Title: Radical Dreamers – chapter 23

Author: Nemesi

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. The only things that are mine are the AU storyline and time-frame, and the fic itself. No profit is being made, so please don't sue.

Couples: Aragorn/Legolas, Arwen/Boromir and hints at Elladan/Éowyn.

Summary: For Middle Earth's sake Prince Estel, the Elf stone of Gondor, must wed the heir of King Thranduil: the Morning Star of Mirkwood. A small group of warriors sets out to retrieve the Morning Star and escort it to Gondor for the ceremony. What have the handsomely ragged Ranger Strider and the young servant Legolas have to do with all of this…? *chuckles*

Note: This is incredibly long (about 15 pages on Microsoft Word), but still I hope that you will read it and that you will like it… and maybe even review it. =) I'd very much love to know what you think of this fic now that it's reached its end. =)

Rating: R

* * * * *

Arwen saw the world tilt, then the ceiling appeared in front of her eyes. Her half-lowered eyelids became like a blurred border around her vision.

There was no pain, no light, too little sound.

Poison, she suddenly knew.

She breathed, or rather felt her chest rise and fall, heard the sigh of the air sliding through her parted lips, her heart sounding like a slow drum in her ears.

It felt as though she was drifting off some lukewarm current, sinking slowly and languidly down into dark waters. Something moved about her – blurred forms like flames against the shadows, their voices a silvery babble in her ears. From somewhere far above water dribbled down on her face, warm on her cheek, salty on her mouth.

Hands came, smothered her hair back from her face; "Tinúviel!" someone called her, and "Beren", she wanted to answer, "Beren, beloved mine, hear me, save me, please!" But even as she thought that she knew that it was no longer Beren the name of his love, like hers wasn't Lúthien anymore. That life was past and done with. She was Arwen now, and he who she loved was:

"Boromir…"

She thought she heard someone sob in response to her call, but her hearing was dim, and the pump of her own blood covered any other sound. Then she was being lifted off and carried away. Her head lolled back, her lids closed, and she felt the frenzied beating of his heart next to her ear.

* * * * *

Outside water poured down in flashing sheets of silver, pounded on the ruins of the once-splendid Edoras, and it hiss sounded like the voice of a hidden fiend from the shadows.

Brown water rushed in dirty torrents on the ragged grounds, gurgling, foaming, ever rising. All colours had been washed away from the sky and mingled in a blurred opaque grey. The air was cold and light and stinging - it smelled like wilting flowers and drenched soil. Bolts exploded every now and then, like shivers of purple amidst the clouds, and their roar reached high into the sky, like the call of a hunting beast, or a spiralling prayer.

Another bolt of lightening ripped through the sky, and Aragorn surveyed his Companions in the flickering light.

Legolas had long left the circle of his arms, and stood now a few paces from him, his back to Aragorn - the pale, shimmering figure of a young boy holding the backs of his own arms.

The Hobbits, on the contrary, had sough comfort in each other's presence, and were all huddled together against a ruined wall, Pippin's shivering form held tightly by Merry, Frodo's head against Sam's shoulder.

Éowyn was distraught. She was laying on the floor with her head on Elladan's lap, murmuring softly that she should have seen it coming, that she should have done something, help her, and that it was her fault if Arwen had been wounded so severely– hadn't Shelob called the Elf "Morning Star" when she'd attacked?

Elladan could only caress her back gently, shedding silent tears of his own. His lips moved every now and then, but no words came out. He'd sunk in a world past reality. His sister, his beloved baby sister was on the verge of death, and he had done nothing to prevent it.

Elrohir stood behind them, tense, growling, with his forehead pressed to the cool stone. Blood tricked leisurely down his knuckles, for he'd been long punching the ruined wall he now stood against. And his thoughts were shockingly similar to his twin's – Elves were not meant to experience wound and death, and yet Arwen was battling for her life, struggling for every breath, her body shivering, growing colder and colder, and looking as thought the next breath would be too much a task for it to accomplish.

And all he had been able to do was watch - powerless, useless, unable to do anything.

Gandalf stood farther from them upon the hill-top. With his head bowed and his shoulders slumped, weighting on his staff as thought he was about to collapse, he looked oldest than ever. Every now and then he shook his head, and murmured words escaped his lips. The little hope that had never died inside him– not when Shelob had attacked, nor when Arwen had slid to the floor, her chest speared- seemed to have gone out like a candle in the wind, leaving him without strength.

And Boromir - Boromir seemed dead himself. He would not move, nor talk. His eyes stared blindly before him as he cradled Arwen to him, her head against his arm, his fingers buried deep in the damp shimmering mass of her dark hair.

"Arwen…" he would whisper every so often. "My Tinúviel…"

Aragorn looked down at his hands, and his vision blurred with tears that wouldn't fall.

Arwen, dear cousin mine, my friend… why? Why did it have to happen to you? My sweet sister, my dear evening star, mother and keeper and companion in my childish mischief…

He shook awake from his thought when, all of a sudden, the rain stopped.

For a moment all was quiet. All was dark.

And then, just a swiftly, the clouds opened far overhead and light like golden water spilled down on them from above. Gandalf's head shot up, and his eyes gleamed like jewels as he cried:

"Thanks the Valar! The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming!"

Aragorn looked up, and what he saw was beyond the realm of possibility.

I'm dreaming, he thought. I must be, but he knew he wasn't.

There came, drifting downwards on the gentlest zephyr, Gwaihir the Wind Lord, and behind him came in a line, shining gold and brown in the pale light, the swiftest and mightiest of all the Eagles.

Aragorn shook when he saw them land soundlessly before him. He could not find it in himself to move, so amazed ad grateful he was. Then Gandalf threw his arms up and cried:

"Quick, you fools! Quick! There may be hope still for Arwen! The Eagles will bear us to Gondor, for powers higher than any of us asked them to. Come, come, have no fear! But be quick!" Even as he said so he mounted on Gwaihir's broad back.

