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Aragorn turned. Whispers echoed in his ears, he thought he heard his name passing through the haze of his mind. No one was near him, as he lingered in the shadows.
The room was dark, he could no longer find the intricate carvings sprawling across the ceiling, he could no longer tell where he was or who he was. Memories of being here before that didn’t exist - only tales he had heard. A thin layer of sweat clung in the air, bodies dancing close and fast as they praised the stars above.
Perhaps he should have expected nothing less from the wood elves. Elladan and Elrohir had told him tales of autumns here - the strength of the wine, the maddening frenzy of celebrations as the Silvan danced and drank, basking in the starlight they worshiped. Stories of secluded corners and darkened shadows - longing words and burning gazes. Still, he found himself in the Elvenking’s halls. His arrival merely days before had not readied him for this, still worn from months in the wilderland.
Laughter filled the air, floating through the haze of his thoughts like cool rain on a hot summer’s day. He had heard similar laughter in Imladris once before, when he was merely a child hiding in the shadows. He had not known who it belonged to then. He had heard it again when he chased the wind down from the mountains and across the Anduin. Aragorn looked up. He had seen the familiar smile countless times, the darkening of the eyes and the quickening heartbeat.
Legolas.
His appearance was as youthful as ever, his garments seemed to be woven with starlight. But his weapons were long forgotten, only the slight tracing of shadows betraying an archer’s body. His hair was loose, a far cry from the braids he normally wore. Pure gold weaved in tapestries, the sunlight. A circlet rested on his head, betraying his status that Aragorn wished to forget. A wine glass titled in his hand, staining his lips a dark red. A coy smile.
Aragorn winced, the Dorwinion wine burning his throat. He was giving into the fire. A swallow and the nerves dissipated. Legolas’s gaze seemed to cling to him, following him as he slowly traced steps across the room.
He was still the sun, the moon, the stars. He was still the towering trees of the forest that remained resilient, the cool and clear waters that meandered through the lands. He had not changed - the sly gazes and the slight touches remained the same.
It was not love. The desire, the lust, the need; it was not love. Legolas looked feral, wild, vicious - as if he would do Aragorn no good. Dangerous. They are more dangerous. Maybe it was love after all.
“Still you hide in the shadows.” Legolas’s voice sounded slightly slurred, rich with the tones of the forest and elegant with the delicacy of a prince.
Aragorn smiled languidly, “And you still command attention from everyone in the room.”
Legolas threw his head back, laughing. His neck was exposed, a slight red tinting his cheeks like poison berries on the winter snow. Aragon felt his breath coming heavy, his heart beating faster.
“You jest, Aragorn,” Legolas shrugged slightly. “I only desire attention from you.”
A breath caught, words unsaid. The forest around them was burning, Aragorn was succumbing to the flames. Darkness shone in Legolas’s eyes, gazes from across the room seemed to observe their every move.
A step closer, their bodies almost touching. Aragorn could feel Legolas’s breath fanning across his reddening cheeks. He felt lost, out of control, maddened.
“And you have my attention,” Aragorn’s voice was barely a whisper, hoarse. “You have always had my attention.”
Legolas reached out, his fingers tracing the jagged edges of Aragorn’s cheekbones, the plains of his back, the vivid memories of scars on his arms. He had changed since Legolas last saw him - new stories spanning the expanse of his body, younger and yet older still as the droves of time moved on.
“I have known that since the first time I laid my eyes upon you,” Legolas lent even closer, whispering words into Aragorn’s ear. “Do you not find it strange?”
He drew back. Aragorn shivered, with anticipation or cold he could not tell. The music had changed, it was slower, the strains of the violin were haunting. The room was spinning and he thought he could see starlight, tangible in front of him.
“Do I not find what strange?” His words felt heavy on his tongue, the alcohol taking its toll.
“It is strange how you have not yet danced with me,” Legolas’s voice took on an odd tone, as if it were almost strained, as if there were something else he truly desired to say. “Or have you spent too long a time with men and forgotten the way of the elves?”
Their very first meeting, Aragorn stumbling over words, bashful and bold. Legolas grinning, suggesting that they may have met before. Now Aragorn knew that it was all a lie, a mere trick to start a conversation. Legolas remarking Aragorn’s Sindarin was that of Imladris, Aragorn laughing. Legolas had not changed - still youthful, the shadows of the forest still lingering his eyes and his movements, predatory and elegant.
“I could not forget,” Aragorn smiled wistfully. “I could not forget you either, even if Eru willed it.”
Legolas was laughing again, maddened and wild. The world was watching, longing gazes following their prince. And yet Legolas was only looking at him. The jealousy dissipated. Aragorn felt young, as if Legolas was another predator hiding in the shadows of the forest. The words he had spoken dawned upon him like a red wine sunrise spilling across the treetops. But he could not bring himself to care.
Legolas’s hand was outstretched, calloused from the years of battle, and for the first time Aragorn noticed the jewellery. A ring fashioned to look like leaves, a plain golden band, a royal crest. His past, his present, his future. Warmth spread through his body, a moment without breathing, his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. Perhaps Aragorn would be part of Legolas’s future too.
Legolas was close, closer than he had ever been. Aragorn could smell the wine on Legolas’s breath, feel his heart beat against his own, see how Legolas trembled slightly like a leaf in the summer breeze. As if he was holding himself back. The light was dimming, the music blurring into the haze of his mind. The world was falling away around him and all he could hold onto was Legolas. Legolas was grinning, animalistic, and Aragorn found himself laughing, deep and low and freely. The space between their bodies had closed, only the flames of desire remained.
“It is strange how we continue to dance around each other,” Legolas’s voice was low in his ear, barely a murmur, a promise of infinite possibilities. “How we pretend that nothing will ever come of lingering touches and scorching looks.”
The confusion turned to denial. It is not love, there is nothing here. Words caught on his tongue, his breaths coming fast and hard. Now the truth was placed in front of him, he only wanted to turn and run.
Legolas was merely grinning, “I have seen the way you look at me, Aragorn. You cannot deny it.”
“I-“ Aragorn could not speak. Perhaps he was too drunk, or perhaps he knew he would be lying if he spoke the words caught in his throat.
But then he found himself moving forward, closer still, closing the gap between them once more. Legolas’s body was warm against his, clothes clinging tight with sweat, the air thick with anticipation. He was leaning forward and Legolas was still smiling. Lips brushed past each other, and then Aragorn was stepping back and grabbing Legolas’s hand.
A dizzying fever was consuming him, a fire that would burn for eternity. The music was fading, the stars burning brighter than ever before. Shadows of trees and darkened hallways offered them secrecy. Legolas was laughing once more, and this time Aragorn was moving forward, reaching to cusp Legolas’s face.
The circlet fell to the ground, a metallic clang ringing shrill through the air. Fate, destiny. Underneath the starlight it shone as bright as a thousand suns. It does not compare to Legolas. The facade fell away, the haze of his mind beginning to clear.
Legolas was looking at him still when he looked up. Something danced in the shadows of his eyes, something more than a primal desire. Their breaths becoming one another’s, their heartbeats slowly becoming one. Love. The startling clarity of his realisation burst through the flames of his longing.
“How long?” His words were rushed, awed as he breathed in the moment before him.
Legolas smiled softly, “Since the first time I laid eyes upon you.”
The starlight cast a glow over him, thousands of jewels worshipping the elf in front of Aragorn. He looked ethereal, otherworldly, hallowed. And the years of waiting were suddenly rushing back to him.
“Must we pretend any longer?”