Secrets and Pleasure

Author: Frogg

E-mail: hrshellkw@aol.com

Rated: PG ~ NC-17 (eventually)

Disclaimer: Not mine. Will return in a much better mood when done.

Summary: A coming of age. Some illusions are broken.

Author's Note: Set before Moria. Written in response to the Elven Pon Farr challenge on the Dimensions_of_Dhvana list.

{ Chapter 1 }

Aragorn's stomach clenched, the sight and smell of food revolting. His breath hitched; the fork fell from numb fingers to clatter noisily in his dish.

"Strider? Is the food not to your liking?" Sam asked, a look of concern and guilt on his face. He'd noticed the drop in his friend's appetite the last few days, and tried hard to compensate for it with his cooking to no avail.

"No, the food is fine. Wonderful. I just... I am not hungered, that is all." Aragorn swallowed heavily. The little he had managed to force down threatened. Setting the tin down on the rock beside him, he hunched over, uncorking his waterskin and taking a quick swallow. Liquid splashed over his chin and dripped onto his tunic, and he had to fight the urge to suck the moisture out of the cloth.

Then the dampness soaked through. His skin crawled, sending a shudder ripping through him.

"Are you feeling all right, Strider?" Frodo's voice was soft, worried.

Aragorn gave a wan smile that did not reach his eyes. "Just thirsty." He could feel the weight of their concern and curiosity growing oppressive. His heartbeat grew loud in his ears, beating staccato against his breastbone.

Gimli gave a short harrumph. "You have not been yourself as of late."

Fighting for breath, Aragorn closed his eyes and shook his head. He didn't know how much more of their well-meaning attention he could put up with. Their very presence hurt like salt in a fresh wound. "I do not--" He swallowed, unable to find words to explain.

Gandalf looked at him kindly. "Aragorn, isn't it--"

"Enough!" Aragorn's eyes flew open, wild and distressed, as he surged to his feet, nails biting into the waterskin still in his hand. "I do not know what ails me. Perhaps I would be able to discover it with a bit of peace," he snapped harshly, then turned, walking beyond earshot, but still in sight, before sinking to the ground to gaze out over the plain.

The rest of lunch was subdued, quiet in deference to Aragorn's obvious need for at least the illusion of solitude. The company finished the meal swiftly, cleaning their plates with little enjoyment and tucking them away, then resting weary feet for the little while they could spare from the long journey.

Legolas felt eyes on him, first the Hobbits, then Gimli and Gandalf and finally Boromir. No one knew what to say, how to ask, but it wasn't necessary. With a last, dry swallow of Lembas bread, he shook his head, brushing the braids of royalty back behind one pointed ear. "I shall speak to him."

The relief at that softly spoken declaration was palpable. Frodo heaved a sigh and leand back against a boulder, eyes closed; Sam curled up beside him. Merry and Pippin began clearing a small area, twigs broken off from a nearby bush at the ready for some game of figures.

"Do not rush him. We will wait," Gandalf said simply, taking his pipe from his belt and filling it with tobacco.

Legolas nodded his thanks as he brushed the few crumbs from his tunic.

"Legolas."

The elf turned towards Boromir in surprise. The other man had thus far had little to say to him.

"Good luck. He would not talk to me; perhaps he would be more... open with another raised as Elf," the Man said.

One delicate eyebrow arched. "When did you...?"

"Last night, after dinner. He was restless... as he has been of late," Boromir answered easily, jerking his chin in Aragorn's direction.

"Ah." Legolas knew well Aragorn's unease; he simply did not know the cause. With a sigh, he rose, crossing the small clearing.

Gimli watched him silently.

"Master Dwarf?" Legolas said as he pulled even with his friend. "Would you watch over my weapons?"

The dwarf peered up at him in confusion; Boromir and Gandalf stifled their chuckles. "I assure you, they will not walk off on their own!"

