Many days they had spent hunting the young hobbits and with every hour that passed Aragorn felt hope leaving his body like an exhalation of frosty air. Every print, every odd indentation in the rolling, white grass seemed to him to be an indication of the hobbits' whereabouts but too often those markings turned out to be the result of his own folly or some fleeing beast. Too often he had risen from his knees in shame, never really sure how to inform his companions that he had been mistaken once again. In his quietest, innermost thoughts he blessed them – the beautiful elf and the fiery dwarf – and at the same time he cursed their willingness to follow him wherever he may lead them without question or skepticism. At times, when they were traversing yet another stony path leading to some obscure place, he wanted to turn around, grab them both by the shoulders, and shout, "Fools! Why must you follow me in so blind a fashion? I know not where I am leading you nor can I guarantee your safety!" Yet every time he turned towards them with some vague notion of rebellion in his head his eyes would meet those of the elf's and he would feel strangely calmed, almost unnaturally so. I know, Legolas seemed to say with set glances and determined steps, I know that you are lost. Let us find the path of victory and renewal together. Aragorn knew, in part, that this renewed feeling of strength and energy that he felt every time he happened to glance at Legolas (whose eyes were always on him at that moment) was not in itself a product of his own soul and body. He had often felt like this whenever he was in the presences of elves – tranquil, peaceful, and powerful – and he briefly wondered, with some amusement, whether the feelings that he felt were caused by the pure, elven livelihood that shone about Legolas like a sparkling coat or the elf himself…

Aragorn shook his head to rid himself of such trivial speculations. The Company – or, rather, what was left of it – had been traveling over the rolling plains for hours on end. There was nothing to be seen for miles around except for the shining white boulders that seemed to have been dropped onto the grassy plains from the very sky itself. Ahead of them a lush forest stood, lining the horizon like a flank of silent sentries all grouped together. His intuition beckoned him there, and while he was told that a Ranger's intuition is stronger than any compass, he felt that he was only leading his company into the heart of a black and irreversibly tragedy.

He turned his head and happened to glance upon Legolas running swiftly besides him as if he were an arrow shot from a bow. His whitish-blond hair streamed out behind him, making his fine nose and gentle cheekbones seem unusually sharp. Always Aragorn had been fascinated by the gracefulness of elves: a gracefulness that often masked the power and cunning within. Even now as he watched Legolas sprint besides him he thought he saw the light of a thousand fires upon his brow mingled with a certain determination to set right what had been wronged with a polished bow and well-aimed arrow. Right at that moment the elf turned and looked at him without slowing his pace. Aragorn shuddered. He felt as if his lungs had been filled with ice. Though the two travelers had become friends in an almost brotherly sort of way there was always something about those distant blue eyes that both frightened and inspired him. He turned away, with some difficulty, and focused his mind on the task ahead of him. Behind them, Gimli was muttering and cursing beneath his breath.

"What is this?" he called gruffly upon witnessing the exchange between his two companions, "A new language that I have never heard of before? I would prefer it if I could save my breath, too, and speak only in thoughts and glances but I am afraid that some of the darker remembrances of my past may be revealed. Eyes forward, Man and Elf!"

Aragorn wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Legolas smile.

Later that night…

Night had fallen long ago and after hours of sprinting towards the rising forest the three companions had stumbled wearily into its wooded arms. There was some debate as to whether or not it was wise to camp in so dark and mysterious a place but in the end, yielding partly to their sudden fatigue, they decided to set up camp at the very edge of the forest so that they may keep their eyes out for both creepers of the plain and inhabitants of the forest. After having promised to take the second watch in a voice thick with sleepiness Gimli feel fast asleep against the trunk of a gnarled tree. The elf had wandered off somewhere, singing softly to himself under his breath. The sound of his voice came back to Aragorn through the greyish mist that hung lazily about the forest. The young king raised his head and listened contentedly as the ancient elven melody wound its way between the trunks of the trees and slowly pushed its ways into his thoughts, pushing out, as it did, guilt ridden images of hobbits being tortured by merciless Orcs. So entranced was he by Legolas's song that he did not hear the soft footsteps come up slowly behind him.

"Aragorn,"

Immediately he was up and on his feet, the silver blade of Anduril pressed against his assailant's throat. But it was not an assailant that now stood before him but Legolas back from his wanderings. The elf smiled.

"I am honored to travel with such a keen-eared companion as yourself," Aragorn sighed in relief and lowered his sword.

