Chapter Text
Aragorn was tired. It had been a long day, the morning having been consumed by the issue of feeding the people. The long war had led to Gondor’s food stores being severely diminished, and people were starving. He and Faramir had debated at length before agreeing that it was better to trade for the essentials like wheat and rye - both of which were reasonably priced and could be imported and stored in large amounts and would keep the bellies of the people comfortably full for a long time. And the evening had been filled with squabbling lords fighting over whose people had more right to remain alive.
Aragorn knew that he was ill-prepared to rule, having spent most of his life in the wild and having to care for only a handful of people, but the severity of the lack of training was dawning on him as he had to control himself from drawing steel against the lords who spoke about their people so dismissively, caring only for their coffers. But he had to, for there were enough lords against him - the same who had once favoured Denethor- as is, without him being known as a brute, or worse, a tyrant.
He had sat in various councils during his youth, usually as a learning experience rather than to voice his opinions, but never had he seen lords more willing to sacrifice their own people. Arguing with them had been tiring. He must discuss with Faramir and must find ways to remove the most corrupt of lords. Another task for him to add to his never-ending list.
The newly reinstated weekly grievances, where the common people would get the chance to bring their petition to the king directly, were also consuming much of his time. The old Steward and his dear friend Ecthelion had once held similar sessions, but then Denthor had dismantled them, having not had the time while organising Gondor’s defence against Sauron. But they were no longer at war, and thus Aragorn could not think of anything of greater import than the well-being of the people of Gondor. He was quite content to spend his Wednesdays in such a manner, even if most of the petitions were no more than petty thievery.
But it was not the time to rest, as he looked at the fresh pile of paperwork the page set upon his desk as per the directive of Faramir. Today was proving to be another long day. He longed to go up to his queen, but the circumstances of their previous few interactions made him just as weary and dreadful of her words as he had once looked forward to them.
— Flashback —
Aragorn was humming merrily as he made his way down the hall, an elven melody he had learned as a child and had not quite managed to forget in all his time spent in the wilderness. The meeting with the captains had just reached its end with the wonderful news that the number of orcs was decreasing by the day.
And thus it was with great joy that Aragorn flung open the door to his chambers - the one he shared with his wife, he could still not believe that Arwen had agreed to marry him.
He found his wife standing by the balcony, a glass of wine in her hand. She did not turn to greet him, but Aragorn did not mind. He simply strode towards her, intending to embrace her from behind, a jubilant greeting in his tongue.
But he was stopped in his tracks as Arwen turned towards him and swiftly stepped out of his arms.
Verinya,” Aragorn greeted, his voice flummoxed at her strange actions.
”Aragorn,” Arwen returned, her voice lacking the warmth it had once held. “I have no patience to indulge your… frivolity today. I have been through a trying day and require rest.”
Aragorn’s eyes drooped even as his heart swelled with sympathy. “Ai, melleth. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better, my heart?”
Arwen looked at him, an unfamiliar light gleaming in her eye. “Aye, perhaps you could aid me.”
”I am ever at your disposal, Melinya.” Aragorn assured, his eyes wide and bright.
”I was having tea with the ladies of the court.” Arwen began, and Aragorn could see the direction it was headed toward.
”And they did not seem to have much regard for the Queen, especially a queen who is an elf. They seem to be under the impression that you are likely to set me aside soon and take their daughters or even one of them as your Queen.”
Aragorn let out a laugh at the absurd notion, but sobered at the glare that Arwen was kindly bestowing upon him.
”Do you find my hypothetical loss in station funny, Aragorn?”
”Nay, my soul, only the notion that I would ever lose my love for you.” Aragorn placated. He had not thought that the words would have had much impact upon his love, for the adoration he held for Arwen was, in his opinion, plain to see by all. The thought that he had failed in showing so to his wife made his heart clench. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
“They speak too boldly,” Arwen said, her eyes too intent on Aragorn, brimming with an unnamable emotion. Aragorn felt unease curling across his spine, but brushed it aside. For this was his wife, there was no reason for the discomfort to creep upon him. “It would be best, I think, for this boldness to be sharply corrected before it were to turn into treason.”
Her voice was clipped and devoid of emotion, but the twinkle in her eyes made Aragorn blink in surprise.
“Their words were spoken in ignorance and haste, Sailinya. I am certain they do not mean it with malice. The ladies are simply not aware of your magnificence. They only need time.”
“Not malice! I heard the mockery in their tones.” Arwen stated, her voice started rising, “They would see me fall!” Arwen was starting to sound paranoid.
