Legolas Greenleaf- thoughts.

I am tired. That is not normal for an elf. Aragorn has noticed, Gimli has
noticed. They have both tried to encourage me to sleep, but I maintain that
I wish to take the first watch, so that my spirit may be renewed by seeing
the light of Earendil in the sky. Of course, that was merely an excuse to
get them off my back. Gimli grumbled about it for hours before he finally
fell asleep: I believe the wording was something like: “Stupid stubborn
elf... but bless ye!”

Very amusing, as you can imagine. There is nothing funnier than listening
to a dwarf struggling with his fatigue and his conscience, and losing very
badly. Aragorn however was not fooled, and he glared at me for quite a long
time before making me promise to wake him.

I told him to stop worrying and
go to sleep, and he gave me such a look after that...

...it made my heart nearly stop, making it difficult to breathe. What in the
name of Elbereth is wrong with me?

The two of them reluctantly conceded indeed, but I have not woken either
one of them to take their watches so far. I know that sleep will provide
little comfort and no rest for me, so there is no point even trying. But
for them, it will provide healing and an escape from the cruel reality of
Middle-Earth for a time, and I have no wish to deprive them of their own
peace. As for me...

...I will find no peace here. We have been tracking the Uruk-Hai for three
days and nights, and it was only tonight that we were forced to stop, due
to pure fatigue, injuries and fear of taking a wrong turn in the deep
darkness. The trail has become increasingly more complex as we have
travelled, and so we are all in much need of rest. And yet I cannot.

A face haunts my dreams, and my every waking moment. It is for him I fight
on, and ignore pain, suffering, and everything else.

And yet he is just my friend, is Aragorn son of Arathorn. Nothing more.
Even now when I am supposed to be alert and watching out for evil figures
in the dark, I find my eyes looking over to where he sleeps. He is
breathing in short ragged gasps, and he is clearly disturbed by some
dilemma even in dreams. I lean over his form and place my hands upon his
temples.

He quiets and becomes peaceful and relaxed beneath my touch.
I pull my hands away quickly, frightened by the feelings that rush through
me so powerfully when I am close to him.

He is so appealing, even unconscious. Why do I feel this way? We have a
deep affection for one another as friends, but people have often asked me
if we are not something more. I do not deny even to him that he is striking
in appearance, but this seems to run deeper.

It has become stronger as this quest has continued, and I find my eyes
lingering over his form yet again, drinking in his beauty, for beauty he
has, though he knows it not.

Aragorn's beauty is not as the ethereal light that most Elves share, myself
being an exception. Aragorn often says that I am like the sun- all
creatures seem to feel my warmth, and cannot help but love me all the more
for it. He blushes intensely every time he says this. I wonder why?

It is the intense, untamed handsomeness of the wild world that resides in
Aragorn. Looking at his dark wavy hair cascading about his shoulders like a
waterfall of black onyx, lush and free, I feel something inside me shiver.

By the Valar...

...I love him.

Damn him.

Him and his sinuous, sensual voice. Him and his dark, smoky eyes that I
could drown in forever. His soft hair that I would love to touch. His
comforting way of smiling when everything seems hopeless. His relentless
determination and stubbornness. Damn him, damn him, damn him.

What he does to me and my heart...

But no. He cannot tell.

Little does he know that as I walk alongside him, my heart itches to betray
me, a constant burning that will never go away.

I'll be damned if I'll let this continue. And I’ll be damned if I don’t.

I can't stand this. He's asleep just across from me, peaceful, obviously
untroubled after his earlier disturbance. Or so I thought.
He's thrashing in his sleep, and screaming "NO! NO!". What's wrong?
Aragorn, Aragorn, wake up!

I shook him, and he awoke. He didn't just awake, he literally fell out of
sleep, and he had his knife at my throat in seconds. He relaxed a little
when he saw it was me, and an expression I found impossible to read passed
through his eyes. Those beautiful eyes. They haunt my dreams, have done for
so long.

"Aragorn, are you all right?" I ask quietly, hating the fact that I cannot
pull him into my arms and give him the comfort I wish to. He does not
respond.

The dream he has just had has turned him into a ghost of himself. His face
is ashen, his eyes wide and staring, and his hands shaking as his muscles
tense. He is both terrified and yet drowning in joy. How is this possible?

How can mortals feel so deeply, so acutely?
I thought that this was only gifted to those who may wander in the world of
dreams freely as they walk in the world open-eyed and awake, to Elves. For
us, this "sleep" is merely something to rest the mind and emotions. You
could not call it true slumber.

Estel... Aragorn has proven me wrong. Why is he acting this way?

He walks a few steps away, and I follow him cautiously, concerned for his
safety but not wishing to intrude upon his thoughts.
He finally answers me, and the sound of his voice is like a death knell to
my heart: "I am in love, Legolas. Since when does being in love make
everything all right, when it is not returned?" He sounds bitter and sad. I
must try to soothe him, though it kills me to know another has his heart.

