Title: Duty Calls
Author: IndigoStarNight
Feedback: Yes please
Summary: An elf, a king, and a romance that almost was, until duty called.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or the characters.
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU-ish, heavily implied slash.
Author's Note: This is a fic that I actually started like a year ago, but got stuck on, and only just in a sudden wave of inspiration managed to finish. So, I hope you like it, please REVIEW! And both Aragorn and Legolas will love you forever!
Enjoy!
"What are you sketching today, Aragorn?" Legolas asked, swooping in behind the mortal king to peer over his shoulder.
"Nothing," the ex-ranger replied, almost hastily enough to warrant suspicion, as he quickly hugged the drawing pad to his chest so that the elf could not catch a glimpse of what the page contained.
"Will you not show me?" the Mirkwood Prince pouted.
"Perhaps when it is done," Aragorn answered contritely.
Legolas sighed and sprung lightly into a low hanging branch of the tree growing next to the bench on which Aragorn sat. It was a quite, peaceful, lazy summer afternoon, and the Silvan Prince was visiting his long time friend in Minas Tirith for the season. It was a usual occurrence, as it always had been, to find the king lurking among some flowering bush, a pad of paper in one hand and a brush in the other.
Legolas, talented at so many things, could never even near rivaling his mortal friend's talent at imagery. Even as a young man, Aragorn had awed many a grand elven lord or haughty prince with his astonishing art, either making the on looker weep with compassion, or laugh with mirth, depending on the subject of the image.
But to this quiet, elven prince the true beauty was in watching Aragorn work. In all his years on middle earth Legolas had never seen a greater joy or peace in any being than that which radiated from Aragorn when he held a brush in his hand.
This was how the two had spent many a long morn, afternoon, moonlit night, or any other time they could, Aragorn transported by his work into a land of the purest beauty which only he could see, and Legolas sitting by, quietly watching him.
Suddenly the peace of the moment was broken by a high, clear voice ringing through the gardens, invading their private haven.
"Estel?" The beautiful elven voice called. Aragorn jumped, his head snapping up at the sound of his childhood name. "Estel? Where are you my love?" the voice called again, it was drawing closer.
Aragorn glanced down at the piece he had been working on, and Legolas could have sworn he saw a touch of hidden longing passion in that gaze, but then for a third time the elven name rang through the air, and slowly Aragorn stood, leaving the paper carelessly where it was.
He was half way out of sight before he turned back, as though only just remembering that Legolas was there to say, "Will you come?" Legolas nodded, troubled.
The elf jumped from the tree, barely making an indent in the soft dirt at the base of the tree as he landed and followed Aragorn slowly. The king had already turned again and continued walking. Legolas paused, catching sight of the left, and apparently forgotten notebook. He frowned, it was very unlike Aragorn to leave one of his precious works like that, let alone uncovered, as the ex-ranger was extremely shy about his talent.
But then Legolas looked closer, and his eyes flew open wide in surprise. That 'nothing' Aragorn had been drawing, looked oddly familiar, perched in a tree, a distant look in his cerulean blue eyes. He picked the picture up in awe, was this truly what Aragorn saw him as? The elf, though by no means vain, was well aware that he was considered by many to be a great beauty, but this? Never before had he imagined anyone, even if painted by Illuvatar himself, could look quite so… so… he could not even find the word. A strange feeling, unknown to him, yet somehow tasting of something oddly familiar, began to coil in the pit of his stomach as he stood spell bound by the image in his hands.
"Legolas?" Aragorn's voice startled him into dropping the notebook. It landed quietly, face down on the bench only inches from where it had been.
Aragorn emerged around the corner. He glanced suspiciously from Legolas to the notebook. "You did not… did you?" he asked, snatching it up and holding it protectively to his chest.
"No, no my friend," Legolas lied quickly, "I was tempted," he grinned, trying to relieve the tension, "But I did not."
Aragorn nodded, and with a small, relieved smile said, "Well, come, Arwen has invited us to go riding with her."
Legolas smiled and followed Aragorn absently, his mind still preoccupied with Aragorn's drawing.
They emerged into the courtyard where Arwen waited with the horses.