Aragorn sighed, “Peace, melleth nin,” he said, “There has been a great shift in power and the Edain do not easily adapt to change. I would counsel you to have patience, and soon enough, they will see that you are the best thing to happen to Gondor.”
“Them changing or not, that is not my concern. But I would have their respect now.” Arwen said, strangely fixated on the regard of the people.
“And how do you think of winning it?” Aragorn asked, humouring her, but her reply made his blood run cold.
“I would have you rebuke them publicly in court. Strip them of the very positions that give them the nerve to speak so to their betters. Let them serve as a warning to all the people that to speak so lightly of the Queen would not be let go unpunished!”
Aragorn stared at his wife, the kind elleth he had found singing under the trees in Imladris, the humble Lady he had courted and wooed in Lothlorien, uncomprehending of the words spilling from her lips.
“Strip them of their titles!?” he asked aghast, “For idle chatter?” Some of the families have held their lands and served their people from the time of Elendil. To rid them of it would be a huge disservice to all the loyal lords and ladies who had served Gondor dutifully preceding them.
“Would you deem it idle chatter if they are spoken against thee instead of thy wife?” Arwen questioned, her voice assuming a dark tone that reflected the unfamiliar eyes. “If you fail to protect me now, then it would seem that there was truth to their words.”
“Arwen,” Aragorn started pleadingly, all the while devising arguments to make her come to her senses. “Such harshness ill suits this moment. When the Kingship of Gondor is new and yet to be fully established. Taking such force now could - would- set a dangerous precedent.”
“So would letting the people speak freely of their Queen, and in such manner.”
“Aye, Undomiel, I understand that. But maybe a less stringent measure could be undertaken. Perhaps my making a gesture of unquestionable love would prove enough?” Aragorn suggested mulling over the issue. He could see the truth in Arwen’s words. The Queens must be respected by the people, but his mind argued that the measures that were proposed would only lead to them fearing her. No. The people needed to see what Aragorn himself had. That was it! “Or perhaps, it would be better for you to perform charity. Maybe even set up funds for the needy.” The drained state of the treasury would not allow for much funding, but Aragorn was willing let his love dip into their private coffers if it would help her win the affections and admiration of their people. And, he considered, it would be of better use there than sitting idly in some dusty chamber. But that was for another time to consider. “It would need you to work with the ladies, of course. And I am certain that as they start seeing you, they will see your brilliance and come to know your kindness and brilliance and respect you for it.”
“I come to you with a grievance, and you would put me to work?” Arwen questioned him, making the triumphant grin upon the man’s face recede. Her soft hands clamped upon his biceps like a vice as her nails dug into the skin under his shirt “You make me question your suitability to rule!”
Well, that stung worse than the poisoned blade of an orc. The words, not the nails - though Aragorn was sure that he could find his blood welling up if he were to see, though he was not inclined to do so. He knew that he was not fit to be a king, though such a notion from the women he loved stung. He was trying. Valar, he was trying with all his might to learn the needs of his people and how he might better serve them. But clearly, he was failing if he could not even satisfy his own queen.
“A King indeed,” Arwen muttered derisively. “Leave Aragorn. Clearly, you cannot be trusted to resolve this situation. No matter. I shall navigate through it on my own.”
Aragorn could not muster up any more words and decided to heed Arwen’s words and leave the room at once.
—End of Flashback —
He could understand her perspective. They were both learning the needs of Gondor and her people. They both had to rise to meet her demands and found much resistance from the people, especially the nobility, who were used to the office of the steward holding the greatest power, and the need to prove themselves. But he only wished that they could learn together, to rule together, instead of being miserable alone.
Legolas knocked on the King’s study and entered without waiting for permission. Aragorn was seated at his desk, his eyes trained on the paper, his hands covered in ink stains, and his face was pale from the lack of sunlight.
Faramir had cornered Legolas in the library, quietly confiding in him the worry for the King and the grim set of clouds that he was enclosed in, asking Legolas to do something about it. Thus Legolas was here, ready to wrangle his dearest friend outside to greet the sun - or the stars, as Arien had already set to let Tilion rule the skies, adorned by Elbereth’s stars.
Aragorn looked up at the sound of the heavy doors to his study opening, and a smile graced his lips unbidden as he was met with the kind eyes of his longest friend. “Legolas,” he greeted, his voice gravelly from not having been used in a while, “What brings you to this man’s humble abode, dear Prince?”