I reply, my soul feeling like it has been cut in two: "You cannot know if
someone's love is unrequited unless you tell them how you feel. I should
know. I have lived every day for the past few years in that state, and yet
never have I had the courage to speak. He would turn me away."

Aragorn fires back gruffly: "I doubt that Legolas. What if you discovered
that he had felt the same way all along? That you had kept your silence
only to find he loved you?"

I have no remark to return to that statement, and I watch him for a moment,
the panic growing slowly. He can't know. Can he? Oh Valar save me if he
does. I must know. This has gone on far too long. It is not courage that
makes me decide this, but fear of what might happen if I do not speak. I
mean to call his name, and tell him now how I love him.

"Estel..." I call softly, before clapping my hand to my mouth, realising
what I have said. A conversation from long ago springs to mind, and then I
chastise myself for pushing the barrier of our friendship:

'Aragorn?'

'Yeah?'

'Have you ever been in love?'

'No. Have you?'

'I know not. There is one who affects my heart, but for now I do not
understand. I live and die all at once when that person is near.'

'That is saying something, considering you are immortal; Legolas mellon
nin. If I know you as well as I think I do, I'd say that you are completely
infatuated.'

'Let's not talk about me now. You are getting far too close to the mark.'

'All right. Do you want to know something ridiculous?'

'Of course, if you wish to share it with me.'

'You know my old Elven name that Elrond and the others at Rivendell gave me
when I was younger?'

'Estel, you mean?'

'Yes, that's right. Well, I've decided that only my future lover can call
it me now. It will be sacred between us and us only. Do you think I'm silly
and selfish?'

'No, Aragorn. I think it a rather beautiful idea actually.'

Only now do I realise what I have done. I meant to tell him I love him, not
to place a claim over his heart and soul. He looks at me strongly,
intensely. He looks at me for far too long.

What now?

I cannot do this. That is why I run. Away from Aragorn, back to the camp,
where Gimli lies snoring and blissfully unaware. That is why I take my
weapons and run.

He calls after me loudly, and I hear the sound of his boots pounding upon
the ground as I run. He knows that I will eventually stop when I have run
out of strength and emotion, but things do not turn out that way.

I can feel the tears sliding down my face, although I am unclear as to why
I am crying at all. I am simply exhausted through and through. That is what
I try to tell myself. But deep down I know this is a lie. I know that
sorrow is breaking me, at long last.

I fall to the ground tired, blinded by my tears, and I curl up and lean
against a tree. I am sobbing harder than I ever have done in my life. I can
hear the trees whispering to one another quietly, trying to soothe my
grief, but there is no cure for hurt this profound.

I hear footsteps approaching, running fast as they can. I lurch to my feet,
and try to run again as Aragorn draws near. But I am not fast enough. He
has his hand on my arm, the grip too tight for me to move.

I cannot look him in the eyes, for I know what I will see. Pity. Pity for my weakness,
for my foolishness. I am still sobbing, almost to the point where I am
senseless.

He is calling my name. I cannot face him, I cannot. I push him away
blindly, and I run a few more steps. I trip and fall, and I cannot move. I
stay where I am, motionless and crying sharply aloud.

I curl up again tightly, murmuring nonsense in Elvish, most of it referring to Aragorn. I
am shaking uncontrollably, and this only intensifies when I feel Aragorn
step closer.

I am being hysterical, I know this but this feeling of misery is too much.
When Aragorn puts his arms around me now, I do not have the strength to
resist. I feel so weak, I simply give up struggling. I just lean against
him. He is stroking my hair, whispering my name. Like a lover would do. Oh,
this is torture. It is nothing but a reminder of what can never be mine.

Wait... what is he saying?

He is rocking me back and forth like a child, singing softly into my ear,
all the while still holding me tightly to his chest. I feel myself growing
weaker, and I know that soon I will fade.

I look up at him, and although my
vision is blurred I can see that there are tears running down Aragorn’s
face. He finishes the old Elvish lullaby he was singing to me, and he says:
“Please, melisse, don’t leave me.”

Lover? But that can only mean... no. It is not possible. He cannot love me.
He is saying it out of pity.

I smile slightly even as I feel the silent tears fall down my cheeks again,
and I say: “Aragorn, you do not, cannot love me. You are merely trying to
save me before it is too late. Just let me go. I will always love you,
melamin.”

Now I see his face even less clearly, but I can hear his voice. He is
angry, and full of sorrow.

“How can you think that? Do not scorn love that is a gift from my very
heart and soul, Legolas. ‘Tis you I have been dreaming of. You are the
reason Arwen and I remain as brother and sister, nothing more. She knows of
my love for you, and she herself has a love of her own, though Elrond
wished for her to be Queen of Gondor. We could never love each other as a
husband and wife would be meant to. Please don’t leave me here alone. I
won’t let you go, please don’t ask me to. I love you.”

My sight becomes less blurred, and I find myself believing him. I raise my
head, and I kiss him gently, feeling his lips beneath mine tenderly. Then
the world turns black as the exhaustion of prolonged pain and denied
emotion washes over me.