"Much prouder, I'm sure, if your companion was just a bit keener. Come, Legolas. You have been wandering the forest ever since we arrived. You must rest."

"Must I?" Legolas asked mischievously. Without warning he put his hand (so slender and white) on Aragorn's shoulder and gently pushed him down into a reclining position and knelt beside him. "Then what does that say for you, restless traveler? Rest, to me, is breathing in the midnight air and contemplating the patterns in the stars. I am rested. Let me take watch for the rest of the night."

"Nay, we will watch the forest and the plains together. I cannot sleep."

"Something ails you?" Legolas clasped Aragorn's hand in his own and leaned in closer to the man, his golden hair brushing Aragorn's chest as his inquisitive yet careful eyes as blue as frozen sapphires roamed over his companion's face. Suddenly, Aragorn felt exposed, highly vulnerable as he had never felt before and, beneath that, a raw, untamed desire to become one with the living moonlight that leaned over him with a gaze full of earnestness. It was as if Legolas's gaze had unlocked something deep inside of him, something that he had been trying to hide from himself for a very long time.

"You know!" he cried out suddenly, a note of accusation ringing in his voice. Gimli grunted in his sleep. "You know what ails me," he said in a quieter voice. The elf flinched at his companion's passionate outburst and quickly ran a cool hand over Aragorn's forehead, pushing away the sweaty strands of hair that had fallen over his face.

"I can only guess at the thoughts that occupy the mind of the great son of Arathorn," he said softly. Aragorn closed his eyes and took a shaky breath in.

"I have failed," he muttered, "I have failed you and the young hobbits."

"You have failed no one, Aragorn."

"I have led you into an endless maze in which I know not where to go."

"And still I will follow you. I have faith in you, Aragorn son of Arathorn, for the same reasons that that your people have faith in you, for the same reasons that Gandalf and so many others have faith in you. I see wisdom and intuition in you, Ellesar, wisdom and intuition that will not lead us astray. Ay, Men," the elf said suddenly, placing his free hand upon Aragorn's breast, "do not have faith in their hearts and yet they claim that it is the governor of great deeds. Sleep, my friend. Let soothing dreams and sweet oblivion clear these doubtful thoughts away."

With that Legolas bent down and kissed his companion's forehead. Never before could Aragorn have imagined a touch so soft, so sweet, and he found his thoughts drifting towards strange…strange things. But the kiss had lasted longer than he had expected and he realized, with some confusion, that Legolas was lingering. Finally the elf pulled away and gazed at Aragorn with something akin to adoration. He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps whisper something in his own tongue, he did not know, but before he could force the words past his lips Aragorn had risen up on his elbows was now only a few breaths away from him. Silent, the elf and the man stared at each other, their shallow breaths brushing across each other's lips before Aragorn leaned in closer and pulled the elf into a hesitant kiss. The gesture was innocent enough but still Aragorn felt in himself the arousal of some great beast. Unable to control himself, he placed his hand on the back of Legolas's neck and pulled the elf in closer while the other hand held on tightly to the hunched shoulder. It seemed to him as though Legolas had tensed beneath his touch and for a moment Aragorn regretted his rash actions but soon Legolas began to kiss him with much more vigor and possession as his nimble fingers wandered restlessly about Aragorn's body.

"Aragorn," he said breathlessly. The sound of his name was so sweet yet so powerful on Legolas's tongue: sweeter than any music that he could ever wish to hear, "will you have me?"

"If it pleases you," Legolas purred low in his throat and grabbed his other hand.

"Some would say that this is wrong," he said carefully as he slipped Aragorn's hand beneath his shirt and ran it over his skin. Aragorn shuddered and gasped.

"An elf and a man? No, I implore you; do not look at it as such if it worries you. You are merely…" he opened his eyes and smiled, "…helping me to rest."

"Really, Aragorn?" Without another word he slipped the emerald green vest and brown trousers from his body and crouched beside Aragorn a naked and unabashed god. Aragorn's breath caught in his throat.

"You are…glorious to behold," he muttered, so desperate and yet so afraid to touch the beautiful body lest he should spoil it with his rough hand. Finally, he gathered up enough courage and placed a hand on Legolas's chest, slowly trailing it down between the smooth thighs. Legolas made a noise as if he were about to sneeze and shivered. Aragorn briefly wondered whether or not he had ever engaged in something so sexual in the manner of Men before. He doubted it, but his thoughts were turned somewhere else completely when he felt Legolas's hands slip gracefully beneath his trousers.

"Very well, Aragorn. I will help you rest."

To be continued?