"Quick!" he said again, and his voice might have been ominous and scary had it not be so soft, so concerned.

Boromir, awakening at last from his daze, lifted Arwen up onto Landroval's back and mounted after her to steady his unconscious love. Melendor the swift landed before Elladan and Éowyn, and they went immediately on him, Elladan leaping up first and gathering Éowyn in his arms. Gollum was grasped none too gently by the Eagle's left claw.

Elrohir approached the last Eagle, then stopped, watching Aragorn with a question in his eyes.

But Aragorn could not move. Not yet.

He looked at Legolas, a pale and fragile ghost in the dark, and felt the Elf's misery surging like waves from him. Legolas's shoulders shook as though he was sobbing, but no sound came from him until, "It's all my fault…" he whispered. "All mine."

And Aragorn hurt too much to deny it, even as he knew it was not true.

It was no one's fault.

How could such an horrid incident be blamed on anyone? That was fate, bad luck, tragedy – call it as you must, it was not Legolas's fault.

Yet he could not say the words.

It seemed blasphemous, monstrous, to speak while witnessing and feeling so much pain.

Legolas turned to him at last, and such vision of sheer beauty robbed Aragorn of his breath.

How old was he, Aragorn wondered. For Legolas looked indescribably innocent at that moment, and incredibly young. He seemed fragile like a glass statue, and shone just as much under the waxen sunlight.

There were no words to describe his beauty in that moment of cruel pain.

He was dazzling.

Was it wrong to think so?

Yet he was.

He was.

His eyes brimmed, iridescent pools of blue in which all the light gathered; his lips were pale rose and trembling; his saturated hair hung to his face and neck, shining like a shower of gold. And when his voice came it was soft and almost ethereal, and gave a resonance of divine pain to his words.

"We can't call off our engagements, Aragorn." Pain radiated from him like a silent call, breaking Aragorn's heart to pieces. Never had the Man seen such pain, heard such guilt.

"They are no games. We've been chosen - who cares if we're being handed away like mindless toys for politics? We can struggle and kick and cry like children, but it's decided. It's our fate. We cannot walk away from our duties, even if it's for love. We've tried to run away from destiny, but it has found us, like a stalker hidden in the shadows. If we had not lingered in Lórien, Arwen might…" he shook his head.

"But it does not matter now. Our road is laid right before us. We cannot falter now, nor can we turn back away. We must marry those who have been chosen for us. We must do it for Middle Earth. Even thought we may never meet again, we must. I…I don't want anything like this to happen ever again." He climbed up behind Gandalf on Gwaihir's back. "Goodbye, my love," he whispered.

Aragorn nodded dumbly, and let Elladan guide him onto Melendor's back.

"Forever, meleth," he whispered back, shaking like a wind-wracked tree. Overwhelmed, far beyond shame and vanity, he hid his face against Elrohir's back and cried like a child.

And he did not have to raise his eyes to know that Legolas was crying just like he was.

* * * * *

They took off swiftly and sped away towards Gondor. Valleys, woods, rivers, luscious landscapes and visions of ruin sped past under them in a blur, until before them appeared the Minas Tirith, gleaming against the sky like a spike of pearl.

Boromir felt tears rising in his eyes, and lowly he began to hum the soft, sweet lullaby Arwen used to sing to him. He sang, his voice unsteady and rasp, cradling her closer, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair and crying silent tears into it.

Arwen heard it, and sighed.

Her last thought was a silent thank you to Boromir for having kept his promise, then she saw and heard no more.

Boromir gave a distressed cry, and frantically called her name as he shook her.

"Arwen! Arwen!" But she did not answer, did not move, did not react at all – her head lolled to and fro as he shook her, no breath slid through her parted lips. Boromir gasped, and was suddenly aware that it was not his the voice calling her name louder and louder – his voice had all but forsaken him.

He looked up and saw Éowyn trashing within Elladan's arms, screaming, shrieking, her voice growing ever louder as she called for Arwen to wake up. He saw Elladan steady her, hold her as though she was a little child. He saw the Elf's arms go around her, his hand guide her stricken face to his shoulder, and her voice died out in a whisper.

"It's my fault, all my fault. No one else's. She did so to protect me. Me."

At this Legolas gave too a wailing cry. His hands went up to his face.

But already the Eagles were landing in the garden where the withered White Tree of Gondor was, and Denethor came running towards them from the Palace, his white hair streaming behind him.

"Call the Healers, and be quick!" Gandalf shouted as he dismounted, and for the first time in his life the Steward of Gondor yielded wordlessly to his will, and send a passing servant to rouse those inside the House of Healing.

Denethor, Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir and Elrohir, with Gollum trotting on all fours behind them, went to find help for Arwen. However Elladan stayed with Éowyn, seeing as she could not even held herself up, and along with Legolas they followed Faramir –who'd been called back from the borders to attend to his King's coronation and wedding- to the chamber readied for the Aûrel.

Éowyn, still shivering and with tears streaming down her cheeks, let Elladan arrange her on the bed, let him hold her as she cried more, let him whisper shooting nonsense in her ears as he caressed her head gently.

It's not your fault. I love you no matter what. No matter what, said a silent voice in her head.

Sighing her thanks Éowyn closed her eyes and let sleep carry her into the blissful darkness.

* * * * *

When she awoke, the first thought that came to her mind was:

"Forgive me. Blame me, if someone you must blame. It was my doing."

Then she became aware of the shivers wracking her body, the soft feeling of the linen sheets against her skin, the softness of the cushions under her head, the sweet smell of soap that surrounded her. Sweat cooled on her neck and arms, and the thirst in her was like a living thing that demanded attention.

