

“Hmm, maybe he just forgot,” Gandalf said with a small smile on his face to show that he was jesting.

Aragorn froze. His mind instantly flew back to Edoras and a night of joyful revelry. He recalled Eowyn giving him a ceremonial drink, but everything after that became a blank, until he had awoken in his own bed, naked. His stomach had felt itchy where seed had dried on his belly, but he had assumed it was his own. He was also reminded of his growing feelings of being connected to Legolas. What if…?

Gandalf was startled as Aragorn suddenly rose and rushed from the room. “Was it something I said?” he mused aloud.


Aragorn burst into Eowyn’s healing room, startling Legolas who had been dozing in a light reverie.

“Aragorn, is something wrong?” Legolas asked, frowning in concern.

Aragorn said nothing, instead he moved until he was stood in front of Legolas and then pulled the startled elf into his arms, his mouth seeking and finding its companion.

Legolas moaned and almost melted away as strong arms enveloped him and a hot mouth sought out his own. Aragorn’s tongue quickly slipped into his open mouth and as their limber muscles connected their bond flared to life, almost drowning Legolas in a sudden rush of desire and emotion.

Aragorn almost tried to climb his way into Legolas’ skin as the bond came to life in his mind and his earlier belief that he was Legolas’ bonded was confirmed most pleasantly. He began to walk Legolas backwards, not stopping until they reached the wall and his body was pressing into Legolas’, their groins coming together in a most delicious way. He felt a shudder work its way through Legolas’ body and a growl escaped his throat as he nipped at the elf’s lips, his tongue tracing the kiss-swollen mouth.

A moan from the woman resting on the bed caused Legolas to pause and push Aragorn away. Aragorn growled his disappointment and tried to kiss Legolas again.

“We can’t,” Legolas whispered harshly.

“Why not?” Aragorn asked and there was a trace of child-like petulance evident in his voice.

“Aragorn!” Legolas exclaimed and Aragorn could hear the exasperation in his voice. “We are in the healing rooms, anyone could walk in.”

“Then let us go somewhere more private,” Aragorn said simply.

Legolas rolled his eyes. “Nay, I promised Eomer that I would stay with his sister until he had rested.” Aragorn scowled at the mention of Eomer’s name, but said nothing. Legolas frowned as a new thought occurred to him. “May I ask why you suddenly decided to come here and… and… molest me?” Legolas attempted to wear a look of dignified outrage, but Aragorn saw little beyond the gently flushed features of his mate. The shining eyes and full lips, the decidedly rosy hue of the elf’s cheeks were all a testament to the fact that he had not exactly been unmoved by Aragorn’s ardour.

“We are bonded,” Aragorn blurted out. “And I love you.”

Legolas sagged suddenly, as he heard Aragorn’s declaration, and only the man’s arms, which were still around him, kept him upright. “I have longed to hear those words for so very long,” he said finally and raised a shaking hand to cup Aragorn’s bearded cheek.

Aragorn turned his face and nuzzled the hand that touched him so gently. “And I have longed to say them, but never knowing whether my suit would be accepted.”

“Why would you think that?” Legolas asked.

“We have been friends for a long time, Legolas, and that is not something I wanted to jeopardize at any time. Your presence in my life means too much to me and if I had to settle for being a friend to you, then I would have. Although, I confess, I would not have looked upon anyone you chose to become close to with friendly eyes, I would have tried for you, but I fear I would not have had much success.”

Legolas smiled. “Then it is a good thing that you did not have to face that possibility.”

Aragorn blushed a little at Legolas’ words. “I do not think that is entirely accurate. Legolas, I feel a fool for forgetting the fact that we bonded, especially since I know how it is with your people and losing a memory of being that intimate with you is something I’ll regret forever. I still do not understand how it came to be that I could not remember the event, yet, since that time, there has been an increased awareness of you in my life. At times, I think I have sensed your moods and I have always known where to find you, but that did not stop my feelings of jealousy when I saw you becoming friendly with Eomer. I know he wants you,” Aragorn confessed.

Legolas looked at him consideringly. “It is true that he has confessed a desire to bond with me, but I am already bonded to you and I am happy with the match I have made, but I must admit to some confusion as to how you realized it was you to whom I was bonded.”

“It was something Gandalf said actually, and a feeling within myself. Perhaps you should tell me about that night, though. What happened?” Aragorn asked. Legolas hesitated for a moment and his gaze wandered over to Eowyn’s still form. The dots connected within Aragorn. “She drugged the drink that she gave me,” he said.

