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After the battle at Helms Deep, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf and the two Hobbits Merry and Pippin were on their way to Minas Tirith. As an exhausting day of travelling drew to an end, they set up camp for the night at the edge of a forest. Legolas had, leaned against the foot of a large tree, rested in a meditative state for almost five hours, which for an Elf was more than enough, so from the early morning hours on he sat there, keeping watch of his fellow companions. He expected them to sleep until at least sunrise; the last days had been tremendously exhausting, both physically and mentally. A battle won, friends lost and many treacherous miles behind them. He decided to use this spare time to do some maintenance on his bow and clothes, sewing some battle-induced tears, waxing his bow string and preparing some new arrows. It was a clear, starry night, the moon was full and earlier he’d already collected some herbs and weeds that were best or only gathered at full moon. Presently he was carving some sticks, careful to make as little sound as possible, when Aragorn, who lay closest to the edge of the camp, awoke with a start, his dagger drawn, ready to stab whatever it was that haunted his dreams.
With a sigh the ranger sheathed the weapon again. He looked over at Legolas. “You didn’t see that,” he said as he got up to sit down next to his friend. “Aragorn. Do you trust me so little? You need not pretend in front of me. I may not sleep in entirely the same manner as you do, but I, too, am no stranger to visions and nightmares that haunt my resting hours. Be assured that you will never receive judgement from me.” “You’re right, mellon nîn, I forget myself.” “You should rest. The last few weeks have been draining. They took a toll on all of us.” “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” “How very unlike Gimli.” With that Legolas looked in the direction Gimli was sleeping, which was indicated by the loud, sound snoring that radiated from him. “That dwarf sounds like he’s never had a nightmare in his life.” Aragorn chuckled, then winced. “You’re hurt.” It sounded slightly more concerned than Legolas had intended. “Don't worry. It’s merely a scratch.” “Show me.” “Legolas, I know how to tend to my own wounds.” “I know you know. Only do you have elm’s bark at hand? Or coneflower? Or marigold? For I do.” With a defeated sigh Aragorn pulled up his shirt to expose a deep cut on his stomach. “I’ll wash it out and put some elm’s bark on it. It’s best if you leave it on overnight. Lean back.” So Aragorn did, his head propped up on a large root, while Legolas tended to his wound. “Annon achin [Thank you], Legolas.” “There is no need to thank me. That’s what friends do.”
For a while they sat, side by side under the dark, star sprinkled canopy. Legolas broke the silence. “I truly believed you were dead. In Rohan, when you fell off the cliff.” “Did you mourn me?” Aragorn had intended for it to sound witty but even while speaking the words, he realised the meaning of them far outweighed the tone and it became a deathly serious question on his tongue. “I did.” “Goheno nin [Forgive me], I shouldn’t have asked.” Then, because Aragorn felt like he needed to even the scales but also just because he wanted to say it, “I would too, if you died.” Legolas said nothing, he was just watching the stars. Aragorn felt for the necklace under his shirt. “Thank you for giving this back to me.” Legolas looked at him to see what he meant. When he understood he just nodded and looked back at the sky. Aragorn breathed deeply and looked down. “Sometimes you remind me of her, you know that?” The Elf looked at him intently. “How do you mean?” “Gi melin, Legolas. Melethenin achin egelren na i veleth sevin an Arwen. Ach te athan i veleth an mellon. [I love you, Legolas. My love for you is different to that I have for Arwen. But it is beyond the love for a friend.]” He looked at Legolas whose eyes were narrowed and fixed on him. Aragorn met them and was once again in awe of the wit and wisdom, understanding and depth that he could find in them all at once. Like looking into a deep, green forest. Those eyes, the trusted eyes of a friend, gave him confidence to confess something he otherwise wouldn’t have been capable of. To be vulnerable beyond any measure he would normally be comfortable to. “You said earlier I didn’t need to pretend in front of you.” Aragorn wanted Legolas to read his mind. To not have to say the words himself, even though he so wanted to. But Legolas’ face gave away nothing. No sound, not a single expression that could have saved him from his suspension in the empty void, bound by his own, earlier spoken words. Others all around them were asleep. They were close. So close that Aragorn could feel the warmth of Legolas’ body on his own skin. “Hathachin merin [I want to be close to you],” he whispered. The moment he had said everything, he cursed himself for having done so. The Elf looked at his chest. “I chón gîn. [Your heart.]” Of course he could hear his heartbeat. It felt like it was going to jump out of his chest. Legolas took some small pleasure in seeing him flush in the chill night air - Aragorn, the ranger who was always composed and cool-headed. Then he said seriously, “Merig hathannin? [You want to be close to me?] Like this?” And under the open sky, for all the world to see, but really, just for themselves, Legolas lifted his chin and kissed him. Aragorn inhaled sharply. His scent was invigorating and he radiated a strange steady- and calmness that relaxed him. When they parted again, nothing had to be said. The kiss was like the period at the end of a sentence; inevitable, completing, and afterwards, one went on.
It was Aragorn who now looked up at the sky. “What do you see in the stars?” he asked quietly. “A new age is dawning. Brought forth by the blood that will be shed in Minas Tirith. Tomorrow everything comes to an end, one way or another. We must be prepared.” Aragorn was prepared. “I am ready to die tomorrow. For Frodo. For middle earth.” “You are a skilled warrior, Aragorn. You will not die tomorrow. We have yet to see many days. However, your wound can only heal in your sleep. There are still some hours till the break of day. Rest easy now, Aragorn. I will keep watch.”
Soon Aragorn fell asleep, his head resting on Legolas’ shoulder. This night he would not be woken by a nightmare again, but instead by his trusted friend in the early morning hours when it was time for them to leave for their last, deciding battle in which they would fight side by side. Always close to each other.