She tried to stand up and gasped at the pain within her chest. It shot through her like molten mithril, rushed down her limbs, but the pain was a good thing for her: it was a reminder that shook her awake from her haze.

She blinked and looking about. Her vision was blurred and her head spun, as thought a fever run in her, but she knew it was not so.

High arched windows opened before her, and beyond stretched a vision of green fields sprinkled with little white flowers like pale stars. The sky gleamed. The wind was like velvet on her cheeks as it raised her long hair off her shoulders. She leaned her face into it, eyes closed, and sighed.

Never something so simple had looked and felt so blessed, and it moved her almost to tears.

She opened her eyes again, and just beside her on a beautifully carved wooden table stood a bottle of clear water. Sunlight shone on it, and the glass refracted billions of little hues at her, like fragments of rainbow.

She stared at it for a long time, and then grasped it savagely, ignoring the pain in her chest when it came, only welcoming the fresh, sweet water as it poured down her throat.

The bottle was almost empty when she put it back on the nightstand, and her trembling hands would have knocked it down hadn't someone caught it for her.

She blinked, and looked down at the creature that stood with his legs in a crouch beside her bed.

"All the water she drank, yes, yes, good girl, drink water she must. Whitebeard says it's good for her, so Smeagol brought her a bottle, yes!" Gollum said, grinning goofily up at her.

He was wearing a blue coat, black leggings and a white shirt. His crumpled hair was tied back in a ribbon, and under the sunlight his bare feet looked remarkably similar to those of the Hobbits.

"Gollum?" She blinked when he reached up to ruffle her hair affectionately – the same gesture she'd bestowed upon him inside Shelob's lair.

"No, no, Precious! The name's Smeagol now! Smeagol!" She giggled when he began to run circles on the tiled floor, shouting and barking like and overjoyed puppy. The noisier he got the higher she laughed - and the more she laughed, the more agitated he became.

His screeches of joy rose and rose, shrill and howling-like, until the door of the bedroom was slammed open so hard it almost flew off its hinges, and Boromir appeared in the doorframe – sweaty and panting and with his eyes wild with worry.

"What's happening here? It's Arwen? Is she all right? Is she--" But Boromir could go no further. His eyes had fallen on the vision giggling softly on the snowy sheets with her eyes sparkling, and he was suddenly breathless.

There in front of him was Arwen, alive and well and lovely as she'd ever be. Golden sunlight shone on her from the open windows, making her skin glint. Her cheeks were suffused with a lovely shade of pink, and her hair streaming down the soft cushions was like a dark glittering river.

He struggled to move, to say something, but the relief was just too great. Then he saw her open her arms at him, calling his name softly - and it was such a childlike gesture that he felt his heart swell.

Before she knew it she was in his arms again, her face nestled against his chest, his hands in her hair, her arms about his neck.

She was crying now, but she did not realize it.

While unconscious she'd had a dream… the long, heartrending dream of the life of an Elf named Lúthien. In those dreams, she loved one Man. Beren was his name, and 'Tinúviel', 'my Tinúviel', were the names he had for her. They were in love, and they were happy, and that did not change even in the moment when dead did part them.

Yet it was not a dream.

It was a memory.

The memory of her soul.

"Beren…" She moved away to look at him, uncertainty clear in her eyes.

Did he too remember who they'd been one lifetime before? Had he too understood that they were the reincarnations of those legendary lovers? Could he too feel their never-ending love, a love that had surpassed death, surround them?

"Welcome back my love," answered he, kissing her hair softly, her brow, her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose and, finally, her lips.

"Welcome back on Middle Earth, Lúthien. My Arwen."

"Oh, Boromir…" she cried, throwing her arms about him once more.

* * * * *

Later that day, the whole Fellowship gathered in her rooms for an emergency meeting, mostly because Arwen should not go walking around yet.

The four Hobbits had knelt in a circle all around her bed like children, with their elbows digging in the mattress and their chin in their hands. Lascaran was lying in a similar position among Pippin's unruly curls, while Boromir sat in a chair next to Arwen, just close enough to hold her hand.

Éowyn, Elladan and Elrohir stood upright at the foot of the bed, their faces pale and their eyes still glittering with tears. Gandalf sat in a winged chair by the window with his beloved pipe in his mouth.

At first they were all so overjoyed to see her up and well that they could do little else but cry, whisper her name over and over in awe and touch her skin carefully, almost as if needing to know she want not just a figment of their aggrieved minds.

Then, after a good couple of hours of doing nothing but Eskimo kissing with Beren/Boromir, being pampered, squeezed like a teddy-bear, and repeating over and over that she was well and that it was no one's fault if she'd been wounded, Arwen asked in one single breath all those questions her Companions had dreaded to hear and really didn't want to answer:

"What was it that you wanted to tell me? What are Legolas and Aragorn doing? How come they're not here? Are things going well with them, now that they know they're to marry each other?"

The others traded glances for several minutes.

Some cleared their throats, some others shifted their weight uneasily, and most averted her gaze.

It is a major understatement to say that Arwen immediately regretted asking.

Suddenly she became aware of ominous little rainclouds rising from Gandalf's pipe and gathering around him in a ring. Sparkles of lighting could be seen now and then among the dark fumes. At one point a drift of rain came from one of those miniature clouds, the shiny droplets gathering in a happy puddle on the floor.

Arwen reclined back against her cushions then, and brought a hand to her head.

"Suddenly I don't want to know," she sighed. "But I need to, do I not? What is it?" Then she stood upright, so abruptly that the pain in her chest burst into sudden life, and through her teeth she asked, fearing the answer:

"They haven't… called off the marriage. Have they?"

"Welllllllllll… no," Boromir said reluctantly, when he saw no one else would speak. Arwen was just about to relax back against the cushions when he added: "But…" Her body went painfully tense once more. A chorus of pain rose in her throbbing head.