Legolas snorted. While the man was indeed humble, sculpted by the long years spent as a ranger in the wilderness, his abode was anything but. The people of Gondor had refused their long-awaited King, who had saved them from a certain defeat, to live in anything but luxury.
“I have been informed that the King has forgotten the meaning of respite- to rest and recuperate, swamped in work as he is. And so, I have been bidden to rescue him and reintroduce him to the trees and stars by his concerned friends.”
“I would love to take a moment of respite, Legolas, but as you surely know, the duties of the crown do not wait for anyone, not even the king.”
“I agree that the demands of Gondor are important.” Legolas seemed to agree, “But if there is no king to care for his people, then how will their demands be met? You need to take care of yourself, Aragorn. If not for you, then for your people. Come, let us walk in the Gardens for a while. It has been a long time since we have had the chance.”
“I would love to, mellon nin. But Faramir requires these documents by the morrow, and it would be remiss of me to keep him waiting.”
“Half an hour would not impede your duties, Aragorn. It may even increase your productiveness, if you were to look at it with fresh eyes.” Legolas said, but at his friend's unconvinced expression, he tried cajoling him, “How about this, you take one turn around the garden with me, and I will help you with your paperwork?”
Aragorn sighed, “I can’t ask that of you, mellon nin. You owe Gondor nothing, and yet have already done much for her. Asking anything more of you would not be right.”
Legolas was fast losing his patience and decided, seeing as his headstrong friend can’t be reasoned with, that physical force was necessary. He walked determinedly behind the desk and lifted the bewildered king away from his chair with a strength he rarely used upon the mortal.
Aragorn started to struggle once his mind registered the perplexing turn of events, but it was in vain, for he could not overpower an elf, tired as he was. Thus, Legolas easily manhandled - or was it elfhandled - the king out of his office and down the corridor, with the king kicking and screaming in protest.
The guards were alarmed to see the elf dragging their King away from their office, and moved to intervene and to save their Lord. But Faramir, who had been waiting outside Aragorn’s office, anxiously waiting for Legolas to succeed, waved them away.
“Stand down. Prince Legolas would not harm the King. Indeed, he is protecting his highness from himself.”
Aragorn shot Faramir a betrayed look, hissing, “Traitor!”
Legolas patted him comfortingly, “Come on, my dear ranger. Faramir is only concerned for you. Let us not threaten him.”
But Aragorn was not in the mood for Legolas’ quips, “Unhand me at once. Legolas! Let go of me, this is demeaning.”
“Aragorn! Do not fight me, Mellon nin. You may be king, but do not forget that I have been a prince for far longer than you have been alive. You will not win this. Struggle anymore, and I would not hesitate to carry you to the gardens.”
But Aragorn did not heed the elf’s words, cursing at him and trying to get out of the elf’s firm hold. Legolas was an elf of his word, thus he simply hauled Aragorn, who let out an unmanly shriek, upon his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and continued on his merry way towards the garden.
The guards of the white citadel stood witness as their king was spluttering and screeching at an unperturbed blonde elf, on whose shoulders he was perched on. They were followed by an amused steward, whose legitimacy was now being questioned by the enraged King. They collectively decided that it was not their business and averted their eyes.
Aragorn had exhausted himself by fighting against Legolas, far sooner than he would have been. With his exhaustion, his anger had evaporated, and his senses prevailed once more, leaving him embarrassed over the words he had uttered in anger.
“Legolas,” he asked tentatively, “If I give my word to walk to the gardens willingly, will you let me down?”
“Done with questioning Faramir’s birth, are we?” Legolas asked, amused.
Aragorn felt blood rushing to his cheeks. He smiled sheepishly at Faramir, apologitively, “Forgive me, mellon nin. My words were in anger and not meant to give offence. Your mother was a good friend of mine, and I have done her a great injustice. Had she not been robbed from us so soon, she would have had my hide.”
Faramir, hiding his amusement, replied gravely, “I forgive you, your highness. For I know that you did not mean them.”
Legolas then let Aragorn slide down, without any warning, just as he had lifted him up, just before they left the citadel and would venture into the courtyard, sparing Aragorn the indignity of being carried like a child in front of his subjects.
They made their way to the gardens without further difficulty. As Aragorn breathed in the clean air and felt the cool rays of Ithil dance upon his face, he felt the furrow upon his forehead smoothing and his shoulders relaxing. He turned towards his friends, his serene face marked only by gratitude, to find them both looking at him with an indulgent smile.
“I suppose it was not an entirely terrible notion to spend a while in the garden,” Aragorn admitted, waiting for Legolas to make another quip.