"It is about time," Arwen laughed lightly, giving Aragorn a quick kiss, "Honestly, I believe the grass has grown three inches while I waited."
Legolas waited for Aragorn to give one of his witty retorts, but the king only smiled at his wife and moved to take the reins of his horse.
"Legolas," Arwen said brightly, turning to him, "I am glad you will join us." Cheerily she embraced him as she would her brother. If she had been fazed by her husband's response, or rather lack thereof, she showed no sign of it.
"I am pleased to be invited," Legolas replied politely, with a respectful bow of his head, "How are you today?"
She smiled, placing an absent hand over her swollen belly, "He will be a fighter, like his father," she predicted, her face aglow with childlike joy.
"Shall we ride?" asked Aragorn. Was Legolas imagining it or did Aragorn sound disgruntled and impatient?
Arwen, oblivious, laughed and said, "Yes dear, we ride." And with that they mounted up and rode out.
8
Much later that evening, Legolas wandered the halls in search of Aragorn. He ended up at the door to his friend's studio. It had been left ajar, so he pushed it open. "Aragorn?" he asked, but the room was empty.
Slowly, Legolas walked into the room, closing the door behind him. Aragorn's studio was a mess, paints and rags and canvases and other paraphernalia littered the place. It was Aragorn's private place. As far as Legolas knew, he was the only one who'd even been allowed into it, not even Arwen held that privilege.
He gazed absently around at the many partially finished paintings, then he noticed the smaller door in the corner of the room had also been left ajar. This door, he knew, led to a smaller room that branched off of the main studio, but he had no idea what Aragorn used it for. That room was the one secret Aragorn absolutely refused to share with his best friend.
Legolas hesitated for a long minute. He did not want to betray Aragorn's trust, but an irresistible curiosity filled him, and he couldn't stop himself. He crossed the room, and slowly reaching out he pushed the door back.
If he'd been shocked by seeing Aragorn's sketch that morning, that was nothing compared to what he saw in that room. The entire room was filled with canvas after canvas, stacked on top of each other, leaning at angles against the walls, all featuring the same blonde haired, blue-eyed elf. Himself.
He was still trying to take in the sight, when the sound of the door opening behind him caused him to jump and whirl. Aragorn stopped short upon seeing him and his eyes widened. Legolas stared back guiltily.
"You are very nosy today," Aragorn said at last, breaking the silence. His tone was mild and impossible to read.
"I-I am sorry, Aragorn," Legolas said, "The door was open and I could not help myself."
Aragorn nodded, his face still impossible to read, as he walked slowly across the room and stood only inches in front of his friend, gazing passed Legolas at the paintings. "Well," he asked after a moment, "Do you like what you see?"
Legolas had not expected this reaction, but answered honestly on reflex, "They are beautiful," he whispered.
"They were modeled after a beautiful person," Aragorn replied softly.
"Aragorn, I-" Legolas started, but his voice faltered and died. He was suddenly electrically aware of just how close they were to each other. He felt every movement, every heartbeat of Aragorn's as though they were his own.
Aragorn's eyes slowly traveled from the paintings to their subject's face. Their eyes met, and held, for a very long time. Aragorn's hand subconsciously traveled up to the elf's arm, as they leaned in closer to each other, both still unable to break eye contact.
"You have no idea how long I have thought of this," Legolas confessed in a whisper, his breath ghosting across Aragorn's skin.
Their lips were only a hair's breath away from each other, when for the second time that day a high, feminine voice broke through their silence. "Estel?" she called, light elven footsteps pattering to a halt outside of the door.
Aragorn started to turn away, but Legolas' hand shot out, grabbing his hand to stop him. "Do not go," the elf whispered.
"I must," Aragorn answered, his voice emotionless, "My lady calls."
"You do not have to answer," Legolas told him.
"Duty before pleasure," Aragorn whispered softy, and with that he turned and left.
Neither of them ever spoke of that moment again; they never continued what they had almost started. Legolas spent the remainder of his stay laughing, feasting, and going riding with his friends, Aragorn and Arwen's son was born, and the door to the smaller room of Aragorn's studio remained firmly locked.