“I thought you were going to rest, Legolas,” the Ranger said to the elf who was dangling his toes in the water of a small stream in Lothlorien.
The contented expression on the alabaster face brightened to a pleased smile at the familiar voice. Leaning back on his hands and angling his head to one side to catch sight of the one who spoke, Legolas answered, “There will be time enough for sleep, Aragorn. These woods, this brook, are a better balm to my spirit than dreams could be.”
“You did not tell me the nightmares had returned,” Aragorn accused gently, taking a seat next to Legolas and searching his eyes for evidence of lost sleep or troubled dreams.
“My mind troubles me not at all. It easily recognizes your skill in battle and the facility of your mind. It is my heart, Legolas, that is not persuaded by such sensible arguments. All it knows is that this journey endangers your life. It does not sit well with me, Legolas, to see you in danger and yet know that I will not tell you to leave, that I would instead argue with my last breath to keep you with us.”
“You did not ask me to come,” Legolas reminded the man next to him, “Both of us are here of our own design. Do not curse yourself for your willingness to ask of me what I have already offered freely. It speaks no ill of you that you put the completion of this most necessary task before the ease of your own mind and heart, Aragorn. It has ever been thus with leaders of men.”
“I am no leader,” Aragorn protested, dismissing Legolas’ words with a wave of his hand.
“Are you not?” the elf questioned with a curious tilt of his blond head. He continued levelly, “It was not Gimli that brought us safe to Lothlorien, Aragorn, son of Arathorn.” Seeing the way the broad shoulders flinched subtly away from his words, Leoglas reached for Aragorn’s hand. “It saddens me that you must wrestle again with a choice that had already been made, but there is no help for it.” Raising the palm to his lips, Legolas kissed the center and then met Aragorn’s gaze once more. “Just follow your heart,” he urged, “and remember this — I am yours whatever you decide. Aragorn or Strider, king or ranger, it matters not to me.”
“It matters to me,” the troubled man sighed, “I want to do what is right, but no matter how hard I look, I cannot seem to discover what my true path should be.” Reaching out with his free hand to cup Legolas’ jaw, Aragorn looked deeply into the elf’s eyes and spoke earnestly. “The one thing I am certain of is you. I have had many names, but I have only one heart, and it is yours.”
“You honor me,” Legolas replied simply. A slight frown creased his brow as Aragorn shifted and the moonlight revealed the fatigue on the beloved face. “You will find no more answers tonight,” the elf observed, “and the road ahead is long. Lie here next to me, and we will be quiet together, and rest.”
Aragorn knew he should argue, knew that he should suggest they find their beds rather than remaining on the riverbank, but not even a full night sleeping on the softest of down pillows could bring him the peace that an hour of Legolas’ silent companionship would bestow. Granting himself this one chance to simply be with Legolas before the demands of their task commanded all of their energies, Aragorn drew his legs off to one side and lay his head across Legolas’ thighs. A slender hand clasped one of his, and the other combed through his hair. The ranger’s eyes closed on a comfortable sigh, and between one heartbeat and the next he fell deep into a dreamless sleep.
After pressing a tender kiss on Aragorn’s forehead and ghosting the lightest of caresses across his lips, Legolas tipped his head back and smiled at the trees, at the moon, indeed at the entire universe. The future was uncertain, the road ahead was dangerous, but those were worries for a later time. This moment was too full of wonder to leave any room for care. Tonight he had all he needed — the night sounds of the forest and the warmth of Aragorn’s body resting against his own.