Legolas nodded. “Yes, with heartfruit juice. I feared at first that you had been poisoned, so I sought to get you away from the others and back to our room. However, once we were there, it became clear that you had lost many of your inhibitions.”

“I did not hurt you?” Aragorn asked in sudden alarm.

Legolas smiled sweetly. “No. I admit that I was not exactly willing at first, but my reservations had more to do with your betrothal to Arwen. You were very good,” he added coyly.

Aragorn found himself smiling smugly, but then another frown appeared, marring his features as he realized what Legolas had said. “I have never been betrothed to Arwen. At one time, perhaps, we had both thought ourselves in love with the other, but we came to understand it was more of a sibling’s love than any other. My heart has long been given to you, even though you did not know it.”

Legolas laughed, a bright sound that warmed Aragorn’s heart. “It appears that we have both been fools,” he commented. Aragorn smiled and leaned in to press a warm kiss against his lover. Legolas returned the kiss and then pushed back with a sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Aragorn asked, stroking one hand tenderly along Legolas’ cheek.

“I was just thinking about my father. He will be most disappointed when he hears that I have bonded and that there was no ceremony for him to preside over,” Legolas explained.

“It is unfortunate, but after the war is won, we can have an affirmation ceremony once he arrives,” Aragorn suggested and Legolas nodded happily. “I am glad that I will not have to wait to join with you again, though,” Aragorn added.

Legolas arched a regal eyebrow. “Is that so, ranger?” he asked. “Since I was deprived of my bonding ceremony, I should make you wait until our affirmation ceremony before I go to your bed.”

Aragorn growled menacingly. “We’ll see about that.”

“Yes, we will,” Legolas responded with all the dignity he could muster whilst a filthy human attempted to disprove him.

Eowyn slept on, oblivious.


The city of Minas Tirith was on tenterhooks. It had been announced early that morning, as the city slowly awoke, that the Prince Consort had gone into labour. The people of Gondor had watched in pride and happiness as order was restored to their city and the rebuilding began, but it was the love story between the King and his Consort that had warmed the people’s hearts most. How they discovered their love for one another after a long and dangerous quest, how the King had been forced to woo and wait for his beloved until a ceremony was performed to join them publicly in the eyes of both the Valar and their loved ones, and they had watched as the Prince Consort’s body bloomed with life, much like the city around him, now that the evil of Sauron had been vanquished once and for all.

Aragorn had fond memories of those days. Legolas had, of course, succeeded in getting his own way and they had slept in separate chambers until Legolas’ father had arrived for the affirmation ceremony. That had not stopped Aragorn from announcing his bonding with Legolas at his coronation and the people had reacted joyfully.

After all they had been through together, though, Legolas’ father proved to be the biggest obstacle Aragorn had ever had to face. The elven king had stared into him, judging his worthiness to be his son’s mate, but thankfully, he had made no objections to the union. Aragorn believed that Legolas had spoken to his father in depth, explaining the fact that were, in fact, already bonded and that the ceremony was Aragorn’s way of allowing Legolas a chance to share the event with his loved ones as well as giving his own people a reason to celebrate.

It hadn’t stopped Thranduil from cornering him and warning of the consequences of causing any harm to come to his son. Like a cat playing with a mouse he had taunted Aragorn by withholding his blessing until he had escorted Legolas to Aragorn’s side for the ceremony and after that, the day had been a blur. He might have remembered very little of the day, but the memory of that night was something he would treasure always.

He had been robbed of his memory of their first time together, something for which Eowyn had apologized profusely once she had realized he knew what she had done, and he found that he could not hold a grudge against her, not when it had given him Legolas. He was just glad that she had found her own measure of happiness in the arms of Faramir, his new steward.

Aragorn and his officially proclaimed husband retired early that evening, enduring the familiar joking of their friends and family. Legolas’ belongings had been moved into the Royal Suite earlier that day, but neither cared at that moment. They were alone at last, and about to consummate their love for one another.


They had stood close together at first, simply holding each other and sharing a look that went beyond the physical and delved deep into their joined souls. Then Aragorn had reached out a hand and gently stroked Legolas’ face, the elf leaning into the touch and smiling gently at him. They had slowly removed their clothes, taking the time to appreciate the sensual nature of the cloth sliding across their skin and feasting their eyes on each other’s form.

Whereas their first coupling had been almost frenzied, the heat between them flaring almost frighteningly fast, this time both wanted to take their time, Aragorn especially, so that he would always remember the moment. They had moved together towards the bed, sinking onto it and lying side by side, gently reaching out to stroke each other as they smiled and continued to gaze into each other’s eyes.