But the elf did not, indeed, make a statement to tease his friend about how he was always right.
“Beautiful, “ He said instead, his eyes aglow, “Ithil shines bright tonight.”
“Aye,” Aragorn agreed, lifting his head to look at the sky above, losing himself in the moment, unheeding of anything else. Thus, he did not hear the slight hitch in the elf’s breath at the beautiful sight in front of him.
They remained as such for a while, three friends sitting in silence among nature and peace, then Faramir had to take his leave, citing an important task he had forgotten. Aragorn seemed to wilt at the reminder of his own duties and the thought that he had to leave the trees and cage himself once more within stone walls. But, as he always had, he strengthened his resolve and moved to stand up.
Legolas had always admired Aragorn’s resolve and the mastery the man had over his emotions. Nevertheless, he thought they could risk a few more minutes for themselves and asked, “Would you like to dance, mellon nin? As we once did?”
Aragorn knew that he had to get back to his office, and yet, he had always been weak. He had always suffered from the doom of men, like his forefathers. Thus, he was unable to deny Legolas’s invitation, assuring himself that one dance could not cause harm.
But one dance turned into two, two turned into four. Aragorn laughed as he felt himself fly when Legolas tossed him through the air. They both used the trees to jump higher and higher, trying to reach the stars, as they had once. Seeking to see who could jump the highest. It was no coincidence that it was always Estel who did.
Finally, after a long while, when they both had their feet firmly on the ground, breathless with exhilaratiion, Tilion had reached his zenith. As they calmed down from the exertion, Aragorn felt better than he had in a very long while, but he was also distinctly aware that he was behind in all his paperworks. In tacit understanding both friends made their way to Aragorn’s office. On their way, the guards and the pasing servents looked in wonder at the healty flush upon their King’s cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes, a stark contrast from the gaunt man with vacant eyes.
Despite Aragorn's protests, Legolas helped him finish the rest of his paperwork, citing that he had been the one to distract the man from his work. Ignoring the fact that Aragorn could have left whenever he wished to. The reports were finished sooner than they would have, owing to the good cheer between the friends and the competency of the Prince.
Once that was done, Legolas personally escorted Aragorn to his chambers to ensure that the man did find his bed that night. When Legolas left Aragorn standing in front of his rooms - Arwen’s rooms - after bidding him a goodnight, Aragorn felt all the joy the night had brought evaporate. He drew in a steadying breath before knocking upon his own doors.
After hearing a faint “Come,” he entered the chambers, ignoring the looks the guards were shooting him.
“Aragorn,” Arwen greeted. There was something in her voice as she enunciated his name. The first time she had called him, Aragorn had felt butterflies fluttering in his gut. But now, he felt dread curling in his spine.
“Arwen,” he returned the greeting cautiously, “You are up late tonight.”
“I am,” she said, her voice had a strange inflexion. “I was waiting for my wayward husband to find his way to our rooms.”
“My apologies, Undomiel.” Aragorn apologised, regretful at having made her wait for so long. “A few reports were urgently needed to be approved by me, before tomorrow. I will be sure to send you word the next time I get inundated with work, so that you needn’t stay up for me.”
“I suppose, dancing in the garden with the Prince of Mirkwood counts as work nowadays?” Arwen asked, her voice accusatory.
“I - We- Faramir and Legolas thought that I was working too much and decided that I needed a rest before continuing. We were supposed to only go on a walk, but Tilion was shining brightly today,” he shrugged helplessly.
Arwen did not seem amused, “So you could have completed your work and have come back, had it not been for your frivolous frolicking with Prince Legolas?”
Aragorn was not sure how to answer that, and settled for, “You needn’t have stayed up for me, my nightingale.”
“I do not appreciate men climbing into my bed when I am asleep,” Arwen said sharply, looking at Aragorn as though he were a criminal for having suggested that he could have found the way to his bed with his wife, without having to worry about his wife.
As Aragorn stood there, the sting of his Queen's words still piercing him, Arwen continued, “Seeing how you enjoy the Prince’s company, perhaps it would be good if you found your way to his bed tonight, for I am in no mood to share mine.”
“Arwen?” Aragorn asked, his voice hesitant as he felt the barb in her words, yet could not believe that his own wife would imply such things of him.
“Out, Aragorn!” Arwen said sharply, her voice leaving no room for him to protest. Aragorn did as Arwen asked of him, not wishing to argue.
Aragorn was soon standing outside the king’s chambers, the doors closed in front of him, barring his way. The judging eye of his men being the only company.