It had been nearly a month since Aragorn had left Mirkwood. He was sitting now in the living room of the small house he kept outside of Rivendell's golden palace, gazing out the window at the various trees and flowers, thinking of a different forest. In the distance, there was an Elven lady on the road from within Rivendell walking toward him. Even without the benefit of Elven eyes, Aragorn knew who it was.
Arwen had visited him nearly every day since his return from his latest excursion. It had taken him three weeks to cross the Misty Mountains, mainly because Aragorn had made his way back to Rivendell at a leisurely pace. Each night as he fell asleep, Aragorn thought about turning around the next day and seeking out Legolas again. But with each step toward the west, Legolas faded further into the mists of Mirkwood and Arwen and Rivendell pulled him in with renewed strength.
Arwen. When Aragorn was barely old enough to walk, his mother had taken him and fled troubled Gondor for the refuge she knew Rivendell would provide. Not a month after they arrived, she passed away, leaving Aragorn to the care of the elves. He grew up in Rivendell, learning valuable skills in fighting and otherwise, but it was not until he had met a Ranger that he learned tracking and survival and freedom.
As sweet as the taste of freedom was to Aragorn's lips, sweeter yet had been his love, Arwen. Being that she was the daughter of Elrond, the king of Rivendell, Aragorn had met Arwen on the day of his arrival. He had never seen an Elf before and was taken aback by her intense beauty. Aragorn was infatuated with Arwen, and she him, each intrigued and entrapped by the other.
Over the next few years, as Aragorn was growing from a scared little boy into a strong man who craved a life that Rivendell could not offer him, Arwen's feelings were growing from infatuation to love. When the Ranger appeared and Aragorn leapt at the opportunity to leave her home, Arwen brashly promised Aragorn that she would bind herself to him, in hopes to keep her love where she felt he belonged: by her side. Aragorn refused and left, but Arwen promised that she would be waiting.
Now she was coming again to see Aragorn, hoping to get him to talk, hoping to find out what had changed him. Since he had returned from Mirkwood, Aragorn was always looking to the east and would only sigh when someone asked him what he had seen there. Arwen had pressed him about his trip over the Misty Mountains but all that Aragorn would reveal was that it was the forest that had a hold on him; he had left something precious, too precious to name, behind.
Aragorn often lay awake at night, replaying the evening when he and Legolas had parted ways. Each time he wondered what he could have said to convince Legolas to come with him to Rivendell, or why he hadn't insisted that they wait out the night. They had spent so few hours together; another four or five would have been more than worth the delay if only Aragorn could have looked upon Legolas' face for a little while longer. He wanted to memorize every curve of his lips, every inch of that creamy ivory skin; he wanted to know intimately every part of the Elf who was becoming blurred with the distance between them.
The desire to look upon that fair face was driving Aragorn away from Arwen. He did not know what drew him to Legolas so strongly; he only knew that he must return to Mirkwood to see the Prince and find out. Sighing, Aragorn collapsed into one of his chairs, head in his hands, his thoughts once again returning to that spring evening.
Legolas had led Aragorn through the forest without so much as a break for water, but by the time they had reached the edge of Mirkwood, evening was fast giving way to night. As Aragorn stepped out of the woods into the grassy meadow that stood between him and the Misty Mountains, Legolas simply stayed where he was, saying, "I will go no further."
Aragorn had thanked him for his kindness, and offered to stay with him through the night. Legolas again refused, insisting that Aragorn be on his way, since he had been in such a rush to leave Mirkwood in the first place.
"But where will you stay tonight?" Aragorn had asked, brushing aside the comment about his haste to leave.
"I will return home," Legolas replied simply.
Knowing the dangers of traveling at night through Mirkwood, a forest rapidly being reclaimed by darkness and evil, Aragorn had tried to stop him. But Legolas was adamant. "I know the way."
Legolas had proved correct before; his shortcut through the forest spared Aragorn at the very least a day and a half of travel. Aragorn had no choice but to let him go. "Legolas," he said, as the Elf turned away. "Please be careful." He hadn't known what else to say.
Legolas then stepped forward, briefly leaving the shadows of Mirkwood. He let his hand gently stroke Aragorn's cheek. "I have not traveled beyond these boarders, Aragorn, but I am not helpless. Do not fear for me."
Aragorn had placed his calloused hand over Legolas' soft one, still gently caressing his face. "I know that elves are both cautious and nimble, and rarely are snared by the crude traps of common monsters. But I will worry still for your safety, as I will not know how you fared."
In a fluid movement, Legolas pulled their hands from Aragorn's face and took a step backward into the woods. With a bow, he placed a delicate kiss on Aragorn's hand. "I invite you, then, to return to Mirkwood, Aragorn." There was mischief dancing in his dark blue eyes when Legolas looked up again. "If only so you will know that I am safe again." Dropping Aragorn's hand, Legolas then took another step backward, and was engulfed by the shadows of the forest.
"I promise to return to you, Legolas," Aragorn called after him into the woods. "I will not let you exist only in my dreams!"
Legolas' musical voice had come floating back to him on the night's breeze: "I will be waiting."
Aragorn sighed, looking again outside the window. Arwen was nearly at his door. Turning abruptly away from the cheery spring morning outside, Aragorn strode over to where his pack was lying propped up against one of the chairs in the sparsely furnished room. Already in it where most of his traveling necessities, so Aragorn ran to his bedroom and grabbed an extra couple of shirts and socks for when he would trek through the Misty Mountains and beyond.
By the time Arwen came to the door, Aragorn was on his way out. "Where are you going, Aragorn?" she asked.
"To become a Ranger."
Arwen furrowed her eyebrows, placing a hand on his arm to halt him as Aragorn headed toward the well to fill up his canteen. "But you only just arrived," she protested. "And you are already a Ranger."
"No." Aragorn dipped his canteen into the water. "I am going to become a real Ranger."
"But why?"
Finally Aragorn paused to look Arwen in the eye. "I am going to find a dream from which I wished not to wake. Failing that, it matters not what I do, for I am ever in a sleepwalk without the light of Mirkwood."
"There is no more light in Mirkwood," Arwen said crossly. "It grows ever darker in the east."
Aragorn looked off toward the east, his mind already miles into his quest; his heart even further. "There is one light left yet in Mirkwood."
"And you know where to find it, this light?" Arwen asked thickly.
His face set with determination, Aragorn turned back to her. "Yes. I made a promise to return there. And I shall."
"And what of me?" Arwen struggled to keep from crying. "What of us?"
"I must leave Rivendell." Sighing, Aragorn took her hand, and spoke more gently. "It is not my purpose to hurt you. But you know that it is not my place to be here."
Blinking back her tears, Arwen nodded. "You are right. Elessar should not be tied down here. I... I did not want to believe that I was tying you down."
Aragorn shook his head. "You cannot tie me down, Arwen. My chains were self-imposed, and now I cast them off." Aragorn kissed her hand and turned, walking down the path toward the east. He looked back at Arwen once. "I will not return for a long while."
A tear slipped silently down her cheek. "I know."
Aragorn turned around and continued down the path, never once looking back at Rivendell. As he entered the outskirts of the city and the hills surround it, he began to hum happily to himself.
Behind him, Arwen dropped softly to the ground, crying for the feeling wound tightly around her heart; the feeling that Aragorn would never return.
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Chapter notes: Pre-LotR, Aragorn returns to Rivendell and Arwen only to realize that he's left his heart in Mirkwood :)