"But…?"

"There are some… issues," provided Merry lamely. Without his book he looked suddenly taller, his chest broader, and Arwen noticed for the first time that he towered over the other Hobbits of a whole bunch of inches. One of her eyebrows quirked at his reply.

"Such as?"

"Uhm…"

A minute of silence passed. Then, "I don't believe it," Arwen croaked out in horror. "Are you telling me… no, it cannot be… they haven't… they do not know it's *each other* that they're marrying? They're *still* clueless?"

"Among other things, yes, that's what we were trying to say." said Gandalf, waving his pipe left and right. "Of course everyone knows by now that the Aurêl is the blonde male Elf that they glimpsed on the Eagle's back, and that their future King is the bearded Man that came on another Eagle. But they don't have the slightest clue about each other's identity."

Arwen silently thanked the Valar for Boromir's never-ending provision of athelas as she brought a hand up to her forehead.

"Oh, my… Hold on a second. Other things, I believe you said?"

"Yes."

"What other things?" Gandalf shrugged. Arwen shuddered.

She's learned that to see him shrug meant troubles.

Big, capitalized, underlined and written in bright red letters, kind of troubles.

Gandalf only shrugged when he was about to tell you something had gone catastrophically wrong, and still he wanted to pretend it wasn't a big deal.

'Pretend' being the keyword, here.

"Oh, well. You know… things. They don't talk to each other anymore, to start with." A stab of pain in her head.

"…what?"

"And they vowed to never see each other again too, now that I think about it. In fact they've never left their respective chambers since our arrival. We couldn't drag them out even to drink or eat."

Stab.

"Not to mention they're behaving as though they don't know each other and have never been in love."

Stab.

"Mostly because they think that their love is a bad thing--"

Stab.

"—and that it was because of it if you've gotten wounded."

STAB.

Her mind reeled. Arwen suddenly regretted that Elves seldom fainted: a good faint was just what she needed right now.

"…excuse me?"

Gandalf shrugged again (much to her horror), and waving his pipe in circles he said:

"They think that it's their fault if you almost died. We've been much delayed due to their inability to keep their hands off each other. If it wasn't for this delay we would have never reached Lothlòrien so late, or taken the underground route. And if we'd never taken it, you would have never been hurt either."

The Wizard took a pause to puff some other little clouds from his pipe –they were shaped like spiders this time, and crawled happily all about his head in a circle.

"All of this is true, off course. But we can't really blame them. It wouldn't be right. What happened was just an accident, a series of terrible, terrible, coincidences. Call it destiny if you will – and destiny can't be blamed on anyone, be they mortal or immortal. Even the Valar have no power over it."

Arwen nodded her head meekly.

"I'd never think to blame them. How could I? As you said, it was no one's fault. Yet it was my choice, and if someone you must blame, then blame *me*. I knew what was about to happen, and made my choice without asking any of you."

Boromir squeezed her hand softly, and she smiled gratefully up at him. Her eyes were still sad, though, and troubled. When her voice came, it was low and trembling.

"I thought sacrificing myself in order to save other was the right thing to do… but now I see it was egoistic of me to do so. I chose to die myself rather than see those I love hurting; but my actions only brought sadness to you all."

Éowyn went to her, and kneeling to the side of her bed she took her other hand and patted it in a comforting fashion.

"Arwen… to sacrifice yourself for others is a noble thing… the kind of thing only heroes do," she began, kissing the Elf's brow in they way Elven siblings always did. "Next time just remember that death is only the very last resort, and that confiding in your friends can always open up other ways for you to take."

Elladan watched them embrace, the two women he loved the most, and sighed.

One was pale, tall and willowy and dark of hair, like the embodiment of night. The other was aflame with life, and her hair was a shower of gold that made her look like the embodiment of day.

Pure beauty embracing pure beauty.

His breath was immediately stolen.

With sadness he realized they'd never live eternally, those two splendid creatures, not even the one that was born immortal.

One would die of age, the other out of love for a mortal Man.

And he wondered if he too would follow them in the realm beyond, out of love for a mortal Woman.

"It may have been wrong of you, or just the noblest thing you could do. Either way, it is a past thing, and all that matters is that we're here, together," said he wistfully. Arwen sighed.

"Then why can't they see it?"

An ominous silence befell the Company.

"We know it's not their fault. But as much as we tried, they won't believe it," Gandalf revealed after a moment, and his voice was soft, almost soothingly, like that of a grandfather telling fairytales to children in bed.

"'If only I was stronger, if only I had not acted upon my feelings, reminding that my duty lay with someone else! Then nothing of this would have occurred!' This is what they answer us whenever we tell them they're blameless."

"Oh," Arwen croaked out feebly. Éowyn gently helped her to rest back against her cushions.

"Yes, 'oh'." The Wizard nodded. "Anyway, it's a luck you recovered so fast. Aragorn and Legolas's wedding takes place tomorrow. Do you think you'll be able attend to it?"

Blink.

"…could you run that by me again?"

He could not have said what she thought he had, could he?

"I said, do you think you can attend to it?"

"No, I mean, the part before that."

"They've decided not to call off their engagements anymore. The wedding ceremony takes place tomorrow." His tone was the same he'd use with a dumb child.

"You're joking, aren't you?" Arwen blinked, sure by far that there MUST be something wrong with her ears. She looked up at Boromir, her eyes questioning and wide. "They forswore their love, they think it wrong, AND they will be married tomorrow? What is it that I am missing, here?" Boromir rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

"As you said before, they do NOT know yet WHO they're to marry. Legolas chose to deny his heart, and will now marry Prince Estel for duty. Likewise, Aragorn hopes that marrying the Aurêl instead that the one he loves will tame his guilt, somehow."

"For all the stars in the sky…!" she gaped at him. Her jaw dropped and for several minutes her mouth opened and closed like a fish's.

