She saw him before he saw her, and knew who he must be.
He stood motionless as the carved figurehead of a ship, lovely and fearless, the first thing to break the waves. His profile was sharp and clean, like some pale luminous stone chiseled with a blade of incomparable edge. Hair like starlight spun into silk fell in floating skeins to drape the shoulders of his forest green tunic and tumble halfway down his back. Though he was still, the lithe lines of his elegant frame gave promise of the grace owned by the long limbs. He was achingly beautiful, but she had known he would be. Aragorn would be drawn by that.
It was more than the comeliness bestowed upon all Elfkind; that would not be enough for the heir of Isildur. This one had true beauty, the thing itself, which was more than just a pleasing countenance, and well-made limbs. He had the carriage of some forest creature coaxed into the courtyard by your outstretched hand, poised to take flight at the slightest sign of danger. He was of the wilds, and yet the regal tilt of his chin, when he turned his head, whispered of an ancient lineage. Arwen met the eyes of the prince of Mirkwood, and inclined her head gracefully.
She had vowed she would not do this, and then found she could not forebear to speak to the one who held Aragorn's heart, when the Man was away from Rivendell. She had heard many tales of the adventures of the Ranger and the Wood-Elf, and Aragorn spoke of Legolas with the greatest affection. Poor mortal, he did not know what he revealed to her by the very tone of his voice when he said the prince's name. He was not even aware how much he loved Legolas.
Arwen knew. Her beloved was ever pulled toward that which was high and excellent for like calls to like, as her father had often pointed out to her. This Legolas' spirit must match the supernal perfection of its physical shell to have captivated the beautiful soul of Aragorn. So, she would not even be able hate her rival.
"Lady Arwen," the prince of Mirkwood said, as he came away from the edge of the platform.
His voice was a cool and light as the first snowfall, with the music of a deep forest accent. The consonants were blunted, vowels flattened into the Elvish version of a drawl. On how many long nights had Aragorn sat watch with that wild honey voice pouring into his ear?
"You know me, prince of Mirkwood?"
"I was told that Elrond's daughter was as lovely as the stars and the spaces between. I see in your eyes the light of Earindil, in your voice I hear the music of Luthien."
"You are a courteous guest, prince."
"As we are both royalty, perhaps you would call me Legolas, and I might call you Arwen."
"That would please me," Arwen said, "I have long desired to speak with you, Legolas."
"How would a tracker of Mirkwood interest the princess of Rivendell?"
"Come now, Legolas. You and I might have been betrothed."
"More like you would have been hand-fasted to my older brother," he replied, "But you chose otherwise."
"My heart chose," Arwen said, "And I may not gainsay its will."
"But you have not yet bound yourself to him."
Arwen's gaze flew to his at this bluntness of speech. "Not yet," she said, "My father . . ." Her voice trailed off. She had not come here to speak of the growing rift between her and her father.
"No, he is not bound to me," she said, "If that is of comfort to you."
"And why should it be?" Legoas brows quirked upward in surprise.
"Come, prince, let us pay one another the compliment of candor."
"Lady, your words confuse me."
Arwen sank gracefully to a bench, and, with a gesture, drew Legolas to sit beside her. As she leaned toward him, she caught his scent, an elusive sweetness she sometimes smelled on Aragorn when he came to her after a long absence.
"You must know that Aragorn loves you," she said.
"And I love him. He is brave and noble, a good fighter and a Man worth following."
Arwen smiled gently. "You are brothers-in-arms, I understand, but you must know that his regard for you goes much deeper than comradely affection."
"Aye, Lady," Legolas sighed, "But he does not know it."
"Or cannot," she said, "Yet, a large part of his heart is in your keeping. I pray you take great care with it."
"I shall. Always. May I say that you show great generosity of spirit, Lady?"
"I can afford to be gracious," Arwen said, "He has a great heart; there is enough love for both of us there."
"Many would not be so compassionate," he persisted in his praise.
"Many do not have Elrond of Rivendell as an ever-present model of behavior," she answered, "Once, as a child, I complained that I had to share my horse with a visitor's child. My father took up a lembas wafer, and broke it, giving half to me. He asked me which I would rather have, the half that was in my hand, or none at all? I would rather have Aragorn in half of my life, than to live without him."
"You must know that he loves you," Legolas gave Arwen's words back to her.
"It is pleasant to hear you say so," she admitted, "But my time with him has not come. His childhood was mine, his youth belongs to you, and you will return him to me as a man. I do not grudge him this time of wildness, and you are the perfect companion for the journey he is on just now. Guard him well, Legolas of Mirkwood. You shall answer to me for every scar."
"I will keep in your good graces, Lady," Legolas gravely, "And do not fear. His life is more precious to me than my own."
Arwen nodded, as though satisfied, her sable hair softly brushing the sweet curves of cheek, neck and bosom. Her long fingers toyed absently with a radiant jewel that lay against her breast.