As one, they moved forward and pressed their lips together, at first a slow glide of skin upon skin and then, as the hunger grew, mouths opened, deepening their connection, allowing tongues to sinuously twist and stroke in an age old mimic of other intimate acts. Instinctively, their bodies moved closer, trying to feel as much contact as possible and there was a shared groan as their hard shafts met and slid along one another.

Aragorn broke away, gasping for breath and Legolas used the opportunity to roll over until he sat astride Aragorn’s body. He ground his hard member down into Aragorn, who bucked up against him.

“I feel like I have waited for this all my life,” Aragorn moaned and grasped Legolas’ hips to still his movements. “I do not wish to waste this opportunity, my love, and I will quickly spend myself if you do not cease your wicked teasing.”

Legolas laughed in delight. “Are you saying you are too old to recover, my lord?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Aragorn growled and grabbed Legolas firmly before rolling the elf beneath him. “It is you who will need to recover, my prince.”

Legolas yelped as Aragorn bit his neck, although not hard to enough to cause any real pain or damage. “Very well, I yield, Aragorn. I will tease you no longer, but you must hurry because I have waited long weeks to feel you sheathed within me once more and I refuse to wait any longer, for soon I will be unable,” he added.

Aragorn halted in surprise at his lover’s words. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Legolas smiled radiantly and took Aragorn’s hand in his own before placing it gently against his belly. “Our first union bore fruit,” he explained and watched as wonder crept into Aragorn’s eyes and suddenly the man seemed to glow.

“A child?” Aragorn asked and Legolas nodded happily. Aragorn laughed suddenly and moved down until he could press a kiss against the soft skin of Legolas’ abdomen. “What a wondrous gift. You are amazing, my love,” he announced. Legolas laughed at his human. “I shall see it will be necessary to treat you very carefully, my own, now that you are carrying such a precious burden.”

“Not too carefully,” Legolas said tartly and then moaned as his hand moved down to grasp his own shaft, stroking it lightly. “I ache for you, Aragorn.”

Aragorn smiled. “I love you, Legolas, with all that I am and all that I have to give.”

“And I you, until the end of time itself,” Legolas affirmed. “Now, do something, please, before I expire in my hour of need.”

Aragorn laughed and reached over to grasp the small vial resting on the bedside table. He opened it and poured a generous amount of oil between Legolas’ willingly spread legs, watching as the viscous fluid disappeared between pale cheeks. He spread yet more of the oil on his fingers, before reaching down to gently tease the furled opening to his lover’s body, stroking the puckered flesh until it pulsed, inviting him to delve further and he did, first sliding one finger inside and stroking his lover’s tight walls until they gave way and allowed another finger to enter. He stroked Legolas’ sweet spot sparingly, wanting to tease the elf without allowing him to fall over the edge of desire and Legolas moaned in helpless abandonment, a sight that made Aragorn’s shaft throb in desire.

When he deemed his lover ready, or rather, when Legolas had threatened to cut off vital parts of his anatomy if he didn’t use them quickly, Aragorn greased his hard flesh and guided it to the waiting opening. He paused for a moment and waited until Legolas’ eyes met his own before he pushed forward. Legolas moaned, long and deep as Aragorn pressed forward, not stopping until his heavy sac met Legolas’ rounded flesh and Legolas found maintaining eye contact difficult, when he wanted so badly to close his eyes and give himself over to the sensations currently coursing through his body.

Aragorn paused when he could go no further. He moved himself carefully until his weight was spread across Legolas’ body, his hands finding his lover’s and entwining their fingers, his mouth seeking its counterpart and joining with him in every way possible. As his tongue thrust forward, so too did his hips, a shallow thrust that tested Legolas’ readiness to proceed. When Legolas thrust back against him Aragorn smiled into the kiss. He pulled his head away, far enough so that he could look into Legolas’ eyes as he pulled back and then thrust forward again. They both groaned at the sensation and Legolas clenched his inner muscles around Aragorn, almost causing the man to lose control of himself. With great difficulty, he mastered his instinctive need to drive forward, instead keeping his pace slow and controlled, his mouth moving against Legolas’ neck as he murmured words of love against the sweet tasting skin.

