The White Shores

Lost

The next day, the two men did not speak of this incident. Legolas was gone before Aragorn awoke, and he avoided eye contact with Aragorn as much as possible. While it was somewhat a relief - Aragorn did not want to remember his moment of weakness, his horrible sobs- it also sparked a burning feeling in his stomach. The Legolas he knew would never turn away from a man because they had shown emotion. However, there were more pressing matters on hand. Arwen had awoken, and was currently pacing the room that she and Aragorn were supposed to share. Thranduil stood stiffly by the window while Eomer stood guard by the door.

"My love, please stop worrying," Aragorn was sitting on the bed, forehead creased with wrinkles.

"I will when you do," she said, and though the iciness had left her tone she still did not look in his eyes. "I have made myself an evil creature, a wicked, deceitful thing."

"No," Aragorn assured her, "You did what was natural, what anyone would have done in your place."

"No," Arwen said, eyes glinting with tears. Legolas burst into the room, panting, but Arwen did not cease her confession. "I told you I loved you, would do anything for you, and I won't. I don't."

The words felt like a physical blow to his windpipe. He started choking, gasping for air, while his mind raced for a way to put meaning in these words that were so clearly false. He distantly felt a hand grasp his shoulder and shake him, but he could not stop the dizzying swirl of his mind from sweeping him away.

Then there was a firm grip on his shoulder, a clear voice whispering words into his ear. The voice sounded of sunlight and moonshine all at once, grounding him and setting him free.

"Estel," Legolas was kneeling before him, face close to his own.

"Legolas," Aragorn said softly, and the grasp on his shoulder lessened as Legolas backed away. Aragorn felt the loss of his friend's - only friend's - presence keenly, but he did not comment.

"So you truly do not love me," Aragorn said softly, willing the tears away from his eyes.

"I do not," Arwen said, "I searched for a way for you to be immortal with me, but I was lying to myself. It was only ever a passing fantasy, a girl's wishing."

"But you said-"

"And I believed it," Arwen said quietly, sitting on the bed beside him. "But it was not true, my darling."

"Do not call me that," Aragorn stood up swiftly and stormed from the chambers. He could feel pulsing in his mind. How dare she lie to him, then try to soften the blow of losing her love? How dare she pretend like this was better for both of them, like he was not losing his whole world? In a rage his sent his fist flying into the marble wall next to him, the connection sending a shard of pain shooting through his arm.

It was nothing next to the pain in his heart. He screamed and threw himself against the wall, beating his shoulder against it, then slamming his head into it. He dropped, exhausted, to the ground and lay there, crying.

The only thing he felt was the soft hand gently brushing his cheek, the smell of rain and earth following him, and the sweet obliviousness of darkness.