The Elf could not help but laugh at the blustery reply. "That is not the point, Master Dwarf. I ask again, will you watch over my weapons? I do not wish to have them when I confront Aragorn."

Gimli looked puzzled for a moment, then a pleased smile spread across his face. "Of course, I would be most happy to watch over your weapons." The last four words were heavy with humor.

"Thank you, Master Dwarf." Legolas grinned at him, then took off his bow and quiver, resting them on the ground, then adding the sheaths with his long knives. Weapons gone, he sobered quickly and looked over to where Aragorn sat alone, looking off across the plains. "Do not expect a miracle. I am but one Elf," he whispered, pain in his voice. He could not bear to see his friend so burdened.

"If anyone can bring about a miracle with him, 'tis you, Master Elf," Sam spoke up, much to Legolas' surprise; he'd thought the Hobbit asleep.

"I can but try," he replied, and set off across the ridge.

Legolas found himself standing a few yards away from Aragorn, studying the Man. Aragorn looked haggard, his eyes sunken, skin pale. The journey thus far had been hard, but not hard enough to account for Aragorn's condition, nor his increasingly antisocial behavior.

Sighing inwardly, Legolas wondered if he would ever come to understand his friend. He carried the blood of both Man and Elf, was raised an Elf, loved an Elf, would rule Men...ould the contradictions in his very nature be at the root of this illness?

'How long is he going to ignore me?' Legolas asked himself. 'Is he even aware I'm here? Is he waiting for me to say something?' Turning to see what Aragorn had found so fascinating in the distance, Legolas only saw the large clump of trees and brush signalling a source of water.

It was then that Aragorn's gaze flickered. "Havo dad, Legolas."

The softly spoken command did not quite startle the Elf out of his thoughts, and he closed the distance between them, easing to the ground on the far side of his friend. Aragorn did not so much as glance at him, only continued to stare out across the scrub plain.

"You do not mind my company?"

Aragorn shook his head slightly. "I knew it was only a matter of time before someone came to talk to me."

"You have been ill at ease for some time now," Legolas said softly. "Will you not share your troubles?"

The Man finally turned to look at him, eyes full of regret and confusion. His hand went to the cork of his waterskin. "If I knew..."

Legolas gazed at his friend compassionately. "Gandalf knows of no illness that would explain your symptoms. Boromir has little knowledge of the healing arts, and I must confess I have little experience with Men."

"This is no illness I know of," Aragorn replied.

"And yet you cannot eat, indeed have not eaten even half a day's rations in the last three. You cannot tolerate the presence of the Fellowship, yet mine is bearable--"

"Welcome," Aragorn corrected irritably.

"What?"

"Your company is never bearable. It is welcome," Aragorn elaborated.

Pink tinged the tips of the Elf's ears. "Welcome, then. You cannot rest; your very sleep is plagued with nightmares, some unknown terror that leaves you panting and alone in the darkness--"

Panic flowed across Aragorn's face and he stiffened. "Enough!"

"Nay, it is not enough!" Legolas snapped, anger flashing in his blue eyes. "You are part of this Fellowship, and as much our leader as Gandalf! The only reason we do not suffer conflict is you follow *him*. Should he be separated from us it is *you* we will follow, and we cannot sit back and watch you suffer. It wears on the rest of us even now!"

"Pray do not remind me," Aragorn whispered, ducking his head. He winced at the dryness in his mouth, playing with the waterskin again, aching for the moisture.

"Then talk to me," Legolas urged. "Tell me why I've sung lullabyes these last few nights." He went on at Aragorn's startled glance. "It was not for my own comfort, or the Hobbits, I assure you."

Aragorn slumped, forcing tight muscles to relax with a sigh. "I spoke the truth -- I do not know. You would be the first to know if I did."

Legolas reached out and touched Aragorn's wrist gently, offering the comfort of a friendly contact. He was unprepared for the response.