"A time may come," she said slowly, "When he will not be able to resist the lure of your beauty. That is between you and Aragorn. You will make what choice you will when the time comes. It will change nothing that is between Aragorn and I. I have had my say."
"Then here is mine, Lady Evenstar. I walk beside Aragorn because there is no other place I would be. He is a leader, not just of Men, but of all Peoples. I have never known a nobler spirit."
"For all he is a Man?"
"Because he is a Man. I find him noble for his struggle is the hardest. He must fight against his own human nature."
"You see his beauty too," Arwen said, "You understand why I love him."
"I know not how others can be blind to his majesty," Legolas said, "To me it shines forth like a thousand torches."
"Like the Sun Herself," Arwen agreed.
Legolas rose to his feet. "If we have an accord, Lady, I should not tarry longer."
Arwen placed her fingers on the hand he reached down to her, and let him help her to rise. He knew she did need his assistance, but it pleased him to extend the courtesy, as it pleased her to accept it. His fingers closed around hers for a brief moment, and something palpable passed between them. A truce, and a pledge. They would share Aragorn's love, each keeping him safe for the other, and never revealing the arrangement to the beloved.
"We may divide him between us as we choose," Legolas said softly, "But we know whom he truly loves, do we not, Lady?"
"Aye," she said, "The folk of Middle-Earth."
Legolas inclined his head. "He is their shepherd, and his duty to them will always come before either of us."
"As it should," Arwen murmured.
"He gives so much to this ungrateful kingdom, which does not even know of his sacrifices, or that he even exists. He gives his all to protect the people of Middle-Earth, and, somehow, he finds enough love for you and I. I am very proud to be chosen for such regard."
Aragorn hurried up the stairs in search of Legolas. He reached the platform pointed out to him, and caught sight of the Mirkwood Elf talking to Arwen. Legolas' head was bent toward the Lady, and her face was turned charmingly up to him. Her eyes glowed, and her petal-silk lips parted in an enigmatic smile, at whatever Legolas was telling her.
Aragorn's heart staggered, and then settled into a faster rhythm. A cold wash of dread chilled his stomach, and he swallowed hard against the taste of copper in the back of his throat. They looked so perfect together, a marriage of Day and Night, uniting two Elvish royal lines. They were the two finest beings Aragorn knew; why would they not see in one another what he saw in them? Was it not natural that they would love one another on sight?
Seeing them like this made him wonder how he dared offer himself to either. They deserved mates who were their equals, and he feared that he was seeing that ideal match. He was dismayed, and yet a pure joy grew in his breast the longer he beheld the couple for it was not in his nature to be selfish or envious. Perhaps, one day, he would play uncle to such perfect children as these two would produce.
Then Legolas caught sight of him, and the dawning light in the prince's eyes told Arwen who approached. She turned her head, the same glow kindling in her eyes as she looked on her beloved. Aragorn felt the radiance that emanated from the Elves, and realized in wonder that it was directed at him. Basking in the luminous affection, he forgot his anxiety. He was the luckiest of Men to have such a Lady and such a comrade.
Aragorn strode forward to take Arwen's hand, and bow over it. He lifted his head to meet her eyes in silent promise, and then turned to the prince of Mirkwood.
Legolas stood with head tilted to the side, his flawless face soft with some tender emotion in which joy was mingled with pain. How right they are together, he thought. Aragorn's steadfast strength, Arwen's quiet courage, his roughness and her grace, his fire and her serenity, their differences making for a perfect balance. Then his reverie was broken by Aragorn's voice.
"Come, Legolas," the Man said, "Orcs have raided the border, and the trail grows cold."
Arwen watched them hurry away from her: the tangle-haired, raw-boned Man on whom care sat so heavily and the lovely, lethal Elf of the wild wood who had only one care. She saw Aragorn clap a hand to Legolas' shoulder, as he strode behind him down the spiral stair. She noted the exquisite line of the Mirkwood Elf's neck as he looked over his shoulder to meet the Man's eyes, and knew that Aragorn did as well.
Arwen knew that Aragorn would someday feel the need to possess that beauty, as was the way of Men, and she found that it did not change her love for him. Let him find what solace and pleasure were to be had in the arms of the prince, if that were his fate. So long as Legolas brought him home safe to her, she did not begrudge his half of the wafer.
She turned from the stair, tall Lady of Rivendell, the most beautiful of this Age, daughter of the most ancient of bloodlines, gathered her velvet skirts and went to resume the tedious business of waiting.
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Half a Wafer by Bailey
Story notes: This scene is part of a larger narrative detailing how Aragorn and Legolas met, and following the rough, winding course of their bittersweet love. There is no graphic sex in the following text, but other entries contain descriptions of pairings between several members of the Fellowship, and other Tolkien characters. I would rate the following G, as it also contains no violence.