Legolas was quickly growing frustrated at his lover’s unhurried pace, he needed more. He placed his feet flat on the bed, grounding himself as he pushed back into Aragorn’s thrusts, trying to break the man’s control. His hands did not remain idle either, this time having the opportunity they missed before as they roamed freely across Aragorn’s skin, memorizing the feel and texture of every inch he could reach. He keened loudly as Aragorn’s stiff shaft brushed over his sweet spot and the sound of his unfettered desire seemed to break something in Aragorn as the man slammed into Legolas.

Legolas groaned loudly in triumphant pleasure, feeding Aragorn’s own triumphant desire as he thrust again and again, taking them both higher and higher, until, without warning, Legolas erupted. Pearly fluid exploded from his flesh, spattering bare chests with proof of his satisfaction and the spasming inner muscles of his body took Aragorn over the same edge, his seed ejecting from his body with such force that he felt his soul was leaking into Legolas’ body too.

They lay together afterwards, too tired to separate their satiated bodies, Legolas’ sticky essence drying between them, lazy kisses exchanged and limbs still tangled intimately. Neither had ever felt so much happiness before.


“Aragorn!” Legolas moaned, breaking Aragorn from his dreams.

He sat up, surprised at his having fallen asleep and he instinctively turned to soak the damp cloth he held, in the bowl of cool water beside him. He then placed the cloth on the sweat soaked forehead of his labouring husband.

Legolas moaned piteously. His labour had lasted long throughout the day and night, and it was now approaching dawn again. It was only in the last few hours that the labour had advanced enough for both Aragorn and the midwife to reassure Legolas that the end was in sight. Aragorn bit his lip as another moan of pain escaped his brave husband.

“I am so sorry, my love,” he whispered as he allowed Legolas to grip his hand, almost to breaking point. “I wish that it was I in your place, I cannot bear to see you in such pain.”

“Now is really not the time,” Legolas bit out as another contraction seized him. This time it came with the urge to push and following both the advice of the midwife and his own instincts, he sought to bring his child into the world.

To Legolas it felt like hours passed as he was gripped by contraction after contraction, each time using his internal muscles to guide the child through the birth canal. He had long since gone past the point of caring about his dignity and didn’t care who saw him with his legs spread wide open, he just wanted this to be over, now. He had serious thoughts of denying Aragorn the chance to ever take him again, just so he could avoid conception, either that, or cut off Aragorn’s balls so that he would not be capable of fathering any more offspring, but still capable of pleasuring him. Yes, Legolas liked that idea very much and with one last, furious push he felt the child slide from his body.

There was silence for a long moment and then the loud squalling of a child newly brought into the world filled the chamber and Legolas felt his heart swell with love. The midwife quickly wrapped a warm cloth around the child and settled the babe into the arms of his ada.

“You have a son, Your Highness,” she said addressing Legolas

Aragorn quickly sat back, using his own body to support Legolas’ exhausted one and they both gazed down into open blue eyes. Legolas used one hand to check the tiny fingers and toes, counting each one.

“He is beautiful,” Aragorn breathed. “He looks very much like you,” he added nuzzling Legolas’ sweaty head.

Legolas smiled, he no longer felt any feelings of aggression towards his husband, his very being was suffused with warmth and love and he felt complete. He had everything he would ever need, here in this room. Well almost everything, but Legolas was sure that his father and friends would not be allowed entrance until both he and the babe had been cleaned up and made presentable.

“He has your hair,” Legolas commented softly, his hand gently stroking the tiny tufts of dark hair.

The child’s eyes seemed to focus on him as he spoke and a small murmur of what sounded liked pleasure emerged from between perfect little lips.

“He knows you,” Aragorn commented, amazed.

“Yes,” Legolas murmured. “For a long year I have carried you, little one. Now, you are here, resting in my arms. I wonder what life will hold for you, what path the Valar will carve for you.”

“It does not matter, because we will be here to walk it with him,” Aragorn sounded. “Now, all he needs is a name.”

“Estelion,” Legolas suggested after a few moments’ thought and the babe smiled toothlessly at him in approval.

“Estelion,” Aragorn murmured in agreement. “I foresee that you will be a great king, Estelion,” he said addressing his newborn heir. “But an even greater man,” he added.

“If he is anything like his father, he could not fail to be,” Legolas said smiling and placing a small, tired kiss on his husband’s cheek.

“I only hope he finds someone to whom he can entrust his soul, like I have found you,” Aragorn said.

“He will,” Legolas said with confidence. “He glows with the light of the Valar, they will watch over him.”

“As they have watched over us,” Aragorn added.

“As they will do for all time,” Legolas responded, this time with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

The End

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