"I don't really understand why you're all fretting this much," Pippin piped up after some time of worried silence. "They don't know who they're marrying, that's true. But when tomorrow they'll finally leave those blasted chambers of theirs, they'll see it with their own eyes! Everything will be well and we will all live happily ever after. End of the tale."

His voice grew uncertain as he asked, looking about: "…right?"

"Oh, I don't know!" cried out Arwen. She bit her bottom lip. "Pippin, you know that this marriage is very important for the whole Middle Earth, don't you?"

"Is it really?" he asked, and watched Arwen nod slowly her head.

"It's very nearly our last hope to win the millenary battle against Evil," she said softly.

"I…I don't think I… understand. Really, I… how could a marriage…?" stuttered Pippin. This time it was Gandalf who answered him.

The Wizard had his back to the window, and he was but a shadowy outline with gleaming eyes and a crown of light around his head.

"There was at time, decades ago, when Men, Elves, Dwarves and even Ents joined together in a most powerful army. The Last Alliance, it was called. And most people think such alliance still exist – but that's not so. At one point in time dark feelings began to grow in the hearts of the Free People - mistrust… enmity… jealousy… rage… anger… contempt… hate… The wisest think it was the enemy's doing, even if no one knows for sure. Either way, those dark feelings kept growing until it reached a breaking point.

"Dwarves refused to even talk to Elves.

"Ents were most likely to wound Men who dared enter their woods.

"The army split like fragile grass into four groupings of battlers.

"And the war we were so like to win, we almost lost it."

Pippin's eye grew round, and his mouth was in the shape of a perfect O.

"Then there's no real army at the borders protecting us?"

"Not really, no," answered Gandalf.

"For centuries each race has fought on its own, not trusting the others, not helping the others, and not caring about the others' words, or fates. Yet, in very recent times, Dwarves warriors chose to serve the Captains of Men, while Ents swore to follow only the Elves' lead. Two stronger army were so formed, but it's not enough. It never was. Elves and Men must unite, too," said Arwen, and again she shook her head sadly.

"Why must they fight one another? Why can't they see? The sun above us Elves is the same as that which shines over Dwarves! The wind blowing the leafy limbs of the Ents is the same that which cools the sweat off the brow of Men! Middle Earth is a precious treasure passed down to us from our ancestors, and we should fight side by side to protect it."

The room grew quiet.

"And only the marriage between Aragorn and Legolas could reunite all races together under the same flag? Is that what you're saying?" asked Pippin. He stood now with his chin in his closed hand, his eyes downcast and his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"Exactly." said Gandalf with a solemn voice. "Another Alliance of all Races must be formed, if we want a chance to win against the Shadow. And an alliance, or better, a marriage between the heir of Gondor and the heir of Mirkwood, is the first step in that direction."

"I see…" Pippin nodded. He let out a long breath through his upper lip. "But then, there's no need to worry, is there? They're marrying each other tomorrow in the morn!"

"Yes, but… they've lied to each other's Pippin," whispered Arwen. "And their love made them suffer so much they forsook it. What will happen if tomorrow, upon knowing each other's identities, they'll choose not to marry? What if they believe the pain will not be worth it? Or worst – what if they do marry, out of duty, not trusting nor wanting to love one another? Then the rift between Elves and Men would grove even wider, and there would be no hope anymore for Middle Earth."

Her voice echoed in the still bedroom, bouncing against the high ceiling.

None spoke nor moved for the longest moment, then Pippin leaped to his feet, and with his clear, ringing voice he said:

"I think Aragorn and Legolas really love each other. Tomorrow they *will* marry, and it will be out of love, and not of duty. We mustn't worry. After all, love conquers everything, does it not?"

"So they say, Pippin," sighed Gandalf from the winged chair. "So they say."

EPILOGUE

The Wedding Day

Aragorn stood in front of a long mirror, clad in the blue and silver velvets Faramir had chosen for him.

Never before had he looked so kingly.

Never before had he felt so unlike himself.

As he gazed at his reflection Aragorn asked himself if that was really him, but though his image pleased him he would have given everything for his Ranger clothes – so formal, comfortable, smelling of sunshine and rain and grass, the smell of freedom he loved above any other.

His reflection seemed to shift suddenly and laugh, throwing its head back even as Aragorn frowned and glared at it, fists clenched.

Liar! sang the reflection. Liar, liar liar! The smell of Legolas's hair, that is the smell you love the most.

The future King swirled around angrily, and gave his back to the mirror.

Where was the sense in thinking about such things?

Both the pickling smell of freedom and the sweet alluring smell of Legolas's hair were precluded to him, now. He'd better forget, forget it all and forever.

Ah, forget. That will be impossible, came again that taunting voice. But this time it sounded forlorn and sweet, almost compassionate. You can lock away in the deepest pit of your soul the memories of your precious Legolas, of his delighted voice, his dazzling eyes, his sweet love. But you will never forget. In the end, the memories will have you locked and prisoner. Not the other way around.

Aragorn gave a low bark of a laugh and rubbed the bridge if his nose.

"A willing prisoner I'd be, then."

There came a knock at the door, and Faramir entered, clad in shades of green. Boromir went in after him, and behind them was Arwen.

Her lilac gown flowed like mist around her ankles, leaving her long pale arms and shoulders bare. Her hair was tied up upon her head; three glassy ringlets cascaded down her back, while littler ones fell like an ebony frame around her lovely face.

"Arwen!" Cried Aragorn, and clasping her to him he spun her round, revelling in the silvery sound of her laugh.

"Ah, Estel!" she sighed, touching his cheek. "It's so good to see your face again!"

"That I should say!" replied he, touching her face as well. "I'm sorry I was not there when you woke, but I was—delayed." he said lamely.