Crying out in surprise, Aragorn stiffened, every muscle pulling taut in protest as pain shot up his arm, a fiery agony he was at a loss to explain. Then it was gone, the hand snatched back and clutched to the Elf's chest. Aragorn shook his head, gasping, small whimpers escaping him as he fought through the red haze that had dimmed his vision.

Legolas stared where his hand had rested for so short a time, eyes wide, as if his touch had left an indelible mark. "Sorry, I am sorry, I did not mean..." he found himself saying in Elvish, and forced himself to stop as the pieces suddenly took on a whole new meaning and made horrifying sense.

"I know," Aragorn managed hoarsely. "It should not have hurt -- I know you would not..."

"Aragorn..." Legolas breathed. There was but one illness -- nay, not illness -- condition, that fit. And only when the afflicted had not had enough to quench the immense thirst the condition brought with it. Aragorn's obsession with his waterskin the last two days clicked. "You have Elven blood."

Bringing his breathing back under control, Aragorn looked up to see the light of realization in the Elf's eyes. "A little, yes. What has that to do with this?"

"Sometimes a little is more than enough." Swallowing, Legolas closed his eyes. He wanted to scream. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to grab Aragorn and kiss him senseless, to throw caution to the wind. He did none of those things, only asked, "Do you trust me?"

An insulted glare was his only answer.

"Then *trust* me. Let me take care of you. Of this. I will not--" He bit down on his tongue. He was all too aware that he could not promise not to hurt Aragorn; he had done just that only moments before, unwittingly or not. "Place yourself in my care. Please. I will not fail you." His voice had trailed off to a pained whisper, as if he expected rejection.

'I would trust you with my heart and soul, if I thought you would accept them,' Aragorn thought to himself as he gazed into Legolas' eyes, the emotions there poignant. Hope warred with worry and dread. "There are none I would trust more," he answered simply.

The blush turned the Elf's ears red this time, pink spilling into his cheeks. "You will not regret this," he vowed, the dread all but disappearing, replaced by relief and an odd joy. "Finish your water." He gestured faintly to the half-full waterskin.

Aragorn blinked in confusion.

"Drink it, Aragorn, your body is in sore need of it," he explained, his hands busy with the ties holding his own waterskin to his belt. The leather container was placed on the sere grass between them. "I need speak with Gandalf, and make some preparations. I want yours empty ere I return. Start on mine then, a few swallows when your mouth demands it."

Aragorn wanted to protest, to insist that water was not something they could spare, but held his tongue. He had already given his word, and it would be a relief to finally slake his thirst. His hands uncorked his waterskin as Legolas rose smoothly to his feet.

"Stay here. I will warn the others not to bother you. More company will jar your senses for some time," the Elf explained, then, once he'd seen Aragorn nod acquiescense, broke into a lope back towards where the rest of the Fellowship waited.

"Gandalf."

Everyone gazed at him expectantly, wanting to know what ailed Aragorn, but Legolas had eyes only for the Wizard, their leader.

"Might I speak with you privately?"

Nodding, Gandalf rose from his seat on a boulder, and held out his arm for Legolas to precede him.

Before leaving the rough camp a second time, Legolas turned to the others. "Aragorn needs some time to himself." He glanced at Boromir, then Frodo and Sam, as they were the most likely to seek the Ranger out.

Faint nods answered him.

Legolas led Gandalf some ways away, then drew close, not wanting the others to hear.

"Well?"

"Aragorn's Elven blood shows its strength," Legolas murmured softly.

Gandalf stared blankly for a long moment. Then his eyes widened as the Elf's meaning sank in. "He is suffering...?"

"Aye. All the symptoms fit, though I know how rare it is for someone with so little..." He took a step back.

A long hand waved in dismissal. "If he is, he is. And you're prepared to see him through this, I take it?" Gandalf raised an eyebrow; Legolas' acceptance of the situation was suspicious.

Legolas let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Who else is there? None of you have the endurance to keep up with him, and at least I know what to expect. Aragorn may have enough Elven blood to spark this, but his human blood makes the transition dangerous. I will not lose him to ignorance," he replied.

