A/N: I have realized the confusion of the character's ages. I have here some info for you all to clear things up. This is how I view elves. This is not Tolkien Logic, but my own.
Legolas: 85 years-old but I believe that he would still have the mind of a teenager. He and Estel have grown-up together, and eventually they have become closer than anyone could have seen. Except maybe for Elrond. She was raised by Arwen, who is now dead.
Aragorn: 87 years-old. I took that from the movies because I havn't read all the books yet. He acts like a normal human being, which means he can appear to be way older than Legolas. He, of course, was raised by Elrond. (Who still needs a special friend).
Disclaimer: Legolas?…Aragorn?…oh yeah that's right. Tolkien owns you.
Warning: AU, mentions of rape, SLASH
Legolas carefully studied himself in the full-length mirror. He felt extremely self-conscious about how he looked, especially since this was the first in a long time that most had seen him. His hair was still untouched tossled and still damp. His once form fitting clothing, a pale green tunic and black pants, were hanging off him from his previous starvation, and he felt ugly.
There was a short tap at the door, and Aragorn walked in. He caught Legolas's doubtful eyes through the mirror, and smiled reassuringly. He grabbed a brush from the night-stand, and stood behind the elf to brush his hair. He carefully sifted through the blond strands, and softly untangled any knots that had formed. "There now." he whispered, "You look so beautiful."
Legolas's eyes widened, and he turned around to look up at the ranger. "How can you say that after what I've done to my body? I feel so ashamed of what I have let happen to me. I just want things to go back to they way they used to be." He raised his hand to Aragorn's stubbly cheek, and caressed it lovingly, then let it drop to his side. "And can only imagine what the others are thinking of me. About how weak I've become."
Aragorn stared at Legolas sadly. He pulled the elf into his arms, "No, Legolas. Do not think that. No one has thought of you as weak. You are still young, and no has blamed you for what has happened. 'Tis the way of elves, Legolas. Someone important in your life had been torn from it. The fact that you are still alive proves your true strength."
Tears in his eyes, Legolas buried his face against Aragorn's soft shirt. Aragorn rests his chin on the top of Legolas's head. He smiled at the familiar scent of mint. Legolas had stopped crying, and was just standing in the familiar warmth of Aragorn's embrace. Aragorn pulled back, and smiled lovingly.
Legolas fidgeted in his seat at the table. He was aware of many eyes focused upon him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to avoid this for much longer. He was semi-glad that he could get this over and done with. To his left sat Aragorn, and on his right was one of the foreigners. One of Aragorn's hands were placed soothingly upon his knee. Across from him was Elladan, who was saying and making rude gestures about the person next to him and making Legolas laugh. The person next to him happened to be Bilbo, who knew exactly what Elladan was trying to do, but started to reprimand the full grown elf, and making his nephew jokingly wonder about the sanity of everyone on their side of the table.
Pretty soon, everyone was ushered into the Hall of Fire. Legolas was being dragged by Aragorn, who was going towards the dance floor. Lindir was singing melodically, and many couples had taken to dancing. He was a little awkward at first, but this beat was slow, and the hand on his back guided him through the music. He wrapped his arms around Aragorn's neck, and felt himself smile. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled so much.
Suddenly, the music became fast, and Aragorn had pulled away, and he began to move skillfully. Legolas stood watching, not really sure what to do. This is what he hated about dancing. It always took him sometime to get into the vibe. Soon, he found himself pressed up against Aragorn's body once more. He was guiding him through the steps. He soon found himself smiling broadly. He pulled back once again, and found the steps easily.
Soon, though, an intermission was set, and Bilbo had been calling them over, and soon they were seated before Bilbo and his nephew Frodo. "About time you two stopped. I do know not of what I would have done should they not have stopped their music. I'm almost done with this one," He said holding up a piece of parchment. "It just needs a melody." He glanced over at Legolas
Legolas's eyes were doubtful, but the reassuring hobbit hand on his shoulder pacified him. He nodded and began thinking of a lovely melody he had made once, an assignment from Erestor.
"Come on, Erestor. At least one dance." Glorfindel stood in front of his lover with his arms crossed. Erestor sat stubbornly in a side chair, and refused to budge. "I know you can dance. You have done so with me in our private quarters. No one will judge you in here."
"We have never danced so fast," He finally confessed. He looked up into Glorfindel's emerald green eye's. "I would, at least, not want to embarrass our lord's right hand elf." He added to lighten the argument. "But, I truly do not wish to look like a fool."
Glorfindel stood and pondered. "At least a slow dance, melethron. See, there is one starting. You will do wonderfully, amelamin." Without another word, Glorfindel had grabbed Erestor's hand, and dragged him to the dance floor. He already had his arms around the advisor, leaving him no way to escape. But, Erestor didn't even try. He melted into the warrior's arms, and swayed to the music. Some of the elves who did not know him well, openly stared.
"You move like water," Glorfindel whispered. "Do not believe what you tell yourself. You can never find your own words truthful to yourself." He leaned down to the dark-haired elf, and planted a chase kiss upon his pink lips. The song was specifically for lovers-something Erestor wasn't aware of-and Glorfindel was taking full advantage of this public display of affection.
All music stopped, and it seemed that the minstrels were told to play a light faint tune. Something that would not hinder the sound of speech. The speech came familiar to the hobbits, but spoke of the lore of the elves.
EŠrendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid.
In panoply of ancient kings,
in chainŽd rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes
to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn,
his arrows shorn of ebony,
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.
Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.
There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the fire upon her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea
there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel;
by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath
as might of death across the grey
and long-forsaken seas distressed:
from east to west he passed away.
Through Evernight he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
when ends the world the music long,
where ever foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.
He tarried there from errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,
and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls
where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns the Elder King
in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then
of folk of Men and Elven-kin,
beyond the world were visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.
A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.
From Evereven's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light,
beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From World's End then he turned away
and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn
where grey the Norland waters run.
And over Middle-earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids
in Elder Days, in years of yore.
gut on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orbŽd star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shores where mortals are;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse.
The voice faded, and the melody ceased. Frodo found himself looking at Bilbo, who had stood on a table. The table stood by a grand piano, were sat the elf Legolas. Aragorn leaned against it, looking at the blond elf. His eyes shone proudly as his eyes gazed upon the blushing elf.
"Now we had better have it again," said an Elf.
Bilbo got up and bowed. "I am flattered, Lindir," he said. "But it would be too tiring to repeat it all."
"Not too tiring for you," the Elves answered laughing.
Aragorn outstretched his arm towards Legolas, and hauled him to his feet, bringing him into an embrace. "I knew you could do it. You are strong, meleth. I would never lie to you. We will embark soon, and you will be strong."
Legolas wrapped his arms around Aragorn's waist. "I truly hope so."
A/N: Wow! Aren't I good. I think this is the fastest I have updated. I have also figured out my pairing problem, and have decided to leave Elrond mate-less. My reviewers seem not to like to help. Well I guess I'll leave the reviews for these two:
Legolas: Am I truly that horrible, kel? I have witnessed your human teenagers, and would appreciate not being labeled as such. Glade you like me though!
Aragorn: Ecstatic reviews. They are not worth the torment our author puts us through blackfire15. I mean the over-time with little to no pay. All the wasted condoms!
Legolas: Guess what, Bubas! Chapter 3!
Aragorn: cries I think I might love you, Will's Girl!
Legolas: eyes Will's Girl sinisterly