"That I understand," she nodded. Her lips were up in the sweetest smile. "We're celebrating your wedding today, after all. You must have had much to do and think about." She cast a quick glance at Boromir, who nodded briskly. "Estel…"

"Arwen, please, no."

"But, Estel…"

"I don't want pity. I'm doing the best thing." She exhaled softly, and then nodded.

"I understand, but let me tell you this." She clasped his hands in hers, and when their eyes met, hers were like bottomless lakes, shimmering and dancing and alive with the gentle songs of sirens.

It seemed to Aragorn that her eyes were putting a spell on him, but he did not fight it, because it felt it was not evil magic – she was just letting him see the depths of her love for him, her sincerity, her pain.

"Love is a most unpredictable thing, Estel," she said in a smoky voice. "It can make you cry and bleed, just as it can make you laugh and fly. And if it chooses, it can come to you in the lest likely of forms and times. I ask you only this: grasp love when it comes your way. Grasp it, and don't let it slip through your fingers because of pride."

"Arwen, what are you…?" he stuttered, dazed. What was she saying?

"Just… believe in yourself and in what you feel. I said this to Boromir once, and I will tell it to now: your destiny is already laid before your feet. You cannot falter now. But if you're lost, then close your eyes, and just listen to this." She said and gently put his hand on his own heart. He could feel its beating under his palm, and her warmth around his fingers.

"It will know how to guide you. It always will," she ended softly, and then, suddenly weak, she leaned back against Boromir.

The Man curled one arm around her waist protectively, and caressing her hair gently, he put a sweet lingering kiss on her mouth.

A fish would have envied Aragorn the skill he showed when he began to open and close his mouth rhythmically. Arwen could not suppress a giggle when she saw his stunned face.

"Surely you knew this would come to happen, sooner or later?" she asked playfully. Her eyes positively sparkled.

"Well, yes," Aragorn managed to say. "I think I've always known you two were in love. When I was little, whenever I thought about my future, the only thing I was sure of was that you two would be there, and would be together. We surely can't call it 'sudden', but to see it with my own eyes… well… wow." He shook his head, a disbelieving yet joyful look on his face. "I'm happy for you. I really am. Take care of her, Boromir - and you of him, Arwen."

They laughed, but the joy was short lived – Denethor stormed into the room, and bowing briskly he told Aragorn it was time to go: the ceremony must begun.

* * * * *

Butterflies had danced in his stomach the entire way to the terrace where the ceremony would take place. But now that he stood before the altar, it felt like those little butterflies had suddenly morphed into seagulls.

Giant seagulls.

Aragorn took a breath and looked about him.

All the Members of the Company (minus Legolas and Éowyn, of course) were sitting in semicircle behind him, smiling encouragingly up the dais where he stood. Faramir and a few guards were with them too, and even those unknown people seemed to be cheering him silently.

Aragorn tried to smile for them, but found he could not.

He faced forward again.

Gandalf stood before him on the other side of the altar. His worn out robes had been replaced by a shining white attire. His hair and long white beard had been combed, and instead of his old ragged staff he bore one beautifully carved sceptre. A flaming red ring shone on his other hand. His eyes danced with mischief – to be honest, he looked about to burst into laughter.

Aragorn tried to burn holes trough him with a glare, but found out that that too he could not do.

Denethor instead looked like gravity made flesh. He stood straight like an ancient tree beside Aragorn, his bushy brows furrowed, his hands fisted tightly, his chin raised with more than little pride.

Gollum, poor little thing, was sitting on his heels in a corner, watching in fascination the wedding rings he'd been asked to carry. The light in his eyes was uncanny – almost as though he was hearing voices coming from the rings and they mesmerized him.

What a weird creature, Aragorn thought.

But what really, really unnerved the future King was the crowd gathered in the plaza down below them.

Every habitant of the White City was there, waiting for them moment when, at the end of the ceremony, Aragorn would walk up to the edge of the balcony and introduce them to his bride, his mate for life, their other ruler.

And it would be Éowyn.

Not Legolas.

Never Legolas.

Valar, give me strength…

He could feel their wide eyes on him, their fingers pointing, their delighted laughter ringing.

And their soft whispered voices were louder than the Fall of Rauros in his ears.

Aragorn wanted nothing more than pass out.
No, he wanted to run.

Better yet, kidnap Legolas and run.

He broke into a cold sweat.

Suddenly, a joyful fanfare. His friends standing. Rustling of cloth. The roar of the people below. Laughs. Hands clapping furiously.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Aragorn turned towards the door, towards his future.

As he expected, Éowyn stood in the doorway. But beautiful and radiant as she was, it was not the sight of her that stole his breath. It was not the sight of her that made him gasp, that made his knees almost buckle, his head spin.

Arm in arm with Éowyn was what he once again swore to be the most beautiful creature to ever walk Middle Earth.

Arm in arm with Éowyn was Legolas.

It cannot be…

He was confused at first. Even scared. Then he felt compelled to laugh. The voice from the mirror was back in his head.

Of course, you fool. Who did you think would walk the spouse up to the altar? Elladan, so that you could see his heart break before your eyes? Of course it had to be Legolas. He's come for this, he's said it himself when you've first met. He's Éowyn's servant. He's come to give you her hand, since her father could not come himself.

Aragorn closed he eyes. 'Cruel irony', he thought.

The voice had nothing to add to it.

* * * * *

Legolas's eyes widened when he saw, right next the old Man who had to be Prince Estel, none other but Aragorn. His heart skipped a beat; fire spread on his cheeks.

"It cannot be…" he murmured to himself.

Why, oh why of all people they had to choose Aragorn to be the best man at the wedding? Couldn't it be someone else? But then again, who else could they chose? Boromir, whose heart you almost broke, letting Arwen be hurt?

No, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

It made sense that the Man who had brought the bride safe to the Kingdom should attend to the ceremony.