"Or to anything else." It was a gross exaggeration, and they both knew it. It didn't matter.

Whatever Legolas could have said in answer died in his throat. He glared at Gandalf accusingly; he had not allowed his feelings to affect the Fellowship up until now, and he would continue to keep them hidden. "It is enough for me that this has happened," he finally managed to choke out.

"Is it?" Gandalf knew it was wrong to ask, but could not stop himself. He had long thought Legolas' feelings towards Aragorn stronger than mere friendship, had seen the way the Elf's eyes watched the Man, had heard the Elven lullabyes and known who they'd been sung for. To ask was to question Legolas' loyalties, to cast doubt upon his honor. And yet the consequences he faced were too dire not to.

Face sliding back into his custmary expression of neutrality, Legolas drew himself to his full height, his backbone stiffening. "It is so nice to know of your unwavering faith in me," he said flatly. His eyes glittered dangerously. "What would you have me do, leave him to suffer? To die, alone? He cannot tolerate anyone else's companionship just now."

"Legolas..." Gandalf reached out to rest one hand on his friend's shoulder; Legolas shifted his weight, sliding out from under it. Gandalf let his hand drop back to his side as he gazed sadly at the irate Elf.

"No. I am not leaving him to suffer like this. I won't leave him to be touched out of some sick sense of *duty*," and he spat the word as if it were an invective, "not when I would touch him with care, would make this the celebration it should be. I have too much respect for him, he has too much honor for anything less."

"And the Lady Arwen?"

Legolas chuckled darkly. "Arwen is an Elf; she understands." And there was an underlying note in his voice that Gandalf did not. "Further, she bade me comfort Aragorn as much as he might allow on this quest; she would not deny him a moment's pleasure on a march to the Hells of Mordor." He drew in a shuddering breath, wondering even then at Arwen's generosity. "I gave her my solemn oath to care for him, to watch over him; I will not be forsworn, not even for the sake of the Fellowship!" The words came in a violent rush, tumbling over each other in a snarl. "To even suggest such a thing is an insult to me, to Arwen, and most especially to Aragorn!"

Gandalf's expression darkened. "It seems my unwavering faith is well placed," he murmured.

"If your unwavering faith is any example, this Fellowship will shatter long before we reach even Lothlorien. However -- it will not be my doing. I give you my oath on that," Legolas swore.

Gandalf looked into Legolas' blue eyes and read the emotions there: anger, frustration, fear, worry, and yes, there in the confusion, a long-abiding love that had never been voiced. He found himself believing in the Elf's conviction, the niggling doubts melting away as if they had never been.

"Gandalf..." Legolas whispered then. "This is a gift. One so valuable no one could have granted it to him. He will have forever with his beloved Arwen, but only if he survives the transition. If we were in Rivendell, or if Arwen herself were here, I would gladly step aside for her, but neither is the case. I can not stand by and watch him suffer. We would be burying him come morning, and I fear you would be mourning me soon after. I could not bear to see him die thusly, not when it is in my power to save him."

"You see this as a gift."

Legolas nodded just once, slowly, that slight tilt of head that was so characteristic of Aragorn. The motion in itself was telling. "I know you see it as something that could break the Fellowship, and I am sorry for that. But if I don't at least try, it is no longer possibility. Aragorn has been my friend for many years. I cannot believe that our friendship will be broken by this."

Gandalf smiled then, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out again, and this time Legolas allowed him to clasp his shoulder. "Then treat it like the gift it is." He watched as the tension drained from the Elf's body, the blue eyes rolling back in relief. His hand tightened on Legolas' shoulder. "Take care of him. Enjoy yourself. But guard your heart, Legolas--"

"Gandalf," Legolas interrupted gently, "I thank you for the advice, my friend, but I cannot guard what has already been given freely." With that, he turned and walked back towards the rough camp, feeling Gandalf's saddened gaze boring holes in his back.

Part 2