Miles To Go Before I Sleep
Chapter Four: Promises To Keep
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A Man's
mortality imparts to him a sort of weakness, a driving need to proceed, to
experience, to live in the moment, from moment to moment, as if he knows
that there are too few moments in which to accomplish all the living he
desires to do. A Man does not take the time to think through his actions
before he rushes to conclude them, because he knows he does not have that
time. Or, at least, this is the lie I tell myself as Brego continues to guide us through the wilds of Rohan, as the punishing wind whips against my sunburnt skin. The truth is far more bitter than the lie; it throbs and festers as much in my mind as the wound does at my shoulder. The *truth* is that I had used Legolas, my friend--I had used his need for me, his desire, to fill a hole in my own soul. The *truth* is that I had used the proximity of his body to replace the absence of Arwen's. It is a truth I cannot deny, a very ignoble truth that I realized soon after I released, as the pleasure ebbed slowly from my body and my mind, to be replaced by a growing sick feeling that I had done everyone in the equation a great and inescapable wrong. I felt Legolas release with a shudder even as I began to regain some sense, felt the warmth of his seed spread along my belly as he gasped my name. And what I wanted most at that moment was to start the evening again, to reverse all of what I had done, so that I could preserve a friendship I was now so certain I would lose. I rolled from him and lay supine on the forest floor, feeling sharp twigs poke into the exposed skin of my buttocks and lower back. I have to smile, now, at how I welcomed that pain, how it brought me to realize fully the situation into which I had put Legolas and myself. Now, as the horizon jumps and clouds with every throb of my wound, felt as strongly as a heartbeat pounding out its last pulse, I have to laugh at that. Brego puts his ears back; the horse must think me mad. Perhaps he is not too far off the mark, there. I remember how I stared up into the trees for a long while, occasionally catching a glimpse of stars through the dark branches as they blew in the wind. I felt, rather than saw, Legolas gently wipe at my stomach with a cloth, cleaning away the evidence of our union; I could not look at him, nor did I have the heart to stop him, then. Soon, he leaned into my field of vision, where I could not help but see his face, shining with a cool alabaster glow, which may have been an effect of the moonlight, or of the joy that radiated through the smile he gave me. My throat closed with the lump of emotion caught in it--how could I explain the truth to him? The truth of what I had done, at his expense? I looked away, into the woods. "Aragorn?" he questioned, and there was uncertainty in his voice, which I had put there with my lack of perception and my thoughtlessness. "Aragorn, are you...?" I could not answer. I felt exposed here, not only in the physical sense, but in my soul--exposed as a liar and a cheat. I have always struggled to do my best in all things, to step forth to the challenges placed before me, no matter how unworthy I am of them. But there, in the forests outside Lothlórien, I had not done my best. I had led Legolas and myself into a situation that could only crack the Fellowship further, could only drive us further apart. "Aragorn," he began again, "long have I wished for this moment." I squeezed my eyes closed, but I knew no amount of wishing on my part would end this evening. I knew that I would have to face him, that I would have to tell him the lie and risk losing his friendship forever. "Aragorn," he said in Sindarin, with a weighty honesty in his voice that made my heart ache with the falsehood it kept, "I love you." It was all he said. He did not expound on his feelings at length, but only delivered that simple statement in such a way that there could be no mistaking the depth of his feeling. To this day, it brings a tear to my eye to recall it, and to know that I could never return his affection in the same way he gave it. I drew in a deep and shuddering breath, and replied in kind, "And I love you, Legolas...as one loves a brother." There was a silence that followed, broken only by an owl's hooting in the night as it hunted. What could I have expected him to say to that, after all? He did answer, but it was many minutes later. "As a *brother*?" I could hear the anger in his voice now, the hurt and the sorrow. "Do the *brothers* of your kind dally so? Are these the actions of *brothers* among Men, Aragorn?" "They are not," I managed to choke out dryly, still turned from him. "*Look at me!*" He did not shout, but nonetheless it was a stern command he issued, rather than a request. I turned to him, wanting more than anything to explain why I had done what I had...but I couldn't even explain it satisfactorily to myself. He continued, "Why? Why did you allow this if...?" "I wanted to assuage your worry," I said, and that had been true--somewhat true. "It concerned me to see you so lost, Legolas. You have never been so in my company--not in all the years we have known each other." I could hear my voice rising, though I struggled to keep it low. "You needed the comfort, and I gave it! I gave you what I thought you needed, because you are my friend, as close to me as a brother! But I cannot love you as you wish, Legolas! I cannot!" I panted, my breath nearly gone. "I love Arwen, Legolas. She will sail West, as her father wishes, and my heart will sail with her. As you took comfort from what we had done, so did I, but...it was not you of which I thought, then." His face fell, and I knew I had struck him with my words as painfully as if I had slapped him, physically, across the face. "I am sorry," I added. And I was. I am. I still am. We assembled ourselves separately, readjusting our clothing, pulling the debris from our hair without speaking--nay, without even looking upon one another. We walked back to the camp in silence, and have since conducted only the business that is necessary to the survival of what is left of the Fellowship. To the others, Legolas seems no different. But though I lack the perceptions of an Elf, I can see a difference in him. I am no longer his confidant, though I have tried to carry on just as before. He is civil, even friendly, but he is as a brother to me no longer. I wonder, if I reach Helm's Deep before I expire, if that will change. I wonder if he will be able to forgive me. I am sorry, Legolas. I am. TO BE CONCLUDED BACK to Chapter Index BACK to Gypsie Index BACK to Fanfic Index BACK to Main Page |