It made sense that such a hero was chosen to stand side by side with the soon to be husband of his love.

It was perfectly logical.

And so, so cruel.

Legolas shut his eyes as Éowyn began to led him forward. He was ashamed to feel the now familiar prickle of tears behind his closed eyelids.

* * * * *

Even in the years to come, Gandalf was proud of how long he'd kept his laughter at bay.

He did not laugh when Legolas, with his eyes shut, reached the altar where Aragorn stood with his eyes similarly closed.

He did not laugh when, hearing him speak the ritual phrase of "we're all gathered here in this joyous day", they whipped their head around -eyes still firmly closed- so that even if their bodies faced each other, their faces didn't.

He did not laugh even when, due to his request to hold hands the two groped blindly (their eyes, you must realize, were still closed) for the other's hand.

He did not laugh when they succeeded in finding it, and twin grimaces of disgust appeared on their faces.

But he couldn't possibly hold his laughter anymore.

This was bordering absurd.

"Open your eyes, you fools!" He boomed, watching Aragorn and Legolas jump two inches off the floor in surprise and fright.

As one they whipped back around, opened their eyes wide, gave a little cry, pointed one shacking finger at the other and –

"WHAT THE HELL ARE *YOU* DOING HERE?!" they cried in perfect unison.

Gandalf laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.

The rest of the Fellowship was laughing just as hard.

Gollum had begun to caress softly the rings in his palm.

Aragorn and Legolas were a bit late on the news, but since no one seemed willing to explain, they had time to catch up.

"What am *I* doing here?" they cried out as one, each pointing his chest.

"What are *you* doing here?"

Each pointed the other's chest.

"*Me*?"

Another show of spectacular choreography, as each poked the other in the chest before poking themselves hard a couple of times.

"I should ask *you*! This is *my* wedding!"

Silence.

Well, silence from them, giggles from the Company and hushed whispers from the people of Gondor.

About a minute of staring, and Aragorn and Legolas blinked.

Another twenty seconds, and their eyes widened.

Another bunch of seconds and they managed first to move their mouths, and then a resounding gasp.

"*YOU* are Prince Estel??"

"*YOU* are the Aurêl??"

"Of course I am!" came from both of them, and once again their voices sounded as one.

Gandalf didn't know what force prevented him from throwing himself on the floor laughing and roll around, holding his sides.

The look of mixed horror and hope on their faces was absolutely priceless.

A pity non one had invented a device to capture it on paper, or something like that.

Legolas was the first to recover, and in an awed whisper he said: "Your fiancée, who you knew I'd love. The marriage forced upon you, that would turn the warfare in our favour, that would give those that fight Sauron a new hope… me. My marriage. Us."

Aragorn nodded. "And you, so regal and proud even as you said you were a servant. It was a pretence, for your sake, to protect you from those who could want to hurt the Aurêl … just like I pretended not to be of Royal Blood."

Legolas laughed, throwing back his head even as one tear rolled down his cheek.

"Misunderstandings! A comedy of errors, it all was! Nothing but pretences." He shook his head.

Aragorn caught the teardrop on his face and brought it to his own lips. He licked it gently, and then: "Your love for me," he asked. "Was that a pretence too?"

"Never," Legolas whispered fiercely, and Aragorn was grateful to see the ring of Barahir shine quietly on Legolas's ring-finger.

Without pausing for thought, he threw his arms around the elf and held him tightly, just as Legolas's own arms circled his neck.

"I love you," they both said in unison, then laughed.

"Truly, we've been such fools," Legolas said, gasping for breath.

"It's part of your charm," assured Aragorn with a grin.

"You're impossible." Legolas punched him playfully on the arm.

"Which is part of my charm," sighed Aragorn, catching the Elf's fist and raising it to his lips to place a kiss on their ring. "I love you, my Elf."

"I know. I never doubted it." replied Legolas, he too kissing the glittering gem on his finger. "But I love you more."

"No. I love you more."

"I do."

"*I* do."

"Elves are more capable of love."

"Racist."

"I'm being realist."

"That's not true, because I love you more." Legolas wriggled his nose cutely, and put both hands on his hips.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ranger, but I am the one that wore your ring at my supposed wedding with another Man. It's obvious that I love you more." Aragorn's eyes narrowed.

"Just because I had no ring of yours to wear."

"I gave you the Green Leaf!"

"And what do you think this lump under my shirt is??"

"That does not change the fact that I---"

They kept it on for endless minutes.

And yet their audience still giggled, still unnoticed by them.

The people in the plaza were starting to wear worried frowns.

Gollum was rubbing his cheek against the rings and calling them Preciousss, oh, Percioussss.

"Here they go again…" mumbled Boromir, slapping a hand on his face. Arwen giggled.

"I must admit, it's kind of cute."

"I thought they had stopped fighting over nothing?" Elrohir asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"It's their way of flirting," assured his sister. "There's nothing to worry about."

She nodded to Gandalf, who nodded back, equally relieved.

Rising his hands above him the wizard cleared his throat nosily.

"Yeah, yeah, Legolas is the Aurêl, Aragorn is Prince Estel, and you're very much in love. Now that that's settled, do you think we can go back to the wedding?" he asked. Aragorn and Legolas whipped towards him, eyes round.

"But *I*…" they said together.

"No buts," he warned. Then he turned towards Aragorn. "So, do you or don't you?"

"Do I or don't I what?" Gandalf raised an eyebrow at him.

"The vows," he reminded. Aragorn stared blankly at him. Gandalf's eyebrow twitched.

"Did you her a single word of what I said during the ceremony?"

"Uhm… no." Gandalf slapped his face.

"Let's try it again. Prince Estel of Gondor, will you take the Aurêl, crown Prince of Mirkwood, as your life mate? The one that you shall always love, and cherish and remain true to?"

For a moment, Aragorn said nothing.

Everyone held their breath.

Then, doing as Arwen had told him, Aragorn closed his eyes slowly, and listened intently to the voice coming from his heart.

None moved.

None dared to speak.

Ever so slowly a smile came to his face. Snapping his eyes open he turned towards Legolas with a smile. He took his warm white hand in his own, and leaning towards him he said a resounding and clear:

"No."

* * * * *

"No."

Legolas's smile died on his lips. His heart contracted painfully. Aragorn's voice came back at him from the unyielding walls, taunting him, cutting him like blades.

No, no, no, no. He said no. He doesn't want me. He said no.

He felt his shoulders sag, the strength pour out of his body. The noises from the Fellowship – the heated cries, Éowyn's shriek, Gandalf incredulous murmur – were but a faint and distant din in his ears.

He faced away, and would have run, hadn't Aragorn took him by the waist and clasped him to his chest.

Curious, Legolas thought, how their hearts still beat in splendid unison.

"No," repeated Aragorn as he traced Legolas's face lovingly with his fingertips. The Elf exhaled painfully.

"I won't marry the Aurêl of Mirkwood, for a marriage of duty is not what I want. The one I want to marry, the only one I will marry, is Legolas, the wondrous creature that I met in Mirkwood and that for some great miracle happens to be my betrothed." With lips and tongue he brushed the graceful tip of Legolas's ear. The elf gasped.

"Because I love him, and I want to make him mine - out of love."

He leaned back away, and on his face was the most radiant grin Legolas had ever seen.

"And if my beloved Legolas were to say no, I must warn him that I won't give up, and I will court him and pester him and charm him until he too will love me enough to forget his duty, and marry his humble Ranger instead that a Royal Prince."

"Oh, Aragorn!" Legolas cried, tears of joy running down his face.

Taking both of his beloved's hands in his, he leaned up and captured his lips in a fierce kiss, immersing his tongue in the Man's mouth, then reaching up to cradle the back of his head and pressing their bodies flush, burying his fingers in the Man's hair, pouring all the passion and love he felt in the kiss.

The audience gave a collective sigh of relief.

Gollum tried to feed his rings with a baby's bottle.

Gandalf stopped pulling at his hair, and dusted his tunic off of inexistent dust. He coughed in his hand.

"I'll take that as a 'yes', Aragorn. I take you agree to these terms, Legolas?" the pair kept their kissing, ignoring him, and went on for several minutes, setting a new Record.

Then an urgency appeared in their moves that forced Gandalf into action.

"I take that too as a 'yes'!" he blurted out. "Legolas, Aragorn, I declare you Man and –uhm- Elf? No. Uhm… Lawfully wedded…husbands? …partners? Oh, who cares! You're married now!" He shouted, and fireworks shot out from is staff. Vivid beams of colours, red, green, blue and yellows spiralled up to the sky and exploded in dazzling figures that shivered and glittered as though overwhelmed with joy for the newly married couple.

Aragorn and Legolas walked to the edge of the balcony, still kissing, and the audience below them broke into a joyous cry. They all stood up, clapping, shouting, jumping, tromping their feet, even.

The sky was by now but a poll of vivid bright colours melting and meeting and exploding, until suddenly flickering lights began to rain down on them from above. Everywhere the shining little teardrops fell they dissolved into a fresh fragrant mist.

And, behold! When the light touched the White Tree of Gondor it trembled and swelled, straightening up. New life rushed through its limbs, silvery leaves were born and grew to shiver in the wind, fragrant crystal flowers opened their petals to show their glowering hearts.

The crowd redoubled their cries at such magic.

Several people began to dance in circle, with their head thrown back, their arms raised, and lovely songs sprouted from their throats.

The King has come! they cried as they danced and clapped and laughed and cried. The Dark times are over! The Valar bless the King and the Prince!

It was the beginning of a new Era, the splendid birth of a new hope.

On the terrace, Aragorn and Legolas stood in each other's arms, smiling and waving at their people, and the happiness and love raising from all around them was like a beam of pure golden light reaching to the sky.

They had fought, cried, suffered and bleed, and finally they had it.

Happiness, at last.

Hours and hours of merrymaking followed one another. The light in the sky diminished, stars blossomed like fragrant white flowers on the velvet of the night and then gave way to the soft radiance of dawn, and still people laughed and danced on the plaza.

Fires had been lighted all around and instruments had been brought to make songs even more lovely, even more powerful. Wine and sweet fruit and warm cakes were still being passed around, and not a door was closed, not a single person was alone.

Then Aragorn leaned over Legolas, as though exhausted, and holding his husband close to him he murmured:

"This is bliss as I'd never thought possible. If this is a dream, then I don't ever want to wake up. Now there's only one thing we need, to make this absolutely perfect. For us and for them all."

"And what could it be?" replied Legolas with a raised eyebrow.

"Heirs," Aragorn whispered, nibbling along the Elf's sensitive ear. "Shouldn't we try, and go working a little on some miniature Aragorns and Legolases?" he asked.

Legolas laughed, clear and high, and it was the happiest of the songs bubbling all around them.

"Definitely," he murmured back.

And so, even in the middle of the festivities for their wedding, the Royal Couple of Gondor disappeared from view.

The sun rose above, and light spilled over Middle Earth.

Joy to all of us.

THE END.

So… this is it. The end of Radical Dreamers. =)

Well what can I say?

Just… WOW.

When I started working on this fic, I surely did NOT imagine I would fall *so* in love with it, (I've been playing with the notion to make an original story out of it and publish it), or that so many people would love it as much as I do. ^_^

I want to thank everyone for your wonderful reviews, your e-mails, and all your support and patience.

If this story has been completed at last, it is because of YOU all!!!

Thanks, everyone. Really. ^_^